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Near Highgarden in the Reach.
"Pass the order. The whole army halts. Have the scouting riders search the area carefully. Tell the logistics troops to take the prisoners and gather whatever supplies can still be found nearby. Build defenses and prepare siege engines."
"Yes!"
The messenger rode off. Oberyn looked at the land before him, where there was little left but the white castle, bare stumps, and blackened earth. His brows tightened.
He had once passed Highgarden with his mother and sister on their way to Casterly Rock to discuss a marriage with Cersei and Jaime. In his memory, Highgarden had been wrapped in flowers and trees, with wooden and stone statues set everywhere. Taken as a whole, it truly had been more beautiful than Sunspear.
Now it had become this.
Destruction was always easier than creation.
"It seems House Tyrell means to hold to the end," Kevan said. He had ridden up with Prince Quentyn at some point, his tone level. "Prince Oberyn, what do you intend?"
"What do I intend?" Oberyn chuckled. "To take it with lives, of course. Highgarden may be the most beautiful castle in Westeros, but it is certainly not the strongest. At most, they have seven thousand men inside. With our prisoners included, we have nearly seventy thousand. If we attack in turns, they will show a weakness sooner or later.
"Unless Lord Kevan means to sit here and starve them? I hear Highgarden's granaries are near bursting. If we plan a siege, I may as well order the men to start sowing fields."
Kevan had handed command to him, yet still questioned him like a superior questioning a subordinate. Oberyn's answer carried open displeasure.
"That is not my meaning," Kevan said. His expression cooled, but he did not flare. "Prince Oberyn, you command this battle. I only wish to know how I may help."
"Yes, Uncle," Quentyn added quickly, sensing the souring air. "I also wish to share your burden."
"Then Lord Kevan may take Quentyn a little farther out to gather supplies," Oberyn said, glancing at his nephew. "From the look of Highgarden, the logistics troops will find nothing near the castle."
"Very well."
"Yes."
Quentyn agreed happily. Kevan turned away with a cold face.
'The Lannister's mood is strange today.'
Oberyn watched the two men leave.
He did not know that Kevan's poor temper came from seeing no signal from Tyrek and the others. Judging from Highgarden's scorched fields and stripped lands, Tywin's brother had already guessed the Tyrell answer. Since Tywin's plan had not reached its best result, he now wanted only to cooperate with Oberyn, take Highgarden quickly, and seize the wealth and resources inside.
In the Westerlands, at Cornfield, Crey stood in the council hall of the inner keep and reported the day's gathered intelligence to Robb.
"Your Grace, King Theon sent a raven from Casterly Rock. He says the Redwyne fleet, which had been off Lannisport, has sailed toward the Shield Islands."
Robb's right index finger tapped the long table in a steady rhythm while he considered the connections and consequences hidden in that news. At last he stopped tapping.
"By reason, when Mace Tyrell led his army against Cornfield, the Redwyne fleet should have landed at Lannisport at the same time. Yet they never moved. Perhaps the famous Queen of Thorns was also wary of Tywin. Perhaps there is another reason.
"I remember our agents in King's Landing reporting that Lord Paxter Redwyne's twin sons were being kept there by Tywin?"
"Yes," Crey said after a moment's thought. "At Tommen's coronation feast, our agents reported that the Queen of Thorns publicly demanded Tywin return the twins. Tywin called them out before everyone, and they claimed they were staying in King's Landing willingly."
"Willingly?" Robb laughed softly. "Interesting.
"Still, perhaps I am overthinking it. House Redwyne and House Tyrell have been joined by marriage for generations, and Redwyne wine has brought the Arbor a fortune. The Tywin of today cannot offer enough to make them betray their liege.
"How is Highgarden?"
Robb leaned back. "Tywin Lannister does have some ability. He suffered badly in the Riverlands and lost his own Westerlands, yet he still managed to build such a sprawling scheme."
"According to our agents, Highgarden has been cutting down trees and burning every resource around the castle these past few days. It seems they are prepared to hold to the end."
"Good. The Queen of Thorns wrote a few days ago that a Tyrell envoy was coming to Cornfield with gifts. Do we know where they are? And how is the welcoming display I ordered?"
"By the timing, they should arrive tomorrow. Do not worry, Your Grace. In your own words, we are ready to show our strength."
Robb smiled. "One day, I suspect someone will collect the things I have said into a book of quotations."
"Ah... yes, Your Grace."
The next day, a large Tyrell caravan flying golden rose banners came along the Ocean Road toward Cornfield.
Right Hand, broad and powerful, rode beside an elegant carriage carved with a great rose on its door. "Lady Margaery, we are about to reach Cornfield. There are Stark riders ahead."
The carriage window opened. Margaery appeared behind it, her soft brown curls dressed in a youthful style and her beautiful face carefully painted.
"Do not call me queen," she said gently, looking toward the northern riders. "Since they are waiting, we will follow whatever arrangements they have made. We cannot defeat them anyway, can we?"
"Yes, Lady Margaery."
Since they had nearly arrived, Margaery did not close the window again. She rested her smooth chin on one fair arm and watched the scenery pass.
As they neared Cornfield, she first saw great numbers of Tyrell soldiers carrying hoes, shovels, and other tools as they worked the ruined fields. At intervals around them stood only scattered northern soldiers as guards. The Tyrell men far outnumbered their watchers, yet showed no sign of rebellion.
Margaery sighed. Her family's soldiers were truly useless.
She did not know that after Robb captured Lord Mace and forced these Tyrell soldiers to surrender, they had been cleaning the battlefield and restoring the farmland. In the beginning, Robb had sent many northern cavalrymen from Deep Den to supervise them. Some men had resisted or fled. None escaped the cavalry and the ice direwolves, and they all became food for the pack.
Gradually, after seeing that they were not abused and that their lives were not in danger, the Tyrell soldiers settled into the work. The northern watchers grew fewer and fewer.
When the carriage reached Cornfield's main gate, Margaery saw rows of northern soldiers training in neat formations. Some stood in perfect silence, as if even their breathing had stopped. Others shifted formation with the coordination of a single body.
She did not understand the purpose of the exercises before her, but she felt that this was part of why the northern soldiers were so strong.
After the carriage entered Cornfield, the road held not only northern soldiers keeping order, but many smallfolk who had come out to watch. From this, Margaery could tell that Robb Stark was at least not as terrifying as rumor claimed. Otherwise, the smallfolk would be hiding in their homes, shivering, rather than standing there with ordinary curiosity.
Some children waved and called to her. Margaery smiled and waved back without a noblewoman's airs.
The carriage stopped in the broad training yard. A servant opened the door, and Margaery lifted her expensive court gown as she stepped down.
"Margaery!"
"Sister!"
Lord Mace, Garlan, and Loras, who had been waiting nearby, quickly gathered around her.
"Father, brothers. Are you unharmed?"
"We are well," Mace said at once. "Did your grandmother send you to ransom us?"
"More or less. Grandmother sent me to ally with Robb Stark on her behalf. Tywin Lannister deceived us. He not only poisoned Renly II, but has taken Dorne, the Stormlands, and the Reach houses that rebelled against us to besiege Highgarden. Lord Randyll is defending the castle with just over six thousand men. Highgarden is in a crisis it has never faced before."
"What!"
Lord Mace and his sons cried out in disbelief. None of them had expected the Reach, which had possessed an army of one hundred thousand so recently, to be driven to such straits in such a short time.
"Randyll Tarly's guess was correct after all," Mace muttered.
"Father, please remember your noble bearing," Margaery said softly, her bright brown eyes glancing around. "Northern soldiers and smallfolk are watching."
"My lords and lady of House Tyrell," Crey said, walking up with graceful manners, "King Robb awaits you ahead. Please."
Lord Mace coughed, straightened himself, and walked forward first, chest high, like a proud rooster.
The Tyrell party reached the front of the yard near the inner keep, yet Robb was nowhere to be seen. They looked to Crey in confusion.
"Please wait. His Grace has prepared a special display for you today."
Crey clapped twice. A long horn sounded inside Cornfield.
Then a clear, beautiful song drifted through the yard. No one understood the language, yet all of them sank into its melody. Peace settled over them as if warmth had wrapped around them. Just as their minds began to blur, the song stopped.
The silence left everyone oddly hollow.
Two mammoths entered the yard from behind the inner keep, trumpeting as their heavy feet struck the ground. The smallfolk erupted in excited discussion.
"Those are the long-haired monsters that helped defend us!"
"Mammoths. I heard the King in the North keeps them!"
"Look behind them! The ice direwolves!"
Will led Nymeria, Lady, and the Wolfguard in neat order behind the mammoths. Margaery's eyes lit with excitement at seeing the creatures of rumor with her own eyes.
Behind her, however, the four draft horses in front of the carriage pawed the ground in fear, unsettled by mammoths and direwolves.
When the mammoths and wolves stood opposite each other at the front of the yard, green light flashed at the top of the inner keep. Sparks burst across the sky above the training ground in dazzling explosions of fire.
Only Robb would think to recreate fireworks with magic.
The display was less bright by day than it would have been by night, but to natives of Westeros who had never seen fireworks, it was shocking enough.
The four horses, already frightened, reared at the crackling bursts. They tore free of the reins and bolted into the crowd.
"Guards! Stop them!" Crey shouted at once.
The guards on both sides of the yard remained calm, but the smallfolk around the yard scattered in panic. Margaery suddenly lifted her skirts and ran.
Mace, Garlan, and Loras were looking back at the guards trying to block the mad horses and did not notice at first.
Margaery rushed to a little girl who had been knocked to the ground, crouched, and held the child tightly in her arms.
One horse, already wounded by a guard and bleeding, suddenly turned and charged madly toward her.
"Margaery!"
Only then did Lord Mace and his sons see her in front of the runaway horse.
A whirling column of icy mist as thick as a barrel shot down from the top of the inner keep. With a harsh crackle, the runaway horse became a lifelike sculpture of ice.
A long wolf howl filled with killing intent rolled from the top of the inner keep. The other three panicked horses weakened at once and collapsed, fouling themselves where they lay.
"There! The King in the North!"
"Magic! Fire magic before, and now ice!"
"He is like a god!"
Amid the cries, Margaery released the little girl and looked first at the frozen horse, then up at the top of the inner keep.
A huge ice direwolf was howling beneath a flying direwolf banner. A man stood on its head.
"It is jumping!"
The giant direwolf leapt from the roof at least several dozen feet above the ground. Transparent steps of ice appeared beneath it, and the beast descended with graceful ease until it stood beside Margaery.
Robb, dressed in black military attire, jumped down from Bloodwind. Looking at Margaery's beautiful face and bright, heated eyes, he asked calmly, "You are Margaery Tyrell, the Rose of Highgarden? You are indeed beautiful. The name fits."
"You are too kind, Your Grace." Margaery rose and straightened her disordered gown. "You are just as rumor says. Handsome, and with the bearing of a king."
Robb glanced at the graceful lines she deliberately revealed and asked directly, "No need for us to trade compliments. As the Queen of Thorns's envoy, what gifts have you brought me?"
"What?"
Margaery had not understood the strange phrase about trading compliments, nor had she expected Robb's attention to fall on the gifts rather than on her. For a moment, her expression went blank.
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