Not far from Renly's lavish tent, another camp bearing the golden rose drew just as much attention.
House Tyrell's sprawling cluster of tents was adorned with intricate patterns of vines and flowers, and the scent of real roses filled the air.
Attendants in fine green livery came and went, displaying the extravagance of the wealthiest house in the Reach.
Eddard Stark had just descended from the king's dais, his heart heavy with frustration.
Robert indulged in tourneys and feasts, turning a deaf ear to the mountains of state business and astronomical debts.
Cersei's cold gaze felt like a thorn in his back.
He needed some air, away from those false faces.
Without realizing it, he had wandered near House Tyrell's camp.
At the sight of the banners bearing a blooming golden rose, Renly's handsome face and his remark about "Margaery Tyrell resembling Lyanna" sprang into his mind.
Stannis's warning, the ambitions of Renly and the Tyrells, and the accusation of murder pointing to Renly tangled together into a hopeless knot.
He wondered whether he might sound out the Tyrells.
Could he learn just how much they knew of Renly's plans, and how deeply they were involved?
He had barely taken a few more steps when he spotted Mace Tyrell, Governor of the Reach, Lord of Highgarden, and the current Master of Ships.
The lord was tall and somewhat stout, dressed in green brocade embroidered with gold thread, with an enormous golden rose brooch glittering in the sunlight.
He stood before his largest tent, speaking loudly to his second son, Garlan Tyrell, and several vassals. His voice was booming and confident, even somewhat self-satisfied.
"Lord Hand!"
Seeing the Warden of the North approach, Lord Mace broke off and put on a courteous smile, though it did not reach his eyes.
"What