The rose arrives

"What are we showing? Who's coming?"

Marwyn looked utterly puzzled.

Darean had thought he had already read the two letters. It now seemed his maester still had a little "professional integrity."

So he told Marwyn:

"Open them and take a look. Lady Margaery Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden's daughter, is coming to visit us."

Marwyn carefully read through the rather short contents, his grizzled eyebrows rising slightly.

"What your House Hightower has been doing here has finally drawn the attention of the South's lofty masters."

There was a hint of gloating in the old fellow's tone.

Darean knew he had nothing against his family. He was simply a lifelong lover of entertainment who could not shake his bad habit of enjoying a spectacle.

Curling his lip, Darean said helplessly:

"Don't just stand there enjoying the show. This isn't simple. The little rose isn't coming with good intentions."

Marwyn clicked his tongue, looking disdainful.

"Are all you nobles like this? By my reckoning, she's your niece, isn't she? Do you really need to be so wary? I'd say find a handsome guard to show her around, give her good food and drink, and send her home."

Knowing the old fellow was talking nonsense, Darean felt even more helpless.

"Oh, please. I think the Queen of Thorns' precious darling may be aiming to put a queen's crown on her own head. A mere guard would be no use, however handsome he was."

"Besides, her name is Tyrell, and mine is Hightower. It's that simple."

Seemingly taken aback by Darean's startling words, Marwyn looked surprised.

"Well! A queen's crown? His Grace the King isn't all that old yet, as I recall. Do you mean Lady Olenna plans to marry her darling granddaughter to the crown prince?"

Whatever else might be said of Margaery Tyrell, Darean thought, her knack for getting husbands killed really is no joke.

Renly had planned to expose Cersei's disgrace, kick the Lannisters aside, and put the little rose on the queen's throne.

Yet before long, Robert's killer, a mysterious wild boar, had sent His Grace the King, undefeated in battle, to meet the Seven.

With the king dead and the Seven Kingdoms in chaos, House Tyrell had backed Renly Baratheon, and so the little rose had received her first queen's crown.

Unfortunately, Renly's sexual interests were rather unusual, and living like a widow with a husband still alive was hardly pleasant.

After that, with Renly dead, House Tyrell had submitted to the Iron Throne, and the little rose had been married off to Joffrey.

As it turned out, the poor emperor had dropped dead at the feast before he could even get to home base.

His younger brother, Tommen Baratheon, had taken up his brother's unfinished undertaking and had indeed managed to rise to the occasion.

What followed had ended with the mad queen mother setting off a great firework in King's Landing, and the king, dressed in fine robes, removing his golden crown and leaping from a high tower.

These things in his memories had not stirred much feeling before.

But now that he was living in this world, he could not help sighing over them.

To Darean, Margaery Tyrell was nothing more than a pitiful girl brainwashed by Olenna Redwyne.

The whole of House Tyrell had staked far too much on her.

What she herself thought did not matter at all.

Her family needed her to become queen and did not care in the slightest what sort of head sat beneath that crown.

With a soft sigh, Darean cast aside those tangled thoughts and returned his attention to the matter at hand.

"Perhaps. Let's leave that aside. Right now, we need to work out how to accommodate her."

"Baelor wrote to tell me he won't let her stay too long. Let's make arrangements for around five days."

Knowing the time for teasing was over, Marwyn grew serious.

"I know what you mean. Don't worry. I'm not one of those maesters from other great houses. You can leave these matters to me. I'll go find the steward now and discuss it."

Darean nodded. That was exactly what he meant.

When it came to knowing the domain, Marwyn, who had managed it for him in the early days, and the current steward certainly knew it better than he did.

Moreover, as older men well versed in the rules of Westeros, they knew better than he did what should be seen and what should not.

"Stop whatever you're working on for now, and tell the steward to do the same. Anything that isn't so urgent can wait. What I want to show her is a chaotic domain managed by an unremarkable son."

The old maester glanced at Darean, then at the orderly construction site before him. Stroking his beard, he chuckled.

"That'll be a little difficult, but the steward and I will do our best."

"Seriously, though, the key lies with you. You should know better than I do what noble girls of sixteen or seventeen are thinking. Have a proper talk with this niece of yours. Ideally, get her to cause us less trouble."

Darean swore at him:

"Piss off! You make it sound as though I'm one of those fellows who can't keep his cock in his trousers."

The old maester left with a chuckle. When matters arose, they had to be dealt with.

Fortunately, the domain was no longer as utterly destitute as it had been.

After this period of adjusting to one another, and one filling meal after another, the newly arrived subjects had gradually begun to feel at ease.

Marwyn believed that as long as they did not give this Rose of Highgarden too much time among the commoners, she would see nothing.

Tsk... am I thinking too narrowly of House Tyrell's pampered daughter?

Never mind. It was all Darean's idea.

Margaery Tyrell's carriage entered Oldtown.

In truth, this was the only route she could choose.

The little rose herself had not wanted to come to House Hightower's stronghold and draw everyone's attention.

But there was no helping it. The Kingsroad ran all the way from King's Landing to Highgarden, and farther south, there was only this one road to Oldtown.

As a noble young lady pampered in every sense of the word, she naturally could not take her guards along country tracks that did not even appear on the maps.

Besides, there was no way to guarantee her safety.

Who knew whether malicious eyes lurked in the dark woods around them?

After all, an unmarried girl of House Tyrell was a considerable fortune, in every sense of the word.

Even if something happened on Oldtown's territory, with Leyton Hightower's seasoned cunning, House Hightower would pay no price even if she ultimately lost her life.

At most, it would cost the head of some insignificant petty noble under him.

On the Kingsroad, however, beneath Earl Leyton's authority, no one yet dared do such a thing.

Lifting the curtain, she poked her young, lovely face out of the carriage decorated all over with thorny roses.

In the warm light, loose strands of brown hair swayed in the breeze along with her body.

Margaery Tyrell gazed at the vast city sprawled across the plain at the edge of her vision.

Whenever she saw this enormous port, more than twice the size of Highgarden, she always felt a kind of pressure.

With such a powerful vassal right beside her bed, Grandmother must find it very hard to sleep well.

Orderly formations of cavalry and infantry had already assembled before the north gate.

Banners bearing the White Tower on a Grey Field whipped wildly in the wind.

Deep, powerful horns sounded.

House Hightower was welcoming its guest from afar.