King's Landing, Morning
Inside the spacious carriage, after hearing the attendant's report, Olenna Redwyne turned to Mace Tyrell and Margaery Tyrell.
At first, Lord Mace was shocked—then a trace of delight crept into his expression.
Margaery frowned slightly, and upon noticing her grandmother's gaze, she looked back at her.
Olenna said kindly, "Margaery, what are you thinking?"
Margaery's fingers curled slightly as she replied, "Grandmother, I find this far too coincidental. From what I know, although Lord Jon's health had not improved, his condition was never that severe. He shouldn't have died so suddenly."
Mace stroked his beard and interjected, "Well, given he's been gravely ill for so long, it's not entirely unexpected. One could call it the mercy of the gods."
During the Rebellion, House Tyrell was the last to surrender, and ever since, they had been excluded from the Red Keep by the Small Council led by Lord Jon Arryn.
As the head of House Tyrell, Mace could never truly like the Hand of the King.
This time, he had come to King's Landing as a candidate for the position of Hand, first to serve as the Hand's advisor.
A Hand's advisor answered only to the Hand himself and could not attend the Small Council—a role Mace found unsatisfactory.
Now, just as they arrived in King's Landing, came news of Jon Arryn's death. There was a chance he might step directly into the position of Hand.
For him, Jon Arryn was both a hated man and an obstacle.
Mace felt the gods were smiling upon him—twofold joy in one stroke.
Olenna looked at her self-satisfied son and wished she could crack open that fat head with a wooden spoon.
She drew in a breath, composed herself, and said, "Boar of the Reach, this is no good news for you. King Robert was very close to Jon Arryn—one of the few men who could directly influence the king's decisions.
"Jon's heir is still a child. He would have needed allies to secure his inheritance and safeguard his house. I had intended to use that as the basis to forge an agreement between the Golden Rose and the Vale—enough for him to recommend you directly to the king as Hand.
"That would have been the simplest path. But now Jon Arryn is dead. Tell me, where am I supposed to find someone else to make that bargain with so you can sit in the Hand's chair, you overgrown boar?"
Hearing his mother's analysis, Mace's good mood evaporated instantly.
Margaery patted his large hand reassuringly. "Father, don't worry—your chances are still the best."
Mace patted her smaller hand in return and asked, uneasy, "Mother, what should we do next?"
After a pause, Olenna said, "Once we arrive, Margaery and I will get down first. You go straight to the Sept, offer your condolences, and make a show of it—let everyone see you're already here."
Margaery asked, "Grandmother, should I accompany Father?"
Olenna waved her hand dismissively. "Putting on a show in public? Our Lord Mace excels at that."
Though her tone was laced with sarcasm, rare praise from his mother made Mace laugh heartily.
Seeing her father's smug face alongside her grandmother's look of disdain, Margaery couldn't help but chuckle.
In the end, Olenna found herself both irritated and amused by her son's shamelessness.
King's Landing, Tyrell Manse
That afternoon, Margaery was summoned to the garden by Lady Olenna.
Seeing her granddaughter approach with skirt lifted slightly, Olenna's expression softened; Margaery always reminded her of herself in youth.
"Grandmother," Margaery said, taking the seat opposite her.
Olenna, gazing at the flowerbeds, remarked, "The same variety of rose, planted at the same time—by now it would be in full bloom at Highgarden. But here in King's Landing, it's still only a bud."
Margaery's brown eyes flickered. She could hear the meaning beneath her grandmother's words.
"Margaery, in the Reach, the people you deal with are either kin or sworn bannermen. King's Landing is nothing like the Highgarden you know. This city is thick with plots and full of rogues no better than that little fox."
Margaery nodded slightly, as she always took her grandmother's lessons to heart.
"Only with a constant supply of fresh nourishment can the golden rose bloom without end. That is why your father values King's Landing so much.
"As long as the Iron Throne stands here, this city will remain the center of the Seven Kingdoms. The Small Council is a place no great house can ignore.
"The Red Keep has its own rules. Here, the game of power is far more ruthless. You must learn those rules quickly—it will matter for your future."
"Yes, Grandmother. I understand."
Olenna smiled warmly. "Don't be too tense. The golden rose stands behind you—no one will dare challenge us head-on. And don't be overly wary either; just think of this as me bringing my granddaughter to the capital for a visit. Your task is to observe."
Margaery nodded, then asked, "Grandmother, about my brother Loras…"
Olenna shook her head slightly. "Don't disturb him. He is Renly's squire, but he is also a son of House Tyrell. I'm willing, for now, to indulge his friendship.
"Only Renly would think that winning Loras's friendship makes the entire Tyrell family his vassals. To call him naïve would be generous.
"If he wants Tyrell support, our demand is simple—send my granddaughter a queen's crown. Then this old woman will lead his horse herself."
Margaery had been listening intently, but at that she covered her mouth with a laugh.
"Grandmother, rest assured—I believe in my brother. He will always be one of us."
Olenna nodded. "Exactly. So let him do as he pleases for now. That friendship is another link between our families, and the golden rose will never give up the initiative."
A spark lit Margaery's eyes. "I understand, Grandmother!"
"Our Lord Mace is busy enough for the moment and doesn't need our help. Some matters are better handled by women. We must arrange an audience with Queen Cersei as soon as possible."
Winterfell, Lord's Chambers
Knock, knock. The sound at the door broke Eddard Stark's contemplation.
"My lord, Maester Luwin is outside. He says it's urgent."
[Luwin was the maester serving House Stark at Winterfell. He had delivered each of Lord Eddard's children and served as their tutor.]
Eddard glanced at his wife, who had been roused from sleep, his brow furrowing. "I told them not to disturb us."
That day they had received a raven announcing the death of Jon Arryn. Catelyn had only just fallen asleep late into the night.
From outside came the servant's careful voice, "Forgive me, my lord, but Maester Luwin insists on seeing you. He says it's most urgent."
Eddard pulled on a heavy robe. "Let him in."
Catelyn covered a yawn and sat up in bed, pulling the blanket to her chin. "Ned, you haven't slept at all?"
Eddard went to the window, gazing at the night sky. "Every time I close my eyes, I think of the past."
Sensing her husband's sorrow, Catelyn said gently, "Grand Maester Pycelle gave him milk of the poppy. He went quickly, without much suffering."
"I suppose that was the last mercy."
Eddard spoke quietly, swallowing his grief.
He could not be selfish—his wife also needed comfort.
"Your sister—and her child—any news?"
Northern men were not adept at expressing affection, and her husband was no exception.
Catelyn smiled faintly at the concern in his voice. "The letter says they are safe, back in the Eyrie.
"I only wish they had returned to Riverrun. The Eyrie is high and isolated—her husband's seat, not truly her home.
"Every stone there will remind her of Lord Arryn… I know my sister well. She needs her family and friends now more than ever."
"Your uncle was named Knight of the Gate by Jon Arryn. Brynden will take good care of them."
[Brynden "Blackfish" Tully was Catelyn's uncle, her father's brother.]
Eddard paused, then said, "You could visit her. Take the children—fill her halls with laughter. Her boy needs playmates, and your sister should not grieve alone."
"If I could, I would… but have you decided? Will you go to King's Landing?"
After a moment's silence, Eddard replied, "I'm still thinking."
The wolf's instincts told him—this was his home, and he should not leave the North lightly.
Catelyn sensed now was not the time to press him further.
Before long, the door opened and Maester Luwin entered, dressed in a grey wool robe trimmed with white—the colors of House Stark.
He waited until the door closed before speaking. "Forgive the intrusion, my lord, but while I dozed, someone left a letter on my desk."
From his sleeve, he produced a tightly rolled parchment.
"It says clearly it is for Lady Catelyn's eyes only. I feared it might be important, so I came at once."
Catelyn saw the Arryn sigil—the crescent moon and falcon—on the wax seal.
She took it with trembling hands, letting the blanket fall from her shoulders. "It must be from Lysa… and I fear it's no good news. Ned, this letter holds nothing but grief—I can feel it."
"Don't panic," Eddard said grimly. "Open it."
She glanced over it, then murmured, "This… this is written in the secret code Lysa and I made up as girls. Only she and I can read it."
Throwing off her furs, she swung out of bed.
Eddard blinked at her sudden movement. "Catelyn, Maester Luwin is still here."
Looking away politely, Luwin said, "Perhaps I should take my leave, my lord."
Pulling on a robe, Catelyn went to the candlelight—the letters were small, and she needed the glow to see them.
"Ned, Maester Luwin delivered every one of our children. This is no time for false modesty…"
Her words froze, her body going rigid.
Eddard moved to her side, steadying her. "You're frightened. Tell me—what does it say?"
Catelyn looked into her husband's anxious eyes and said, voice trembling, "Lysa says Jon Arryn was murdered."
"Did she name the killer?"
"The Lannisters."
Instinctively, Eddard resisted the idea. "Your sister is overcome with grief—she doesn't know what she's saying."
Catelyn shook her head. "Lysa is impulsive, but she wouldn't jest about this. She wrote in cipher for a reason—she's terrified. That's why she fled to the Eyrie with her son."
Gazing steadily at her silent husband, she added, "Now we truly have no choice. You must go south and uncover the truth."
Eddard sighed. "The South is full of snakes and beasts. The direwolf is better off avoiding it."
At that, Maester Luwin spoke up. "From the king's last letter, it's clear His Grace means to name you as Hand.
"The Hand has the authority to learn the truth of Lord Arryn's death—and if it was murder, to bring the killer to justice.
"Even if matters turn ill, you could still protect Lady Arryn and her son, and withdraw safely."
Catelyn added, "Ned, the king also wrote that you should bring Sansa with you. Do you not see his meaning? He wants his heir to wed her."
[Sansa Stark was the second child and eldest daughter of Eddard and Catelyn.]
Eddard finally spoke. "Catelyn, Sansa is only eleven… and I will not see my daughter wed in the South."
His father, brother, and sister had all died in the South—a wound that would never heal.
Catelyn knew this pain, but the past was past. She would not let it cloud her daughter's future.
Her voice rose. "Ned, this is the king's goodwill. You cannot treat him as if he were only your old friend. A king's pride is everything to him.
"Sansa might one day be queen. Her children could rule from the Wall to the mountains of Dorne—is that not worth considering?"
The Iron Throne…
Eddard's eyes were weary, and tinged with sorrow, but Catelyn knew now was not the moment to embrace him. For her children's sake, she had to win him over.
"Ned, you've said you love Robert as a brother. If Lysa speaks the truth, do you think Robert is safe? You know the Lannisters' cruelty. Will you stand by while Robert is in danger?"
Eddard's lips tightened. He turned toward the narrow window, his face heavy with thought.
Catelyn said no more. Luwin also remained silent.
They simply waited… as Eddard Stark quietly bade farewell to his beloved North.
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