Chapter Text
Tumbleton.
The light gray marble hall with numerous columns of Tumbleton Castle was large enough to accommodate several hundred people.
This is exactly what happened to the castle of the no longer young Lord Artys. For House Foutley, one could say, it became an honor that it was in their fortress that the future king of Westeros, Prince Aegon, knighted warriors from the Golden Company, as well as the houses of the Stormlands, who distinguished themselves in the last battle.
Of course, to be called a king, the prince first needs to take the Capital and sit on the Iron Throne, but Lord Artys did not talk about this. Moreover, he tried not to even think about it. There was no need to voice such seditious thoughts in the presence of an arrogant green youth who had not yet tasted the bitterness of defeat and had no experience in ruling.
However, not only Lord Artys understood this fact, but also the Prince's Hand, Lord Connington. Therefore, Lord Jon was nervous, although it did not seem so outwardly. He and Aegon were about to meet with the Tyrells. An alliance with them was vital for the Prince if he wanted to end the war before the full frost set in. For this, Lord Jon had a detailed conversation with the young man alone. The previous meeting with the Martell delegation could not be called entirely successful. In a conversation with Prince Oberyn and his daughters, Jon and Aegon had a strong feeling that they were being provoked into emotions. The Dornishmen's questions were uncomfortable and tense, and Connington sometimes noticed how Aegon blushed several times from the barbed jokes. Of course, the negotiations with the Martells could not be called unsuccessful, but an unpleasant aftertaste still remained. Oberyn, after such negotiations, confessed to Connington that when members of House Tyrell arrived, Lady Olenna would be among them. He admitted that this woman had received the nickname "Queen of Thorns" for a reason, so he advised Aegon to try to be more reserved in conversations with the Tyrells than with the Dornishmen.
Perhaps the words of the Dornish prince could be called a lie or an exaggeration. Lord Connington had never met Lady Olenna and could not say anything about her. However, for some reason he did not doubt that Prince Oberyn's warning was true. This did not improve Lord Connington's mood. Sometimes he caught himself thinking that there was no point in worrying, because the Tyrells suffered from the Lannisters no less than the Targaryens. And the fact that they agreed to come to Tumbleton to discuss an alliance says a lot.
"For example, using your influence on the prince for the sake of power." — flashed through Lord Connington's mind as he stood at the Prince's right hand in the hall, watching Aegon knight another mercenary from the Golden Company with the Valyrian sword Blackfire.
The new knight rose to the general applause of the crowd, turned and walked towards the other knights.
The wave of applause died down, and the herald stepped forward again.
"The delegation of House Tyrell has arrived!" the herald shouted.
The trumpets blared a welcoming melody, and then the door opened and people began to enter the hall. A guard carried the banner of House Tyrell, and behind him followed more guards, and with them the family of House Tyrell itself. The head of the house Mace Tyrell, his wife Lady Alleria Tyrell, their sons Willas and Loras, and finally Lady Margaery Tyrell. The last of the family procession was an elderly woman who looked extremely decrepit and frail. Along with them walked the ladies of other houses, the maids of honor and the servants.
"We are pleased to welcome House Tyrell, who have graciously agreed to answer the call of the royal house. For three hundred years the Tyrells have been loyal supporters of House Targaryen, and we value the friendship and alliance between our houses," the prince began to "spray" pleasantries.
He tried to smile charmingly, and the Lord of Griffin's Roost hoped that the Tyrells would at least appreciate the flattery of his ward.
"It is an honor to be present before you, Your Grace," said Lord Mace Tyrell.
The booming voice and important tone of Lord Highgarden left Lord Connington with a slight and barely noticeable feeling of farce and pretense.
The Tyrells all knelt before the standing prince. Only Lady Olenna stood slightly hunched over, demonstrating the problems of age, and Lord Willas stood holding a cane in his hand. The rumors about the limp of the next Lord of the Reach were true.
Lord Connington breathed a sigh of relief. At least the possibility of an alliance with the Reach was still high, which meant that Aegon still had every chance of marrying.
"House Targaryen values your loyalty and is ready to thank House Tyrell! Tonight there will be a feast in your honor!" Aegon said loudly.
Lord Mace, smiling smugly, obligingly bowed his head, and the hall burst into applause.
***
The Great Hall was filled with lords, most of whom were seated at the table and feasting, although there were also those lords who stood and animatedly conversed with each other. The clink of cups and cutlery, laughter and a cacophony of voices. Lord Connington watched as Prince Aegon animatedly conversed with Lady Margaery, who in return smiled sweetly and charmingly at him.
This whole atmosphere of celebration very much reminded the Lord Hand of the distant times of the past, when Tumbleton Hall turned into the Red Keep, and instead of Aegon and Margaery stood the king, Prince Rhaegar and his wife Elia Martell. This was the time when madness had not yet completely consumed Aerys II, and the Baratheons, Starks and Lannisters had not struck their vile blow and usurped the throne.
"He looks quite pleased."
A quiet voice brought Connington back from his memories. However, he did not turn his head, knowing who was speaking.
"Sometimes I allow myself a moment of weakness to be happy for him. I want to be proud of what a worthy prince he is growing up to be. I stop myself, because I see that not everything works out for him and he has much to learn."
"You should not worry too much about this, my lord. Rhaegar's son is here, in Westeros, and with an army at his back. Half of what was planned has already been done..."
"But the other half of the work has yet to be done. The Lannisters are still alive, and the Capital has not yet fallen," Lord Connington objected.
"Yes. However, the hour is near. What we have waited for many years, we will receive by the end of this year."
"Yea! I am glad to see you, Prince Oberyn, although I must admit that I did not expect you to appear." Lord Connington suddenly changed the subject.
"Indeed?" the Dornish prince chuckled.
"You were not at the ceremony," the Lord Hand hinted.
"My apologies. I replace the dull initiation into knighthood and empty words of welcome to guests with activities that stir my blood." the prince's face was still smiling faintly.
"I have heard," Lord Connington admitted grimly, remembering the Red Viper's reputation. "How is your brother?"
"Alas, not much better. The gout stubbornly refuses to disappear. However, he remains clear-headed. Though his body is weak, his spirit is strong."
"I can only wish your brother a speedy recovery," Connington said, smiling tightly.
"Thank you. You could use one, too," Oberyn thought.
"Forgive me. I do not understand you?" — said Lord Connington.
"Oh, Yea!" the prince chuckled, though Old Griff knew it was a false grin. "I just remembered that before you came to the shores of Westeros, you sailed to Princess Daenerys in Meereen."
"That's right," the Lord Hand confirmed, frowning.
"Through Chroyan and Old Valyria," Martell said, his tone now serious.
The bewilderment vanished from the Lord Hand's face. Instead, there was tension.
"And what troubles you?" Connington asked in a businesslike tone.
"What troubles me? You were traveling through extremely dangerous lands, where you could easily catch any dangerous disease. But the worst thing is that you were dragging the crown prince along with you through these lands, who was traveling as far as he could have, like a vagabond, to see Princess Daenerys for her dragons. And when your journey was almost complete, you suddenly change direction and set off for Westeros. You have told us so many times that you would risk your life for your prince, but instead you risked him? Isn't that too reckless?"
The prince's voice sounded tense, but Lord Connington was not frightened, but only angered.
"I want to remind you that the idea of leaving Meereen and sailing to Westeros belongs to my prince, who decided that he would not appear before the princess empty-handed. And he was prompted to do this by the Imp of the Lannisters. A man who is alive thanks to you. What made you speak out in that duel in his defense?"
"I could not resist the temptation to spoil the Lannisters' mood. Figuratively speaking, it was my little revenge." - the Dornishman smiled, although his smile was also far from sincere.
“Wonderful! You risked your life to protect a Lannister. For your own pride, you risked your brother’s cause! A cause that Prince Doran spent so much time, effort, and patience on. And now, thanks to your efforts, the Lannister dwarf is now with Daenerys, and only the Seven know what kind of shady advice he gives her. And here we are, risking everything we have, just because you could not resist the temptation to tear off the Lion’s whiskers. Isn’t that too reckless?”
The blow was quite noticeable, but Prince Oberyn smiled wryly.
"This is much more than vanity. This is the right of revenge. My brother could talk about his great plans as much as he wanted, but while he sat and believed in his plans, I had to watch with pain as the Lannisters gained power with each passing year, and our justice, like sand, flowed from our hands. It was enough for me to slightly push this nest to alarm the scavengers there. And we see the result already." - said the prince, pointing to his nephew and Lady Margaery, whose palm Prince Aegon very gallantly kissed before leaving the future Queen Margaery of House Tyrell.
"Now the Lannisters have fallen out with all the great houses. All we can do is take advantage of the moment. It's not so bad after all," the Red Viper finished his thought.
"I would very much like to hope that your timing is right, Prince Oberyn," Lord Connington said.
He nodded to the Dornishman and walked down the hall, walking among the crowd of lords and knights.
***
"I take it you are now free to talk, my lord?" a charming female voice suddenly came from behind him. Lord Connington turned around and saw that a beautiful girl with light brown hair and brown eyes was standing before him.
"Lady Margaery. What is it about me that has so attracted your lovely attention?" Lord Connington asked flatteringly.
"You are very kind, Lord Connington. My grandmother would like to speak with you, if you would consider it an honor to share a little of your time with her." The young Rose of Highgarden smiled sweetly.
"I cannot refuse you, my lady." Lord Connington smiled back, although he was not at ease.
Lady Margaery made a perfect curtsey and, turning, headed towards the exit of the hall.
They walked along the corridor, where there was a servant greater than the representatives of the noble houses. The longer they walked, the less people saw them, until the corridor was completely empty. The silence of the room was broken only by the noise from the hall, which was barely audible. Less than a minute later, they turned aside and came to a large double door. Lady Margaery knocked and the door was opened by two tall, burly guards who, to top it all off, were also born twins.
The room was dimly lit and only the burning candles and the moonlight pouring through the balcony window helped to navigate the room.
In the center of the room there was a round table with a candelabrum with candles on it, as well as plates with food, most of which were cheeses, fruits and wine.
"Do not be afraid of an old woman. Come closer," a wooden old voice was heard.
Lord Griff thought her words were crude irony and mockery. He realized that he had come to one of the most dangerous and powerful people on this continent as soon as he entered the room. To be afraid of her is the right thing to do.
"I am glad to see you, Lady Olenna," Lord Jon said in a tense tone.
Really? Well! It's nice to know that someone else enjoys my company. Sit down," she invited the old woman.
Lord Connington somehow thought he heard a hint of sarcasm in her words. It seemed that this woman had been very well nicknamed "The Queen of Thorns."
"I would offer you to dine on what's on the table, but I think you did a good job at the feast." the old woman said.
"Properly said." her interlocutor said briefly.
"I've heard a lot about you from Lord Connington." Lady Olenna said.
"Really?" Jon Griff asked coldly.
The old woman chuckled.
"You were thought dead. King Robert, I recall, even freed you from Aerys's punishment. But you still did not return to Westeros." the old lady hinted.
It did not escape Old Griff's notice that she did not call Robert a usurper.
"To be fair, I do not think my punishment is unjustified. I have failed many. I have failed Rhaegar."
The last words were spoken with pain in her voice.
"So you have chosen to bear the burden of guilt by protecting Rhaegar's heir in the lands of Essos?" Lady Olenna asked.
"I have chosen to atone for my guilt by protecting Rhaegar's heir and helping to reclaim what is rightfully his."
"But not alone. You sought an alliance with us for a reason," the Queen of Thorns chided.
There was a moment of silence, then a tense one. Lady Olenna's gaze was fixed on him, unblinking.
"I can assure you that I did not intend to place my guilt and responsibility on your shoulders," Lord Connington replied diplomatically.
"I can assure you that your mental anguish is of little concern to me. It will not help you defeat the Lannisters. Nor will it help you seize the Iron Throne." came a more serious reply.
"I agree," said Lord Griff, "Revenge and the Iron Throne will be given to me by an army."
"And you think that your army will provide you with this?" asked Lady Olenna.
"Yes, if the army is large enough. And for this there are alliances in which both sides are interested." came the reply.
"Interested? But you were the one who first proposed the alliance." Lady Olenna reproached.
"But you took the initiative and considered this alliance. That is not without reason, is it?" Lord Griff returned the jab, enduring her heavy gaze.
"Let's put aside unnecessary talk. You do understand that the Reach is the richest kingdom now. Especially after the war. Our forces are quite sufficient to defeat the Lannisters."
"But not to hold on to power. You can take the Capital. However, the Lannisters still have plenty of strength in the Riverlands, Stannis Baratheon's army is moving from the North, who, as I know, is not delighted with you, the Tyrells, and the Krakens have spread their tentacles in the West. And all this with winter approaching. If we are to end the war as quickly as possible, then we both need this alliance."
"The war can go in different ways. It is quite possible that tomorrow Cersei and her lion cub will be poisoned, or the people of the Capital will break into the Red Keep in anger and commit reprisal against the Queen Regent."
"It is unlikely that you and I will be worse off from this," Lord Connington raised his cup.
"Let us raise a glass to the Queen Regent, because thanks to her, old alliances are crumbling..." the Queen of Thorns said with irony in her voice.
"And new ones are created." — Lord Griff rose.
Their cups hit each other softly, splashing their contents slightly.
However, before they had time to drain the wine completely, there was a knock on the door and the face of one of Lady Olenna's twin guards appeared in the doorway.
"My apologies, my lady. A raven has arrived with a letter."
The guard entered and handed the letter to her personally.
Lady Olenna Tyrell placed her goblet on the table and opened the letter.
The contents of the letter did not cause any obvious or noticeable change on the old lady's face. However, Lord Connington was ready to swear that the information in the letter did not please the Queen of Thorns.
Anxious premonitions stirred in Lord Connington's soul like a taut string.
The seal of the letter depicted a coat of arms in the form of a long tower with a fire on top.