章 540: Chapter 540 - The Conquest of Highgarden
Willas Tyrell knelt before Viserys Targaryen, swearing eternal loyalty to House Targaryen. He offered Highgarden and all the wealth of the Tyrells in exchange for the survival of his house.
Viserys, showing mercy, accepted Willas's loyalty, sparing the Tyrells from utter annihilation.
The next day, the battered armies of Dorne rested temporarily at Sunspear. After a two-day respite, the Dothraki horde marched forth, their sights set on Highgarden.
Highgarden, a beautiful castle situated by the Mander river, was built entirely of white marble, emanating an aura of artistry. Manicured mazes of plants, blossoming flowers, courtyards, pools, and artificial waterfalls painted a picturesque landscape. Perched atop a hill, the castle overlooked the vast Reach plains. The crystal-clear waters of the Mander flowed serenely below, and from the tower's balcony, one could gaze upon the beautiful estates and fields in the distance.
However, the arrival of the Dothraki shattered this poetic ambiance. The thunder of charging hooves and the sight of wild plains riders approached, trampling the fields and young crops beneath.
Yet before the Dothraki could lay waste to this beautiful garden castle, it had already lost its charm. A recent siege by Dornish forces had scarred its elegance. Now, Highgarden resembled a castle of thorns, bearing the marks of war, yet to be repaired.
Inside a towering white tower, an elderly woman with silver hair, wrapped in a veil, leaned against a marble railing. She gazed at the vast expanse of horse riders. War had robbed her of her favorite golden flower sea view and claimed her son and two grandsons.
The 'Thorned Queen', Lady Olenna Tyrell, might be known for her sharp wit, but she was not a lover of wars. She preferred Tyrell methods of diplomacy.
Suddenly, a massive black dragon appeared, breaking through the clouds with a deep roar. Its crimson eyes stared down at the white castle. Soldiers within Highgarden, paralyzed with fear, dared not resist.
Lady Olenna's gaze locked onto the dragon, horror evident in her eyes. Her frail fingers clutched the marble railing, her nails whitening from the grip. The sight of a dragon, a creature of myths, was overwhelming even for someone of her age and experience.
Following this, the veiled elderly lady retreated to her chambers, shutting her ornate golden doors.
Shortly after, the heavy gates of Highgarden opened. Soldiers loyal to the Tyrells, faces marked with uncertainty, marched out in two rows. They laid down their arms and knelt on either side of the road.
After merely circling Highgarden once, the dragon Balerion had intimidated the fortress into submission. Even Lady Olenna, the indomitable matriarch, had not needed her grandson Willas to persuade her to surrender.
Riding a white horse, Viserys moved with his army, Willas Tyrell by his side. Willas's gaze towards Highgarden was complex.
"I've long heard of the 'Thorned Queen'," Viserys remarked, holding his reins. "It appears Lady Olenna truly is a wise woman."
Willas's expression was a mixture of guilt and sorrow. "My grandmother is indeed wise, Your Grace. You are the rightful heir to the Iron Throne, carrying the will of the gods and the people. She would not dare halt your progress. Otherwise, Highgarden and the Tyrells would be reduced to ashes, lost to history."
Despite the defeat at Sunspear and the heavy losses, the Tyrells, with their deep roots, still had the strength to resist. Yet, Lady Olenna, the 'Thorned Queen', chose surrender over a futile stand.
The Dothraki took control of Highgarden, and the vast gold reserves of the Tyrells left many awestruck. Viserys, however, distanced himself from such vulgar tasks.
Viserys walked through Highgarden's vibrant gardens, passing magnificent courtyards, shimmering pools, and artistic sculptures. The artistic heart of the Seven Kingdoms, Highgarden was adorned with carvings, fountains, marble columns, grapes, and roses.
Ascending the spiral tower, he entered a lavish chamber. Inside awaited the veiled silver-haired old lady, Lady Olenna, accompanied by a brunette girl.
"Combat was never our forte, Your Grace," she remarked.
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