POV: Olenna Tyrell, Highgarden.
Before me lay maps of Westeros, letters from informants in King's Landing, and reports from merchants traveling the trade routes. All of it pointed to the same conclusion.
The Lannisters were vulnerable.
Littlefinger was dead, executed publicly and brutally. Jon Arryn had exposed him as a thief and a traitor, and more importantly, Littlefinger had screamed the truth before his death.
Cersei's children were bastards. Born of incest between her and Jaime.
Most people had dismissed it as the ravings of a dying man. Robert had been persuaded to ignore it, thanks to that clever bastard of the mad king. But the seed was planted. Doubt lingered. And doubt, once rooted, was very difficult to remove.
Jon Arryn knew.
Which meant there would be a vacancy.
Robert Baratheon would need a new queen. Someone young, beautiful, fertile. Someone who could give him legitimate heirs and wash away the stain of the Lannister bastards.
Margaery.
My granddaughter was perfect for the role. Sixteen, lovely, trained in all the arts of courtly behavior. She could charm Robert, manage his temper, and secure Tyrell power for a generation.
But it had to happen soon. Before the chaos in King's Landing spiraled out of control. Before the Lannisters struck back or Jon Arryn consolidated too much power or Robert did something characteristically stupid.
Timing was everything.
The door to my solar opened. I looked up, irritated at the interruption.
Willas entered, leaning heavily on his cane. My eldest grandson, crippled in a tourney years ago but still sharp as a blade.
Behind him came a procession of servants carrying baskets and buckets. They set them down near my desk and retreated without a word.
"Grandmother," Willas said, inclining his head. "I apologize for disturbing you, but there is something you must see."
I set aside the map I had been studying. "This had better be important, Willas. I am in the middle of planning how to make your sister a queen."
"It is important," he assured me and gestured to the baskets.
I rose from my chair and walked to the nearest basket. Inside were apples. Bright red, perfectly round, gleaming in the light.
I picked one up and examined it.
Apples were never uniform. That was a simple truth of nature. An orchard might produce a hundred apples from the same tree, and each one would be different. Some would be redder because they had received more sunlight.
Others would have green patches where leaves had shaded them. Size varied depending on how well the tree was watered, how rich the soil was, and how successfully the flowers had been pollinated.
Blemishes were common. Birds pecked at the fruit. Insects burrowed into the flesh. Wind and rain left marks. No apple was ever perfect.
But this one was.
I turned it in my hands, studying it from every angle. The skin was flawless. The color was uniform, bright red without variation. The size was perfect, neither too large nor too small.
I set it down and picked up another.
Identical.
A third. A fourth.
All of them exactly the same. As if they had been carved from wax rather than grown on a tree.
"This is unnatural," I said quietly.
"There is more, Grandmother," Willas said. "Open one."
I pulled a small knife from my belt and cut into the apple. The blade sliced through the flesh easily, releasing a fragrance so rich and sweet it made my mouth water.
I cut the apple in half and stared.
There were no seeds.
I examined both halves carefully, turning them over, looking for the familiar dark cores where seeds should have been nestled in their star-shaped chamber.
Nothing. Just smooth, unblemished flesh all the way through.
"Impossible," I muttered.
"Taste it," Willas urged.
I brought one half to my mouth and bit into it.
The flavor exploded across my tongue. Sweet, yes, but with a depth and complexity I had never experienced in any fruit. It was as if I had been eating shadows of apples my entire life and this was the first real one.
I took another bite. Then another. Before I knew it, I had devoured the entire half.
I set the other half down and looked at Willas. "Where did you get this?"
"From a ship," he said. "It docked at Oldtown three weeks ago. The cargo manifest listed the origin as somewhere near Bear Island."
"The North?"
"Yes. I managed to purchase several crates before word spread and the prices became absurd."
I looked at the baskets again. "And the grains?"
Willas gestured to one of the buckets. I walked over and scooped up a handful of wheat.
Each grain was enormous. Twice the size of any wheat I had seen from our own fields. They were golden, perfectly formed, heavier than they should have been.
"They taste better too," Willas said. "We tested them. The bread made from this wheat is richer, more filling."
I let the grains fall back into the bucket. "You are telling me that the North, that frozen wasteland, is producing crops superior to anything in the Reach?"
"Yes."
I walked back to the apples and picked one up again, studying it in the light. "Can we grow them here?"
Willas's expression darkened. "That is the problem. No."
"What do you mean, no?"
"I have tried, Grandmother. I planted the grains in our best soil, with our best farmers tending them. They sprouted, but the plants were weak, sickly. They died within weeks." He gestured with his cane. "I even managed to acquire a branch from one of the apple trees. I had our best grafters attempt to attach it to our own stock. It would not take. The branch withered and fell off."
I stared at him. "That makes no sense."
"I know."
I looked down at the apple in my hand. Seedless, perfect, and impossible to grow.
"They are unnatural," I said, "Such perfection does not exist in nature."
"What are you suggesting?"
"Magic." The word tasted bitter in my mouth. "Jon Stark."
Willas was quiet for a moment. Then he nodded. "I had the same thought. But I wanted you to see them yourself before drawing conclusions."
I set the apple down and turned to face him. "Who else knows about this?"
"A few merchants. Some farmers. Word is spreading, but slowly. The North is being very careful about how much they sell and to whom."
I walked back to my desk and sat down heavily.
I had been planning to marry Margaery to Robert because the risks were predictable. The Lannisters were dangerous, yes, but they were human. They played the game of thrones according to rules I understood. Swords and gold and marriage alliances.
If Jon Stark could create plants that defied nature, what else could he do? Could he reshape armies? Create weapons that did not exist? Bring dragons back from extinction?
The very laws of nature were being rewritten, and I had been preparing to play a game that might no longer matter.
"Grandmother," Willas said quietly. "What should we do?"
I looked at the apples, perfect and impossible, sitting in their baskets.
"I do not know," I admitted.
For the first time in decades, I truly did not know.
....
(A/N: I will upload extra chapters according to the power stones received. 400PS = 1 extra)