Lord Roboute Tyrell

259 AC - 

It was supposed to be an enjoyable day for the Targaryen family at Summerhall. It was supposed to be the time they got to enjoy themselves, and for Aegon to go through with his plan: dragons, the sigil of their House and the power behind the initial conquest of Westeros. But now, the King with the same name had nothing but problems on his hands. News has reached him—grave news. 

Jaehaerys, who was supposed to travel to the Reach and have Rhaella and Roboute Tyrell meet for the first time, instead chose to wed her to his eldest son, Aerys and have them consummate the marriage. And all of it behind his back. He didn't find out about it until Jaehaerys arrived at Summerhall, surprisingly, with Aerys and Rhaella in tow. 

Aegon thought back to his early life. He was never meant to become King, not as the fourth son of Maekar Targaryen. He never wanted to marry; instead, he dreamed of becoming a knight of the Kingsguard. And then he fell in love with Betha Blackwood, arguably the most beautiful woman in Westeros. He thought about his brother Aemon, who hoped, just as Aegon, that their dragon eggs would hatch. They had to hatch, Aegon thought to himself, now more than ever. 

"You did it behind my back," Aegon said as he heard his son enter the room. 

"Because you would have said no," Jaehaerys answered. 

"Damn right I would have! Gods, Jaehaerys — they're your children," Aegon growled.

He started pacing around the room. 

"Twelve! And siblings as well. I broke tradition so you wouldn't have to repeat it. I forbade the incest so your generation could be clean of it. And not only did you go ahead and do it anyway, but you forced your children as well."

"And you lost every great House in the process. Tyrell. Tully. Baratheon. All of them were scorned when your children threw away the matches you made. You think they'll forget? The Reach still remembers," Jaehaerys argued. 

"And whose fault is that?! You made a fool out of me and gained the Houses' ire. That's why we were mending it! The Tyrells, I offered them Rhaella! And she would've made a fine Lady beside that boy," Aegon snarled.

"And you think that boy, clever as he may be, would put House Targaryen above House Tyrell? He's already started to change the Reach. He accepts commoners into his small school. From what I heard, he doesn't adhere to the Faith. That child is not a husband — he's a threat."

"So your answer is to do this? To force your own children into a bed they didn't choose, like livestock? You, who married your sister in defiance of me? What happened to the man who loved Shaera more than the realm? You married out of love, Jaehaerys! And now you forced your children to marry against their wishes, so that the Tyrells wouldn't get to her?"

"I saw what love did to the realm. You loved Mother. Duncan loves Jenny. Daeron chased his Norridge knight. I love Shaera. And what has it bought us, Father? Fractured alliances, dishonoured vows, rebellion. Four matches broken — four bridges burned. It doesn't matter now. I had rather keep our bloodline pure and strong."

"And yet you go ahead and do the same thing again!! You added oil to the fire! ... And what of Rhaella's happiness?" Aegon's voice trembled in anger. 

"She will learn that sometimes duty comes before love and learn to love duty. As we all did."

"How disgustingly hypocritical of you! You chose love and refuse it to your children. And Aerys... Aerys is not fit to be a husband or, God forbid, a father yet. He's vain. Impulsive. This union will poison them both."

"Then let them suffer. The realm will not. This marriage was necessary to protect our House. I didn't like to do it either, and especially not behind your back. But the years have made you soft, Father. I did what I did for the good of our House."

"You sound more like Maegor than a Jaehaerys," Aegon said bitterly. 

"Maegor ruled with fear. I will rule with foresight and strength. Giving Rhaella to the Tyrells would not have bound them to us, but elevated them further. I will protect what we still have." 

Silence filled the room as Aegon looked at the small fireplace. The repercussions of this would haunt him and House Targaryen, that much he knew. Luthor Tyrell might be a likeable fool, but Olenna was not, and from what he saw and heard, Roboute took after his mother.

"You've robbed me of yet another promise. Roboute Tyrell may have brought strength to the Reach, and you could have brought him into our family. Yet you chose to go against my will and make me break my word. Again."

"I chose the survival of our House."

"No. You chose fear and entitlement."

Another silence settled. 

"It's done. I won't undo what's been consummated. The realm's been bruised enough. But know this, Jaehaerys..." Aegon looked at his son directly. "You've planted a fire beneath our House. One day, it will burn through the stones upon which we built our legacy. You will have to work hard to shield our House from this fire."

"So be it," Jaehaerys answered, not scared or intimidated by a Reach House.

"Now leave. You are barred from attending tonight's feast and celebrations."

"As you wish."

"Get out."

.

.

In Highgarden, a day later, distressing news arrived. The solar smelled of tea, ink, and roses. Lady Olenna Tyrell sat with a scroll in one hand, staring into nothing. Her husband, Luthor, stood nearby in half armour, as if summoned too hastily to dress properly. Next to his mother, on the comfortable sofa, sat Roboute, twelve years old and silent, his expression unreadable as he drank some tea and wrote something. Mace was in his room, playing with some of his toys. 

Olenna looked at the letter, which came from Summerhall's Maester Corse. It seemed that he wanted to describe the tragedy, but something led to the ink blotting out much of the information. 

"The blood of the dragon gathered in one... seven eggs, to honour the seven gods, though the king's own septon had warned... pyromancers... wild fire... flames grew out of control... towering... burned so hot that... died, but for the valour of the Lord Comman..."

"Well, that's not very much to go on, is it?" Luthor said. 

"There was a fire at Summerhall, the pleasure castle of the royal House. And it seems that most died, but Lord Commander Duncan may have saved some," Roboute interpreted the letter. 

"So that's the legacy we're left with. Fire and broken promises," Olenna said. 

Luthor sat down slowly, absorbing the information, letting it sink in slowly. He looked to Olenna, then to Roboute.

"Rhaella... she was supposed to marry our boy. That was the promise," he said. 

"Bah! Promises from dragons are written in ash, not ink. Just look at what happened," Olenna scoffed. 

"But the King meant it. I believed he meant it."

"Oh, sure. Aegon meant it. But Jaehaerys did something else. And now they'll paint it as prophecy, survivors born of flame and incest, destined for something grand. Again," Olenna said. 

Roboute finally set down the empty tea cup and folded the parchment he'd been sketching on, a logistical draft of expanded river transport routes on the Mander. His voice, when it came, was deep and even. He had grown a lot and was now six feet tall, looking strong for his age, very strong. 

"So ends the last leverage the Crown offered us."

"You're not surprised," Olenna observed. 

"I predicted one of three outcomes. This was the most likely. Jaehaerys prioritises blood purity over bonds. Whether or not he married Shaera for this reason is not certain, but it is of no concern. He chose inner consolidation and Targaryen logic over outward reconciliation."

"But why break his word? You were ready to meet her. We would have honoured the match," Luthor said.

"Because it wasn't his word, and when he did it, he did not believe they needed us. Not before Summerhall, at least. But they will."

Olenna stood up, walked toward the window, and stared out over the flowering hills of the Reach. She was beyond pissed. Not only was she annoyed at the Targaryen madness striking again, but she was also seemingly the only one who was angry with the situation. Luthor was only saddened, while Roboute looked as unbothered and controlled as ever. 

"They forget who feeds the realm. Who trades the grain, builds the roads, funds the Maesters and ships. Let them play their prophecy games. Let them crown children born from incest. When the people grow hungry, they'll crawl back to Highgarden with empty hands and desperate demands."

Roboute rose from his chair. He refilled his cup with more tea and then sat down again. 

"Then we will receive them. Each of the kingdoms has its own problems and concerns right now, which gives us some time to prepare."

"You're still young, Roboute. You don't need to think of such things yet," Luthor said. 

"I am twelve, Father. And the world is already rearranging itself. I have been thinking about such things for over a decade."

"Are you thinking about an attack, son?"

"I'm not. I'm calculating."

"Then may the gods help us all when your and Olenna's calculations are complete," Luthor sighed.

"And what have you calculated?" Olenna asked, knowing her son well. 

Roboute had changed the Reach, especially the areas belonging to Highgarden. But not only that, he had also begun creating a road network leading to the seats of those who were his closest friends and most loyal supporters in Macragge. The major roads led to Goldengrove, the seat of House Rowan, to Red Lake, the seat of House Crane, to Tumbleton, the seat of House Footly, to Ashford, the seat of House Ashford, and to Horn Hill, the seat of House Tarly. 

Not all of the roads were complete yet, as the way Roboute created them was very different to the way roads were constructed in Westeros. It consisted of four layers and was designed with the intention of accommodating future additional features, such as drainage. The amount of gold required for such a project was substantial, but Roboute viewed it as an investment and secured the support of the Houses. However, it also served as a quick way to mobilise troops and transport resources. Something that the Reach needed more desperately than all the other kingdoms. 

"Showing our displeasure and maybe even reacting with violence might have been understandable, since we had the 'sympathy' of the rest of Westeros. However, not only has House Targaryen lost almost all its members, therefore gaining even more 'sympathy' from the realm, but it is also the ruling House of all of Westeros. The other kingdoms wouldn't allow us to go against them, not as things are now. 

Jaehaerys did what he did out of fear of what we have already accomplished and what we are going to accomplish. He would have focused on us, but the events of Summerhall have served us well. Jaehaerys will now become king and will have to try to navigate all of Westeros' political landscape. This will distract him. But that's not all. 

There is a war on the horizon. The Band of Nine in Essos are growing more influential by the day, and as they do, they also become more dangerous. The threat of Maelys the Monstrous is real, and if there is something the Targaryens fear, it's another Blackfyre Rebellion. As soon as the Stepstones fall into the Nine's hands, I predict Westeros will go to war. And that's our chance."

Olenna listened to Roboute lay out the things as they were. He had an uncanny talent for seeing the hidden threads of politics and the world as a whole. She nodded her head. His words made sense, given that the Band of Nine indeed took the Stepstones. 

"Our chance? Not to attack the Crown, surely."

"No. Our chance to use the war to increase our resources and continue building while the war takes place," Roboute says. 

"You mean, you will take resources back once you return?"

"Indeed. While the war goes on, I will arrange for resources and manpower to return to the Reach and to continue building and preparing here."

"Wait!" Luthor interrupted.

Olenna and Roboute turned to him. 

"What do you mean, you will go to war?" Luthor asked. 

"Oh, Luthor. Have you not understood that our son is special, yet? He is more skilled and intelligent than anyone else. Naturally, he will go to war once it arrives. I hate it as well, but nothing will stop him," Olenna said. 

"We need to sharpen the men we invested money and time in. A successful war effort will increase our House's prestige and political standing. The loyalty of our Houses will increase, and the soldiers will have seen war and won't be green anymore."

"You could die! You are still so young, Roboute, I can't allow you to go!" 

"I won't die. I haven't encountered anything capable of killing me. And the longer I live, the less likely it becomes. House Targaryen will reap what they sowed, trust me."