Relief and awe had crashed through her at the sight of the boy and his dragons. There were no lies, except the necessary ones. No schemes, only the righteous plot to put the true king on the Throne. Her Margeary's husband truly was a Targaryen. The dearest wish of her family had truly come true. To her shame, it had been all she could do not to weep.
She was not a particularly loyal woman, to anyone outside her family. Had never considered herself as such. But she had been a Tyrell long enough to know the debt they owed the Targaryens, and that their fates would be far better with a good Targaryen King on the Throne than that lumbering Baratheon lackwit.
Now, Loras rose from where he was kneeling on the floor, bleary-eyed from his long vigil, and turned towards Jon Stark - Jaehaerys Targaryen; Gods, it was a good plot when even she wondered what to call the boy. "Your Grace," Loras said, and Olenna was suddenly beyond grateful that Ser Arthur had ordered everyone out and banned any audience beyond the most trustworthy from witnessing her grandson's knighting, even if she had been displeased when she had first learnt of it. "I know it is customary to be appointed and recommended for the position, but your Kingsguard, while it has three noble knights, has four empty places. I would like to humbly request that you consider me for one of them."
Olenna held her breath. Like Loras said, it was rather irregular for a knight to request the honour. Still, she thought he had earned the right. Had he not already proven his loyalty to Jon? Was his loyalty towards Margaery - his sister - and the babe - his niece or nephew - not beyond question? He was a third son, and as such, being a Kingsguard was a worthy and honourable pursuit, one she commended him fully for wanting to take. Jon would take him. How could he not? The two were as close as Prince Rhaegar and Ser Arthur Dayne had ever been, and their blood united far more recently besides. Jon would not deny her boy this honour.
"I recommend the boy, Your Grace," Ser Arthur Dayne spoke up. "He is strong and honourable and deadly. Very few opponents will be able to stand up to him, in a tourney or on a battlefield." He paused for a moment. Then, "Let him pretend to be his sister's sworn sword. He is a third son; no one would question it, or the fact that his protection extends to you as well. And he is loyal. Of that, I have no doubt."
Jon smiled, and Olenna could breathe again, though she knew she would treasure Arthur Dayne's words for the rest of her life, whatever the outcome. She knew her grandson would as well. "I want to accept, Loras," Jon said, far less formal than the others had been. "You must know I do. But you would have to lie, to dishonour yourself, for a while at least.
Perhaps for good. Stay in the shadows without being able to fully explain your cause. I cannot ask that of you."
"That is why you are not asking," Loras said. "I am offering. I am asking. I want you on the Throne, like everyone who knows the truth. I want to protect you until you get there, and I want to protect you afterwards. Your Grace." The last was said with a cheeky smile, a jest and an afterthought all at once, and Olenna would have boxed the boy's ears if she did not know he and Jon had the closeness to warrant it. As it was, she was rather grateful this was the form her grandson's infatuation had taken, rather than some fruitless pursuit. No one could tear Jon and Margaery apart, she was grateful to know. Not even Loras, had he wanted
to, even had Jon been of the inclination. She was proud of how her grandson bore his pain, made something productive of it, even if she ached for him in the midst of her delight.
Jon's expression retained hesitation for long moments, and Olenna could not say she was surprised. The foolish boy had no wish for the Throne, even if he was clever enough to know that sooner or later he would have to take it or watch his family put to the sword. At long last, his face broke into a smile. He rose from his chair. "Then I accept," he said. The tiny dragon that had been hiding behind his chair hopped out of the shadows and climbed his cloak to sit on his shoulder. It was the green and black one, she noticed, rather than the black and white, which had taken to roaring at its brothers recently and ignoring its master while the black and green - Longclaw, she thought the boy had named it - followed Jaehaerys around unfalteringly. Again, Olenna was beyond grateful that only the most trusted people were here. If news of the dragons got out, it would move their schedule up. They could bear it, but not as easily as if they had been fully prepared. Still, the beasts never ceased to fill her with awe and joy. She could not believe she was one of the witnesses to the dragons' return. She was struck with happiness at being part of these times they lived in, where only a few years ago she could have sworn only sorrow and empty scheming would be left to them, only attempts at forging something good out of the ashes of the Seven Kingdoms of old. Now they had dragons, and a Dragon King, and her dragon great grandchild on the verge of being born, and Olenna was rendered near motionless by a fierce, proud joy that she thought would carry her through everything and anything. Jon, in front of her, turned to Ser Arthur. "I am afraid I do not know the vows," he admitted.
Ser Arthur smiled. "Only the rightful king and his true Kingsguard does," he said. "From everything I have heard, even Barristan's oath to the Usurper was incomplete." He turned to Loras. "Ser Loras," he said. "If everyone else will leave the room, and you, Ser Loras, repeat after me..."
Olenna Tyrell left the room with her head held high and her arm wrapped around her granddaughter's.