Voice of the Victors-Highgarden Rose
Highgarden's gardens remain evergreen, as if the wars and bloodshed of Westeros had never touched this paradise.
Sunlight filters through the vines, casting dappled shadows on the delicate stone path. A harpist sings songs of knights and princes, while a group of noble girls in elegant silk gowns chat and laugh, their voices as melodious as birdsong.
The noble girls were all beautiful, but the harpist's gaze always lingered on one girl in particular— Margaery Tyrell.
She is known as the Highgarden Rose.
And Margaery truly lived up to her name; among all the girls, she was the most radiant.
Whether it's the curve of her lips, her neatly styled slightly curled hair, or the fingers fiddling with her handkerchief, she's captivating enough to make you want to look at her again and again.
Margaery seemed very confident in her charm; she knew she was the center of attention wherever she went, and she enjoyed that feeling.
But she also knew that she couldn't make everyone like her just by looking at herself, unless Margaery instructed her female companion to pour a glass of sake, which the companion then presented to the harpist.
"Sister Margaery thinks you might be a little thirsty. Have a drink before you continue singing."
Looking at the shaky, fragmented sunlight reflected in the wine glass, the harpist's heart melted. He drank the glass to the brim, looked at Margaery, and Margaery glanced at him back.
Although she didn't show any expression, the harpist felt as if she were smiling at him!
So he put even more effort into the encore, and the theme of the song changed from praising the knight to celebrating the beautiful princess.
As the melodious music played, the girls began to talk about King's Landing's Landing.
"Our Little Rose will soon become queen! I wonder what the future queen thinks?"
"Thoughts?" Margaery's eyes gleamed with a hint of cunning. She suddenly reached out and pinched her companion's slightly chubby cheeks, making her companion look somewhat embarrassed.
"Let the Queen pinch your cheeks later and see if there's any difference, haha~"
The group of noble girls burst into laughter, creating a beautiful harmony.
Just then, a maid rushed over, her hurried footsteps like noise disrupting a musical piece.
"Miss Margaery, Lady Olenna requests your presence; she is waiting for you in the garden."
The current Steward of Highgarden is Margaery's cousin, known as the Gross "Garth".
The Tyrell language has endured; it is a vast family.
For close advisors such as the Highgarden Guard and the Steward of Highgarden, there is no need to assign them to outsiders; it is sufficient to use one's own family members.
Even the House Tyrell, unlike the Randyll Tarly, did not oppose their children going to the Citadel to become maesters.
House Tyrell even encouraged children from the collateral branches of the House Tyrell to go to the Citadel, become maesters, and then return to Highgarden.
In other words, all the maesters of Highgarden were Tyrell.
The Tyrell are simply an upgraded version of House Frey!
When Margaery arrived in the garden, she saw her uncle Garth, her Willas, and the maester Loga talking seriously to a small, old woman.
Margaery walked quickly toward them and greeted each of them.
"Uncle, brother, Master Loga."
Miss Margaery.
Margaery.
After greeting everyone, Margaery naturally stood closest to Olenna. The Queen of Thorns, Lady Olenna, was pruning a cluster of roses with her wrinkled yet remarkably steady hands, her sharp little shears precisely trimming away the excess branches, just as she had been pruning political branches throughout her life.
"Show it to her," Olenna said, Loga handed the letter to Margaery.
Compared to Mace's doting on the children, Olenna focused more on nurturing them, and immediately summoned Margaery after receiving news from King's Landing.
Margaery took the letter and began to read it carefully. After reading just the beginning, her eyes widened involuntarily.
" -Jon Snow." Margaery uttered the name, her brown eyes flashing not with fear, but with intense curiosity and scrutiny. "A North name that sounds so ordinary, yet he has accomplished feats that even the greatest lords could only dream of."
"What?" Willas chuckled gently, a hint of teasing in his voice. "Our dream of becoming queen has been shattered once again. You don't seem too heartbroken?" He was referring to Margaery's long-vanished engagement to Joffrey.
Margaery returned a smile brighter than the most beautiful rose in the garden, leaving the guards standing nearby speechless. "Brother," she said, "The crown is indeed alluring, but isn't the one who forges it even more fascinating?" Her gaze returned to the letter, "From his first display of brilliance on the the Green Fork, to his awe-inspiring victory over the Westerlands the Mountain, and now—he almost single-handedly lifted Stannis from military defeat to the pinnacle of political power. How will history record this name for a thousand years?"
Lady Olenna had been silent all along, finally put down her scissors and let out a soft, ambiguous snort. She looked at Garth beside her and said, "This lad reminds me of ' The Blood Wolf,' Cregan Stark." Her voice was hoarse but clear. "While the the Blacks and the Greens were exhausted from their battle, he marched south from the North, decisively establishing Aegon III as the new king. That period was known as the ' the Wolf's Run Era.' Now, the fate of the Seven Kingdoms is in the hands of a House Stark bastard. Those gentlemen who value bloodlines and honor must be utterly humiliated."
"And, Grandmother," Willas interjected, his analysis always hitting the nail on the head, "Jon faces a situation far more complex than that of the Duke of Cregan. He not only has to contend with external enemies, but also with internal ones—like his brother Robb, who has now become king."
Mentioning Robb, a barely perceptible hint of envy flickered in Olenna's still bright eyes. Eddard Stark was dead, but he had unleashed two such astonishing wolf cubs. Robb's record in the South was already dazzling, but compared to that, Jon's strike that went straight to the heart and dominated the entire battle was undoubtedly more shocking.
Her greatest regret in life was not being able to give birth to such a capable and resolute heir for House Tyrell. Garlan was brave, Loras was proud, and Willas was wise but disabled. Only Margaery inherited her full intelligence, but unfortunately, she was a girl.
"Can't the warm South produce resilient seeds?" Olenna muttered to herself, then her indomitable spirit returned. She turned to Margaery and decisively ordered, "Write to your father. Tell him to stop being such a hesitant fat pigeon! Make him cooperate with Jon Snow's actions immediately and unequivocally."
"Are they going to make a move against the Lannister?" Loga confirmed.
"Of course!" Olenna's tone was unequivocal. "Now is not the time for hypocritical honors!"
There aren't that many family relationships to sort out between Tyrell and Lannister!
Just then, the maid who had brought Margaery hurriedly delivered another secret letter. It was from Mace, asking her mother whether pursuing Tywin was "undignified." Olenna unfolded the letter, glanced at it, and her wrinkles deepened with anger. She almost took a deep breath to suppress her displeasure, handing the letter over while complaining to her grandchildren, "That fool! He didn't care about losing face when we suffered defeat and lost benefits, but now that it's time to consolidate our gains, he's starting to worry about his fat face!"
The Queen of Thorns's scathing remarks caused Willas and Margaery, the brother and sister, to simultaneously turn their heads away, pretending not to have heard.
Scholar Loga and Steward Garth also pretended to speak.
For Tyrell, the future of the game has become unpredictable because of Jon Snow, a piece that suddenly appeared out of nowhere.