OLENNA
The wife of the Hand of the King was a sad, miserable, spiteful little thing. Sad of eyes and yet petulant of mouth. Red of hair, kissed by fire - as the singers would have it, and yet it was pale, too pale for the supposed Tully's fame of the fabled fiery hair. This one is wasted away, already. Her smile was bitter and her words were even more so. And yet underneath the prideful display, Olenna could easily see right through them, the misery and desolation the trout wallowed in. An open book, as her darling grandson was so very fond of saying.
"Is the Queen not joining us today, Lady Lysa?" came the regal voice of her beloved good daughter. Silver-braided Alerie Hightower seemingly triumphed at the Royal Court amidst the stinking shithole that was King's Landing. The courteous, graceful, and kind Lady of Highgarden was quick to steal away the other noble ladies at the Court with sweet words and honeyed wine, driving them away from the clutches of the sour and surly lioness queen.
"The Queen," the girl answered, seemingly startled. "The Queen," she repeated again as if she was some half-witted daughter of a dullard. Is this one of Hoster Tully's two prized daughters? "The Queen, I- I fear, she doesn't spend much of her time outside of Maegor's Holdfast. I fear that she dislikes spending much of her time with the other ladies at the Court. I- I think… she sees it as-"
"As what, my lady?" nudged in her good daughter yet again, her tone full of kindness and care.
"I- I shouldn't say this. But I think she sees it as rather… well- Uhm, below her station. Unbefitting her royal stature. The- the Queen, she prefers to keep to herself, and her children, perhaps… as well as that of the Kingsla- her twin brother, that is."
Olenna had seen enough mummers in her life. And certainly, Willas' brilliant idea of indulging Mace with the Art Citadel had done nothing but to guarantee that. And so, she knew a mummery - or 'theatrics' as he called it - when she saw one. And right now, the wife of the Hand of the King was playing one… and rather badly at that.
Still, she wondered who was putting the clearly-trained words in her mouth. Old Arryn? But then, the Old Falcon was too honorable to put any notion of using his dear wife in discrediting the Lannisters. And that one is a peace lover, above all else. One name did come to mind. A name that her grandson had warned her of. "Littlefinger is one of the most dangerous men in Westeros. He rises too fast, quicker than he has any right to do so."
"That's a pity, then," Alerie answered calmly yet again. Over the years, her opinions of the Hightower woman had slowly changed, seeing the dull doll of a wife that was too eager to stay silent flowering into a woman that was capable of reigning in Mace Tyrell. And the Gods knew that was a true testament to one's strength. Her way with words was rather different than Olenna or her grandchildren, but she supposed that there would need to be a rose to hide the thorns beneath.
The vexatious silence that followed was rather cumbersome. But Olenna refused to let the opportunity slide away. "Oh? So the two first ladies of the realm are not getting along, then? My, my, isn't this just wonderful," she said with exuberant giddiness that deliberately lead to-
"Grandmother!" And right on time, her granddaughter chastised her. "Must you speak so crassly? What would Lady Lysa think of us…"
"Oh, please, spare me the admonition, my dear. My years of being given a dressing down are far gone behind me. I'm an old woman now, not a gullible girl chastised by her father for kissing a stableboy. Ah, how I long for those days. What say you, Lady Lysa?"
"I- certainly, but I don't think it's a… it's an appropriate thing to-" and just as she expected, the girl turned the bright shade of red.
"I think what my good mother was trying to- guess, my lady, is that- are you and the Queen not getting along well, then? We hardly hear anything going on here in King's Landing, after all. Highgarden is a bit far."
"Ah- well, I- i…." Gods, how pathetic. And this sad little woman is the wife to the Hand of the King? No wonder Old Arryn is too eager to drown himself in his office works, hah!
By the grace of the Gods, they were saved when the unmistakable sound of childish shout rang in the air. It was a boy in blue and grey colors wrestling his way down from the arms of a wetnurse. "Mother!"
Olenna, however, focused on the other person standing next to the wetnurse. He was clad in brown samite. Short and slender body. A pointed beard of greying black rested on the end of his chin, the same color of his hair, dark with running threads of gray. His eyes were green and gray, but their colors were not what Olenna was interested in. Mocking, those eyes were. Always seemingly laughing. A mockingbird indeed…
The boy, meanwhile, was only four or three of age, if Olenna was to guess. A sad little thing, much like his mother was. The Heir of Jon Arryn. Hah! Soon, they will all be wasted away. "My baby boy, have you missed your lovely mother? Mother is sorry, my dear, but she had to talk with some friends, but it is over now. Don't worry, I'll make it nice for you, we'll go lunch with Uncle Petyr, won't we?"
Petyr Baelish. The Master of Coin strode into the room, approaching them with his ever-confident manner. He brought his hands high in the air and bowed. "My ladies, I'm grievously sorry that I must steal away such a lovely maiden from amidst your group. But I fear that it is rather a… quandary, I suppose, that Lady Arryn and I are already planning to sup our meals for lunch together. I have just hired a Volantene cook, after all, and their cold soup of beets is supposedly richer than even the sweetest honey of the Reach, no offense to you, of course, my sweet ladies of the Reach."
The man that Willas told her of was unassuming in look. But what lay deep down… Olenna was already warned to stay at her best alert around the man. A swindle, but an extremely clever one. And Willas had also shared to her, of the intricate past that bound the two friends - Lady Arryn and Littlefinger - together, a tale of fosterage and young love. So the trout is off carroting with the mockingbirds rather than the falcons in the high sky.
"Lord Baelish, is it?" She called the man. "Or do you prefer to be called Littlefinger, my lord? Well, I certainly hope that finger is the only part of you that's little." She said to the barely suppressed giggles of the girls in her company. Foolish flock of hens, indeed, but at least they have their uses every now and then.
He didn't twitch at the rather derogatory moniker and neither did he at the joke. Dangerous indeed.
"Lady Olenna," he answered, taking her hand and bringing it to his lips, "I regret that fate hasn't seen it fit for us to meet again ever since your arrival to the city. I must say, it has been very interesting with you here with us."
"Oh, a charmer, aren't you? And I don't even need to tell you to kiss my feeble hand. My, what a gentleman. But a blushing chambermaid I am not, my dear, so I will tell you to keep your lines to yourself and sow your oat upon far more fertile, younger soils rather than this exhausted, drying one."
"You sell yourself short, my lady. We all have, after all, heard of the prowess of the Queen of Thorns."
"Good. Then you shall remember it well, Lord Baelish."
And again, the Mockingbird's eyes were laughing. "Is that so, my lady? Then I will tell you to wait for an invitation from me. I do so want to talk with you, after all. And I certainly will not let Lord Varys steal you away before I do."
"Afraid you're going to lose against a eunuch, are you? Doesn't exactly say much about your mettle, does it, Lord Baelish? And while we're at it, I suppose I might need to congratulate you. Newly appointed Master of Coins, is it not? Six years ago, you were a custom officer at Gulltown, or so I heard. I suppose that mockingbirds do love to fly, after all."
Littlefinger laughed at that, his eyes crinkling and its corners turning into crow's feet. "Well said, my lady. Well said, indeed. And yes, six years ago Lord Grafton was kind enough to accept me to his service. And three years ago, he wrote to Lord Arryn with good words, and so I was brought to King's Landing. Now, if you would excuse me."
"So short, my dear? But this is the most excitement I've felt in years." Come now, don't shy away from me, Littlefinger. I have heard you are oh so interesting, after all...
"I'm sure that's not true, my lady. With the Art Citadel in the Reach? I hear that Lord Mace and your grandson are doing some very interesting things with it. And speaking of your grandson, it's too sad that I'm unable to meet him. I've heard a lot of things about him-"
"Have you, now?"
"We are all friends here in King's Landing, my lady. And friends don't have secrets. I suppose you would just need to pass along my regards to him. I dearly hope he's enjoying Essos. I, myself, found it to be of little liking. Now, if you would really excuse me, I would hate to make Lady Arryn wait and tarry any longer. Until we meet again, Lady Olenna."
And with that, the upstart - and they call the Tyrells upjumped stewards - Master of Coins and the wife to the Hand of the King walked away, with the little Arryn boy up in his mother's arms. Some had whispered that Lysa Arryn would breastfeed the boy even in the middle of the court, but it seemed that the woman had the common sense to put on some decency in her decorum with them today. Olenna shared a look with her granddaughter, both knowing the danger that the Master of Coins posed behind his friendly look and laughing eyes.
"Lady Lysa sure does brighten up when he sees Lord Baelish," said the Fossoway girl, the betrothed of her Redwyne grandson, sharing a giggle with the other bunch of little flowers.
"Well, they are childhood friends, my dear," Alerie immediately said, "And the bonds that are formed during our young years can carry tremendous weight even after long years have passed."
Smart of her. It wouldn't do for rumors of the Hand's wife and the Master of Coins to begin circulating just when the Tyrells are visiting King's Landing.
"Well, it's my turn, now. I would rather not wait until I crumble to dust sitting here and doing stitches like a-" before she could finish, however, the door swung open yet again, and in came a Tyrell guard, bearing a sealed envelope.
"What is it, Ser Gawen?" her good daughter asked as the envelope was handed to her.
"I'm afraid I'm not at liberty to know, my lady. But a knight in Oakheart livery arrived this morning saying he was sent to deliver important messages to the Hand of the King and you, my lady."
When Alerie broke the seal and read the news, gasps resounded throughout the room. Blushing maidens of innocence, she scoffed at them as she caught the tail of her good daughter's words "...peacefully passed away in her sleep not a sennight ago."
But she supposed that it was a grim tiding, indeed. Arwyn Oakheart had been an able ruler, a steadfast supporter of House Tyrell. Never once was her loyalty ever in question. She had begrudgingly respected her in the past, finding the common ground in their shared grievances- men and power.
There was a time when Olenna had accepted, made peace that she would one day be a lord's broodmare, to be kept away secluded in some dusty, old keep, spitting out children while her lord husband would whore the night. Instead, she had taken matters into her own hand, that pinched, rodent-faced Targaryen Princeling be damned, and kicked her way into being the Lady of the Reach.
And when Arwyn's father died in the War of Ninepenny Kings years before her majority, it was Olenna who argued to Luthor Tyrell against the regency of Arwyn's envious and corrupt uncle, which in turn yielded Old Oak's unwavering loyalty. Till now, at least. From what she had heard of her son and successor, then it wouldn't do to put much hope for the future of the Oakhearts. A mulish slime of an oaf who takes too much after his Peake father.
"A raven must fly to Old Oak, then."
"How very sad. Lady Arwyn is- was… she was kind and gentle, and she seemed like such a nice spirit. She would often smile at me whenever she visited Highgarden. She had a great deal of advice that she had given me in the past," her granddaughter said with a sunken voice.
"It is a tragedy, my dear. A kind soul has been plucked from amidst our gardens. Lady Arwyn had always been a staunch friend of our house. Her service will forever be missed."
Pale and frail. Small and weak. But healthy, yes… so very healthy. To die so suddenly- "Grandmother, you knew her, didn't you?"
"Oh, I knew her indeed, my dear. A bit of a prig and a bit of a prude, not a woman of much excitement, Lady Arwyn was. But still, still… married to that bullheaded Peake of a husband of hers, there's no greater testament to her strength. A pity she has to meet him again, now."
"We mustn't speak ill of the dead, grandmother…"
"Well, the dead can't hear us, can they?"
"I think Margaery speaks truly, mother-"
"Oh, hush, don't call me that, dear. When you do, you rather remind of that bint of a Florent that is married to your lord father. His fourth wife, is it? Ah well, you do not call her your mother, do you not?"
"Mother, even if the dead can't hear us, it befalls on us, as good followers of the Faith, to live by the Seven-Pointed Star, and that - is to pray for the dead. I rather think it is a good idea to invite the other noble ladies at the Court to pray together in the Great Sept of Baelor. For Lady Oakheart. May the Seven rest her soul easy."
"And may the Father judge her justly," chorused the other girls in their companies as they nod along. The Gods may help me with these pious fools. At least Margaery never wanted to be a septa like that Targaryen princess did, whatever her name was.
"Well, as much excitement this is bringing for my old bones, I rather think I'll bid you farewell and tell you to enjoy the remainder of your day."
"Grandmother, how could you not be coming with us?"
"Oh, I would love to, dear. Well, actually I rather not. But still, this decrepit body won't survive endless hours on bended knees on the floor of Baelor's madness. No, no, save that pity of yours for yourself, Gods know you need it sometimes. I rather think I will have enough excitement to keep going on about the day."
"Excitement? Do I not misheard this? My, I shall write this to Willas, I think."
"Don't be such a stooge in your brother's puppetry, my dear. It makes an appalling look on you. Better to come up with your own lines. And remember, you're meeting Prince Joffrey later today."
Better be a pious fool and scare the lions away. For Willas had written of words from Essos. And unraveled the truth of the hidden dragon. Braving Dothraki hordes and crossing treacherous seas, all for a prince with a false name- or not. A most dangerous gambit, to be sure. But should they win… and they would win. Olenna would die to make sure of that. Even if this should be my last game.
"Now, if you would excuse me, Lord Lannister is waiting for me."
The door to the chamber of Lord Tywin Lannister was guarded by two scores of knights, each dressed in red liveries. Lannister Red Cloaks, she thought. Lady Olenna herself was flanked by her two personal guards, the tall twins of whom she referred to as "Left" and "Right" respectively.
"Open the door, would you dear?" She said as she stopped in front of the Lannister guard. "Lord Tywin is waiting for me. We shan't keep the Great Lion waiting, now, shall we?"
The door swung open. Seated behind the desk, a stack of parchments atop it, hand on a quill, eyes set on the inking, was Tywin Lannister, Lord of Casterly Rock, Warden of the West. The Mighty Lion, indeed.
"Had I known this door would lead me to twenty years in the past, I would've flung myself from the walls to spare myself from seeing my oaf of a husband yet again. Well, either that or as I see it now, someone's missing being the Hand of the King."
The Old Lion looked up from his desk, regarding her with unyielding eyes. "Lady Olenna," he remarked to her, silently offering the chair opposite of his own and looking down again.
"Do put the quill down, my lord, it is unbecoming for a gentleman to behave so in the presence of a fair lady. And seeing there is also no wine offered for a chat I wonder if rudeness is now all the rage in the West?"
"Hmm, fair lady, you say?" He moved to pour some wine for them both. At least not as arrogant as I thought you would become, Tywin.
"Well, whatever's left of it, I suppose. I'm afraid that I can't pull the blushing, demure chambermaid quite as well as I used to anymore. I could try it if you want, of course."
"There will be no need for it. Come, you are the one who asked for an audience-"
"Let's not pretend that the Lord of Casterly Rock himself doesn't wish to have an audience with the Lady Dowager of Highgarden. I have not the patience to wait any longer in our merry dance of cat and mouse, my lord, lest I crumble from all those winds whirling around us." She raised her glass and he followed with his, however perfunctory.
"Well then, do pray and tell, what is it that you wish to discuss between House Tyrell and House Lannister?"
"For a man with a reputation such as yours, my lord, you rather disappoint me. Still, still… I find myself wondering why the elusive Old Lion is strolling about in the gardens of King's Landing. Whatever happens to the Rock? I should hope that your son hasn't drowned it in wines and whores yet, Lord Tywin."
"A grandfather can't visit his grandchildren?"
"Oh, a grandfather can. But you're not in this as a grandfather, are you not? I wonder what it is that's keeping you and Old Arryn so close like jolly lovers in youth these days? Blossoming romance? I must warn you, though, the High Septon will likely be rather-"
"The Hand of the King seeks my counsel and advice… in a few matters regarding the administration of the realm. I fear that information is not to be disclosed to the public but by the Hand himself."
"You keep me young, my lord. So I shall keep on guessing, then?"
"The matters between the Hand of the King and-"
"Yes, yes, it's very private. Very well then, you can keep your secret tryst, my lord. Although perhaps, I should congratulate you, should I not?"
"On what occasion?"
"On the betrothals of your nieces, of course, Lord Lannister. As I understand it, your late wife's brother's daughters, who also happens to be your cousin himself, are soon to be wed, no? To your bannermen, a Serrett, and a Lydden, if I am not mistaken. But of course, I'm ancient already, I might misremember the names. There are just so many lords in Westeros, after all. Like sheep, they are."
Tywin Lannister studied her with resolute eyes, solid as the rock that was Casterly Rock itself, so it seemed. "Thank you, then, my lady. I shall pass on your well-wishes to my good nieces."
"That you do. Still… interesting choices you make for them, I had thought that you would try to- ah well, forget it. It does seem that lords and ladies are betrothing their sons and daughters left and right, I think I don't have it in me to remember them all. What say you, my lord?"
In his eyes, Olenna could see that he understood the hint of the slipped knowledge that she possessed. "Mayhaps it's a rather big coincidence that most of them are coming of age around the same time, my lady. It's no crime to betroth one's own family, after all. Now that we're at it, I shall pass my congratulations to your grandson, too. A Dornish Princess for the future Lord of Highgarden?"
"Oh, my Willas does have an exquisite taste, indeed. That boy spends half his time wasting away in books and drowning himself in questions and ponderings, of which, I think the most should be reserved for the philosophers. Ah, and, of course, those insufferable tales and songs. What a waste of time and gold. But at least it keeps Mace happy and busy, though not enough it seems."
"He certainly has an… exquisite taste when it comes to choosing the future of his house. I wonder if he shall prove to be as knightly as his forebears, no matter his own shortcomings. What do they say about him in the gallant and chivalrous Reach, hmm?"
"They like him enough. No one, truthfully, expects him to charge into battle. With any hope, he will come to be an able tactical commander, much like yourself, my lord. And much like you, he has a loyal younger brother. I would not concern myself in that regard overmuch, for what about your heir, Lord Tywin? Seeing as I am not the only one in this room who has a descendant with physical shortcomings. Truth to be told, you rather disappoint me, indeed. I thought you would have more tact, my lord, considering you have circumstances quite similar to ours." The lion's fists or jaws might not have clenched but Olenna registered enough to know she touched a nerve and that he was bracing for another, more thorny remark. Fear not, my lord, this will satiate me, for now.
It irritated her that she would need to hold back her tongue for once. Hated that she would have to be courteous enough for Tywin to grow the notion of House Tyrell seeking to prove themselves loyal to Baratheons after 'the lapse in judgment' or 'haggling attempt' that was their betrothal with vipers.
"Perhaps." He raised his glass of wine and she followed with hers, abandoning the topic of her crippled grandson and his dwarf son, or at least their physical deficiencies. "Maybe I misinterpreted, my lady, but you made it sound like the match with Princess Arianne was the initiative of your grandson, not of your lordly son or yours. You did not approve?"
"My own husband, the late Lord Luthor died whilst hawking, but you know that already. They said that he was too busy looking up to the sky, and paid no mind where his horse was taking him. And now they say that my grandson is doing the same, only this time he's dancing with vipers. And, of course, Mace was tempted by the 'prestige' of having a princess as his good daughter. But whatever, the boy has made his bed on his own accord, and now he must lie on it at night."
"Indeed. Now remind me, what happened the last time a Tyrell made his bed with the Dornish?"
"Half a thousand scorpions fell out of the canopy of his bed, yes, yes. You need not lecture me of Lyonel Tyrell, Tywin. I was a child, too. Once. And so I learned it with my maester. Toothless and bald, Edgerran was… I wonder what he would think of me right now."
"I'm sure he would marvel at the woman that you have become."
"The woman that I've become," she repeated as chuckles fell through her mouth. "Am I such a disappointment for you, Lord Tywin? I told you that I can't pull the blushing chambermaid as well I used to, but again, if you insist, my lord-"
"Please don't make a fool of yourself in my chambers, Lady Olenna. What would your son think of you? And my question was merely a precaution, my lady. After all, it is well known that the Reach and Dorne share a-"
"Don't pretend that you have a concern for my house and my family, Lord Tywin. This sham and farce, why don't we dismiss them all, and talk heart to heart like lovers in some broken little brothel? You might find that you enjoy such a break of refreshment before you die."
"You were the first to approach me on this matter, my lady. Why don't you tell me what it is that concerns House Lannister in the matter of House Tyrell?"
"Such a bore you lions are. What you've coveted for so long… a royal marriage and your grandson's bony little arse to sit on that ugly iron chair in the future. Come now, don't play the demure maiden with me. I just hope that you will extend an invitation to Highgarden when it comes to the opening of the Bank of Lannisport. Our kin in Oldtown, the Hightowers, will find the news very much of interest to them, I am sure." So very typical of you, Tywin… I suppose the lords of Westeros do love to measure the little sword between their legs.
"The Bank of Oldtown has been a moderate success. The Hand wishes for the Seven Kingdoms to thrive from such commerce. And in his wisdom as the Hand of the King, Lord Arryn believes that the Lannisters of Casterly Rock will be capable of the task and thus are entrusted with the heavy burden that is the future prosperity of the realm."
"I am not a half-wit or a child of seven namedays, Lord Tywin. Big words don't confuse me. Let's speak of this of what it is. What it actually is." Have your precious new bank for now, Tywin… you will not have the time to see it means. It amused her, the length that the Lannister went on just to even out a betrothal. But what good did the word "vain" serve if not to be used to describe the Lannisters?
When the Old Lion remained silent, Olenna continued to push, "Do you think us to have some devious plot, my lord? Consorting with Dornishmen and dancing with the vipers. And here I thought the lions do not concern themselves with the opinion of the sheep."
"Baseless rumors and old wives whispering, I am sure. I have full confidence that House Tyrell is ever loyal to His Grace and the Royal House Baratheon."
"Yes, we do take our vows, our oaths of fealty quite seriously. Gallantry and chivalry and all that, well- I suppose…"
"Why do you come to King's Landing, Lady Olenna? I believe upon your arrival, and in your own words, I distinctly remember you referring to the city as a "stinking pile of shit of a cesspool laden with vipers'' in front of the King."
"Oh, but I do miss the court, my lord," she said to Tywin's stony eyes. At the Lannister's silence, she continued, "You know why we are here. I wish for my granddaughter to learn the ways of the court."
"In the hope that-"
"In the hope that she will befit the noble Lady of her birth and station."
"The Hand of the King seems to think that Tyrells are digging for a Royal Marriage, my lady. Is there any truth in that claim?"
"And what house would not wish for a Royal Marriage, I ask you now, my lord. Tyrells have always been dutiful, fervently serving king after king that we swore our oaths to. And yet we have been slighted yet and yet again. Spurned and turned around. The Targaryens dishonored the sacred betrothals made in the Light of the Seven. I have high hopes that the Baratheons will be oh so different from their cousins."
"The Targaryens are gone, my lady."
"Exiled, Tywin. The little boy and his sister still live in Essos. Begging their way around the Free Cities, last I heard."
"Yes. Exiled. But not for long, I hope. It's way past the time that the issue should've been dealt with already in my opinion. The rumors of the Beggar King and now the Mad Dragon prove that he doesn't know what is good for him and I would advise the Crown to take measures against him and his associates."
"They may be it," she shrugged, finding the half-veiled threat insipid and dull. She continued, "I truly wonder at the honorable Ned Stark, for he has dissuaded our King from sending swaths of assassins after them, considering His Grace approved of the fates that befell Princess Elia and her children."
"I am sure new circumstances would make His Grace reconsider the issue. And regarding your wish, Jon Arryn is inclined to approach such matters, yet with utmost caution. But he fears that the King will not be so receptive."
"The Stark girl. King Robert was denied the love of his life. Oh don't give me that look, we all know he is married to your daughter, yes. Lyanna Stark was kidnapped and Lyanna Stark died. And now he wishes for another Stark girl, but this time for his son, I suppose. But what of you, Lord Tywin, will you be oh so receptive?"
"Quite. But Lord Stark happens to be King Robert's dearest friend. And so Jon Arryn told me that the King is rather insistent on that."
"Bah! The Starks in their frozen hinterland they so lovingly call home. What is it that they offer more than the verdant Reach? I rather think it is the time for the Tyrells to return to the fore. But then again, the Starks are becoming oh so interesting lately. A Tully wife and now his heir is betrothed, isn't it? To a Karstark, I believe. Such a shame, I had thought that the honorable Ned Stark would've joined us in our game and announced a southern betrothal for his boy, Robb, isn't it? After our beloved King. But I suppose it's too much of a hope. And who knows, mayhaps he did consider a southern betrothal at first."
She would've gone on, for it was just so fun to taunt Tywin with her knowledge of the failed betrothals that he tried to arrange with the Starks and the Tullys. Willas had been correct in his assessment, and his prediction did come true. Three moons ago, ravens did fly from Casterly Rock to Riverrun and Winterfell. Yet the trout and the wolf both spurned the lion... with Ned Stark hastily arranging a northern betrothal for his son and Hoster Tully claiming the instability in the Riverlands as an excuse. Why, she had even caught a hint of the Dreadfort being considered, what with the heir fostered in the Vale, but she supposed even the mighty Lord of Casterly Rock knew to bite no more than he could chew.
It was too cruel that she couldn't openly say such things in front of the man… but I must be patient. A cornered beast would bite the hardest, as Willas had poetically said oftentimes. Not to mention that the Lannisters were not without power in the Reach themselves, for the current Lord Peake was married to a lesser Lannister if her memory served her. Troublesome, those Peakes, the Oakhearts before, and the Lannisters now...
But as she opened her mouth to shift the topic, knockings came and the door swung open. And the two men did stroll into the room. Well, one and half - for the second one was a eunuch.
Jon Arryn stood regal and proud, uncaring for his old age. But Olenna could see the Stranger's scythe upon the Old Falcon's neck. A few steps behind him was a plump figure in a ghastly lavender robe, smelling of Lyseni perfumes. Varys. The Spider.
"Lord Tywin. And Lady Olenna. It's a most fortunate coincidence that you both are here. I am hoping to invite the two of you to the Small Council meeting, where I feel that your wisdom and experience will prove fruitful for the benefits of the realm."
"Well, well... How can I reject such an opportunity? You really do make my day, Lord Arryn."
"Lady Olenna," said the eunuch, "I regret that we haven't had much time together ever since your arrival to the city."
"I'm sure we'll have many opportunities for that time, Lord Varys."
"Indeed," tittered the Master of Whispers in a way that always unsettled her. Added to the fact that the Spider hadn't yet approached them in regard to the dragon business… he would've already known by now, for sure.
As they made their way from the room, Olenna looped her arm through Old Arryn's own. The Hand of the King was unsettled at first, she could tell. "Fret not, my lord Hand, I wouldn't dare to steal away such a wedded man. And even then, what would happen when the decrepits bump against one another? Ah, a question for the philosophers…
AN: Next chapter is Arianne. So, what do you think of the chapter? Please do leave a review - criticism and suggestion are always welcomed! And also, happy holiday!