Chapter 81: A Meeting Tinged with Resentment
Petyr spread his hands and said, "It's a shame the distance was too great; we missed a most exciting wager."
Varys smiled, saying, "I concur. A tourney without the Master of Coin's wager loses a measure of its excitement."
Petyr and Varys exchanged a smile.
After a moment, Varys, his smile somewhat contained, spoke. "Lord Petyr, how fares Lord Jon Arryn's recovery?"
Petyr's gaze was deep, his shoulders shrugging slightly. "Lord Varys, this is no secret. Lord Stannis Baratheon has called, and the meeting was not a pleasant one. I can only say he is on the mend."
Varys sighed softly. "I have heard as well. While I know not the precise details, Lord Stannis Baratheon was seen departing by more than a few, and speculation is rife."
Petyr shook his head, a hint of helplessness in his sigh. "There is no helping it; Lord Stannis Baratheon has ever been unbendingly righteous."
Varys, still unhurried, inquired, "Are you suggesting that such unbending righteousness is, perhaps, terrifying?"
Petyr's eye twitched, a corner of his lip curling. "As for Lord Stannis Baratheon, truth be told, a certain awe resides in everyone's hearts."
Varys nodded. "That speaks to the enduring goodness in the hearts of men."
Petyr's smile froze for an instant, his eyes flickering. "Lord Varys," he began, "it seems you hold Lord Stannis Baratheon in high regard."
Varys clasped his hands. "My thoughts are of little consequence; I am but one small voice among many."
Petyr's smile did not falter. "Lord Stannis Baratheon is ever in such a rush. For the sake of all, it seems I must endeavor to detain him next time."
Varys smiled in return, "That would require the aid of your considerable wit."
Petyr leaned back in his chair, spreading his hands. "Perhaps, if we rid King's Landing of all its whores, Lord Stannis Baratheon might find his spirits somewhat lifted? We all know how he detests them."
Varys smiled, shaking his head. "Then we would see King Robert no more in King's Landing. We must, in the end, make our choices."
Petyr chuckled, changing the subject. "Lord Varys, it appears your aid is required on this occasion. The Hand of the King seems rather concerned."
Varys rose from his chair, bowing his head. "Gladly shall I serve. My Little Birds will ensure Baron Glinn receives Lord Jon Arryn's regards."
Petyr offered a slight smile of thanks, though the mirth never reached his eyes.
*
Highgarden Castle.
Glyn finally met the much-anticipated Pufferfish Duke.
Lord Mace Tyrell possessed a head of curly brown hair and a robust physique, somewhat corpulent yet still appearing imposing.
By his bearing, the distinguished Lord Mace proved himself worthy as the leader of House Tyrell.
Glyn cast a glance at the Little Rose standing beside Lord Mace, then bowed to Lord Mace. "Good day, Your Grace," he began. "I am the Queen's envoy, Her Grace's chief steward, Lord of Lightfort, and your humble admirer, Greene Kleb. It is a profound honor to meet you."
"My admirer?" Lord Mace's initial impression of Glyn was rather favorable.
Margaery's eyes stirred slightly, first glancing at Glyn, who seemed to be reining in his excitement, then at her father, who remained composed. She held a graceful smile and maintained her silence.
*
Lord Mace's voice was deep, resonant, and rich with magnetism. "Welcome, Baron Greene Kleb, to Highgarden, having journeyed so far."
Glyn bowed, placing a hand over his heart. "Your Grace's renown echoes throughout King's Landing. I am commanded, on behalf of Queen Cersei, to convey her sincerest greetings to you."
Lord Mace nodded. "Pray convey my thanks to Her Highness, the Queen. House Tyrell appreciates Her Highness's concern."
After the formal greetings concluded, Glyn took his seat at Lord Mace's invitation.
Lord Mace, a man who had weathered many storms, found himself somewhat unaccustomed to Glyn's gaze, which brimmed with admiration.
Lord Mace mused to himself that, after all, Glyn was but a young man, unversed in restraining his emotions.
Unwittingly, Lord Mace's favorable impression of Glyn deepened.
"Baron Glinn truly seemed to idolize her father..." The observing Little Rose felt she had learned yet another lesson that day.
*
Glyn said reverently, "I grew up hearing tales of your deeds, and have ever longed to meet you. When I learned that Queen Cersei intended to send an envoy to Highgarden, I immediately offered myself for the task. Pray forgive my presumption."
Lord Mace's expression remained calm, yet he uttered a questioning "Oh?"
Glyn leaned slightly forward. "That war, which transpired fifteen years ago... because so much time has passed, even children who now understand such matters, like myself, have heard its countless tellings from their mothers."
Lord Mace seemed lost in recollection. "Has it truly been fifteen years? Time slips by unheeded."
Lord Mace looked to Margaery, seated beside him. "Margaery had not even been born then..."
Lord Mace sighed. "That great war, while yielding much fortune, also brought far too much misfortune."
Margaery gazed at her father with concern, then gently patted his large hand as if to offer comfort.
*
Glyn's brow quirked. Was Lord Mace exhibiting signs of premature aging?
Glyn chose his moment to speak. "Your Grace, there is no need to fret. You did all that could be done, and your valiant efforts shall not remain forever buried. At the very least, the people of the Crab Claw Peninsula have always understood the impossible position you were in."
At his words, Lord Mace and Margaery both turned to Glyn, their gazes tinged with a complex mix of emotions.
Glyn's expression remained placid. He sighed softly. "You may not fully grasp the grim extent of the casualties on the Crab Claw Peninsula in that war. I can only say they fought to the very last for loyalty and honor.
Because of that war, more than half of the noble houses of Crackclaw Point were decimated, and many knights vanished forever... Now, House Clyburn has but a single male remaining: myself.
The survivors, my mother often recounts, say that had House Targaryen been willing to adopt Lord Mace's strategy at that time, perhaps the Iron Throne of King's Landing would still be theirs."
As he spoke, Glyn shook his head slightly, continuing, "My only regret is that they refused to heed your counsel. It could be said that House Targaryen's defeat lay in their own stubbornness."
Lord Mace seemed to lose himself in Glyn's words.
A short while later, Lord Mace, rousing himself from his reverie, cleared his throat and waved a hand, signaling the surrounding attendants to withdraw from the great hall.
Margaery blinked, then spoke up. "Baron Glinn, your words might easily be misunderstood. You are now a sworn vassal to King Robert."
Glyn placed a hand over his chest. "I thank you for the reminder, Lady Margaery. My true intent in seeking Your Grace today was to ask Lord Mace for counsel on military affairs. But in speaking of old matters, I confess I could not help but grow wistful... Pray forgive my indiscretion."
Lord Mace chuckled heartily. "No matter, for it is long past. We merely discussed matters of war; no one will truly take offense."
He paused for a moment, then asked, "I have acquainted myself somewhat with your accomplishments. You are most impressive; to lead men alone, at such a tender age, to defeat a twenty-fold allied army and reclaim your ancestral lands. *Ahem*, this suggests you possess a considerable understanding of that war, does it not?"
Lord Mace's gaze was encouraging, as if to say... *do tell me more*.
Glyn nodded emphatically. *I understand*, he thought.
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