They halted for a rest in a small grove, by a stream covered with thin ice.
Tywin rose in his stirrups and looked back. From behind the trees, only Lord Brax's detachment was visible on emaciated horses, dirty up to their bellies. The others had to be waited for, although the place indicated by Daven in the last message was only an hour's brisk trot away.
Mace Tyrell rode up and dismounted with a groan, then walked around the clearing, stretching his stiff back. Thinks himself a great commander, but already resembles a wreck. A descendant of a steward always remains one, no matter whom he marries or what regalia he appropriates. Tywin pursed his lips contemptuously.
"Oh, for a young boar with herbs right now," Tyrell drawled. "Hey, you," he addressed the squires pitching a tent, "warm some wine for the Hand and me, and look lively!"
His familiarity was irritating to the point of teeth-grinding, but Tywin was used to tolerating people disgusting to him nearby.
It grew dark quickly in the winter manner, as if a thick blanket had been thrown over the world, although Tywin was sure: no more than three hours had passed since noon.
A little less than an hour had passed since they stopped for a rest. Tents managed to grow in the grove, fires blazed. Despite fatigue, Lord Tywin personally checked the sentry posts and gave instructions to subordinates in case of a Northern attack—Robb Stark, like his sigil beast, loved to attack at night. Returning to his tent, he still could not shake off a nagging feeling of anxiety.
Tyrell was waiting for him in the tent, not thinking of going anywhere. Instead of the coveted boar, there was a hare on the table before him, which, however, had eaten well during the long summer and had plump sides. Several jugs with leftover wine made it clear that his second wish had also been fulfilled.
"Help yourself, Lord Tywin," Tyrell pushed the dish toward the Hand, miraculously not overturning it. "Before the legendary battle awaiting us in the morning, it would be good to refresh ourselves."
Tywin ignored the offer. Over the past days, the Rose Lord had managed to tire him with reasoning about what exactly the bards would call the coming battle: the Slaughter of Wolves or the Driven Hunt. However, a way to knock him off his favorite topic was also found quickly.
"Have wagons with grain already been sent to the Westerlands?" Tywin looked at his interlocutor. "We have already discussed how important it is not to lose time. Besides grain, salt beef, butter, and, of course, fodder are also needed. Oh yes, you also promised shipwrights to restore the fleet in Lannisport."
Tyrell noticeably wilted. Thoughts of future expenses instantly knocked the martial ardor out of him, and the wine clearly went to his head. Amazing how he managed to get so drunk before such an expected battle, as if the spirit of the late King Robert had possessed him. Better leave him in the camp so he doesn't accidentally break his neck.
Tywin had no more desire to be related to this man than his daughter did, but unlike her, Lord Lannister understood the necessity of this step.
"Yes, it will be a great battle," Tyrell repeated thoughtfully. He spoke quietly, so Tywin pretended not to notice. "Ballads will be composed and tales told about us, like about Garth Greenhand."
Tywin looked at him attentively. Although Tyrell was a fool, he was a reliable fool. This one, if he swore, would not stab in the back. Tywin gave him everything he desired, even a little more: several seats on the Small Council, a substantial part of the Stormlands, a crown for his daughter. And this after a decade of oblivion during Baratheon's rule.
"A story just came to mind. My lady mother told it only once and refused to repeat it, no matter how much she was asked, but I remember it well."
Tywin was about to lead him out of the tent and hand him over to the servants, but the Rose Lord somehow managed to grab him by the shoulder.
"No, listen, it's a good tale," Tyrell sank heavily into a chair. For the sake of this fool feeding King's Landing this winter, Tywin was ready to listen to more than one tale from him.
"Once a monster settled on the lands of Garth Greenhand. His body was covered with grey scales, his head crowned with horns, and poison dripping from his fangs killed all living things. He lived in a cave on a desert mountain where neither beast nor bird settled, where neither flower nor blade of grass grew. Every day the monster left his cave to bring evil into the world."
Tyrell fell silent, staring at the tent canopy. Judging by appearances, he was about to fall asleep any moment.
Whatever Cersei said, Tywin was confident in the Tyrells' loyalty. Even if Stark offered them more than Tywin, they are not in a position to defect again. The Reach is the cradle of chivalry, and oaths are taken especially seriously there. The Tyrells are already unforgiven for their descent from stewards. If they break their oath and defect once more, they will become outcasts, if not lose power over their kingdom altogether.
"So the monster believed in his omnipotence and decided to prove it by shaming the king of men," Tyrell continued his story again. "He sent word to Garth Greenhand that he wished to form an alliance with him against the giants with whom he was fighting, and seal it with marriage to one of his daughters. It was not easy for Garth Greenhand with the choice presented. The monster was elusive as death itself. Many heroes perished climbing that mountain. Garth himself had no way there."
However, five or six years will pass. The Lannisters will recover after the war, and Queen Margaery will decide to dedicate her life to serving the Seven and become a septa or a silent sister. Ideally, she would have time to bear an heir—this would strengthen Joffrey's position—but even if not, the Lannisters have enough loyal bannermen with young unmarried daughters.
"And Garth reluctantly agreed to the alliance and swore that he would not raise a sword against his future son-in-law. The monster rejoiced then. While crawling to the place of the ceremony, he savored how cleverly he had deceived everyone and how he would have fun with the princess sent to him by her own father."
He was interrupted by the trample of many hooves: Lord Farman or Lydden's detachment must have finally reached them. Although, Tywin expected them to join much faster. The Hand rose and left the tent.
His expectations were not met. In the light of the fires, he discerned a golden rose on the riders' banners. This was strange: the Tyrell detachment was supposed to go in the rearguard. How could they get ahead of both Farman and Lydden?
"Do not be so surprised, Lord Lannister," amazing how with his weight and intoxication Tyrell managed to sneak up so silently. "I allocated the best horses for my men."
The explanation did not convince the Hand. He should have sent a messenger, should have found out...
"The monster crawled to the godswood and instead of a beautiful maiden in white satin saw warriors clad in steel."
Tyrell's voice was no longer relaxed and drunk. Insinuating and cunning notes appeared in it, which Tywin had never noticed before, as if Mace was telling some joke and expected the opponent to appreciate and understand it any moment.
"'How can this be!' cried the monster. 'You gave your word!'. Do you know, Lord Lannister, what Garth Greenhand answered him?" Tyrell no longer hid his amusement.
No, it was not just amusement. It was superiority. Roger Reyne looked at him like that when Tywin tried to put him in his place. Lady Tarbeck looked like that when father approved Genna's marriage to the Frey runt. No one had dared to send such a look in his direction for a long time.
Tyrells kept arriving and arriving. There were many of them, much more than the detachment that moved out from King's Landing. And Tywin smelled a scent, the incomparable aroma of slaughter.
Tywin drew his sword. Many knights and warriors followed his example, but the majority were resting peacefully, not expecting a sudden attack from traitors who had entered the camp unimpeded.
The Hand was not used to lying to himself. With every minute, their chances of fighting back were rapidly melting.
Tyrell jumped aside, increasing the distance separating them.
"Lannisters, to me!" roared Tywin and was immediately surrounded by a living wall.
His gaze was fixed on two riders slowly approaching the tent. The first was Garlan Tyrell, supposedly languishing in captivity with the Northerners. Tywin had never seen the second one before, but recognized him at first glance.
"Your Grace," Tyrell bowed to him.
"Hand," Robb Stark nodded to him with a faint smile, after which he dismounted.
A crossbow string whistled. The bolt flew past Stark's shoulder and entered a tree standing ten paces away.
This served as a signal for the start of the brewing slaughter.
"Take no prisoners. I pay for dead as for living," reached Tywin through the ringing of swords...
Olenna Tyrell sat in an armchair at the head of the bed and watched her granddaughter fall asleep. Bathing in ice water had undermined her health. Now she was so weak that she walked with difficulty. However, Margaery herself did not regret her decision:
"Better to fall into the Blackwater once in the height of autumn than become a second Queen Rhaella," she told her grandmother the day before she went on that walk.
She was not privy to all the details of the elders' plan, but she played the role assigned to her with dignity and grace.
Lady Olenna gently stroked her tangled hair, then rose and went to the window.
They were in the country house of an Arbor wine merchant who had been supplying House Tyrell with useful information from the capital for ten years. Slipping away from under the vigilant eye of Cersei and Varys was not easy, especially for a bedridden maiden and a frail old woman, so when they descended through the passages under the Red Keep, Right had to carry Margaery, and Left—Olenna herself. Not the best memories, but they are far preferable to the position of hostage and burden for Mace.
The house stood on a hill, so from the window one could see King's Landing and the smoke rising in thick columns. The city was blazing, and Loras was there now, in the very center of this fire. He insisted on his participation himself.
"The memory of the crowd is short. For now, it favors the Tyrells for bread, but can quickly forget this and direct its anger at all nobles. Need to be there to influence the situation at least somehow. I am best suited for this," Olenna fully agreed with him.
House Tyrell moved toward an alliance with Robb Stark slowly, like a traveler through a swamp.
The first step was, of course, Loras's acquaintance with him. From under the walls of Storm's End, her youngest grandson brought the sharpest dislike for the Lannisters. She tried to talk to him, explain how exactly these feelings were instilled in him, but it was useless.
Lady Tyrell knew about his excessive hot temper and fervor, but also recognized his sharp mind and sensitivity to people. Loras accepted the hated alliance for a time, and began to observe himself, finding more and more confirmation of his suspicions, and shared his discoveries with his beloved grandmother. His considerations almost always coincided with her own.
The second step was the letters of Vyman Tarbeck. She had seen this man only three times, but that was enough to become imbued with respect for him. In his place, anyone would have laid hands on themselves or lost their mind, but he accepted all sorrows with such courage. They had been in correspondence for many years, and no one received such a flattering assessment from him as Robb Stark. "Imagine the charm of the Young Dragon, the acumen of Viserys II, and the daring of Aegon the Conqueror. Then, perhaps, you will understand what Robb Stark is like."
Next followed the acquaintance with Sansa Stark and her story. Lady Tyrell didn't even have to spend money on the services of informants. Every stable boy, every cook in the Red Keep knew how King Joffrey treated his former betrothed.
"And a year ago he walked with her in the garden and gave flowers," Loras said, not hiding his disgust. "I don't know about you, Grandmother, but I won't give our Margaery to be torn apart by him!"
Olenna agreed with him. In the Tyrell family, they loved and valued their children, which cannot be said about the Lannister family. Tywin Lannister loved the reflection of Tywin Lannister in his children, which is why he treated the youngest with such hatred—who likes looking into a crooked mirror? Lucky if the great-grandson justifies his expectations. And if not?
Queen Cersei is blinded by love for her firstborn, therefore will hate anyone who approaches him. She will do everything to drive her daughter-in-law to the grave.
As for King Joffrey, even his own uncle called him Aerys III.
Despite these fabrications, Olenna was still ready to feed the little bastard the Strangler and bet on his more compliant younger brother.
Everything changed after Garlan was captured. When a sobbing servant informed her of this, Olenna felt her legs fail and her heart clench. She knew about the fate of Stafford Lannister and his people. She tried to talk to Tywin Lannister, but her son stopped her:
"The Hand said he has insufficient forces to attack Duskendale," Mace spoke with a grey face. "Said he is still waiting for the promised reinforcements."
Angry words stuck in her throat like a lump. She staggered and fell into her son's arms, feeling consciousness slip away.
For two weeks the maester nursed her with herbs. On the day she was able to get out of bed, Mace appeared glowing with joy with a letter from Garlan. In it, her grandson reported that he was saved by His Grace Robb the First of His Name. So they learned about the death of Stannis Baratheon...
Lady Tyrell always taught her children and grandchildren that oaths should be treated very carefully and gently if you don't want the fame of the Late Lord Walder Frey. An oath, however, should not be granite, but metal, which, with skillful forging, can take any shape.
"But how can that be!" little Mace interrupted her. "Lord Father said that one must keep an oath no matter what!"
And then she told him the story about Garth Greenhand and the monster.
"What do you think Garth Greenhand answered to the monster's accusations?"
"You started it first?" Mace said with childish clarity.
"No," Lady Olenna ruffled his hair. "He answered the monster: 'I promised you, but my sons did not,' and added, 'Oaths are made with people, not monsters'..."
The main condition for House Tyrell's transition to Robb Stark's side was the preservation of their house's honor and reputation.
The Young Wolf gave them his guarantees.
"Not the best fame goes about the Lannisters anyway," he wrote in reply. "Tywin Lannister built his power on fear, not on love or respect. Therefore, need to drag all their demons out. In the eyes of people, they must become real monsters so that deviating from an oath is not betrayal, but a feat..."
He turned out to have quite a few people in King's Landing. Most of them came with peasants from the war-ravaged Riverlands.
He started with rumors. On the streets, in shops, at the market, they talked again about the origin of the Queen's children, about King Robert's death, and about King Joffrey's amusements. Human slander cannot be stopped by fear or threats. Soon commoners were convinced that Tywin Lannister cuts out the hearts of his victims and keeps them in the dungeons of Casterly Rock, and Queen Cersei bathes in the blood of virgins to preserve youth and beauty.
The Gold Cloaks tried to somehow hold back this stream, but the more zealous they were, the more they inflamed the townspeople. Every beaten, every sent to prison only confirmed: all rumors are true.
Loras told her about what was happening, sparing no details.
"Yesterday the Hand collected hearts, and today he is already devouring them together with his dwarf son, whom the children of the forest planted on him instead of his real child. Still, there is no limit to human imagination," he reasoned, not hiding his satisfaction. "The whole city is already laughing at the Lannisters, down to the last beggar from Flea Bottom."
"One cannot defeat Lannister men clad in excellent armor, armed with the best weapons, with mockery alone," Lady Olenna noted. "To topple this colossus, something more serious is needed."
...And this "serious" frightened even her.
Robb Stark did not trust his plan to paper. Loras met with his messenger, specially taking the habit of walking near the deserted Dragonpit for this purpose, to make it easier to escape the surveillance of numerous spies.
He returned only by evening looking as if he had peeked under the Stranger's hood.
"You and Margaery must leave the city immediately," he spoke dully.
Of course, Olenna got explanations from him. She learned about Tyrion Lannister's interest in King Aerys's alchemists and about the revelations of Wisdom Hallyne, torn out under torture. Under King's Landing were thousands of jars of wildfire and the Lannisters intended to use it in the coming battle.
King Stark intended to present this news somewhat differently: in case of defeat, the Lannisters plan to burn King's Landing with all inhabitants and sail away on ships to the Free Cities. The presence of wildfire storages and the words of pyromancers will only confirm this half-truth. The Tyrells were to head the enraged crowd and lead it to the Red Keep. When it's all over, noble Robb Stark will appear, having defeated the Lannister army, and worthy residents of the capital will meet him with honors and present the keys to the city...
It was monstrous. It was dangerous. This plan could belong to Maegor the Cruel or Bloodraven, but in the current situation Olenna saw no other way out...
The city in the distance blazed, and the heart clenched in anxiety for kin.
There was only one joy. Lady Olenna stroked the letter that arrived in the morning from Highgarden. Sansa Stark was with child.