*Olenna Tyrell*
There was a heavy mist of post-rain as Olenna Tyrell arrived back at Highgarden. The castle rose high above the plains, breaking through the mists to shine like a beacon to all. It rose in three levels, the first level of many bulwarks and the parapets were carved out of the greatest of care so the battlements would be hard to shoot the defenders through.
The second level was made similarly, except that instead of regular battlements where stone parapets rose to either side of the sections for the defenders, the defenses were cut to resemble flowers through which the archers would be concealed except to the most lucky and impossible of shots. The last level was fashioned as a giant greenhouse. It was up there that the Lords of Highgarden had the audience chambers, private chambers and the library. During even the chill of winter they would remain nice and warm.
"Hurry up, you silly pot!" Olenna shouted, banging the top of the carriage with a sturdy walking cane she had taken with her to Dragonstone. "If you don't move, I'll die of old age in this crate."
"Going as fast as safety permits, mi'lady," the driver shouted back. "There is a nice amount of mud on the road and if we go to fast, we might slip off the road!"
"I don't give two shits about your excuses," she cursed the driver, faceless and accursed and she named him. "All I expect of you is to do as your told."
The driver cursed the Seven Heavens for having such an ornery passenger but urged the horses at a greater speed. Olenna smiled smugly. She had learned in life that all you needed to do was act more stubborn than those around you, and they would bow to your will. If she had been born with a cock instead of a cunt, she could have been the ruler on the Iron Throne and she would have done a whole hell of a lot better than the Lannister tart had done so. Olenna expected that Cercei actually had a unibrow that she kept nicely plucked.
Soon they were passing through the gate into Highgarden. The wheels clattered as they rode over the cobblestone and the carriage came to a halt. The door was opened for her and a servant held out a hand to help her down. She accepted the hand of the man.
"Your hand is as soft as a woman's," she reproached him, staring at him with a remonstrate glance. "You should go and actually do actual work instead of wasting our copper pennies on you!"
"Grandmother!" Garlan called to her stepping up to her. "It is a pleasure to see you having arrived safely."
"Ah, my idiot grandson," Olenna rolled her eyes. "I expected to see your brother down here. Where is that crippled fool, Willas?"
Garlan tried not to let his annoyance at his grandmother show, and he managed to almost completely hide it. Decades of practice led to his ability to do a remarkable job at it. She would have been impressed, but Lady Olenna Tyrell, the Queen of Thrones, had a well-earned reputation of not being impressed by anything or anyone.
Except Tywin Lannister of course. That man lived up to his reputation in all things. That was a very hard thing to do. And she liked it.
"His leg is acting up badly today," Garlan said, holding out his arm to which Olenna took. He began leading her through the long way up to the third level.
"More like he is playing with his silly harp and can't be bothered to come down to see his old grandmother," she said with a derisive snort. "Back in my day, we were expected to see our grandparents, no matter what condition we are in. I remember…."
"Your days was like a century ago," Garlan said in a tartness that did the old lady's heart proud. "I think the dragons were still around back then. I wouldn't be surprised if you were hatched from a dragon egg."
Olenna raised an imperious eyebrow to her tall grandchild. "If you would live to see as long as I have, you would do well to follow my example," she shook a free finger at him.
Up through the castle of Highgarden they walked, past all manner of preparations for war. Men were fletching arrows with duck and swan feather. Smiths were clanging away, creating and fixing swords. Breastplates were being piled off to the side, and chainmail was being linked by expertly craftsman. Shields were being fashioned with the yellow rose of Highgarden being painted on by painters who were splattered in their own paint.
What seemed forever passed before they reached the greenhouse upper level, and Lady Olenna breathed a sigh of relief as the warmth swept over her, sinking down to her old lady bones. Her feet were hurting by then and she gratefully took the cushioned chair next to a fireplace. Willas was sitting next to the fire himself, and he did look in an extra degree of pain.
Several other lords were in the room. Randall Tarly, well-likable but old Mathis Rowan, young and dashing Alekyne Florent and thick lumpy nosed, copper haired Orton Merryweather.
"Lady Olenna," Lord Orton Merryweather said, inclining his head. His voice was very nasally, so it always made his words sound very whiny. "How found you the Dragon Queen?"
"She's a far sight better than Cersei, I will tell you that much, my stuffy-voiced one," Olenna replied, resting into the chair. "How comes our preparations for war? We are expected to meet up with the Dornish Army at the mouth of the Prince's Pass. How many men do we plan on putting in the field?"
"We plan on putting fifty thousand men in the field," Garlan explained to her. We'd put more in the field, but we lost a lot of good men in the war. The remaining nine thousand of our men will stay here and defend the Reach from any counter-assault."
"Good," Lady Olenna nodded her head. "Between us and the Dornish army, we'll be more than capable of reaching a hundred thousand men. This war will go by quickly, I should think. Throw in that young woman's dragons and Dothraki, we'll be able to set the entire lands ablaze in our wrath to avenge your late Lord Mace and his two children."
Willas scowled at her. "There are two children still left of the House Tyrell," he reminded her, "And I am Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the Reach."
"Yes, yes," Olenna rolled her eyes. "Now you can put on big boy breeches, but it doesn't mean you have the smarts to do better than I can. So you best shut up and listen to me as I plan our glorious future. You may even learn a thing or two."
Willas rolled his eyes and looked into the fire. Olenna smiled a smug smile of victory. She had true power of personality and she could easily dominate anyone in a political or personal arena. It was rather satisfying to be known to the world as 'the Queen of Thorns' because she was always able to give people a prick in the balls at any given moment.
In her mind's eye, the armies of Casterly Rock would shatter before their combined onslaught and flee back to the Rock from whence they crawled out of. They would march on King's Landing and after a short and bitter struggle, would gain the city. Then they would ransack it and she would dearly love to see what her soldiers would do to Cersei before Daenerys Targaryen got her claws on the bitch and delivered a fiery death.
"We should be moving out in the next three days, Grandmother," Garlan informed her. "Lord Cuy's men will arrive around then, and then we can start the march to that pass. I will of course be going with them."
"Good," Lady Olenna said, "It would be best to have one of the family help exact vengeance on the enemies of the House."
Her throat was dry from her long trip and she turned to the door where the servants were standing at the ready. "Servant! Servant!" she bellowed as loud as her lungs and advanced age would allow, "Bring me some Dornish red! I'm as dry as a Dornish spring over here! You would not let me die in thirst now, would you?"
"We received a raven today," Randall said, "We all received the same raven."
"Impossible," Willas declared. "A single raven can't carry scroll to every single one of you. It would be impossible. Now, swallows on the other hand can carry coconuts by the husks between two of them."
Olenna rolled her eyes. Willas Tyrell was obsessed with Maester Monty Python's scrolls. Especially the one about a King of the Iron Islands who goes on a Quest for a Holy Chalice of the Drowned God. He was forever reciting lines from the scroll. What was the other one he liked to say? 'I make wind your general direction!' or was it 'Nee! Nee! Nee!' that he liked more?
Garlan was snorting in laughter. They were boys, no matter their age. They also loved the scrolls involving the Three Pranksters: Larry, Moe and Curly. She couldn't see the appeal in either of them.
"So, what makes this scroll oh so important?" Olenna asked.
"According to the scroll, Daenerys Targaryen burned alive almost twenty defenseless prisoners on Dragonstone," Randall said.
Olenna waved her hand dismissively. A goblet full of wine was handed to her and she drank it, smelling the sweet aromas of the Dornish red. It warmed her insides just as well as the fire did her outside. It was hard to stay warm at her age. It was a losing battle if there ever was one.
"She's a dragon," she reminded them all, "And those men, if they did indeed burn, were enemies of the Reach. They deserved a death worthy of a dragon."
"Are we sure that she won't do that to any of us?" Lord Rowan asked, running a hand through his wintery hair. "Her father was also obsessed with fire and burning people."
Olenna looked incredulously at the man. "I remember the Mad King as well as you do, if not better, Lord Rowan," she replied. "We are already pledged to fight with the Targaryen girl, but believe me when I say, she is not her father. Even you aren't old enough to be able to tell the difference between woman's tits and a man's nipples."
The Lords did not look reassured and looked back and forth at each other. She didn't care one way or the other. She was leading the Reach in all but name. Cry all they want about the unfairness of life, if they hadn't manned up during puberty, she didn't know what to tell them.
"But these men had already surrendered!" Lord Florent exclaimed, the first time he had spoken during their little meeting. "She murdered men after they had yielded to her."
"Exactly!" Merryweather exclaimed, "We of the Reach pride ourselves in the strictest adherence to the rules of the tourney and chivalry. Why would she do something like that?"
"Can we really expect her to understand that when she spent her life among the cockless and rapists Dothraki?" Olenna demanded. "Just be grateful she hasn't flown over to King's Landing and torched the place. That little imp of a man Tyrion Lannister talked him out of it. Although I was all for it. An eye for eye, that's what I say!"
The other lords did not look too happy at that. Even Willas and Garlan seemed to squirm at that. Good Gods! Were these men or rabbits? She couldn't tell the difference at times.
"If you need reassurance," Olenna said with a grunt, "If you do nothing to offend her, she won't come to burn you."
"It's too late for that," Randall Tarly said and his hand moved quickly. Before Olenna knew it, Willas was gagging in his seat, clutching at the dagger that was driven into his windpipe. Blood flooded down the front of his yellow tunic, staining it dark red.
Garlan's hand was stayed for a few seconds, hesitating in his surprise. His mind did not seem to process the betrayal. Nor did it catch up with Olenna's mind. Young Alekyne Florent leaped forward, drawing his sword as he rushed forward. Garlan stumbled back, his hand gripping his own blade. He had barely pulled it slightly out of the sheath before Olenna heard the sound of blade slicing through flesh.
She turned in her seat to see Garlan crumpled to his knees, his chest sliced open and blood pouring down his front in great torrents. Before he could say anything or do anything, Florent's sword plunged deep into his heart. Olenna looked wildly around for the guards and the two in the room did not move, but looked with grim satisfaction at what was transpiring.
"Big men, all of you!" she accused them, standing to her feet and waving a finger at them. Randall and Merryweather had drawn their own swords and were approaching her. "Murdering my grandchildren without giving them an opportunity to fight back! How could you betray us?"
"House Tyrell has long enough stood on the sideline as a lesser house took their place as Wardens of the Reach," Randall informed her. "I once stood beside a Targaryen and nearly lost everything. No, Lady Olenna, no longer."
"So," Olenna snarled as Randall stepped up to her, the blade flickering in the light of the fireplace. "You betray me for ambitions sake. I always knew you were all balls and no brains, Lord Tarly. So what, you become Lord of the Reach if you betray us?"
"You betrayed the Seven Kingdoms by allying with a woman brining a hundred thousand rapists to our shores," he retorted. "We all have daughters that we refuse to allow them to touch. We refuse to allow a Targaryen dynasty that burns already surrendered men alive. If I benefit from it, that is only a minor boon for the greater service of stopping the filth from coming back on our shores."
"What shall be my end then, traitor?" she demanded, "Poison in my goblet? I'll let you know, you spineless bastard, that my crippled grandson was more of a man than your stunted honor could ever have allowed you to be. Such a petty, little man."
"Nothing like that," he said, and whipping his sword high, plunged it deep into her chest. The force of the blow threw her back in her chair, and she heard the sword break through the back of the chair. Further and further he plunged the sword, his grizzled face coming closer and closer to hers.
She gasped for air, the room growing darker. Her hearing was beginning to buzz in her ears, but she could clearly hear the words, "Do not worry, we will meet the Dornish army at the Prince's Pass. They might not like the reception we give them though. Oh, and your precious hordes of wealth? It's going to the Queen. She will pay off the debt to the realm. So, know this, Lady Olenna, I betray you but with this action buy us a better future for the Realm with your death."
Olenna had still been clutching the goblet when she had been stabbed into the chair. Then, the goblet fell to the ground.
To be continued in Episode 4: A Game I like to Play
Episode Notes:
-This was obviously a very short episode compared to last weeks. But, all major things I wanted to do were done. This helps keep me from getting burned out with GOT.
-The numbers of soldiers in the book is far larger than in the show. Casterly Rock fielded 60,000 men at the beginning of the War of Five Kings. The show portrays that the armies of the Seven Kingdoms has more or less been shattered by continuous war, however, that's really not the case (except the fact the show uses far smaller armies).
-Who doesn't like Monty Python and Three Stooges references?
-Daenerys has an obsession with burning people and things, and I really wanted to showcase just what is the reason she's so obsessed with burning people and things. Her father would get aroused when he would burn people and torture them, and he would use it as a sexual stimulant for himself. So I very much see this being the reason why she seems to want to burn everything. Also, I believe that too many female characters are being portrayed as flawless in television and movies. Instead of them being portrayed as strictly air-headed bimbos meant to be eye-candy, they're being portrayed as the exact opposite, people that can outfight, out-think and have no shortcomings. That doesn't make for an interesting character.
-Cersei dismisses Ser Osmund Kettleblack for sexual encounters with her and for treason by treating with her enemies kindly (namely Sansa Stark). In the books, after Tyrion learns Tysha, his first wife, wasn't actually a whore but a victim of Tywin's rage when he learned Tyrion had married a commoner, he tells Jaime that Cersei has been having sex with Lancel, Osmund Kettleblack "and Moonboy for all I know!" So I just bumped it up to actually happening.
Now for the treating kindly with Sansa Stark. In the books, Sansa doesn't want to go to her wedding with Tyrion, and while Meryn Trant promises violence if she doesn't obey, Ser Osmund speaks to her kindly and convinces her to go to the wedding. So basiclaly, because he's nice to Sansa, he's being given the pink slip.
-While book-Jon is far more accepting and believing of the old tales then show-Jon is. Show-Jon is a very skeptical person. He doesn't believe that one wildling has warging abilities until he actually sees that the guy was correct. He doesn't believe in giants until he sees them. White Walkers, he doesn't really believe in them until he sees one taking a child at Craster's Keep. Jon is a sane person in this universe, so the idea of these ancient legends being real is something you dismiss, until really faced with it. The idea of seeing stuff in the past? He's seen people like Melisandre get these visions wrong or changing the interpretation to fit any circumstance. So it is possible for him to be more skeptical about Bran saying, "I can see the past." Once he sees a thing, he's totally on-board with it, minus his resurrection.
While keeping Book-Jon's smarts (actually getting castles along the wall up and running and not running off on wild adventures) I also keep show-Jon's scepticness and at times sheer thickness of skull. Makes for a nice balance between show and book Jon in my mind.