Chapter 80 — Hard to Make a Move
Cersei could feel it clearly now — ever since her father's death, the great houses were restless. Even the Lannister forces besieging Riverrun showed signs of wavering morale.
Left with little choice, she invited her uncle Kevan — whose prestige ranked just below Tywin's — to leave his sickbed and serve as Hand of the King to stabilize King's Landing.
But Kevan had little respect for his niece.
The rumors surrounding her relationship with Jaime had shamed House Lannister, and she had allowed that monstrous son of hers, Joffrey, to run wild. In Kevan's eyes, it was Cersei's own conduct that had dragged their house from a position of strength into its current mess. He flatly refused her request.
He would only return as Hand if Cersei restored her broken betrothal to the Knight of Flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell.
Cersei had only just rid herself of her overbearing father and annulled her engagement to Loras. How could she possibly agree to her uncle's demands now?
The two sides reached a stalemate. Jaime tried to mediate, but Kevan still refused to serve as Hand and deal with Cersei day after day.
Yet for the sake of the family, Kevan did make one concession — he would take command of the Lannister forces outside Riverrun. He knew that if the army's stability collapsed, House Lannister would lose its greatest pillar of power.
With no better options, Cersei reluctantly compromised as well, appointing Mace Tyrell — Margaery's father — as Hand of the King, barely managing to steady the capital's nobility.
While Cersei stewed in resentment over her concessions and Kevan's defiance, the Queen of Thorns, Olenna Tyrell, was in a vineyard, sharing wine and laughter with her granddaughter Margaery.
"Once you marry Tommen, you must win his heart quickly — and bear his child," Olenna said with a knowing smile. "I trust I don't need to teach you how."
Margaery's cheeks flushed at her grandmother's bluntness. Tommen was barely of an age fit for such matters. The thought made it… awkward for her to make the first move.
Olenna noticed her granddaughter's embarrassment, but she didn't press the matter further. She knew Margaery well — the girl would never defy her wishes. Even if it was uncomfortable, she would do what was required.
"Keep an eye on that woman, Cersei," Olenna continued. "Even though your father has become Hand of the King, he'll only dance to her tune. He won't be much help to you. While making Tommen depend on you, you must grow into your role quickly. You cannot let Cersei hold the reins of power forever."
As far as Olenna was concerned, the only blessing her useless son had ever given her was this remarkable granddaughter.
Margaery had grown up under her grandmother's guidance and deeply admired her cunning. She nodded obediently and gently clinked her wine cup against Olenna's.
Olenna had just set her cup down when a maid announced that Varys was outside the estate, requesting an audience.
That caught Olenna off guard. Why would Varys seek her out now? Was this about Petyr Baelish spiriting Sansa away? Her thoughts drifted back to her last conversation with the eunuch before Joffrey's wedding.
Seeing her grandmother fall into thoughtful silence at the mention of Varys, Margaery couldn't guess what she was thinking.
After a moment's frown, Olenna decided to meet him. Whatever his purpose, the Master of Whisperers was not someone Highgarden could afford to ignore — their allies in King's Landing were few enough as it was.
She motioned for Margaery to withdraw and remained seated, waiting calmly.
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Varys, waiting inside the estate grounds, saw Margaery approaching and bowed slightly in greeting to the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms.
"Lord Varys, my grandmother is waiting for you in the garden hall," Margaery said, offering him full courtesy.
Varys did not correct her formal address — in fact, he seemed rather pleased by it. He inclined his head again in thanks and only turned toward the hall after she departed.
As he approached, Olenna spoke first.
"I didn't expect the ever-busy Lord Varys to find time to visit an old woman like me."
"You have long resided in King's Landing, my lady. It would be remiss of me not to pay my respects," Varys replied with a smile.
"I must stay until my granddaughter's wedding is safely concluded before returning to Highgarden. Still, I appreciate your concern." Olenna's tone was polite but proud — she meant to court Varys' goodwill, but not at the cost of her dignity.
Varys seemed unbothered. Settling into the chair Margaery had just vacated, he said lightly,
"You could have returned to Highgarden in peace after the last wedding, my lady. Why invite further complications?"
Olenna stiffened almost imperceptibly. "I'm not sure I understand your meaning."
"I believe I warned you before," Varys said calmly. "Petyr Baelish is dangerously slippery. It would be wise to keep one's distance. I fear my advice went unheeded."
A flicker of suspicion passed through Olenna's sharp eyes. "You speak in riddles, Lord Varys."
"With your wisdom, I suspect you already know," he replied, smiling faintly.
Olenna cast a subtle glance around them, her expression tightening, but she remained silent.
"Do you intend to harm a harmless creature like myself?" Varys leaned back, casually glancing about as well.
"I would never show you disrespect. You are perfectly safe here," Olenna answered smoothly.
His confidence unsettled her, and she quietly abandoned a line of thought she had entertained. Instead, she probed,
"I know little of Petyr Baelish and have no plans to work with him."
"How curious," Varys continued. "One crystal from Sansa Stark's necklace went missing. I distinctly recall you visiting her table at the wedding, even touching her neck. Am I mistaken?"
Olenna remained composed. "I've always been fond of the northern girl. I once hoped she might marry Loras, before Lord Tywin intervened. That's hardly a secret."
Varys shook his head gently. "After King Joffrey drank the wine Tyrion presented, Lady Margaery happened to place the golden goblet on your table. Surely you remember?"
Olenna studied him in silence, as if trying to see through him.
"I never saw any goblet placed before me," she said at last.
The deed was done, Tyrion had stood trial for regicide, and though he had escaped — now even branded a kinslayer — Olenna had no intention of admitting anything.
"You may be right," Varys said mildly. "But when I present these small details to Queen Cersei, I wonder whom she will choose to believe — Tyrion… or you?"
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