Highgarden – Terrace Garden
"The Warden of the North?"
Lady Olenna spoke almost to herself as she set the letter down on the tea table beside her.
Even after more than a decade, the deeds of King Robert and Lord Eddard Stark were still fresh in memory.
When Mace Tyrell noticed his mother's silence, he asked casually, "Mother, what is it?"
The sight of her foolish son was enough to ignite Lady Olenna's temper.
Anyone with half a mind should have sensed that something was amiss.
Though Mace was trying to mask it, she could easily see that he was already lost in the pleasure of being a candidate for the Hand's seat.
It was fortunate he had been born into the Gold Rose family; had he been born elsewhere… well, it was too late to put him back. Pointless hypotheticals served only to irritate.
Seeing her grandmother sitting there fuming in silence, Margaery offered an explanation. "Father, aside from the expected Renly and Stannis, the list of potential Hands also includes one surprising name — Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell."
"What? Impossible!" Mace exclaimed.
But after a moment's thought, he waved it off with a broad gesture, reassuring her. "Margaery, don't worry. Northerners know nothing of governance, nor would they easily ride south of the Neck. And no one would want a Northerner as Hand of the King…"
The more he spoke, the more convinced he became, a hint of smugness creeping onto his face.
Feeling the weight of his mother's gaze, he turned toward her in puzzlement.
It was a look he knew well — it was the one she used when regarding an idiot.
In recent months, Mace's "war without fighting" theory had won him much attention among the Reach's nobility, and it had gone to his head.
Unable to resist, he wanted to show off before his mother, to prove that his intelligence was often misunderstood.
Not knowing exactly where he had gone wrong, he still chose to trust her judgment.
In matters like this, where his military skill was of little use, it was better to listen.
He fell silent and smoothed his expression, looking humbly toward her.
Olenna noted the change, drew a slow breath, and after a pause said, "Use that big head of yours. If it's impossible, then why has he suddenly appeared on the shortlist for Hand?"
Mace froze. That's true… why?
He trusted his mother's wisdom, and his brow furrowed as he pushed aside his earlier joy.
The friendship between King Robert and Lord Eddard… the king?
The thought made his heart skip. Could this be King Robert's will?
Forcing himself to appear calm, he looked at his serene mother.
Smiling broadly, he asked, "Mother, what do you think?"
She rolled her eyes inwardly. His one redeeming trait was knowing when to lean on the wisdom of others.
"No one can keep the Gold Rose from blooming in King's Landing."
As the backbone of House Tyrell, her words steadied him at once.
Turning to Margaery, Olenna's expression softened. "Margaery, tell me again about your arrangement with that young man."
Mace stroked his beard, proud of his daughter. His mother's regard for Margaery said everything.
Obedience alone would not earn Olenna's favor — Margaery's wit was worthy of it.
Margaery glanced at her pleased father, her eyes touched with a faint smile.
Her voice was calm and even. "Grandmother, Lord Gawen told us that both Lord Renly Baratheon and Lord Stannis Baratheon will compete for the position of Hand — and he promised their side would see to the matter."
It was the second time she had recounted this to her grandmother, and she spoke just as carefully as before.
Her grandmother's memory was not failing; she was using unfolding events as a lesson.
After a moment's silence, Olenna tapped the arm of her chair. "A cunning little fox. King Robert is no fool. Whether it's Stannis or Renly, either one as Hand will only give the king a headache!
"Renly is all surface shine, Stannis is stubborn — the king knows his own brothers well. If either one became Hand, could he continue to neglect governance and enjoy himself in peace?"
Surface shine? It was the first time Margaery had heard her grandmother speak of Renly this way. In public, Olenna always seemed to praise him… Her pupils contracted slightly. She meant for me to hear this.
Margaery's doe-brown eyes met her grandmother's.
Olenna, understanding the look, inclined her head ever so slightly — confirming her guess.
Margaery was not surprised, only grateful for another lesson.
Mace could no longer hold back. "So… what should we do now?"
Her tone sharp with mockery, Olenna said, "Don't you wish that young man were your own son? Why not ask him?"
"That's different — I simply admire the young man…"
Mace chuckled, then continued, "I remember discussing this possibility with Gawen in private. He had some suggestions, but I can't recall a clear solution."
Margaery glanced at her grandmother. "Father, what did he say at the time?"
After a moment's thought, Mace replied, "Gawen suggested that if a candidate outside the Baratheon brothers appeared, we should find a way to make that person withdraw voluntarily. That was the gist of it."
Olenna gave a short, scornful laugh. "Covering all the angles, just like a proper royal favorite. He reminds me of certain old men I once relied on in my youth, when I was devoted to aiding my husband.
"They always had much to say when asked — long-winded and seemingly thorough — but in the end, I found I was the one doing the work while they sat back and enjoyed the fruits.
"Appearing to cover everything, yet in truth saying nothing of use — to learn such a talent at so young an age is still a gift. That the rough Crab Claw Peninsula could produce such an outlier is remarkable."
Mace thought she misunderstood Gawen. In his view, Gawen was practical — and more eager than even himself when it came to their business.
He stroked his beard with a cheerful squint. There was no need to explain. Being pricked by the Queen of Thorns was an honor — he had grown up under those thorns.
Margaery raised a brow at her father's expression.
"Grandmother, the Hand's health has not improved. I think we should depart soon."
Olenna cast a sidelong glance at her son, then nodded. "Margaery, I will go with you."
Over Ten Days Later – King's Landing
The Gold Rose party had just entered the city when word came that Lord Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, had died suddenly.
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