On the Hand of the King, and disappearances

Little Rose, I never would have guessed. You spent all your days in the South and never took part in the politics of King's Landing, yet you had a pretty good grasp of things.

Darean thought.

Robert had grown considerably more indolent over the years, spending every day on either women or drink. One look at the belly he could no longer squeeze into his armor was enough to tell.

Though he had long since lost his former valor, there was no denying that drink had not completely rotted the man's brain.

He knew he had become king thanks to the support of four great houses: Stark, Tully, Arryn, and his own Baratheon.

They were his true power base.

That was why, after Jon Arryn's sudden death, he had flatly rejected the suggestion of summoning Tywin to King's Landing to serve as Hand of the King. Instead, he had traveled all that way north, to the end of the world, to bring his good brother into the cesspool that was King's Landing.

The Vale of Arryn had a young lord whose rule was uncertain, while the old lord of the Riverlands had long been bedridden, and his heir was not fit for great responsibilities.

That was why Robert had chosen to bring Eddard Stark south.

"Isn't that what you think?"

Margaery Tyrell kept her eyes fixed on Darean.

Her grandmother had instructed her to test the quality of this piece House Hightower had put into play.

Over the past few days, Darean had shown plenty of worldly ignorance and the habits of a wastrel. Yet the sense that his entire domain was a seamless whole, giving her nowhere to sink her teeth in, had made Margaery dimly realize that the man before her was surely no simple character.

That was why she had deliberately brought up such an ill-timed topic: she wanted to hear how Darean would answer.

After all, she had learned the "correct answer" from her grandmother.

Margaery believed her grandmother could not be wrong.

After turning it over in his mind, Darean smiled slightly and said:

"Actually, I think His Grace the King would be best served by making your father his Hand."

Little Rose froze.

Her fingers, which had been tapping on the table, unconsciously stopped as well.

That answer was truly beyond anything she had expected.

Give the position to her father?

Though she viewed him through a favorable lens, Margaery still knew exactly what sort of man her father was.

However improper it was to say so, everyone throughout the Seven Kingdoms knew the name "Inflatable Fish," and she had witnessed her grandmother's daily mockery and criticism of her father.

Send her father to King's Landing?

What on earth was Darean thinking?

Seeing the confusion in Little Rose's eyes, Darean continued explaining:

"No offense, Margaery, but have you ever considered what His Grace the King actually wants?"

"More precisely, what sort of Hand does he need?"

Without waiting for her answer, Darean offered his own view.

"He needs this..."

He fished a silver stag from his pocket and tossed it onto the table, then grabbed the wine bottle resting there:

"And he needs this."

"Think about it. Whoever can give him as much of those things as he wants is a good Hand."

"Lord Tywin could have solved that problem, but the king isn't stupid. He knows that if he gives any more ground to House Lannister, he might as well hand over the throne."

"So, among the Seven Kingdoms right now, isn't your wealthy House Tyrell precisely the one that can solve this problem?"

"You have plenty of Gold Dragons, and more importantly, enough grain and troops. With your support, would King Robert still need to worry about what Tywin might do?"

"If you ask me, marry you to Joffrey and send your father to King's Landing as Hand, and His Grace could keep enjoying his carefree days for at least another few decades."

Darean finished speaking.

At that last sentence, Margaery seemed unable to maintain her composure. She rose straight from her chair, her tone distinctly displeased:

"Dareon Hightower, take that back. That is not something a gentleman should say!"

Who are you putting on this act for? Darean thought.

He shrugged and said nothing.

He had never been obliged to go along with her wishes in everything anyway.

The acting of the past few days had already exhausted his patience, and this clumsy attempt to sound him out irritated him all the more.

Since that was the case, he might as well give her a proper warning. Ideally, it would make this woman get the hell out of here as soon as possible.

He did not care whether he acquired a reputation for being ill-mannered.

What a joke!

A year from now, whoever could fight would call the shots in Westeros!

Otherwise, why would he, Darean, forgo the comfortable life of the Hightower and come here to build a domain of his own?

Sneering inwardly, Darean looked toward the gloomy northern sky.

He hoped Marwyn had already sent his inquiry to Baelor.

When would days like these finally end?

Because of the torrential rain, the raven flying north from New Land Town had yet to reach Oldtown.

The masters of the Hightower, meanwhile, had run into trouble.

"Baelor, we really need to take this matter seriously."

In the same familiar family council chamber, Guncer and Baelor sat facing each other.

Outside the window, sheets of rain howled past, while the flickering candlelight on the table illuminated the two men's faces.

"What exactly happened? Enrys, Dawn, and Evelyn... why would they disappear without any reason?"

Baelor pinched the bridge of his nose, troubled.

After leaving his father and suffering nightmares for two nights in a row, he had finally convinced himself that his earlier absurd notion was utterly impossible.

Yet his good mood had lasted only a day before Guncer brought him an unusual piece of news:

Over the past few days, a total of three Hightowers living in the Hightower had gone missing!

When he first heard that, Baelor thought he was hearing things.

But Guncer showed no sign of joking.

He meant it literally. Missing. They were gone.

Though they belonged to distant branches of the family and it was hardly a matter of life and death, they had indeed disappeared inside the Hightower. As its chief steward, he had to find them.

At his command, the Hightower was searched from top to bottom, leaving no stone unturned.

Yet, as if the place were haunted, a whole day passed without any results.

The three had vanished into thin air, without so much as a hair to be found.

Though no one dared rush up to Baelor and bother him, expecting him to pretend this had never happened was impossible.

And so the pressure fell on Guncer, who came looking for his dear elder brother.

"I heard the old man hasn't had much of an appetite lately?"

Seeing Baelor remain silent, Guncer changed the subject.

At the mention of that, the smell of blood that had finally faded from Baelor's nostrils seemed to return.

But he could not tell Guncer about it. He could only swallow hard and wave a hand:

"It's nothing, nothing. I went to see Father. He's doing very well."

Guncer shrugged and asked no further questions.

Just then, however, someone knocked at the half-open oak door and pushed it open.

After receiving permission, a guard quickly approached Guncer and whispered a few words in his ear.

"What happened?"

Once the room was quiet again, Baelor frowned and asked Guncer, who wore an odd expression across from him.

"Baelor... my men tell me someone saw the three of them... being summoned away by our father."

With a crash, thunder rang through the gray sky outside the window.