Three days after rrett left, a brightly colored procession appeared beside the lake.
Beneath a blue-and-gold rose banner, a handso knight with a gentle, refined bearing rode a chestnut stallion, followed by wagons heavy with goods.
Garlan Tyrell dismounted with elegant, flawless grace—the very image of a noble son ticulously raised by Highgarden.
"My lord," Garlan greeted him warmly and courteously, "I am Garlan Tyrell, son of Lord Mace Tyrell. I bring Highgarden's most sincere regards."
He glanced around, his tone sincere. "To be honest, I rarely visit the Riverlands. But my father says a true warrior should not be overlooked. Your na is now ntioned frequently in Highgarden's banquet halls."
Luke laughed coldly in his heart.
House Tyrell—the biggest fence-sitters in Westeros. Their words "Growing Strong" could be translated as "Whoever is strongest, we follow" and "If the situation isn't clear, we don't bet."
They wanted to recruit him?
Sure enough, Garlan quickly got to the point.
"My father asked to tell you: House Tyrell possesses the Seven Kingdoms' most beautiful and intelligent won. If you are willing, my sister Margaery is currently considering marriage. Of course, the competition will be fierce—after all, even Lord Renly is quite taken with her."
He smiled, speaking as casually as if discussing the weather.
"But if you would be willing to visit Highgarden as our guest, my father would be delighted for you to et my other sisters or cousins. We Tyrells are not as overbearing as the Lannisters, nor as indecisive as the Tullys. We ask only one question: are you willing to be friends with the roses?"
"Highgarden has the finest wines, the finest knights, and the richest lands in all of Westeros. Marry a Tyrell girl, and your domain will never lack for grain or flowers again."
Luke's smile faded.
Margaery Tyrell was considering marriage?
With Renly Baratheon among the suitors?
He caught the subtext perfectly: House Tyrell was offering him a chance to compete for the little rose's affection against Lord Renly. But obviously he couldn't win against Renly, so they were generously letting him pick any other girl.
A naless anger flared in Luke's chest. Treating like a beggar?!
The Tyrells were always like this—trying to get sothing for nothing and only committing once the situation was clear.
When he had watched Ga of Thrones, the family Luke hated most was House Tyrell—not the despicable Freys, not the skinning Boltons, but this self-proclaid clever "rose family."
He especially couldn't stand that self-righteous old woman Olenna.
And now House Tyrell looked down on him this much? They wouldn't even offer Margaery outright, only let him "compete"? Did they think he wasn't worthy?
If they looked down on him, he looked down on them even more!
What "little rose"? In his eyes she was nothing but a scheming, well-used slut.
A Celestial Dragon marrying a woman who drank moon tea like it was tea? Absolutely not.
(Moon tea in Westeros was a herbal contraceptive or abortifacient. If an unmarried or widowed noblewoman drank it frequently, the implication was obvious.)
Luke had never understood why so many netizens praised Margaery.
Setting moon tea aside—even if that was just netizen speculation—he simply disliked won who were too calculating.
Raised by Olenna from childhood, Margaery would always put House Tyrell's interests first and would never understand the concept of "a wife follows her husband."
"I appreciate House Tyrell's generous offer," Luke said flatly. "But I fear I am not worthy of such honor."
Garlan blinked, clearly caught off guard by the response.
But he was a Tyrell after all; the brief flash of awkwardness vanished instantly and he smoothly changed the subject. "Lord Baron, the wagons I brought contain Highgarden's specialties—wines, olive oil, and fine tapestries. These are gifts, not goods for trade. If you like them, we can arrange regular shipnts in the future, exchanged for your magical wares."
"My father says business should be built on friendship, and friendship on mutual admiration. I admire your martial prowess. Would you be willing to appreciate the fragrance of the roses?"
Business could be discussed.
Luke nodded. The Tyrells might be annoying, but the Reach was filthy rich. Business was business; it didn't get in the way.
Three days later, an entirely different party appeared on the horizon.
There were no flashy banners, only a dozen knights mounted on sand steeds. The leader wore light Dornish armor and a deep-red cloak.
Oberyn Martell dismounted with cat-like agility, sharp-eyed, the corners of his mouth carrying a faint, ambiguous smile.
"My lord," the Red Viper's voice carried the lazy drawl of Dorne, "I am Oberyn Martell. My brother Prince Doran sent … truthfully, to satisfy my own curiosity."
He looked around, sniffed the air.
"The mists of the God's Eye. You know, Dorne has similar legends. Hundreds of years ago, it was said so n could walk on water and vanish in the fog. When I heard of your victory by the lake, I wondered whether this man might share my interest in ancient secrets."
He paced the hall, tone relaxed but gaze piercing.
"Have the Lannisters sent soone? They must have. They're always first, bringing gold and threats. The Tullys surely ca too, with their superior airs. The Freys? Old Walder would have paraded every daughter he owns."
Luke looked at the famous "bisexual" Dornish prince and felt a slight chill.
The way the Red Viper was looking at him felt… off.
"Prince, thank you for traveling all the way to the south shore of the God's Eye," Luke said politely. "Tyrion has already sent word; he will visit with the King's northern party."
Oberyn paused, slightly surprised. The Westerlands weren't the first to try winning him over?
That little demon Tyrion was already acquainted with this young baron?
He shrugged quickly.
"What I bring is different. I won't urge you to marry one of my nieces… though my daughters are quite beautiful, I have always believed marriage should be mutual."
"I won't push you into business either—Dorne is too far away; it wouldn't be profitable."
He took a step closer. "My purpose is simple. I want the truth. How exactly did you win? If you are willing to tell , I am willing to trade Dorne's secrets in return. You know, Dorne is the only one of the Seven Kingdoms that was never conquered by dragons. We have certain… special inheritances."
His eyes turned dangerous.
"And I also want to tell you one thing. The Lannisters are our common enemy. If one day you need to deal with them, Dorne will be your staunchest ally. Not for business, not for marriage, but because we hate the sa person. That is the strongest alliance."
Luke smiled.
"Magic is House Jaqenion's greatest secret. It will not be shared with anyone. Moreover…"
He looked straight into Oberyn's eyes.
"House Jaqenion possesses the strength to protect its secrets. I can cut off any hand that dares reach for our magic."
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