Chapter 26: The Rose of Highgarden Bows to Fire
The fall of Horn Hill and the forced submission of Lord Randyll Tarly echoed through the verdant plains of the Reach like a death knell for House Tyrell's complacency. Vaelyx Targaryen, with Heartsbane now a grim trophy temporarily stored within his expanding treasury in the suitcase (he found its weight and balance ill-suited to his preferred style of subtle spellcasting, but its symbolic value was immense), did not linger. He left a strong garrison of Aegis Guard and Myrish Legionaries to secure Horn Hill, with Lord Tarly a "guest of honor" within its walls, his family under close watch, ensuring his grudging cooperation in pacifying the surrounding Tarly lands. The message to the Reach was clear: defiance met ruin, but submission, however coerced, offered a sliver of survival.
The Dragon Emperor's army, now swollen by cowed Tarly levies and opportunistic Marcher lords eager to switch allegiance from a distant, embattled Stag to a present, terrifying Dragon, began its inexorable advance towards Highgarden. The march was a spectacle of controlled terror. His Dothraki outriders, under Boros's now surprisingly firm hand (he had learned that Vaelyx preferred productive vassals to smoking wastelands), scouted far ahead, their presence alone sending villages into panic, but their orders were to secure supplies, not to engage in wanton slaughter unless provoked. The main army, a river of disciplined Essosi and Dornish steel, moved with relentless efficiency through the lush countryside. Above them, Vaelyx's seven dragons performed lazy, menacing circles, their shadows passing over fields of golden wheat and orchards heavy with fruit, a constant reminder of the fiery doom that awaited any who resisted.
Smallfolk fled before them, their tales of seven colossal beasts and a silver-haired Emperor with eyes of ice growing with each retelling. Lesser Reach lords, whose castles dotted the fertile landscape, faced an agonizing choice. Many, hearing of Horn Hill's fate and seeing the dragons firsthand, sent riders pledging fealty and offering provisions before Vaelyx's vanguard even reached their gates. Their castles were spared, their lords "invited" to join his retinue, their levies added to his ever-growing host.
At Highgarden, the news of Horn Hill's swift, brutal fall and Randyll Tarly's submission plunged House Tyrell into a crisis. Lord Mace Tyrell, a man whose ambition far outstripped his courage or intellect, was reportedly in a state of near apoplexy. He blustered about calling his banners, of leading the chivalry of the Reach to crush this Essosi pretender, but his words rang hollow even in his own ears. The thought of facing seven dragons turned his bluster to bile.
It was Lady Olenna Tyrell, the diminutive Queen of Thorns, her wit as sharp as her moniker, who truly grasped the hopelessness of their situation. In the solar of Highgarden, surrounded by anxious bannermen like Lord Mathis Rowan and Lord Orton Merryweather, and her own nervous son, she made her cold calculations.
"Fighting is idiocy, Mace," she snapped, her voice cutting through his panicked pronouncements. "Your famed chivalry will melt like butter before dragon fire. Tarly, a better soldier than you'll ever be, is broken. Do you imagine your roses will fare better than his huntsman?" She turned to her son. "We have one chance: survival. And if we are very, very clever, perhaps even advancement. This Targaryen, this Emperor… he will need Westerosi allies, faces that are familiar to the Seven Kingdoms. He will need the Reach's granaries. He will need our legitimacy, however thin he might consider it."
Her eyes, old and shrewd, considered the possibilities. "He is unmarried, they say. And Margaery…" She left the thought hanging, a potent seed planted in the fertile ground of Tyrell ambition.
Vaelyx's army arrived before the famed white walls and graceful towers of Highgarden like a slow-moving storm. He did not immediately begin a siege. Instead, he arrayed his forces in a vast, intimidating arc, the discipline of his Unsullied and legionaries a stark contrast to the wilder energy of his Dothraki. And above it all, his seven dragons landed in a wide semi-circle on the plains before the city, each a mountain of scale and barely contained fury, their collective presence a palpable weight on the very air. Vorlag, Ignis, and Tempest were closest, their fiery natures a clear threat. Argentus crackled with latent lightning. Aurumel and Astra, further back, radiated a more ethereal, but no less intimidating, power. Veridian, as always, was an unseen observer, likely already having scouted Highgarden's defenses from within.
Vaelyx sent forth a single rider: Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper, his armor gleaming, the Martell sun-and-spear banner carried proudly beside him. His message to Lord Mace Tyrell was simple: come forth and parley, or Highgarden would become the next great pyre of Westeros.
Mace Tyrell, pale and sweating despite the perfumed air of his pavilion, rode out with a magnificent retinue – his sons Garlan and Loras (the Knight of Flowers, looking distinctly unnerved), Lord Randyll Tarly (his face a mask of stone, Heartsbane now worn by one of Vaelyx's honor guard), and a host of his most prominent bannermen. Lady Olenna, surprisingly, was not among them, choosing to observe from Highgarden's walls, her keen eyes missing nothing.
The parley took place in the open field between the two armies, under the watchful gaze of dragons and men. Vaelyx, seated upon a simple but imposing camp throne, flanked by Boros, Commander Valerion, and Ser Damon Sand, his expression one of utter, regal disinterest, let Mace Tyrell bluster and sweat.
"Lord… Emperor Vaelyx," Mace began, his voice a little too loud, betraying his nerves. "House Tyrell has ever been loyal to the true rulers of Westeros. We acknowledge the… complex situation regarding the succession. We are prepared to discuss terms… for the good of the Reach, and the realm."
Vaelyx's lips curved into a smile that did not reach his eyes. "Loyalty, Lord Tyrell? A convenient word. Your house bent the knee to the Usurper Robert when my nephew Rhaegar fell. My dragons do not appreciate such… flexibility. They hunger for the taste of indecision." As if on cue, Ignis let out a guttural roar and a plume of scarlet flame shot skyward. Mace Tyrell visibly flinched.
"My terms are simple, Lord of Highgarden," Vaelyx continued, his voice dropping to a soft, dangerous purr that carried across the field. "Unconditional fealty to me, Vaelyx of House Targaryen, your rightful Emperor and King. Your armies will join mine. Your granaries will feed mine. Your fleets will sail under my banner. Your house will pledge itself, utterly and irrevocably, to my cause. In return, Highgarden will be spared. The Reach will prosper under my protection. You may even retain your titles, as Warden of the South, under my imperial authority." He paused. "Refuse, and by sunset, these beautiful fields will be ash, your castle a ruin, and your line… extinguished. Randyll Tarly can attest to the… persuasiveness of my arguments."
Lord Tarly, standing stony-faced, merely inclined his head a fraction.
It was then that Oberyn Martell, with a theatrical sigh, interjected. "My Lord Emperor, perhaps our good Lord Tyrell needs a… gentler persuasion. He has a lovely granddaughter, does he not? Margaery, a rose of great beauty and, I hear, considerable wit. Such a flower might bloom even brighter when allied to the might of the Dragon. A marriage, to seal this new allegiance? To ensure the loyalty of the Reach and the prosperity of both our great houses?"
Vaelyx, who had of course discussed this possibility with Oberyn (and whose Voldemort persona saw marriage purely as a political tool, devoid of any personal interest), feigned consideration. He knew Olenna Tyrell's hand was in this suggestion. His Legilimency, subtly brushing against Mace Tyrell's panicked, grasping thoughts, confirmed the Lord of Highgarden was now desperately seeking any lifeline.
"A marriage alliance…" Vaelyx mused. "An interesting proposition, Prince Oberyn. Lady Margaery is said to be a jewel. Such a union would indeed bind House Tyrell most closely to my own. A gesture of… profound loyalty." His gaze bored into Mace Tyrell. "Well, my lord? Does this path to… profound loyalty… appeal to you more than the path of ash and ruin?"
Mace Tyrell, seeing a way to salvage not only his life and lands but also potentially place his granddaughter as Empress, practically sagged with relief, though he tried to maintain a semblance of dignity. "An alliance through marriage… yes, Emperor! A most wise and gracious offer! House Tyrell would be deeply honored to be joined with the true blood of Valyria! We pledge our swords, our lives, our granaries, our beautiful Margaery, to your noble cause!"
Vaelyx suppressed a sneer. The man was a fool, but a useful one for now. Olenna was the true player. He would deal with her later.
"Very well, Lord Tyrell," Vaelyx said. "Your submission is accepted. Highgarden will open its gates. Your levies will join my standard. Your daughter, Lady Margaery, will be brought to my court here in the field as a gesture of goodwill and to begin… acquaintance. Lord Loras, your valorous son, will also join my personal Kingsguard – a position of great honor." A skilled warrior, and another valuable hostage.
And so, before the assembled might of two armies, Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South, knelt in the dust and swore fealty to Emperor Vaelyx Targaryen, his voice trembling only slightly. The banners of House Tyrell were dipped in submission. Highgarden, the heart of the Reach, had fallen without a single stone being thrown in anger against its walls.
The impact on Westeros was cataclysmic. The Reach, with its vast armies and inexhaustible food supplies, was now part of the Dragon Emperor's war machine. King's Landing was thrown into utter panic. Robert Baratheon, finally shaken from his complacency, was reportedly roaring for Tywin Lannister to march west and for Eddard Stark and Jon Arryn to bring their northern and Valemen levies south with all speed. But armies took time to muster and march. Time Vaelyx now had in abundance, with the Reach's resources at his command.
Tywin Lannister, in Casterly Rock, remained silent, his calculations no doubt growing more complex and ruthless by the day. Stannis Baratheon, still bogged down in the siege of Dragonstone (where Viserys and Daenerys had long since been spirited away to Essos by loyalists, a fact Vaelyx knew but kept to himself), would hear the news with grim fury, his own position looking increasingly untenable if the mainland fell.
Vaelyx entered Highgarden not as a conqueror razing a city, but as a sovereign accepting the fealty of a powerful vassal. He established his court temporarily in its beautiful halls, its famous gardens now playing host to his war council and the occasional landing of a smaller dragon like Aurumel or Veridian. Margaery Tyrell, a young woman of surprising composure and shrewd intelligence that reminded Vaelyx uncomfortably of a younger, less withered Olenna, was presented to him. He treated her with cool, imperial courtesy, making no personal overtures but acknowledging the political necessity of their future union.
With the Reach secured, its armies swelling his own to over a hundred thousand, its granaries opened to him, Vaelyx Targaryen stood as the undisputed master of southern Westeros. From Highgarden, he could strike in any direction: north towards the Westerlands and Lannisport, east towards the Crownlands and King's Landing, or even further up the Mander to pacify the rest of the Reach.
His dragons cast their shadows ever wider, and the lament of Heartsbane, now locked away, was drowned out by the triumphant roars of a new, seven-headed Targaryen dynasty rising from the east, poised to consume the Seven Kingdoms in a storm of fire and calculated ambition.