The Targaryens' black banner bearing a three-headed red dragon had already risen over King's Landing once more, and power over the Iron Throne had changed hands again.
Yet far to the south, the first report that the true dragon had returned to Westeros and landed on Dragonstone had only just reached Highgarden, carried by ravens across the vast Stormlands and the whole of the Reach.
Dorne bordered the Narrow Sea and faced the Stormlands across the water-the Martells had long been watching every stirring on the opposite shore.
Highgarden lay deep inland in the Reach. Its roses were accustomed to peaceful, prosperous lives, relying entirely on ravens relaying messages across more than half of Westeros. Naturally, their news arrived several beats behind that of coastal Sunspear.
Afternoon sunlight was always strongest in the Reach.
Golden light spilled over Highgarden's rose gardens. Red, yellow, and pink roses climbed in countless profusion, weaving a flowing tapestry of brilliant color.
A rich, sweet fragrance filled the air, sweet enough to make one dizzy, masking the suffocating schemes and helplessness lurking deep within the castle.
Olenna Redwyne, known as the Queen of Thorns, sat in an intricately carved oak chair, her withered hands resting on its arms. Her gaze was mild, yet as precise as a scalpel as it slowly passed over the family gathered around the courtyard's stone table.
Fine pastries and fruit wine stood on the table. Her children and grandchildren sat or stood nearby, looking warm and harmonious, the very picture of the happy families celebrated in tales.
But Olenna felt only a smoldering anger that tightened her throat. She wanted to turn at once, fetch the wooden spoon hanging on the kitchen wall, and beat some sense into the foolish son before her who had disgraced her.
Mace Tyrell, Lord