CHAPTER 2

THE OWL AND THE ROSE

Highgarden

Olenna's POV

CHAPTER 2

News of calamities always traveled fast. The Queen of Thorns held the message that had arrived from Dragonstone during the night in her still, steady hands.

She hadn't slept a wink.

Her chambers' windows faced east toward the morrow, overlooking the dew-covered gardens of her house's seat of power. She looked out, imagining the dark waters of the Narrow Sea beyond the mountains. Her eyes were weary and apprehensive. Yara's fleet was lost to the unfaithful Ironborn, and with it, Dornish power had fallen as well.

She had no one to share the dire news with. She was the last of her house, living out her final years in bitterness and an unquenchable desire for revenge against those who had taken everything from her.

The Dragon Queen was her last chance to see her enemies destroyed, brought down to their knees before she passed to the afterlife. But alas, where she expected the Mad King's daughter, she found a girl burdened with doubts, afraid to act when she had the upper hand, easily swayed by the very same kind of men who had always steered rulers for their own benefit.

Varys, with an allegiance that shifted with every passing hour and opportunity.

And Tyrion Lannister, a clever but broken man who had grown in the shadow of his family, just trying to prove himself worthy to the world. Who could tell where his true allegiance would fall when the time came? In her vast experience, blood was, in the end, always thicker than water, able to quench the mightiest of fires.

She tried to counsel the girl, to draw out the fierceness of the Targaryen princes of old, which undoubtedly lived within her, but she wouldn't let it surface. Olenna could see the flames behind her eyes.

"Be a dragon!" she had beckoned. But the girl wouldn't dare to be herself, to free herself from the control of small men, both figuratively and literally.

Her hope for a good outcome felt thinner than ever. Cersei would not go down without a fight, claws and teeth bared.

A knock on her chamber doors startled her from her reveries.

"It is far too early!" she snapped angrily.

"What is it?"

"A man requests an audience urgently, my Lady."

"Come in."

Ser Igon Vyrwell stepped in gingerly.

"Nonsense! What man would expect to summon me when the sun hasn't even risen?"

The Captain of the Castle Guard looked down, embarrassed.

"He's not from the Reach…"

"From where, then?"

"I don't know, my Lady… but we figured you would want to meet him. He's like no man we've ever seen."

It was not easy to pique Olenna Tyrell's curiosity, much less her attention. Her guards and advisors knew this well; they wouldn't bother her if it wasn't worth the risk of incurring her wrath.

"Send my maidens to dress me for the occasion. Those lazy idlers will moan like goats when you rouse them before sunrise. And offer this… outsider food and drink while I prepare to meet him."

Her slow yet light footsteps contrasted with the Captain's heavy armored ones as they made their way to the dining hall where the outsider was being hosted.

"I am curious, Sir Igon. What made you think I would care for this mongrel? And how on earth did the gate guards allow him inside the castle at this hour?"

The seasoned captain hesitated to respond. "They didn't, my Lady… the castle guards found him inside the meeting hall when they were changing the guard."

She stopped in her tracks.

"You're telling me my castle security is not good enough to detect a trespasser?"

He cleared his throat, evading the question.

"The officers tell me they found him alone and cowled in the dark, sitting on the steps to the rose throne. They surrounded him immediately and attempted to contain him…"

"Attempted?"

"Two guards could not subdue him. They called for aid, and another two came, but still could not subdue him. Then, two more. By that moment, they were trying to kill him, not apprehend him."

"Useless, bloodless fools," muttered the Queen of Thorns.

"Did he kill the guards?"

"No… he disarmed them as if they were children, harming little else than their pride."

"Once he had demonstrated his superiority, he finally started talking. He laid down his weapons and demanded to speak to you urgently."

"I see."

"I trust you took his weapons and posted enough guards to make our meeting safe?"

"Certainly, my Lady."

"Good. Let us see him then. You did well to wake me."

He sat at the head of the dining hall's table, his back to the door. Even seated, she noticed he was taller than average—almost a full head above the Westerosi standard for adult men. A reddish-blonde braid rested upon the shaven back of his head.

The dining hall was packed with castle guards, their gazes fixed upon the man at the table, who ate and drank as if no cares in the world bothered him.

A herald announced her arrival.

"Olenna Tyrell, Lady of Highgarden!"

She walked around the table to stand across from him, Ser Igon closely at her side, while two more guards closed in behind her.

The man was young and strong, his appearance fierce, almost feral, with the shaved sides and the wild braid. She had heard of warriors across the Narrow Sea with similar appearances. But this man was no Dothraki warrior.

It amused her that he finished eating his bread and cheese before standing up, gulping down some mead to wash it down.

"I see you have been well tended to," she said, conveying mirth.

He growled softly and stood, staring intently at her, as if studying her; she returned the gaze.

He had a neatly groomed beard and eyes that were smart and intense, bluer than any she had seen. There was no deference or submission in his gaze, as she often found in smallfolk, soldiers, or even knights. There was no fear, either, but neither did she find threat.

Faded lines on his face told tales of battles and hardships. He was clad in studded leather armor over layered green and brown tunics, similar to battle garb worn by Ironborn or Northerners. She couldn't quite place it, but she could tell he was suited for battle—not at all like her own guards and soldiers, who wore plated armor and helms. He appeared formidable nevertheless.

And yes, he was indeed significantly taller than the average man, with a strong yet agile build.

"Well?"

He smiled ironically at her, still uttering no words. Despite his unusual appearance, she had to admit: this was an appealing man by any standard.

"I'm sure you didn't infiltrate my hall just to stare at an old lady."

His smile faded, his countenance turning serious.

"No."

"Why are you here, stranger?"

"I am here to save you and your city."

His accent was heavy, his words formed slowly, gruff tones imbued with urgency and gravitas. An accent she had never heard before.

"And… from what will you be saving us?"

"The Lannister lions are coming for you," he said, his blue stare becoming just short of hypnotic.

Deep inside, she knew it to be true. The Lannisters would not concede their advantage while the Targaryen child hesitated to attack.

"How did you come by this information? And what's it to you?"

"There are two armies headed your way. One is halfway through the Roseroad from King's Landing; the other has passed the Old Oak, traveling down the Ocean Road from Lannisport."

For once in her life, Olenna Tyrell couldn't find her tongue. "How…?"

"My scouts saw them and are following closely."

"Who are you?" she managed to ask, still debating whether to believe him.

"Does it matter?" he replied with a faint half-smile.

"I just want to know why you are warning me, and what I am to you, what the Lannisters are to you."

He sat down, grabbing the half-empty cup of mead. "The Lannisters are my current enemy." He took a small gulp from the cup and looked at her unflinchingly once again.

"You… I just need a small favor from you before I go out to make your city safe."

She raised her eyebrows. "Do tell; I can't wait to hear it."

"Send a raven to Dragonstone with your seal upon it. Tell Daenerys Stormborn that the Lannisters come to meet their doom at the gates of your city, and to come witness their destruction."