By now, nearly all of Westeros was watching Jon's campaign in the West. As a directly interested party, Highgarden was no exception.
Discussions about Jon could be heard almost everywhere within the castle walls.
Within Highgarden, the person most concerned about Jon was, naturally, Margaery Tyrell. And perhaps even more concerned than Margaery was her companion, Lia.
Lia's first question to her handmaid upon waking each morning was whether there was news from the front.
"Not yet, my lady. The bastard has been camped beneath Casterly Rock for over half a month. Rumor has it he launched an assault recently, but it failed."
"Phew... I see."
Hearing this, Lia breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed Jon's capture of the Golden Tooth had been pure luck. Against Casterly Rock, he was helpless.
She had never expected the betrothal to shift back to Margaery. When she first heard the news, Lia had felt the relief of a survivor escaping a disaster.
But hearing that Jon had taken the Golden Tooth in a single stroke had given her a fright.
If Jon actually took Casterly Rock... Lia remembered her taunts at the banquet. If that happened—
Casterly Rock never falls, Lia whispered to herself, as if chanting a spell.
She composed herself and went to perform her duty—attending to Margaery.
Soon, Lia arrived at their usual gathering spot. A group of noble maidens surrounded Margaery, chattering about the war.
"Jon reached the Golden Tooth in just a month or two. My brother says he truly has a gift for war," one girl said.
"Indeed. If the Young Wolf hadn't found that goat track into the West, he might have been stuck outside the Golden Tooth forever," another agreed.
Margaery smiled and nodded at their praise, though she knew many of these "friends" were secretly waiting to see her humiliated.
A highborn daughter of a Lord Paramount marrying a bastard—even a legitimised one without a castle to his name—was seen by some as a step down.
As a daughter of Highgarden, Margaery's education was thorough. She knew the geography of the Seven Kingdoms and the strengths of its great castles.
She knew Winterfell was remote and cold, its logistical nightmare enough to crush any invader.
She knew Riverrun, cradled by two rivers, was impossible to storm when the sluice gates were opened.
She knew the Red Keep in King's Landing had once been guarded by dragons, a fortress no one dared threaten.
And Casterly Rock... it seemed only mythical figures from the Age of Heroes could conquer it.
Legend said Lann the Clever, the ancestor of House Lannister, had bedded every woman of House Casterly and taken the castle not with a sword, but with his... wit.
Margaery knew the truth was likely more complicated, involving cunning schemes, but she was intensely curious about how Jon intended to conquer the Rock.
Garlan had sent word that Jon wanted to borrow the Redwyne fleet. No one could understand how ships could help storm a castle on a mountain.
Despite the confusion, Mace Tyrell had summoned Lord Paxter Redwyne of the Arbor and ordered him to sail in support of Jon.
Facing her companions' flattery, Margaery remained modest. "Oh, Casterly Rock is not so easily taken. I heard his recent attack failed. I only hope he is careful and does not get hurt."
Do you really treasure that bastard so much? Lia thought, rolling her eyes internally. She used to admire Margaery, but now she thought the girl was love-struck and foolish.
Lia couldn't understand what Jon had done—what magic he had used—to bewitch Margaery like this.
Out loud, however, Lia said, "I still have high hopes for Jon. He hasn't lost a battle yet. Perhaps he has a plan we cannot see."
"Perhaps," Margaery said, smoothing her skirts. She knew exactly what Lia was thinking.
Just then, a servant arrived to summon Margaery. Lord Paxter Redwyne had arrived.
The Redwynes were Olenna's own house. Margaery owed Lord Paxter the respect due to an elder, so she excused herself and went to the solar.
There, Olenna was discussing the Arbor's vintage with Paxter.
The Arbor, located at the southern tip of Westeros, had a perfect climate for vineyards.
Its wines, especially the golden vintages produced through secret methods, were famous even in the Free Cities.
But fine goods needed transport and protection. The Redwyne Fleet was the foundation of their House's power and one of the three great fleets of Westeros. With Stannis's Royal Fleet crippled, only the Iron Fleet remained as a true rival.
Naturally, Paxter cherished his ships.
Although he faithfully answered his liege lord's summons, he had his doubts. What does Jon intend to do with my ships?
Mace hadn't explained in the letter, so Paxter had come to Highgarden while his fleet resupplied, hoping for answers.
Before he could get any, Margaery entered.
Her presence seemed to brighten the room. Her soft brown hair shone more brilliantly than any jewel.
Paxter's twin sons, Horas and Hobber, practically drooled at the sight of her.
When Margaery smiled at them, the "Horror" and the "Slobber" froze, forgetting even to bow.
Margaery ignored them and went straight to Paxter. "Uncle Paxter," she said sweetly, taking his arm. "I know little of war, but they say Casterly Rock is the hardest fortress to take. You must help him."
Mace's face lengthened into a pout. "Ah... daughters. I knew I couldn't keep her heart forever," he sighed to Paxter.
Paxter chuckled. "My Lord, how exactly does Jon expect me to help? The Rock is carved from stone. Ships cannot sail up a mountain."
During Robert's Rebellion, the Redwyne Fleet had blockaded Storm's End, but they had never attacked the castle directly. Ships fighting a fortress on land was usually a futile endeavor.
"I don't know either. But Jon never fights the way one expects. He didn't explain in his letter—"
Before Mace could finish, Margaery interjected. "Rest assured, Uncle. Jon values the lives of his men. Even the Bolton soldiers he took with him were not used as fodder. He knows how precious your fleet is; he won't squander it."
Seeing Mace about to frown at her interruption, Margaery quickly slipped behind his chair and began massaging his shoulders.
"Hmph! I don't know what you see in that brat," Mace grunted.
"Oh, Father, Jon is not a brat. I believe he will become a great lord. If he becomes the true Lord of Casterly Rock, that benefits Highgarden too, doesn't it?" Margaery cajoled and apologized until Mace's grumpiness subsided.
With the Tyrell family united on the matter, Paxter agreed. His fleet would follow Jon's commands.
Two days after Paxter left, the most formidable soldier in the Reach arrived at Highgarden: Lord Randyll Tarly.
In the Great Hall, decorated with green vines and red flowers, Mace received his most capable bannerman.
Randyll Tarly stood rigid and austere, the picture of martial discipline. He wore a boiled leather jerkin, armguards, and the greatsword Heartsbane across his back. His son, Dickon, stood beside him.
To be summoned twice in a few months was unusual.
Looking at the greatest general of the south, deep down, Mace felt a pang of envy. During the Rebellion, Randyll had defeated Robert Baratheon at Ashford with only the vanguard.
Mace, meanwhile, had sat outside Storm's End with a massive host for a year and achieved nothing. His recent failure at King's Landing only added to his insecurity.
The only thing that comforted him was that he had a much better head of hair than Randyll.
"Lord Tarly, I have summoned you to take command of twenty thousand men. You are to assist Jon in the West," Mace announced. "Your objective is to start from Cornfield and seize as much territory and as many castles as possible. Most importantly, keep Tywin's southern forces occupied."
Maester Lomys handed Randyll a scroll with his orders.
Randyll took it and bowed. "I shall not fail you, my Lord."
"Go then. I await your victory."
"At once."
Randyll Tarly turned on his heel and marched out, his cloak billowing behind him. He was a soldier's soldier: receive orders, execute orders, speak no nonsense.
Watching the Tarlys leave, Mace turned to Lomys. "Write a letter to Jon for me."
Lomys opened his ledger.
"That brat—"
"My Lord?" Lomys looked confused.
"Write it down! 'That brat!'"
"Oh." Lomys realized Mace wasn't talking to him.
"'That brat, I'm sending you twenty thousand men, so try not to embarrass me! Forget Casterly Rock; capture the surrounding castles and lands instead—'"
Highgarden's aggressive move was entirely due to the Queen of Thorns' foresight.
Olenna didn't believe Jon could take Casterly Rock either. Though she lacked Varys's spy network, she deduced that Tywin and Stannis were likely negotiating to split the West.
She believed they should grab as much land as possible before the peace was signed, securing more leverage for Jon.
Of course, her motives weren't purely altruistic. The gold mines of the West were the real prize. The more mines they seized, the richer House Tyrell would become.
No one ever complained about having too much gold. The Queen of Thorns never worked for free.
As for the fleet Jon requested, she agreed partly for Margaery's sake and partly because a naval battle against Casterly Rock was unlikely. It was a low-risk favor.
Mace continued dictating. "—Also, try not to lead every charge yourself! You're a commander now, watch your own neck! If you make Margaery cry, I'll thrash you myself!"
Lomys kept his head down, biting his lip to keep from laughing.
"That's all," Mace said, scratching his belly. He couldn't think of anything else.
"Wait. Send him the armor I wore when I was young."
"Yes, my Lord."
"Actually, no. That set is too flashy. Go to the armory and pick something sturdy for him."
"As you command."