Lady Olenna nodded slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studied Gavin. Then, without further preamble, she said:
"Let us speak plainly, Your Majesty. I've heard you not only ended the conflict with the trading city-states but emerged victorious. That alone will give you room to counter the Iron Throne's next move. Not long ago, I received word: Renly proposed returning Theon Greyjoy — the adopted son of Ned Stark — to the Iron Islands, in exchange for support from the Iron Fleet. Robert has even convened a royal council to consider it."
She took a sip of tea, her voice steady and sharp as a blade.
"Recently, even the Iron Throne's empty coffers have seen relief. The Faith lent them fifty thousand gold dragons, and the Lannisters agreed to contribute another one hundred thousand. Petyr Baelish is currently in Braavos negotiating with the Iron Bank — whether he secures more remains uncertain. But the Royal Fleet has already placed orders with shipyards in Oldtown and among the Redwynes. No doubt the other shipyards will soon follow."
Gavin furrowed his brow, absorbing the cascade of information. After a moment, he asked:
"The Reach has long been one of the wealthiest regions in the Seven Kingdoms. Did the usurper not attempt to borrow from Highgarden?"
Olenna smiled faintly and replied with a wry chuckle:
"You need not question the sincerity of House Tyrell, Your Majesty. The proud stag has always looked down on the delicate rose — especially when he has Lord Tywin's treasury to lean on. During Robert's Rebellion, the Reach's armies clashed bitterly with his. My foolish son once laid siege to his kin's own castle. Robert may not speak of it, but in King's Landing, House Tyrell has already been pushed to the margins of power."
Gavin nodded slowly, understanding that Olenna's words were meant to assure him: Highgarden would never fall in line with the Iron Throne — and even if they wished to, Robert would never truly accept them.
The Tyrells had nothing to gain from Robert — and without gain, they had no reason to serve.
"Has Theon been sent back to the Iron Islands?" Gavin asked, his tone calm but probing.
Olenna leaned back slightly, answering with a sigh:
"Stannis opposed the move. He doesn't trust the Ironborn, nor do I. But Robert seldom listens to his brother. The final outcome remains unclear, but Your Majesty should prepare — the Iron Fleet may soon join the war. We can only guarantee control over the Redwyne fleet. Beyond that, any warship from Westeros could appear in the waters off the Stepstones."
Gavin fell into thoughtful silence.
Westeros had many ships. Nearly every coastal house possessed at least a few — some whole fleets. The Westerlands and the Vale both had their own squadrons. Even the North, poor as it was, maintained the White Harbor fleet.
But the true powers at sea remained the Royal Fleet — and the Iron Fleet. Though both were damaged during the last Greyjoy rebellion, they could be rebuilt. Especially the Ironborn. Their entire culture revolved around ships — and shipbuilding. Even compared to Essos, the Ironborn's craftsmanship ranked near the top.
Lady Olenna watched him closely, then spoke with careful gravity:
"It seems Your Majesty understands his opponents well — and understands the position of House Tyrell. No matter how foolish or flawed Robert Baratheon is, his name still carries weight in the Seven Kingdoms. I hope Your Majesty can accept that House Tyrell must remain neutral."
After a long pause, Gavin replied:
"The Reach is the most powerful and wealthiest of the Seven Kingdoms. If I were to ask for their full support—"
Olenna cut him off before he could finish.
"Your Majesty, I can't even guarantee you the loyalty of the Hightowers — and my dim-witted son is married into their house. You were born and raised in the Reach. You know what its lords are like. Otherwise, you wouldn't be here, speaking with an old woman instead of them."
Gavin chuckled softly. He was now convinced: Olenna's words were sincere. The Tyrells were offering exactly what they could — no more, no less.
They gave him intelligence. Supplies. Cautious favor. But no ships, no banners. A political play designed to gain much by risking little. In truth, it was a clever scheme.
He muttered thoughtfully:
"For all the support I'm offering — a crown, a queen, the future — your House has given me only words. Yet once I step onto Westerosi soil, none will be able to stop me."
Olenna waved her hand with mock exasperation.
"Oh, don't pretend you don't adore my charming granddaughter. And as you just reminded me, the Reach is the richest and most powerful realm. Once your campaign begins, you'll gain all of it with ease. The more you pay, the more you'll earn. And let us not forget — your promises are just words, too. For now, House Tyrell must protect itself."
Gavin sighed and nodded. Arguing with this old woman was like wrestling fog — fruitless and exhausting. But he had achieved what he came for.
As he rose to take his leave, Olenna looked up at him and said meaningfully:
"The Targaryens had a tradition — placing a dragon egg in every newborn's cradle. I've heard it began in ancient Valyria. Does House Balerion share this tradition?"
Gavin raised an eyebrow, slightly caught off guard by the question. But he understood — Olenna was thinking ahead, already maneuvering for Margaery's future child.
"It's written in our family records," he said plainly. "All dragon-riding dynasties follow that tradition."
Olenna nodded.
"Then we accept Your Majesty's claim in the name of Aegon the Conqueror. And we hope Your Majesty will honor that ancient tradition."
Gavin gave her a courteous nod.
"You have my word. I will honor the tradition — and my children."
Olenna sipped her tea and extended a final invitation:
"It's rare for a king to grace Highgarden with his presence. Stay a few days. It will give us time to observe whether the Iron Throne truly intends to return Ned Stark's ward."
Gavin considered for a moment, then agreed. He knew well enough what was coming. Once Theon returned to Pyke, Balon Greyjoy would seize the opportunity to resurrect the "Old Way" — to raid and conquer, as the Ironborn always had.
The war hadn't yet begun. But it was coming.
He stood, offering a respectful bow.
"Thank you for your hospitality. And for your honesty."