Not really in a good position in life but here's the next chapter. I have the next few chapters drafted as well, so expect those in the next couple of days.


When Olenna Tyrell received the letter, it was nearly time for her to rest for the night. She was dressed in a velvet nightgown with small roses stitched on the hems. It was from her husband; a gift from one of their anniversaries. He had it specially made just for her from a royal tailor residing in the Vale.

The candle that sat on her desk was starting to wane and flicker, and the fireplace was starting to grow cold as she sti

Though the temperature in that region was especially warm for the majority of the time, this was an instance where it wasn't. There was a chill in the autumn air; a taste of the winter that's yet to come.

Olenna never could understand how the Northerners could take the cold. She couldn't wear any less than two layers when it was merely spring, or perhaps autumn.

She was a winter's child herself, but perhaps she wasn't accustomed to the cold due to the fact that wherever she lived, it was always warm. Due to that or perhaps even her fiery nature; she couldn't be in cold places.

As a Redwyne born, she had always been a spirited and ambitious young lady like her father and elder brothers. Though now, she was the only one left of her generation. And a Redwyne she was no more.

She had tamed her temper and learned to control her expressions in order to be able to hold more advantage and power over others.

The only difference there was from her now and the young Redwyne girl who planned and plotted her way to marrying a Lord Paramount, is the fact that she's no longer young.

At times she wondered where it all went. It seemed like it was just yesterday when she was draped under the Tyrell cloak in Highgarden Sept, and now, her eldest grandchild is of age and in a decade or two, she'll have to sleep with a bedpan in order to not fret over the possibility of wetting the bed.

But if the gods are good, maybe she'll get to see great-grandchildren by the end of her life.

With the letter in hand, she got into bed. Her husband was off planning trade with the Iron Bank, their food and grains for gold.

Though he was rather mediocre in the ways of politics, he was most certainly an experienced trader who knew how to bargain for higher prices. He was more fit to be a merchant than a lord.

Yet as the gods and fate saw it, he was at a position that others would kill for. One that he didn't want and was stuck with.

However, she mused with a fond smile, it was good that such a simple man was a paramount, easier to play him.

And she was good at playing games.

Reading the letter addressed to the house she married into, her smile grew larger.

Looks like some of her grandchildren will have to leave Highgarden for a while, letting House Tyrell enter the game of thrones.


As the small council started to gather in the designated room, a certain Renly Baratheon was talking to his brother- the king of the seven kingdoms, if you want the specifics.

They were discussing about the houses the young boy could possibly foster at. Renly was trying to convince the king to foster the boy with the Tyrells. Harold was a boy who loved learning. Undoubtedly, the influence of the citadel being so close by would be an advantage for the boy's studies. The council was incredibly split on this matter.

Renly wished to pursue the boy's intellect and academic forte, Varys wanted to send him off to the Martells to bring down the tension between them and the crown from the killing of Elia and her children.

After Robert took the throne, he had ordered them to be burned in the Sept of Baelor in their own Targaryen cloaks. Though he held no love for the husband of the lady who had borne Targaryens into the world; he remembered the fondness Lyanna held for the willful Elia and her children.

You can't very well blame children for their parents' actions.

He heard of Gregor Clegane's deeds towards the lady and her children. He found it repulsive, in all honesty. Robert ordered him to be executed.

Yet a mere week before his day of death, he had escaped.

Lannister work, he figured. The old lion undoubtedly wouldn't want something so bad for publicity happen to a person who was working for him. Varys said that he'd heard rumors of the Mountain that rides in the free cities, and is making his own name there as a sellsword.

Stannis and Ser Barristan wanted him to head over to foster with the Starks, Stannis knew the man and trusted him enough to take care of the prince in the way one should, and Barristan, though not present, thought the same. Personally, he'd agree with them. He'd much rather have Harry foster there than anywhere else. But an alliance with the Starks didn't really benefit the crown in any way or manner, so the Starks were out of the

However, there were those who didn't wish for Harold to foster elsewhere.

Namely his wife, her puppet, and his hand. Cersei's reasons were that of the selfish sort, to keep her baby by her side. Pycelle's was simply to please the Lannister house.

Jon Arryn's was slightly more logical, to not foster at any houses in order to avoid favoritism and possibly raise tension.

Baelish was still going headstrong about the boy fostering at either the Tarly or Frey houses, which, Robert found out just about ten minutes ago, weren't actually paramounts.

Here he thought he knew the very basics of how the hierarchy in Westeros worked. He scowled at that. He really wasn't fit to rule on the throne.

But then again, it should've been obvious that they weren't paramounts. If they were, what would the other houses like Stark and Tyrell be called?

"Is that the last of us?" Varys questioned in his honey-coated voice.

"Ser Barristan isn't here to obvious reasons." Lord Arryn replied in a dry tone, clearly showcasing that he wished the other man was with them.

"Now, Jon, we've gone over that discussion one too many times already." Baelish cut in with a bored voice.

"He's a valuable man to have, but it is uncertain where his loyalty truly lies." Stannis added.

"His loyalty lies with the crown, brother. There hasn't been a man more ready to die for a king than Selmy!"

In the midst of this, Pycelle started to snore.

"Enough." Robert bellowed, slamming his fist against the table as he stood from his seat, glaring at the members of the council sitting around the table.

Pycelle jolted and muttered something that sounded like "kinky..."

When the king was using his battlefield voice, you'd better listen.

"What are we? Children? There's no use in squabbling like so. He continued in a slightly lowered voice with the same amount of power in it.

The majority of the council weren't fools, and know when and where was the time to shut their mouths.

Pycelle left out another soft snore.

"Somebody wake him up." Robert said irately; sitting back down at the head of the table.

Baelish was the first to comply, reaching over and whispering something into the old grand maester's ear; words that made him jolt awake with a start.

"No I'd never- preposterous to suggest-" He muttered as he was jolted awake with indignation twisting offense on his sleepy form.

"Thanks for joining us maester." Stannis commented disdainfully.

"Don't blame the man, he's had a poor night's sleep." Baelish defended.

"I wonder why that is." Varys mused in that airy voice of his.

The room started to grow just as loud as it was before, however with both the eldest and youngest Baratheons cut off to the side.

Pycelle had drifted off once again.

"Say," Renly comment to his brother who was trying to tend to his growing migraine, "How long do you want to bet all this arguing will last?"

And somehow, it had slipped all their minds about Harry's fosterage until three letters were received the day after the meeting from Highgarden, Winterfell, and the Old Palace.


I mean, it's not beta'd so it might be shit but okay.

Hmmm... it's too perfect around here... wouldn't it be sad if something bad were to happen?