บท 145: A song of Ice and Fire: Goldenhand (Willas Tyrell SI)

Plot: "... But mountains run dry, winter yields to spring, and the rose blooms once more..." A golden rose growing strong is never meant to survive winter, but with a goldenhand to tend its gardens, the reach of the thorns is far and strong. (Crossposted on AH under a different name, I am the original author) Male!SI Self-Insert as Willas Tyrell, the crippled Heir to Highgarden

Pairing: OC x Arianne

Note: Kinda a slow start so far

HOUSE TYRELL OF HIGHGARDEN AS OF THE YEAR 295 AFTER AEGON'S CONQUEST

MACE TYRELL, Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the South, Lord Paramount of the Mander, Defender of the Marches, and High Marshal of the Reach, born 251 AC

- his wife, LADY ALERIE, of House Hightower of Oldtown, born 254 AC

- their children:

WILLAS, called THE WILTED ROSE, THE DARLING OF THE REACH, their eldest son, heir to Highgarden, born 276 AC

SER GARLAN, called THE GALLANT, their second son, squired to Ser Brynden Tully, fostered at Riverrun, born 277 AC

LORAS, their youngest son, a squire to Prince Renly Baratheon, born 280 AC

MARGAERY, called THE ROSE OF HIGHGARDEN, their daughter, born 281 AC

- Mace's widowed mother, LADY OLENNA of House Redwyne of the Arbor, called THE QUEEN OF THORNS, the Dowager Lady of Highgarden, born 228 AC

- Mace's sisters:

LADY MINA, born 257 AC, wed to Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor, born 252 AC

- their children:

HORAS REDWYNE, twin to Hobber, heir to the Arbor, born 281 AC

HOBBER REDWYNE, twin to Horas, born 281 AC

DESMERA REDWYNE, born 283 AC

LADY JANNA,

wed to Ser Jon Fossoway (died in 288 AC of a hunting accident),

wed to Monford Velaryon, Lord of the Tides, and the Master of Driftmark,

- their children:

DAMION VELARYON, heir to Driftmark, born 291 AC

MONTERYS VELARYON, twin to Alarys, born 293 AC

ALARYS VELARYON, twin to Monterys, born 293 AC

- Mace's cupbearer and page, SAMWELL TARLY, son of Randyll Tarly, Lord of Horn Hill, born 282 AC

Olenna I

There was a time when Olenna couldn't help but to think that her life was filled with nothing but dull and dreariness. Yet those times seemed so far away. Nowadays a stew or another was getting cooked in Highgarden, spices were here and there, and oh how spicy they were, courtesy of her grandson, The Wilted Rose. And the current one was a rather exciting one.

"... Ser Edwyn Frey had fled to Riverrun, so it seems, albeit his wife, Lady Janyce was captured but it seemed that he was able to at least bring his heir and daughter, Walda Frey with him and is currently seeking aid from his liege lord, especially with Black Walder now in control of the castle. Although I doubt that Old Hoster would care much, I imagine he's overjoyed with this opportunity to let the Freys go down in shambles."

Olenna listened to her eldest grandson's latest report of the current Frey Civil War.

Bah! It's time for those sniveling weasels to go down, indeed.

"Grandmother, what do you think?"

That was Margaery, her granddaughter, and the Rose of Highgarden. If Olenna had her way, she was going to be Queen, the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. And one way or another, the Queen of Thorns always, always found her way.

"I said this already and I will say this just this once again, the whole Seven Kingdoms rejoices at the death of the Late Lord Walder, and his dear departure has already made the world a better place."

Then a snort came from her eldest grandson. Willas. Willas "The Wilted", they said. How such boy- no, a man came from Mace's loins, she would never know. But she could rest easy, knowing that she had a competent grandson that would lead House Tyrell well and to tend the future roses. Crippled, he may be, but Olenna had high hopes, such high hopes for her oldest grandson.

Willas was clever, he knew his way around politics, he spoke the High Valyrian and knew well enough to be a maester. Willas was charming, no maidens in the Reach would deny him with his flowing brown hair, eyes of melancholy, and clean-shaven face. Willas was cunning, every bit his father was not.

Olenna motioned her head at her grandson, challenging him to speak his thoughts.

"And thank the seven for that, then," he said as he raised a cup of Arbor Gold her way, sending a lopsided smirk. It was always a bit strange for her, how that tragic accident, and once again did she curse her son, hadn't turn Willas into some dull cripple. Instead, a rose full of thorns was born from it.

She allowed a little smile to show on her face at that, so it seemed that whispers of a future King of Thorns did hold great promises to themselves.

"I still don't understand this… this folly of yours, to go off gallivanting on Essos. I would've expected that from Garlan, or even Loras, but you, Willas, truly?"

Her grandson gave an airy laugh, and it was indeed a pleasant sound, as expected from one called The Darling of the Reach.

"It's not a folly, Grandmother. And I'm sure of this, that I will be bringing back with me a lot of rewards, exotic, even rare goods among them. You know I have always been interested in the Free Cities, Oberyn told me much of them, you know?"

"Oh, the Free Cities must be so beautiful. I'm gonna envy you, brother."

"Don't worry, I will make sure that a lot of space in my ship is dedicated solely for gifts to my favorite sister."

"I'm your only sister!"

"I know. And perhaps I could find a Prince for you there, I heard that Princes are rather cheap in Essos, even if they are merchant princes, no? Or maybe I should scour Valyria, and mayhaps I could bring us some dragons," she heard her grandson mused to himself, with his hand rubbing his chin.

Her sweet Margaery just shook her head at her brother's words, although Olenna spied a genuine smile on her face. And it warmed her heart, for House Tyrell had never been so united.

Soon, she imagined, just a few more years. Soon enough, her rose would be ready for the great game, she would make sure of it, or she would die trying. Willas, though, Willas had been ready for years already. With Garlan forging ties with the Riverland and the Vale, and Loras building bridges with the Crown, House Tyrell would rise mightily, and it would grow strong, she would make sure of it, even if it should be her last game.

Willas put a hand on her shoulder, his other hand resting atop his cane.

"Grandmother? You are rather quiet today? Truly, I am beginning to miss your wondrous remarks."

"Oh no need to worry about me, dear grandson. I am simply tired of your mummery," she said fiercely.

".. Grandmother?" she heard Margaery ask, her voice clearly confused.

Her grandson, though, was raising one eyebrow while simultaneously flashing her his best smile.

"Well, well, I should've never hoped to fool you, Grandmother."

Now it was her turn to smile, "No, you shouldn't. Although I do appreciate it. How nice of you to leave Westeros a parting gift before you leave for your grand travel to Essos."

"They are always going to be a problem. And I'd rather choose for it to be blown before the game starts, than for it to disrupt the game, certainly not when all of the pieces would be set and in place already by then. And anyway, it's not just Essos, mind you, I would also be visiting Hightower and the Arbor, too.

"I- I don't understand. What do you mean? What are you talking about? Grandmother? Willas?"

Oh, the poor girl. Perhaps she should reconsider her estimation, for it seemed that her little rose was still lost when it came to the bigger game. She only just flowered last year, after all.

She waved a reassuring hand for her granddaughter, "Your brother fancies himself a great schemer. It's too bad that sometimes he believes in himself a little too much."

"What? They are a young house. Only six centuries. Control the only crossing of the Green Fork. And the only way North saves for the Kingsroad. Could be either the greatest ally or the worst. Unfortunately, it was looking more and more for the latter as the Late Lord Walder started to forget himself."

She could see Margaery finally understanding the plot, "You assassinated Walder Frey so that House Frey would fall into a civil war, to cripple their power."

Willas answered, and was all too eager to do so, "Right in one, sister. Although assassination is a rather strong word. Old Walder simply got too excited with his new wife on his wedding night, and unfortunately, his heart couldn't survive it, so tragic, truly. And may the Seven rest his soul easy."

"Yes, yes. Very tragic. Now, Margaery? I do believe that you will have your embroidery lesson soon."

Her granddaughter understood her dismissal easily, and so she quickly left the room.

For a time, the both of them remained silent, with each of them unwilling to make the first move. Until finally, she couldn't hold.

"Well? Are we going to speak? Or are you waiting for me to drop dead?"

Willas looked a bit uneasy. Good.

"As much as I like the silence, I do believe that we should speak. Well, except for the Kingsroad, the crossing of the Twins is the only way for armies to march North or for the Northern armies to march South, and with Lord Walder's second son married to Tywin's sister, I am not entirely comfortable with leaving the Freys unchecked."

"The Lannister and the Stark? And why would the lions and the wolves clash against each other, when they both are King Robert's dearest allies."

Willas took out a parchment from inside his clothes, pockets… as he called it. He pushed it forward to her, across the table.

And so Olenna unrolled the queer paper, which turned out to be a drawing. Drawing of the royal children. If she didn't know any better, then she would never have thought of a Baratheon when looking at the drawing, all Lannisters, all of them. And she certainly wasn't lacking the number of Baratheons and Lannisters that she had seen in her life.

"Robert Baratheon drank as much wine as he had whores, and that his bastards were numerous and spread all over the city. They were black of hair, and so was Mya Stone, a girl in the Vale known as his first child. From King's Landing, it is whispered that the King's brother, Lord Stannis, had been uneasy, sticking his nose down some suspicious business. And so I believe that the drawing would be able to give you an idea about it."

She blinked once, and once again.

Gods, it couldn't be?

She knew that Willas had his own network of spies, of which she begrudgingly respect was a bit more successful compared to hers, what with his obsessions with fools, whores, and brothels, which thankfully he didn't partake in, physically. And that disgraced maester of his, Qyburn, was his name?

"The Lioness had given the Stag horns, although the suspect isn't clear yet. I, myself, believe that it's none other than the infamous Kingslayer, Ser Jaime. After all, it's always said that the twins are rather close to each other. And who would the proud lioness seek for her bed, if not even the King himself is considered?"

She stared at the drawing, and stared back at her grandson.

Before she could speak, however, his grandson continued, "And so the realm will bleed once more. Dorne will not rise for Robert Baratheon or Tywin Lannister, they are united under the desire of vengeance, I know this myself, Prince Oberyn had told me much about it. And the Riverland has always been divided for House Tully never had enough power to truly consolidate their rule. The houses of the Crownsland are still yearning for their beloved Targaryens. Lysa Arryn is- by all means, mad, and should the old Jon Arryn die, she will control the Vale. Robert's true ally is the North, and the North only. For the Stormland alone, tough as they may be, could never win a war against Tywin Lannister and his mountains of gold. And Balon Greyjoy will be all too happy to send his fleet once more and once again put a crown atop his ugly, dirty head. And so it will be us, the Tyrell, and the Reach that will decide the future of the Seven Kingdoms."

For a moment, Olenna could only be silent. Not even 20 years ago, she saw the fall of the dynasty that she was originally supposed to marry into. And now, Westeros might very well see a second rebellion.

She recollected herself, and said, "You certainly have thought much, Willas."

Willas seemed pleased with her words, he had always been yearning for approval like that.

"I do. And I am not letting Margaery wed a lecherous drunk like Robert Baratheon, no matter what Loras is thinking. And Stannis on the throne would see the Reach fall, probably worse than that of Garth Greybeard's rule. We very well could expect a Florent knife, ready to stab us in the back. And Renly couldn't rise without being a usurper, or worse, a kinslayer."

Olenna carefully took his words in. And she agreed with his insight so far. Stannis on the throne would bring her sleepless nights, and Renly, the dandy fool, was certainly charming but he was no king.

"Our house owes everything to the Targaryen, and as Osmund Tyrell returned order to the Reach and with that, House Gardener back on the Oakenseat. We shall return order to the Seven Kingdoms, pick up the scattered pieces, and with that, a Targaryen shall sit on the Iron Throne once more."

So her grandson desired a Targaryen restoration, then?

Olenna certainly could see the merits. And so the Lannisters wouldn't be the only ones to pay their debts, as the Tyrells would pay their own debt to the Targaryens, and in fire and blood.

For a rare moment, Olenna felt that she was old. She could feel her wrinkles, her sagging skins, the decrepit that she was. The Queen-of-Thorns was aging, but she could see a new garden would soon bloom over the ashes of the old ones. A garden worthy of the greenhand.

"Clever of you to speak to me first. If it was your oaf of a father, he would be tripping over his fat belly twice over by now. Ah well, you know your father, I shan't speak further then."

Willas was silent. And even if he kept his composure well, Olenna could know that her grandson was beyond nervous.

She tilted her head just the slightest, "Well. If my grandson desires to garden The Reach, then where else could I be, but behind him to smack his little head when he turned foolish?"

Willas smiled.

"Then I'm afraid we would still have many to talk about. A garden of the Reach is nothing to be laughed at, after all. And first, to yield a field of flowers, we must carefully plant the seeds first."

Excitement. This is what she's meant for.

"Oh? Well, let me see which roses we can pluck from our garden, then. Your cousin and my namesake, Olene is already a woman flowered and..."