Arrival

"Welcome, Lady Margaery. May the light of the High Tower illuminate your path."

Mounted on a tall grey horse, Baelor Hightower, who had found a moment to spare, gently squeezed his horse's flanks and rode forward to greet her.

Members of House Hightower were particularly fond of slipping their house words into formal pleasantries.

Before another of her uncles, Margaery Tyrell certainly could not put on airs as the young lady of House Tyrell.

After all, he was a generation above her, and as House Hightower's first heir, he held considerable status.

For him to greet her first was already a considerable courtesy.

Her fine noble upbringing allowed Margaery Tyrell to assess the situation at once.

With a maid supporting her arm, the Little Rose walked gracefully toward Baelor, a sweet smile on her face, and curtsied.

"Thank you for coming to welcome me in person. I am deeply honored."

Tilting her head to glance at the orderly ranks behind him, she felt somewhat puzzled.

Why had House Hightower's guards formed up again?

Surely even her father would not receive such treatment?

In all the South, her grandmother was probably the only person worth such trouble to the aloof Old Man of Oldtown.

Seeming to notice the puzzlement in Margaery Tyrell's eyes, Baelor smiled faintly and stepped aside to clear her view.

"Lady Margaery, House Hightower will send three hundred elite household soldiers to escort you to my brother Darean's lands."

"I hear Dornish bandits from Starfall have been seen along the road there recently. This is for your safety."

"A beautiful rose should never wither here."

Baelor added one final, less elegant remark.

"Damned Dornishmen!"

Momentarily taken aback, Margaery recovered and could only echo quietly:

"Damned Dornishmen."

There was no helping it. In the Reach, cursing the Dornish was the very definition of political correctness.

Looking at the troops standing in solemn ranks, she felt distinctly uncomfortable, having rarely witnessed such a scene.

But she knew very well that she now represented House Tyrell.

Even if the two sides were, in fact, very close blood relations.

Composing herself and drawing a deep breath, Margaery said with a smile:

"Thank you for your consideration, Ser Baelor. Then I shall entrust my safety to these brave warriors."

Even now, Margaery had not worked out why Baelor Hightower had arrived with such an imposing military display.

She did not believe a word of the talk about Dornish bandits.

Under the Old Man of Oldtown's rule, who would be foolish enough to provoke him?

But now she was the one with no grounds to refuse.

And so, she could only finish exchanging pleasantries with a stiff smile and steel herself to return to her carriage.

The wheels rattled, carrying the young lady of the South into a forest of House Hightower's blades, spears, swords, and halberds.

The lilting, rhythmic horns sounded once more, and the thunder of warhorses' hooves battered her eardrums.

Baelor did not accompany them. Coming out to greet her was enough.

Margaery Tyrell's current standing did not warrant the heir to House Hightower accompanying her the whole way.

Only after secretly lifting the curtain and discovering that she had left Oldtown far behind and was heading south did Margaery breathe a slight sigh of relief.

Though she knew nothing of military matters, judging by what she had just seen, this force in the Old Man of Oldtown's hands was certainly far stronger than her own house's hastily levied troops.

She had heard that Lord Tywin commanded the most powerful standing army in all Westeros.

What would that look like?

Suddenly, Baelor's face surfaced in Margaery's mind.

She recalled one detail:

"Why did I see a flash of black in Ser Baelor's pupils?"

The girl's puzzled murmur echoed through the swaying carriage.

Yet no one answered her.

The moment word arrived that Margaery Tyrell, Highgarden's treasured daughter, was coming to New Land Town, Marwyn and the steward were immediately overwhelmed with work.

The blast furnace, which had only just produced a small pile of iron ingots, was urgently shut down.

News that the domain produced iron ore was strictly suppressed.

Though dedicated crews had already been working in shifts for fear of the news leaking.

If New Land Town's walls had already been built and the troops were fully stationed, exposure would have been no great matter.

But until then, caution came first.

Who knew what rotten things those people might do?

The steward had taken precautions early on, telling all the smiths who remained in New Land Town that this batch of ore had come as aid from the house.

As for the craftsmen who had gone to the ore vein, they were simply forbidden to return for now.

For the time being, the entire domain would act as though they did not exist.

There was no knowing whether they could keep it hidden.

Baelor had already sent a raven that reached the domain ahead of Margaery.

Fortunately, Margaery was only bringing a small squad of guards this time.

As long as they kept an eye on these people, there would be no great problem.

"We need not move the grain. The whole Seven Kingdoms knows our house is wealthy."

"So leaving an empty warehouse would only arouse suspicion."

"We might as well open the warehouse and let them look. The Tyrells never care how much flour their vassals have in their granaries."

That was what the steward told Darean.

It made sense, so that was what they did.

As for the other things, the steward moved some of them out as he saw fit.

Everyone throughout the domain had made their preparations and quietly awaited Margaery Tyrell's "visit of inspection and guidance."

They did not have to wait long. At dusk on the third day after Baelor sent his message, the thorned rose banner and the White Tower on a Grey Field appeared on the northern horizon.

Fully armored troops stood in ranks on either side, representing the two most powerful forces in the South.

Having received word well in advance, Darean waited at the end of the road with his "ministers."

There were no bards to sing the praises of the scene before them, nor any horn blowers to set the mood.

The fierce summer wind scattered the sunset clouds, revealing the blood-red setting sun among them.

This was not a good time for a welcome, but it hardly mattered.

Darean urged his horse forward and repeated, almost exactly, what Baelor had done outside Oldtown.

Every member of the family knew this routine well, whether or not they were as useless as Humfrey.

For House Hightower, you could be incompetent, and you could be lost in drink.

But when the house needed you, you must at least never falter in public.

Thus, these empty pleasantries posed no difficulty whatsoever for Darean.

"Welcome, Lady Margaery Tyrell. I have prepared the finest supper and the warmest, cleanest bed in my domain for you."

"They may be nothing compared with your life at Highgarden, but I swear in the name of the Seven that they are absolutely the best this little place of mine has to offer."

Wearing a polite smile, Darean extended a hand and welcomed the Little Rose into his domain.

Baelor, hurry up and put some effort into it.

I really don't want to spend every day entertaining this grand lady.

Darean thought as he looked at the churning waters of the Sunset Sea.