After lying quiet for a hundred years since the devastating civil war known as the Dance of the Dragons, House Hightower suddenly made a move.
Naturally, this could not escape the Tyrells, whose gaze stretched across the entire South.
By the middle of the year 297 of the Conquest Calendar, a great deal of information had been gathered.
Looking over the reports, true and false alike, that her subordinates had gone to such lengths to collect, Olenna Redwyne took a small sip of Golden Wine.
Born on the Arbor, she loved this taste from her memories above all others.
Even though she had been the true hand at Highgarden's helm for decades.
What could she do, having given birth to that wretched son, Mace Tyrell, so elegantly nicknamed "Inflatable Fish"?
If Highgarden were left in his hands, chaos would probably break out everywhere before long.
Though she had long since lost her teeth, that did not stop her from savoring the fine wine House Redwyne supplied.
"Grandmother, what do you think Earl Leyton is trying to do?"
A sweet female voice sounded behind the Queen of Thorns.
A pair of fair hands settled on Olenna Redwyne's shoulders, kneading with just the right amount of pressure.
A heartfelt smile spread across her aged face, as withered as tree bark. Lady Olenna set down her cup, took one of those hands, and said with a soft laugh:
"Margaery, it seems you've taken an interest in this too?"
Wearing an emerald-green gown trimmed in gold, Margaery Tyrell alighted before her grandmother like a fluttering butterfly.
Her chestnut hair fell in curls over her shoulders.
She smiled and said:
"It's not so much that I'm interested, Grandmother. Life has simply been so dull lately. It's rare to have something worth paying attention to."
With that, she picked up a densely written report.
After studying it for a while with furrowed brows, she voiced a puzzled question through her rosy lips:
"Dareon Hightower... who is that?"
Though somewhat displeased that her granddaughter had forgotten the name of a male member of House Hightower, the Queen of Thorns showed rare patience:
"Leyton Hightower's youngest son. He's the same age as you. Compared with his elder brothers, he simply isn't very well known."
Margaery blinked and said with a smile:
"So, is he a little pawn the Hightowers have thrown out to draw our attention?"
The Queen of Thorns did not answer that question.
Because she, too, was uncertain about the situation.
House Hightower had suddenly made a major move, but because of the Ancient Pact, Highgarden's authority over Oldtown was extremely limited.
And so, all manner of jumbled information had suddenly come flooding in at once.
For the moment, even this wise ruler of Highgarden could not discern House Hightower's true intentions.
What exactly were they trying to do?
Every noble who knew of the matter wanted the answer to that question.
"Perhaps. But Margaery, remember this: anyone they throw out to draw everyone's attention certainly won't be a fool."
"The glory of the Hightower has shone over that land for thousands of years. They won't allow some wastrel who does nothing but grope maids' bottoms to disgrace their family."
"Their long history is a heavy shackle. We don't have that, which is why you can live as happily as you do now."
The Queen of Thorns admonished her granddaughter.
Her son was already a lost cause, so this ambitious ruler of the South had placed all her hopes in the third generation.
So far, the one who pleased her most was the Margaery standing before her.
Just look at that lovely face the gods had bestowed upon her.
She deserved a queen's crown!
"I understand, Grandmother. Then what can we do now?"
Margaery put on an obedient expression.
Her grandmother was a very sharp-tongued woman. If she did not listen obediently, a few hours later she would feel that going to the Stranger and having her throat slit would be easier.
Extending a hand adorned with a jade thumb ring, the Queen of Thorns tapped repeatedly on the intricately carved oak tabletop and asked her granddaughter:
"What do you think we should do?"
Without waiting for Margaery to reply, she gave the answer herself:
"No, we can do nothing. Margaery, don't underestimate the Hightowers' power."
"Remember, it was House Gardener of old that they submitted to."
"And now, even though we Tyrells have put down roots here for more than two hundred years."
"The fragrance of roses still cannot make the proud kings of the tower rein in the flames that light up the sky even a little."
"Let's wait a little longer, until more definite news arrives."
Margaery said:
"Grandmother, you've always taught me to take the initiative when something happens. If we sit and wait, we'll be left with nothing."
The Queen of Thorns finally reverted to her impatient self.
Her tone cooled:
"Is that so? Then how do you intend to take the initiative?"
"Let me tell you, Leyton Hightower need only open his vault, wherever he's hidden it, and he could instantly raise ten thousand of the best-equipped troops in Oldtown."
"Think about the distance between Oldtown and Highgarden."
"If you don't want to be captured one day and sent to warm that Dareon Hightower's bed, behave yourself."
At the end, she added:
"Keep yourself in line for the time being. The family will have need of you."
New Land Village.
Run ragged, Darean had no time to concern himself with some old woman talking about him hundreds of miles away.
Who had time for that!
However good things looked on paper, once it came to putting them into practice, they were almost certain to become a tangled mess.
After the "steward" arrived, he moved straight into Darean's room and began issuing orders with practiced ease.
And so the cavalrymen were sent out with experienced stonemasons to find suitable quarry sites.
The five hundred newcomers began setting up camp, and the timber stored in the warehouse was exhausted in just three days.
Darean had to assign people to distribute food to them and deal with all manner of problems.
The steward's arrival had indeed solved the problem of his not knowing how to carry out construction.
Yet this gentleman had also dumped every possible issue onto him, a mere knight.
After all, he was the undisputed master of this land.
Clyson reported that the small band of knights from Sunflower Hall who had been prowling around the borders of the domain had withdrawn several days earlier.
Presumably, someone had already had a word with Brandon Cuy.
That was just as well. Having a reasonably clearheaded neighbor was no bad thing.
What kept Darean busy now was allocating resources to build a large barracks north of New Land Village.
The ravens had proved useful.
Word from Oldtown said that the first contingent of two hundred guards was already on its way.
In his letter, Baelor told Darean to be wary of any problems that might arise.
Before the guards arrived, the armed force here could not guarantee security at all.
Twenty swords could not keep watch over a hundred people, much less six hundred.
The night before dawn was the darkest.
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