Although Margaery's attempt to outmaneuver Aegor had failed, and all her acting and charm had been in vain, she did not lose her composure. She did not grow angry or flustered. That alone placed her leagues ahead of Cersei Lannister.
When she realized she would not get anything more out of him, she remained as poised as ever, continuing their conversation in a sweet and pleasant tone. She made one final attempt, but when it beca clear Aegor would not budge, she gracefully let the matter drop for now. After all, compared to making money, she had a far more pressing mission to accomplish in the North.
"Since Lord Aegor has said so, I will wait until this battle is over before visiting the Night's Watch office in King's Landing to see this enterprise for myself."
For the briefest mont, the mask of admiration and respect slipped. Her expression turned cool, even prideful. But the glimpse of her true face was fleeting before Aegor could fully register it, she had already replaced it with another carefully crafted expression.
"Ah… the wounded from today's siege have been brought down. I have so knowledge of healing, so I shall go visit them and see to their care. My lords, if you will excuse ."
---
Ah. Ti to put on the 'beloved by the common folk' act again.
Watching Margaery's graceful figure as she walked away, Aegor felt a flicker of amusent. But there was no contempt in it. He did not look down on her for it.
Pretend long enough, and you beco what you pretend to be.
A person's ambitions and motives were secondary to their actions. Margaery was skilled in performance, but that was simply a basic requirent for any competent politician. And if she maintained that act for a lifeti, who was to say she wouldn't beco a truly great queen?
If only she had been born ten years earlier, she might have had a chance with Robert.
---
"That little fox is utterly heartless."
The words ca from Buckwell, who had been observing from the sidelines. "I was worried she'd trick you, and I nearly stepped in to warn you more than once. But it seems I was concerned for nothing. You are the man Tyrion Lannister chose as his partner, after all. How could you fall for such an obvious trap?"
House Tyrell was powerful and wealthy, but they were not Buckwell's liege lords. He had no need to speak kindly of them. "There aren't many in this camp who can make that girl lose face. Robert is one. And now, so are you."
"You flatter , my lord. Truth be told, it's not easy to refuse such a beautiful woman's request." Aegor chuckled. He had not ant to embarrass Margaery, only to hold his ground. If he hadn't known exactly what kind of person she was, even with all his experience and caution, he might have… no, he would have fallen for her charms.
"Have you heard the rumors circulating in the camp these past few days?" Buckwell asked, stroking his beard. He had initially sought out Aegor for his role in the Night's Watch, but the more he observed him, the more he found the young man intriguing. "Everyone says Margaery Tyrell bears a striking resemblance to the late Lady Lyanna Stark."
Aegor raised a brow. "Oh? Is the resemblance truly there, or…?"
Buckwell gave him a knowing look. "What do you think?"
Aegor's eyes glinted. He already understood the subtext.
Lyanna Stark? How would the common soldiers in this camp even know what she looked like?
This rumor had undoubtedly been deliberately spread by the Tyrells.
Margaery had no realistic hope of becoming queen yet, but it seed she wasn't even above positioning herself as Robert's mistress.
For House Tyrell, this girl was willing to sacrifice everything.
She should have been born a Tully.
"Has His Grace seen Lady Margaery yet?" Aegor asked.
"He has." Buckwell smirked. "He complinted her a few tis, and that was the end of it. All her efforts—the styling, the rumors, the carefully chosen dresses were wasted. She is a beauty, but what woman has King Robert not seen? And His Grace is no fool. He wouldn't be so easily ensnared by a Tyrell."
The old knight twirled his beard thoughtfully. "Besides, I doubt even Robert rembers what Lyanna Stark looked like. Forget 'she resembles her' even if she were her exact double, I doubt it would move him."
Aegor nodded in agreent and sighed.
After more than a decade, who still rembers the face of a lost love?
Robert Baratheon who indulged in new conquests and cast off old ones with ease had long ceased loving the woman Lyanna Stark had been. What he still cherished was the idea of Lyanna, the fiancée stolen from him, the love he was denied.
"I can bed another man's wife, but no man can bed mine."
Robert was, at his core, a petty, domineering scoundrel. He had waited patiently for his betrothed, only for her to elope with another. That was a humiliation no amount of wealth or won could ever erase. No matter how many beauties were offered to him, that wound would never heal.
---
"Look around you. What do you see?" Buckwell suddenly asked.
Aegor frowned at the abrupt shift in conversation. "A military camp?" He knew the answer wasn't that simple, but he couldn't imdiately discern what Buckwell was getting at. "Please enlighten , my lord."
The old knight chuckled. "I wouldn't call it enlightennt, just an observation."
He gestured around them. "Most people see an army camp. But what I see is the largest matchmaking event in the history of the Seven Kingdoms."
Aegor blinked.
"No one approaches you, of course, you lack noble blood. But look around. How many are here, scurrying about, selling themselves or their children into advantageous marriages?"
Aegor suddenly understood.
While I've been promoting the Night's Watch in this camp, the nobles have been negotiating marriage alliances. Everyone is busy securing their futures.
And as for whether the rebellion itself would succeed…
Robert is probably the only one who truly cares about that.
"Lady Margaery is one, then. Who else?" he asked.
"Let's set aside the won trying to seduce Robert," Buckwell said with amusent. "Let's talk about those engaged in serious marriage planning. Have you heard of Lord Frey?"
Aegor laughed. "Who hasn't heard of the Late Lord Frey?"
The title "Late"—when placed before a na in Westeros could an deceased. And it had been Lord Tully himself who first coined the nickna for Walder Frey. If it had been anyone else, Frey might have drowned them in the Green Fork for the insult.
Buckwell smirked. "Yes, everyone knows it. But rember not to say it in front of the Freys."
Then, with a shake of his head, he continued, "This ti, the Freys have sent two thousand soldiers to aid the campaign. But they also sent a very lovely young lady, Roslin sothing-or-other."
"Roslin Frey?"
"Yes, that's the one. You know her?"
Buckwell seed mildly surprised but thought little of it. "Compared to her brothers, sisters, nieces, and nephews, that girl hardly looks like a Frey at all. Her brother has been taking her to visit many of the high lords, trying to secure a match. I suspect they first aid for Edmure Tully, but when that failed, they set their sights on Robb Stark and even the Lannisters."
He sighed. "It's difficult for a new noble house to secure a prestigious match. Not high enough for the great houses, yet not low enough for lesser lords. She's hit dead ends everywhere. Frankly, I feel sorry for the girl."
Aegor smirked.
Roslin Frey had been one of the few won in the show to genuinely surprise him.
Among her less fortunate relatives, she was a stark contrast so much so that so even speculated whether she was truly a Frey at all.
I wonder if she'll be just as striking in this world.
Aegor was briefly tempted to et this so-called beauty, but then he reminded himself, what did her looks have to do with him?
Old Walder Frey had lived a long life and fathered countless children, yet Roslin was one of the few truly beautiful daughters he had. Now, he was determined to use her to secure a powerful alliance, refusing to consider anything less than a match that would elevate House Frey's standing. Even ordinary earls were beneath his ambitions.
A Night's Watchman running over to admire her beauty? That would be sheer madness.
---
"Speaking of which, let's talk about Edmure Tully, the leader of the Riverlands army. He's not young anymore, yet still unmarried. Do you know why?"
The old knight stroked his beard as he spoke. "It's because his father, old Hoster Tully, one of the key players in Robert's Rebellion tasted the benefits of marriage alliances firsthand. Both his daughters made excellent matches, so he refused to settle for anything less for his son. The Freys have tried everything to marry Edmure into their family, offering a dowry so generous it could buy Riverrun outright. But Lord Hoster was adamant, his son must marry the daughter of a duke."
He shook his head. "And now? The man is nearly thirty, still unmarried, still childless. For a highborn lord, that's rare in Westeros."
As one of the founding mbers of the Baratheon dynasty's great alliance, it was natural for Hoster Tully to seek a match of equal standing for his heir.
But must it be a duke's daughter?
Were there even any suitable candidates left in Westeros?
The North was out of the question, Sansa and Arya Stark were Edmure's nieces. In the Vale, House Arryn had already married into the Tullys, aning any daughters they might have were in the sa position as the Stark girls.
The West was even worse, though the Iron Islands were technically one of the Seven Kingdoms, no one considered the Greyjoys true nobility. As for the Lannisters… the only suitable woman, Cersei, had already been married off to Robert.
That left the South.
The Baratheon family had no eligible daughters aside from Myrcella, and Cersei would never marry her beloved child to an uncle.
Arianne Martell of Dorne would have been a fine choice, but she had already made a secret pact with Viserys Targaryen, waiting for the return of House Targaryen to reclaim her place.
Which ant…
Margaery Tyrell was the only remaining candidate who fit Lord Hoster's standards.
---
"Unfortunately…"
The problem was, House Tyrell was determined to break into the true center of power.
And while House Tully was a great house, it simply wasn't influential enough.
To put it bluntly, the Tyrells looked down on them.
***
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