Chapter 120: The Ill-Fated Flower of Highgarden
Highgarden had long fixed its gaze upon the crown of the Queen.
As the powerful lords with the highest paper statistics in the Seven Kingdoms—the only ones capable of rivaling Lord Tywin—House Tyrell had remained obediently dormant for over a decade after the end of the Usurper's War. They were waiting for Robert's sons to grow up. The Queen of Thorns had invested countless efforts into cultivating Margaery to be not only breathtakingly beautiful but also politically astute. The goal was clear: she was to be the Mother of the Realm.
With the wealth and strength of Highgarden, so long as they signaled their intent to Robert, offered a gesture of fealty, and put a bit more effort into the dowry... by providing enough sincerity and price, the goal was entirely achievable.
Supported by the strongest circle of kin and allies in the Seven Kingdoms, Margaery felt victory was within her grasp, brimming with confidence. Carrying the expectations of her family, she began to quietly win over high-ranking officials in the court, paving her way. She only waited for Robert to signal that he was seeking a Queen for Joffrey, at which point she would go all out and win the Queen bidding with an overwhelming advantage!
In a feudal society where class rigidity is so severe, a King who wants his powerful vassals to remain submissive and peaceful must give them something to strive for and hope for—marriage alliances are one such choice. By tradition, even if the King already has a candidate in mind, he must at least go through the motions. And as long as the gambit for the Queen's seat begins, the outcome is subject to variables.
Unfortunately, just as Prince Joffrey was approaching adulthood and House Tyrell was seeking a way to test Robert's leanings... Jon Arryn, who had already been contacted and had agreed to act as the matchmaker for Margaery and Joffrey, died.
The Hand died suddenly. To consolidate his rule, Robert conducted an emergency northern trek. Upon arriving at Winterfell, he swiftly settled the betrothal between Joffrey and Sansa with Eddard Stark... The just do it efficiency of Westeros' number one irritable brother was staggering. It all happened so suddenly and without warning, giving House Tyrell no chance to react. Margaery, who had meticulously prepared for the Queen's election, found the race over before it even began. Before she could even sign up, she had somehow lost to House Stark—who hadn't made a single arrangement for the bidding—and to Sansa Stark, a girl who was truly an innocent, clueless beauty.
She truly wanted to cry foul!
To spend over a decade laying a foundation and practicing hard for a competition, only to be told the event was canceled when she finally qualified to enter—the world changed too fast, and her strategies couldn't keep up with the rhythm. What was she to do?
Either change professions or quickly train for something else!
With no other choice, Margaery settled for the next best thing, taking advantage of the rebellion in the Vale to actively present herself to Robert. Although the gap between mistress and Queen seemed quite large, as long as the person beside her was the King, she could eventually recoup some of the losses from her early investment.
Who could have guessed that Robert, a man who had been a lecher his entire life, would choose this specific time to be cautious, refusing to touch the choice meat right in front of him!
Even if she wasn't like that Lyanna woman, her own beauty wasn't lacking. Was it that the Little Rose wasn't alluring enough, or was the King's standards simply too high?
Exhausting every trick her grandmother had taught her to no avail, Margaery refused to let her efforts die in vain. Under her repeated harassment and persistence, Robert finally relented and gave a hint: she should go look for Robb Stark.
The King wouldn't touch her, and the Crown Prince was officially betrothed to Sansa—the young couple would live together in the Red Fort, while the future father-in-law of the King sat on the Iron Throne managing the realm for Robert... House Tyrell indeed had vast lands and plenty of grain and soldiers, but prying a brick from the Hand's wall was truly a difficult task.
Realizing that was impossible, Margaery began to seriously consider Robert's suggestion. After careful deliberation, she suppressed her resentment and made a choice: officially abandon the King's line and take the Hand's route. To prevent another accident, she resolved to take the initiative. As soon as tonight's victory feast ended, she would use the excuse of admiring his bravery to actively contact Robb Stark.
He was just a hot-blooded young man, and they were of equal status. Surely, he couldn't resist her charms. By becoming the Hand's daughter-in-law and the future Lady Stark, she could enter the center of power through a curve—it was a bit complicated, but all roads lead to King's Landing.
Moments ago, Robb Stark, in the presence of the Seven Kingdoms' nobility and Margaery herself, requested Robert for a royal betrothal to Roslin Frey.
Where exactly did it go wrong? Was the stuff her grandmother taught her outdated, or was something wrong with the world? Why was everyone playing so far outside the lines? She hadn't done anything wrong, so why was everything going so poorly!?
Margaery nearly spat blood. Under these circumstances, how much self-restraint and upbringing did it take to keep a smile on her face and chat nonchalantly with the Night's Watch Chief Logistics Officer sitting beside her?
And yet, that damned Watchman actually had the nerve to look guarded and refuse to talk more with her. If she had a sword in her hand at that moment, Margaery felt she truly could have run that hateful man in black right through.
A clever person shouldn't speak in anger; roses have thorns, what use is a sword? Even if she had one, how could she hope to overcome a master who was said to have fought the Red Viper for dozens of rounds without losing ground? Margaery watched Robb, who looked blissful with Miss Frey in his arms, felt she needed to cool down, and likewise left the tent.
Then, she heard the two fellows—one in black, one in white; one young, one old—drinking and talking grandly about the realm, even mentioning her in their conversation.
Was she willing to marry Robb Stark? The man was currently holding a wedding with a Frey daughter and entering the bridal chamber tonight. What was the point of answering such a question now?
Under the moonlight, the air seemed to freeze. The same silence that had filled the tent moments ago descended upon the three of them.
Asking about someone's heart's desire is much like asking a woman her age; to be honest, it is rather improper... Barristan's bold question was purely a case of an elder asserting his status.
But to Egger's surprise, Margaery quickly answered: "The man I set my heart upon will be a hero of the age. One day, he will come to me wearing a crown, riding a white stallion, and name me the Queen of Love and Beauty. Alas... as it seems now, that is likely only a wishful dream of a poor girl whom no one wants."
"I see." Barristan tucked away his smile, nodded, and said no more.
...
Absolutely seamless, Egger marveled silently. He still had much to learn from this young girl regarding the speed of improvisation. Facing an inquiry from the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard—one that carried no hint of gossip or malice—to say nothing would seem too distant and defensive, but saying too much would lead to mistakes. Margaery's answer, tinged with a touch of melancholy, contained not a single lie and left no room for anyone to find fault. After all, what was wrong with a fifteen-year-old girl innocently dreaming of being a Queen? Could anyone possibly accuse her of being too ambitious?
(Compared to his own makeshift tactic of fleeing the feast, this clever girl's quick-witted response was on a much higher level.)
The Watchman admired Margaery in secret, unaware of the bitterness currently filling the girl's heart.
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