Lord Roboute Tyrell

- 266 AC - 

The sun shone above the treetops of the Mander valley, painting the sky with gold, fitting for the occasion. The sky was a clear blue, contrasting with the emerald and white base of Highgarden, which now looked nothing like it had once. 

Gone were the disordered outer shanties and trader wagons sprawling out like weeds and chaos. In their place stood tiered stone streets, few symmetrical aqueducts, and the beginnings of parks containing fountains depicting not just kings and knights, but also farmers, builders, and scholars. New canals glided alongside quiet walkways. Watchtowers stood tall outside the current wall, indicating where the far larger and stronger next outer wall will stand one day. Each manned by guards bearing deep blue cloaks and the Omega symbol of Macragge, a sign now as familiar to the smallfolk as the golden rose. 

A new stone martial stadium was being constructed near the lower hillside, adjacent to Highgarden's central square. Here, people gathered today. Lords and Ladies in silk and velvet robes, farmers, blacksmiths, butchers, masons, and all kinds of civilians in tunics and homespun dresses, all sat together. They didn't mingle much, but they listened, because the one who would speak next oversaw all their lives and was the reason they were where they were at that very moment. 

On each tier of the stadium stood banners of the Reach's houses, but Highgarden's sat at the top, its rose no longer alone, now flanked by the blue and silver sigil of Roboute's making. 

The changes to the city were impossible to ignore. The inner walls had been rebuilt and extended slightly. Roboute had theorised about the best way to make the walls as robust and resistant as possible. For the moment, he had come up with a four-layered wall. 

Outer shell: High-density stone, a combination of granite and volcanic rock, had been used. 

Middle layer: Steel rebar grid, forged in Macragge's forges, embedded inside the concrete-like mix.

Filling core: A mix of rubble, lime, gravel, and volcanic ash – similar to concrete.

Inner shell: Stone, slightly thinner, primarily for structural integrity and load balance.

This was, for now at least, the best and strongest wall composition Roboute had come up with. He would surely improve this in time, but that went for all things. 

Then a new grand Civil Forum stood at the heart of the upper ring, designed for public debate, learning, and administration. It was under Tyrell's control and would never leave it. Roboute had allowed this to exist, as he wanted his home to be a symbol, while the militaristic aspects, as well as minor details, would be handled by Macragge. But it didn't matter for now, since everything eventually landed on his table, from where it ended up in his mind and was solved right away. However, it was a sign of something new, a significant step in a different direction. 

The outer districts of Highgarden now housed well-ordered homes, schooling structures, and grain silos, each marked by a number, a symbol, and a name, all part of a regional mapping system. Everything was closely monitored and protected by Ultramarines who had two smaller headquarters in the city, which Roboute planned to increase further. But for now, there were almost no Ultramarines present. No one was to know about that detail, though. 

Atop it all, the keep of Highgarden had been subtly transformed: not made taller or gaudier, but more precise, clean, practical. Every corridor had a purpose, every room a function, and most things were undergoing renovation and improvement. Roboute mapped his home perfectly and had no interest in allowing hidden secret ways, which he didn't know or control. He had been eliminating all the spies for years now and wouldn't allow space for a knife in his back. 

All of it was Roboute's work, under the supervision of his mother, Olenna, of course. The proud Lady Tyrell was more than happy that resources were distributed to improve Highgarden further and make it into an even grander and prominent seat than it had already been. And now, Roboute was about to address all those people who had been invited and attended this occasion.

.

The horns blew low and slow. Silence fell. From the northern gate of Highgarden's keep, House Tyrell emerged. Olenna Tyrell walked in front together with Lord Luthor Tyrell, as was their right. Behind them came Roboute, taller than his parents and more imposing. His presence immediately filled the area. 

Clad not in silks, but in a fitted tunic of dark blue and silver trim, his shoulders bore a ceremonial garment, not for protection, but for presence. Behind him walked Randyll Tarly, Mathis Rowan, Paxter Redwyne, Garth Crane and Androw Ashford, standing as special men of station of the new order. 

Roboute descended the steps, stopping before the stone pulpit carved with seven petal-like steps, the Throne of Mandate, as the people now called it. He looked over the thousands gathered. His voice, when it came, needed no magic to carry as it sent shudders down the people's backs. It was confidence incarnate.

"Lords, civilians, sons and daughters of the Reach... the day has come.

We have long spoken of duty and fealty, of honour in name and blood. But those things are not enough to build a future. In fact, they are inconsequential in creating a future that lasts, one that matters. Not anymore.

Tradition has become our excuse for laziness. Titles have become the last refuge of incompetence. We hold our banners high, but cannot read the ledgers of our ports. We call ourselves wardens of lands we no longer walk. We drink from cups inherited, not earned. Spend coins from the vaults we did not fill. Some still command armies, men, and lives, but have not seen a battlefield since their father's war. Others sit fat on fertile ground yet do not know what crop rotation is, nor care to learn. 

And so today, we end the era where inheritance outweighs merit, where silence keeps power, and where failure is tolerated if it is noble-born.

There is no loyalty in idle tradition. There is only stagnation. Let those who cling to the old ways drown in the past. The future has already arrived, and it is growing stronger. Tradition is not the worship of ashes, but the preservation of fire. The reasonable man adapts himself to the world; the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore, all progress depends on the unreasonable man.

We will be unreasonable.

From this day forward, the Reach shall not be governed by inheritance alone. We will have trained governors, not just warriors, but administrators, thinkers, builders—men and women who have proven themselves by knowledge, merit and character, not by birthright. 

I am implementing the Civil Service System: an administrative order where local lords will report to governors appointed by me personally, who have proven themselves through intelligence, capability and loyalty. Loyalty to the Reach and the men and women living inside it. 

These governors will report to Highgarden. They have been trained. They will be watched. And they will be held accountable to the people they serve—all of you. 

To those who fear this change: I do not seek to break you. I strive to build something so strong that no storm can shake it. But if you cannot carry the weight of this new order, then you may step aside. Others are ready to take your place. The world is not meant for the weak, the ignorant, or the wasteful. 

What stands in my way shall become part of my way. Tradition is in our way. Fear is in our way. Incompetence is in our way. So let these become the materials we use to build the road we walk on.

The Reach must become immune: to stagnation, to decay, to the rot of mediocrity, entitlement, false pride and noble-born cunts who know nothing of the needs of common men and women. From this day on, we do not survive because we are rich. We thrive because we are disciplined.

If you cannot serve this future, then you are not fit to hold its reins. If you wish to challenge this order, know that I do not debate with the dead. I bury them.

Prove yourselves worthy of leading, and you will be empowered. Fail in your duty, and others shall rise in your place."

The stadium erupted into applause and cheering. Among the smallfolk, there was cheer and awe. Among the nobility, many remained still and looked at one another. This was terrible for them, if they understood it right. Eyes sharpened, hands clenched, jaws pressed onto each other. They had heard the undertone. Authority, once inherited, was now being weighed and measured and no longer passed on. This was monumental and disastrous for many. 

.

Lord Leyton Hightower, surrounded by a few of the oldest houses in the Reach: House Peake, House Oakheart, House Florent, House Redwyne, and House Costayne, sat grimly at the council table. 

A sealed letter had arrived that morning. It bore the seal of House Tyrell. Lord Hightower broke it open with his knife. As he read the summary of the new structure, governors, regional oversight, trained civil agents, reporting lines that bypassed Oldtown entirely, centralised and overseen learning and the far lower control of the Faith, his jaw tightened.

"He's done it. He's done what we feared all along," Leyton said. 

"He's turned Lords into middlemen. Highgarden now commands directly over us," Lord Peake said. 

"He wrapped it in law and order, but it's a leash all the same. But the amount of detail... staggering," Lord Oakheart uttered. 

"There can be only one answer to this. We can't allow this to take place like this," Leyton said. 

"And what do you suggest, Lord Leyton?" Lord Alester Florent asked. 

"It is time we struck back. He has had far too much time to prepare; now it is time we revealed our own preparations. Baelor and his brother told me what kind of man Roboute Tyrell is years ago. I pulled them back from Macragge to stop them from being 'indoctrinated'. It seems I was one of the only ones, though. The Tarly and Rowan boys follow the Tyrell everywhere, and I am also worried about your son, Marquos," Leyton said. 

"Paxter will do as I tell him; he always has. I have allowed him to amuse himself, but when the time comes, he will follow my footsteps as Lord of House Redwyne," Lord Marqos Redwyne said. 

"Do you have a plan then, Lord Hightower?" Lord Costayne asked. 

"Yes. Lord Titus Peake and I have been in contact with someone who is just as interested in getting rid of the Tyrell heir or at least putting him in his place. The Faith has also been alerted, but the High Septon hasn't reacted yet, which is very strange. So we will need more time in that regard."

"The High Septon has been teaching in Macragge a lot in the last few years. Do you believe there is trickery involved?"

"Most definitely. He was most likely threatened in some way. We will have to gather proof and then present it to the king. Should we manage to convince Aerys, this becomes an incident that the entire realm needs to be involved in. That would be best for us," Leyton said. 

"And what about if we need to do it alone?"

"There is still Essos to consider. The Free Cities are unhappy, and from what I could gather, they wouldn't be opposed to an alliance, albeit a temporary one."

"Let us summon our allies, quietly. Let no raven go to Highgarden or Macragge. Roboute Tyrell may think he rules... but he forgets how easily the power structure can change in Westeros. We aren't the oldest houses for no reason."