If a future niece would ask Lyanna if she ever visited a beautiful palace as sung about in the songs, Lyanna would immediately think Highgarden. King's Landing stank of urine and human and animal excrement – Lyanna was accustomed to its smell, but compared to it, Highgarden was heaven.
For most of the journey from King's Landing to Highgarden, Lyanna alternated between riding and sitting in a wheelhouse. By chance, she had exited the stuffy wheelhouse to ride again when a man bearing the Tyrell sigil rode towards her party (herself, her mother and Minisa). Great Uncle Blackfish spurred his horse towards him, one hand grasping his sword, and called. "Who are you?"
"Ser Vortimer Crane!" the man answered. "I am Highgarden's master-at-arms. Lord Tyrell sent me to escort your party to Highgarden."
"Very well. Lead ahead." Lyanna's great uncle continued holding the grip of his sword as he rode forth, keeping a vigilant eye on Ser Vortimer. As they rode up to the Mander, Lyanna saw the tiered-walls of Highgarden for the first time. As she rode closer, she caught a glimpse of at least three pleasure boats anchored to the docks of the Mander, a fourth sailing leisurely along.
"Highgarden is beautiful," Lyanna whispered to herself. The looming shadow of Highgarden cloaked over her as she rode closer. Soaking under the radiant sun were vast fields of golden roses, stretched as far as the eye could see. On another more broader path, merchants and traders hurried to and fro, pushing carts and wagons while others held baskets of fresh fruit.
As the small party progressed through the gates of Highgarden under the lead of Ser Vortimer, Lyanna looked around and saw many marble colonnades, groves, fountains and shady courtyards. Ser Vortimer led Lyanna, Mother, Minisa, Great Uncle Brynden and their token of guards to the Great Hall, passing Highgarden's famous briar labyrinth situated between the outer and middle walls. Before the Tyrell guards could open the doors, the wheelhouse slowed to a halt and one of the Tully guards opened the wheelhouse door. Mother stepped out first followed by Minisa, her eyes as wide as platters as she stared at the marble fountain with clear water spouting from what appeared to be a marble fish's mouth. Both Great Uncle Brynden and Lyanna dismounted their steeds as the great oak doors of the Great Hall opened. Mother slowly walked in and Lyanna fell into step behind her, taking hold of Minisa's hand and their great uncle followed them with the guards. Sitting on his large oaken chair on the raised platform was Mace Tyrell, the Lord of Highgarden, Defender of the Marches, High Marshal of the Reach and Warden of the South. Lyanna had seen him from time to time around King's Landing but never paid him much notice at all. Garbed in green silk with a cloth-of-gold cloak clasped with a golden rose brooch, Lord Tyrell puffed his chest proudly and rose, descending the few short steps.
"Your Grace." Lord Tyrell dipped his head as he kissed Mother's hand. "I am so honoured to host you, His Grace and your dear children here in Highgarden for a few days. Highgarden is your home as well as mine."
Mother smiled graciously. "Thank you Lord Tyrell. Highgarden is indeed quite a beautiful sight. I heard rumours of Highgarden's enchanting nature – I am glad I had a chance to come and see it for myself."
Lord Tyrell puffed his chest again as he mumbled thanks. He turned to Lyanna and smiled at her. "My princess. An honour to have you in Highgarden-"
"Still here Mace? That's all you do! Sit, sit and sit! Sitting will get you nowhere! Oaf!" Lyanna spun around and at once spotted a very small and wizened woman tottering towards them with a lacquer brown cane. A couple of the Tully guards shrunk away as if she was afflicted with greyscale. No introductions were needed. Only one woman in the Reach – or in the entire Seven Kingdoms – was capable of frightening (or irritating) an army to its knees.
"Lady Olenna." Mother nodded politely at the snapping old lady. The Queen of Thorns squinted at her for a second before giving her a toothless smile.
"Your Grace," she croaked, her gaunt thin fingers wrapping around her cane. "I have heard so much about you. Ignore my oaf of a son; all he does all day is sit on that chair like an old toad, eating and bumbling like a fool." Lord Tyrell frowned, clearly offended. "Your rooms have been prepared," Lady Olenna continued, "and food and drink will arrive shortly. If you are not too exhausted or weak, will you come for a short walk with me? Maester Lomys had been urging me to walk and enjoy the fresh air more." She smiled again. "Have you seen the gardens yet? I'm sure you will agree they are sweet. Your daughters will be well taken care of, my queen. Margaery's female cousins can give Princess Lyanna a tour of Highgarden and inform her about the wedding festivities while Alerie can keep an eye out on Princess Minisa." Lady Olenna gave Minisa a toothless grin. "Don't worry my lady queen. Princess Minisa will have girls her age to play with. Lady Alysanne Bulwer and Leona Tyrell are both around her age."
"That is kind of you Lady Olenna," said Mother, relieved that Minisa would not be left alone or bored.
A Tyrell maidservant led Lyanna to another door. Lyanna felt a pair of eyes on her and she turned and saw the Queen of Thorns staring at her. "You are a pretty girl," the old lady commented. "Blooming into a ripe maiden eh? Robb Stark is a lucky man to marry you. A very lucky man indeed."
The pre-wedding feast in Highgarden was almost as grand as a name day feast in King's Landing. Highgarden's Great Hall had transformed into a huge feasting chamber, filled with long trestle tables, a reasonably vast dance floor, a high table and a small space segregated for the minstrels and musicians.
On the dais, Lyanna found herself seated beside Willas Tyrell, the crippled heir of Highgarden. He looked kind and thoughtful. "How have you found Highgarden Princess Lyanna?" he asked.
"Lovely, my lord," Lyanna said truthfully. "Lady Margaery was kind enough to give me a tour of Highgarden herself with her cousins Ladies Elinor and Alla and Lady Desmera Redwyne. Highgarden is so beautiful."
Willas smiled. "Highgarden is considered the centre of chivalry my princess. It is required to be beautiful and enchanting. Has Margaery informed you about the wedding celebrations yet?"
"Lady Margaery mentioned a grand tourney."
"Ah of course. The tourney. My father had boasted it would be more splendid than the tourney at Harrenhal – a foolish notion do you not agree? The Harrenhal tourney was said to be the greatest tourney ever held in the Seven Kingdoms and it lasted ten days. Father wanted our tourney to be held for twelve days but my grandmother ruled it out at once and insisted for it to last seven days at the most. Will your betrothed joust?"
Lyanna glanced down at the table of Northerners where Robb sat with two of his sisters (Lyarra and Arya), his brothers Jon and Bran, his parents, Theon, Dany and Domeric. She was surprised Jon and Daenerys came to Highgarden – natural children don't usually accompany their trueborn half-siblings to tourneys. Then again, her own half-brothers Gendry and Edric were at Highgarden too, the latter keen on watching the melee.
"Princess Lyanna?" Willas prompted.
"My apologies," said Lyanna quickly. "I um, I do not know if Lord Robb will be competing, but if he does, I wish him the best of luck."
Willas nodded. "There will be more events other than the tourney and a melee, my princess," he assured her. "There will be plenty of time for hawking, hunting, riding, trips down the Mander on the pleasure boats and feasting and dancing of course. Seven days of great excitement here in Highgarden."
"That is quite the wedding celebrations my lord." It was as if Margaery Tyrell was wedding a king or prince, not Uncle Renly. "If Lady Margaery's wedding is so magnificent, surely yours will be twice as grand!"
The heir of Highgarden laughed. "Margaery is Father's only daughter and it ah, could be said that she is the apple of his eye. He had great plans for my sister and marriage to the king's brother! That is a tremendous honour."
Lyanna smiled weakly. Arguments exploded between her father and uncles at home regarding Uncle Renly's marriage to Margaery. Uncle Stannis wanted Uncle Renly married to Princess Arianne Martell and Father agreed…only to change his mind a month later. Uncle Stannis's fury and displeasure was written all over his face – Lyanna kept a clear distance from him for days. Family suppers were silent up to the end when another quarrel would be ignited.
"What of yourself my lord?" she inquired. "Will you marry soon?"
"No rush," said Willas pleasantly. "I have two brothers to follow me if I happen to die unmarried and childless. When I marry, I hope to be able to have a quieter wedding. All these festivities…well, I cannot joust."
"I heard you bred the finest hawks, hounds and horses my lord."
"I would not say the finest, my princess, but if you are interested, I'll be more than happy to show them to you tomorrow or the next day."
"I will be delighted my lord. My uncle and Lady Margaery's wedding will be at noon tomorrow I believe?" Willas nodded. "There'll be no more delays," he said flatly. "They both waited long enough. Lord Stannis Baratheon may not be at all pleased with it, but the king has all but demanded it. He even gave Lord Renly the control of Dragonstone."
Lyanna nodded uncomfortably and stared at the range of dishes in front of her. There were pots of soup, suckling pig stuffed with mushrooms, trout and at least a dozen plates of sweet delicacies and including honeycakes, cherry tarts, berry tarts, spiced honey biscuits and her favourite – lemon cakes. As she nibbled on a slice of lemon cake, a light breeze drifted over and caressed her cheek. Autumn, she thought. A childish part of her wished summer would stay forever. She didn't feel ready to embrace winter, let alone a long one. You will be Lady of Winterfell, a voice said in her head. You will live in the bitter North; you will wake to the icy northern wind stabbing you over and over again. You will wed Robb Stark before autumn too departs. When winter comes, will you face it like a frightened girl of the south or a strong Stark of the North?
Lady Margaery Tyrell was a beautiful sight. Standing outside the grand sept of Highgarden, it looked as if she was standing in a shower of gold. She was dressed in a beautiful gown of white silk, cut with a plunging neckline. Her creamy white arms were bare and visible; if she was cold, she concealed it very well. Creeping up and below her waist were lines of silver intricately fashioned into rose vines. When she turned, Lyanna noticed that her gown was backless and from her waist descended a long train of embroidered roses.
Margaery's wavy brown hair was piled high on her head and twisted into an elaborate braid which partially hid the wreath of silver roses that rested on her head. She was the most beautiful bride Lyanna had ever seen. Lyanna herself was decked in dark blue and silver, a pleasant change from the Baratheon colours of black and gold. Lyanna gave Margaery a bright beam and hurried into the sept to be seated at the front with her family.
The Highgarden sept was grand, outdone only by the Starry Sept and the Great Sept of Baelor. Lyanna sat down and glanced around with curiosity. The sept was lined with rows of stained-glass windows depicting the Seven and a man in green with a crown of vines and flowers on his brow. He must be Garth Greenhand, the High King of the First Men and common ancestor of many Reach houses through his numerous children. Oddly enough, House Tyrell itself was not descended from Garth Greenhand. Lyanna's eyes returned to the front of the sept. The castle sept was quite like the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing with the seven towering gilded statues, the seven altars and the seven broad aisles. The statues were not as tall as the ones in the Great Sept, but they were pretty high.
Uncle Renly paced in front of the altar between the two statues of the Father and Mother, fidgeting with the stag-shaped clasp of his cloak. Cousin Steffon was beside him, carefully holding the marriage cloak. Loras Tyrell walked up to Uncle Renly and murmured something to him. He was handsome, the Knight of Flowers. With long, flowing brown hair and golden eyes, Ser Loras was the most attractive of Lord Mace's sons. Ser Loras turned and flashed Lyanna a charming smile; she felt herself blush furiously as he sat down.
The doors opened and Margaery gracefully walked through the aisle towards Uncle Renly with her father at her side. She looked radiant. You'll not be wedded in a sept, Lyanna reminded herself. You'll be married in the godswood in the sight of the old gods. Margaery joined Uncle Renly in front of the septon and the altar, a smile on her face.
"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection," the stout septon instructed. Uncle Renly swiftly removed Margaery's maiden cloak (one of green silk with an embroidered golden rose) and took the Baratheon cloak from Cousin Steffon, placing it around Margaery's shoulders. He stepped back in place and Margaery's her hand as the septon tied a knot around their hands and said in a loud voice, "Let it be known that Margaery of House Tyrell and Renly of House Baratheon are one heart, one flesh, one soul…" The septon went on in a tedious drone. Lyanna had never remembered a wedding she attended and tried to listen but to no avail. It didn't take long before she began glancing around discreetly. All the seats in the sept were filled. Did the Tyrells invite all of Westeros? Lyanna wondered. She saw Northern lords, Reach lords, Crownlands lords, Vale lords, Storm lords, Western lords and even Prince Oberyn Martell from Dorne who sat near the back, his arms crossed as he stared at the ceiling, obviously bored. She saw no Ironborn, but there was Theon Greyjoy.
"…look upon one another and saw the words."
Lyanna turned her attention back to Uncle Renly and Margaery. She hoped the two of them would be happy together in Dragonstone. She had never been to the former Targaryen seat, but it was said that Dragonstone was cold and prone to a good many days of rain.
"Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger," her uncle and Lady Margaery recited. "I am hers and she is mine," Uncle Renly said while Margaery said simultaneously. "I am his and he is mine," and together they said, "From this day, until the end of my days." Uncle Renly then announced. "With this kiss, I will pledge my love," and he kissed Margaery. It was a brief kiss before they turned to the audience, broad smiles on their faces. Lyanna clapped with the other guests and stood up as the newly wedded couple slowly began the procession out of the sept to the gardens for the wedding feast.
"Go and sit with Robb Stark," Mother whispered in Lyanna's ear. "It'll be good for you to get to know your future husband's bannermen and their family. Before he died, your grandfather told me that Northerners are aloof and suspicious and wary of those from the south. Do you remember the Northern sigils?"
Lyanna nodded. "I have studied them before we left."
"Very good. Speak to the Reach lords too or they will take offence." The other lords would be offended if she did not converse with them. Lyanna decided that it would be best to dance and talk to all the lords present. When she stood in the gardens, her mouth dropped open. Set carefully on a dozen groaning tables were platters and bowls full of delicious food and beside them flagons of drinks, each a different beverage to another. The feasting tables were sheltered from the sun by huge green canopies etched with a border of golden roses.
As Mother suggested, Lyanna made her way to the Stark table. Theon Greyjoy gave her a questionable look but the others present smiled at her as she greeted them and sat down next to Robb.
"Is Lord Stark not joining us?" said Lyanna politely.
"The king had asked him to dine with him," explained Lyarra, nodding at Lord Stark who looked uncomfortable sitting on the dais beside Father. "Our mother is there too, sitting with the queen."
"Will you be jousting Robb?" said Bran excitedly. "Domeric said that he would and if he wins, he will crown Lyarra his Queen of Love and Beauty." Sitting beside him, Arya rolled her eyes. She wore a simple grey dress and her hair was tied in a Northern-styled braid. There were no sign of embroidery on her gown. "Robb, if you enter the jousting lists, you might win," Bran went on. "Well, Domeric might win, but if you win, you can crown Lyanna the Queen of Love and Beauty – would that not be splendid?"
Wearing a wreath of flowers on her brow was splendid? "There will be many excellent jousters," Lyarra pointed out. "Maybe Domeric and Robb will both lose. I hear Ser Barristan the Bold will be jousting again as will the Blackfish – both of them are strong jousters. Ser Jaime Lannister will definitely be jousting too and I suspect at least half a dozen Tyrells will be participating, probably all keen to be the one to crown their sister or cousin Lady Margaery. Lyanna, who do you think will win the joust?"
"I hope Robb of course." Lyanna beamed at her betrothed. "If not Robb, then I would hope Uncle Renly, but he is not the best jouster, so maybe the Blackfish or Domeric." She thought for a moment. "If Ser Barristan the Bold wins, who do you think he will crown the Queen of Love and Beauty?" The old Lord Commander of the Kingsguard had no sisters or nieces and was too chivalrous to fall in love and break his Kingsguard vows.
"There was talk that he once loved a Dornish lady," spoke Jon.
"Who?" said Lyarra and Robb in unison.
Jon shrugged. "A Dornish bard sang about Ser Barristan the Bold and his lady love. It could be false you know."
"What is the song called?" asked Lyanna, racking her mind for a Dornish song about Ser Barristan.
"Um…His Lady Love? I don't remember."
Arya rolled her eyes again. "I'm surprised you listened to it." She poked half a grilled peach suspiciously. "What is this?"
"A grilled peach," Lyanna answered. "It is quite tasty."
"A grilled peach? Why would you grill a peach?" Arya reached for a blackberry tart instead. Robb chortled. He turned to Lyanna. "Will you take offense if I crown another my Queen of Love and Beauty?" he japed.
"Do you have another in mind my lord?" Lyanna teased. "Perhaps you wish to win the jousting tourney and crown Arya your Queen of Love and Beauty!" Arya choked on her blackberry tart as Jon, Bran and Theon guffawed. Lyarra and Dany laughed too, the former more than the latter. "Promise me you will," said Lyanna, grinning from ear to ear. "If you win, crown Arya."
"No!" Arya protested, horrified. "Crown Lyanna!"
"I would crown Arya too," said Domeric thoughtfully, "but people will say that I have fallen in love with my betrothed's younger sister rather than my betrothed. That will not bode well either in the north or the south." Arya sighed in relief to Lyanna's amusement.
"What about you Jon?" Lyanna inquired. "Will you joust too?"
Jon shrugged for the second time. "Jousting can be dangerous," he said flatly. "I suppose I will though…Prince Oberyn expects me too."
Lyanna gave him a curious look. She knew he squired for Oberyn Martell for a year and was knighted for it, but why would he care if Jon jousted or not?
"He gave me tips in jousting," Jon explained. "It will be ungrateful of me not to use them, but I haven't jousted before, like properly jousted, and with Oberyn in the stands watching me…"
"None of us have jousted properly in our lives," said Domeric calmly. "Chances are rare for us Northerners. If Lord Renly was not the king's brother, I doubt we would be invited here. Southroners think us savage – we are not. Other Northern lords will be jousting and participating in the melee too. Greatjon Umber wants to spill southron blood; Lady Maege Mormont wants to prove that not all women are dainty and delicate; and the Karstarks are eager for this. I will joust and if I by chance win, the tourney at Highgarden will have a beautiful Northern maiden as their Queen of Love and Beauty."
"You will be one of us soon," said Robb, smiling at Lyanna. "Once we wed, you will be Lady Lyanna…" His smile became more strained. "Stark."
I planned to upload the chapter last week, but I grew frazzled and unsure about the direction this story was heading. Yes, the moment I uploaded the last chapter of Part 2, I realised that Ashara in Dorne for 2 years wasn't so great as I thought it was when I wrote it. I've already told some of you, but I kind of left Ashara in Dorne for 2 years because I wanted her to be there for Edric's wedding and it would take a few months for her to go back to Winterfell and then return to Dorne again. I'll try and fix this the best I can throughout Part 3. Yes, I know Stannis broke Renly's betrothal to Margaery and now you just read about Renly's wedding to her, but be patient :D This time there's a good reason for that and you'll find out soon! :)
