Chapter 299: Margaery's Invitation

Behind him, the clamor from the construction site of the Dragon God’s Cathedral gradually faded.

The shouts of the craftsmen and the clanging of hammers and chisels were carried away by the wind across several streets, blending into the greater din of King’s Landing.

Surrounded by twenty guards, Aegon walked along the winding streets.

The “divine punishment” episode from that morning had not left much of a ripple in his heart, but his mood, which had been somewhat relaxed due to the leisure, was ultimately cast with a faint shadow.

He did not immediately return to the Red Keep.

Since he was already out, he might as well see what the capital, which had just returned to his hands, looked like now under the management of Jon Connington.

He strolled along, scanning the streets with a calm gaze.

On the day King’s Landing was breached, Ghidorah had swept low, and the storm it unleashed was concentrated mainly on Visenya’s Hill and its foothills, leaving the Silk Street area a ruin of rubble and debris.

But the storm’s destruction did not cover the entire city evenly; most of the houses in other areas survived.

Now, months later, the most severely damaged areas were still being cleared and slowly rebuilt, while other neighborhoods, after repairs and tidying up, had largely recovered their former appearance.

Although still chaotic and crowded, it at least had a sense of vitality.

He walked through Flour Street, which was filled with the aroma of freshly baked bread, where pastry chefs in the shops on both sides were busy placing trays of honey cakes and jam tarts into their display windows.

Turning into a path relatively close to the river, he could only hear sporadic footsteps and the creaking of door hinges.

The street gradually narrowed.

The paving stones were broken and dilapidated, with unknown black-green sewage accumulating in the cracks.

The buildings on both sides became increasingly low and crooked, mostly shacks haphazardly built of wood and mud, and the air was filled with various pungent odors.

The captain of the guard stepped forward half a step and whispered: “Your Grace, this place is filthy. Shall we take a detour?”

Aegon waved his hand.

He looked at those huddled in the corners.

Some had their eyes open, their pupils cloudy, as if covered by a layer of dust.

Some had their eyes closed, their chests still rising and falling, but that was all.

A few children squatted by the gutter, poking at a mass of something unrecognizable with a stick, their bodies streaked with black and gray, indistinguishable whether it was mud or something else.

One of them looked up, glanced at him, and then lowered its head again. That look was not fear, nor was it curiosity; it was a kind of empty numbness.

Aegon averted his gaze.

There were some things he did not want to think about too much.

But walking into a place like this, some fragments of memory would surface on their own.

Before being taken across the Narrow Sea by Old Haine, he had also hidden in this labyrinth filled with sin, disease, and despair, searching for scraps of leftover food, and had even nearly become “meat” simmering in a pot of brown stew.

He walked a little faster.

The crowd ahead was gathered near an open space.

It didn’t quite fit the atmosphere of Flea Bottom.

People were talking, laughing, and children were chattering.

Only upon getting closer did he see clearly.

It was actually Margaery Tyrell.

She wore a pale yellow dress and a light green cloak, her hair loosely tied up, with a wild rose tucked behind her ear.

The sunlight shone brightly on her profile, and standing amidst that group of ragged people, she looked like a freshly washed pearl someone had dropped into coal ash.

She was slightly bent over, a genuine, unaffected smile on her face, talking to a few thin, grimy-faced little girls.

One of them was so thin that her eye sockets were sunken, her hair withered, yellow, and matted.

Margaery reached out and smoothed the child’s hair, without the slightest hint of disgust.

Then, under the surprised or awestruck gazes of the people around, she removed the delicate hair accessory inlaid with small pearls from her hair.

She gently pinned it to the side of the dirty-faced little girl’s head, who was flattered and on the verge of tears.

Sunlight spilled onto her smiling profile, and her brown eyes rippled with sincere warmth, as if she were not in the foul-smelling Flea Bottom, but in the sunny rose garden of Highgarden.

That natural affinity made the originally numb and wary faces around her gradually relax, revealing a hint of flattered, humble gratitude.

Aegon did not stop, but led his guards straight toward them.

The crowd surrounding Margaery saw this group of clearly extraordinary figures approaching, especially the guards with shiny armor and hands on their sword hilts, and immediately showed expressions of fear.

They retreated to both sides like a tide, clearing a path, their eyes lowered, not daring to look directly.

Aegon stepped over several puddles of murky water and came before Margaery.

Margaery looked up, a flash of perfectly measured surprise flickering in her brown eyes, which immediately transformed into a gentle and appropriate smile.

She curtsied elegantly.

“Good day, Prince Aegon. I did not expect to meet you here.” Her voice was clear and pleasant.

“Good day, Lady Margaery.” Aegon nodded slightly, his gaze sweeping past her to glance at the surrounding poor, who were dodging away yet could not help but steal glances. “Why are you here?”

Margaery straightened up, her smile unchanged, her tone frank: “Since I have been trusted by Your Grace to reside in the Red Keep, and I am also the envoy of Highgarden, I should naturally do my humble part.”

“To better assist Your Grace, one must understand the true face of King’s Landing; just sitting in the Red Keep won’t do.” She pointed to her surroundings.

“This place, too, is a part of King’s Landing. Understanding their hardships might, in the future, provide some reference for Your Grace’s benevolent rule.”

Aegon thought to himself, truly the Little Rose; no matter where she is, she can always quickly find her place and demonstrate her value in the most appropriate way.

This talent for socializing and insight into human nature had almost become her instinct.

He nodded: “You are thoughtful.”

Margaery’s gaze shifted, landing on the guards standing solemnly behind Aegon, then looking at the anxious poor around them, and she suggested with a smile:

“Since Your Grace is out, you must be inspecting the city, right? If you don’t mind, may I accompany you for a while? Perhaps I can introduce you to some of the local customs.”

Aegon had no specific destination in mind, so after a brief pause, he said: “Very well.”

Thus, the group became Aegon and Margaery walking side by side.

The guards dispersed slightly, maintaining vigilance.

Margaery seemed quite familiar with the streets of King’s Landing; she guided the way, avoiding the filthiest dead ends and walking along the edges of relatively “decent” slums.

She would occasionally introduce in a low voice:

Where “brown stew” was traded privately, which alley’s well water was relatively clean, and which area housed the most families of dock workers.

Her speech was clear, her observations detailed; clearly, this was not her first time deep in this area.

They walked past the vicinity of Mud Gate, which was filled with the smell of fish, passed through Iron Street where blacksmith shops clanged, and bypassed Eel Alley, which was bustling with noise, peddling, and haggling.

Margaery always maintained that gentle and infectious demeanor, occasionally nodding and smiling at the commoners along the road who recognized her and bowed.

Unknowingly, they had passed through the crowded city area and exited the gates of King’s Landing.

When the Soldiers saw Aegon, they hurriedly saluted and let them pass.

They arrived at an ancient stone bridge spanning a small river outside the city.

The stone bridge was built of gray-white boulders, weathered by time, and the river water beneath it gurgled, flowing toward Blackwater Bay with the unique scent of King’s Landing.

Standing on this stone bridge, the view suddenly opened up.

Looking back, the high towers of the Red Keep stood majestically in the sunlight.

Looking forward, there was the vast Blackwater Bay, with sparkling blue waves.

Not far away was an open flat area, overgrown with weeds, where some crooked wooden frames and the ruins of damaged viewing stands could still be seen.

That had once been the venue for tournaments, now left in desolation.

The river breeze brought a touch of coolness, blowing the clothes and hair of both of them.

The clamor inside the city became distant and blurred here.

Margaery stopped, her hand resting on the rough stone bridge railing, gazing at the silhouette of the Red Keep, and suddenly spoke softly:

“Since Your Grace rode the dragon and landed in Westeros, you have been invincible, winning every battle. Until now, with the great victory in The Riverlands, you have triumphed in King’s Landing.”

She tilted her head slightly, looking at Aegon, “Although I am in King’s Landing, I see it clearly. The momentum of the return of House Targaryen and the dragons is like the tide of this Blackwater, unstoppable.”

Aegon met her gaze, waiting for what was next.

Margaery paused, her tone even more firm: “I clearly know what the outcome will be if one becomes an enemy of Your Grace, an enemy of the dragons. Highgarden cannot afford to delay any longer.”

She turned around, facing Aegon directly, with a solemn expression on her face: “Prince Aegon, I intend to leave King’s Landing temporarily and return to Highgarden.”

Aegon’s brow twitched almost imperceptibly.

“I will personally meet with my grandmother, Lady Olenna, and my father, Lord Mace,” Margaery continued, her voice clear and forceful.

“I will tell them everything I have seen in King’s Landing—your power, your majesty, your ability to control the situation, and the fate of those who oppose you… without reservation.”

“The position of Highgarden must be clear; House Tyrell should make a wise choice.”

She looked at Aegon, her eyes shining with unmistakable sincerity and determination: “I will do my best to persuade them, to let Highgarden, to let The Reach, pledge their full allegiance to you, to House Targaryen.”

Aegon listened quietly.

He was not surprised.

His series of actions, especially the display of Ghidorah’s unrivaled power, were enough to make any rational observer see the situation clearly.

Margaery Tyrell was undoubtedly a smart person, good at seizing opportunities and seeking the maximum benefit for her family.

Her choosing to state her position at this moment was both an assessment of the situation and included a suitable speech prepared specifically for this “chance encounter” with him.

“A wise move,” Aegon said, his voice flat. “If Highgarden can recognize the situation, that is naturally a good thing.”

Margaery seemed to breathe a slight sigh of relief, but a more complex emotion flashed in her eyes.

She took half a step forward, closer to Aegon, looked up, and softened her voice:

“I won’t delay too long, Aegon.”

“Once I convince my grandmother and father, I will return immediately, back to King’s Landing, back to your side.” She bit her lower lip slightly, “I hope… to continue to assist you. Not just as an envoy of Highgarden.”

The wind blew across the stone bridge, bringing the slightly fishy scent of the river, and also stirred a few strands of hair on her cheek.

Aegon looked at the affection clearly revealed in her eyes, her beautiful brown eyes reflecting his own image.

He understood her feelings, and he also knew how much of these feelings were mixed with considerations for her family’s future, schemes for her own status, and admiration and attachment to his personal power.

This was reasonable, and very Margaery.

However, emotions based on interests, no matter how beautifully packaged, were always separated by a layer.

He needed the submission of Highgarden, the grain and troops of The Reach, and the wisdom and diplomatic skills of Margaery Tyrell.

But he would not, at least not now, make any response beyond the necessary limits to these “feelings” that were mixed with too much calculation.

Thus, he just looked at her quietly.

His violet eyes were as deep as an ancient well, without waves or ripples.

No affirmation, no negation, no promise, not even a trace of extra warmth.

The touching moisture in Margaery’s eyes gradually faded under his long, calm gaze, eventually turning into a trace of clear disappointment, which she quickly hid.

She quickly adjusted her breathing, and an impeccable smile, with a hint of faint melancholy, reappeared on her face.

She stepped back, curtsied elegantly again, her posture flawless.

“Then, Your Grace, please allow me to take my leave for now. May you be well, and may the gods bless your path ahead.”

Aegon nodded slightly: “Safe travels, Lady Margaery.”

Margaery straightened up and took one last deep look at Aegon.

Then, she turned around and, with the Tyrell guards who had been waiting not far from the bridge head, left with a light and firm step.

The pale yellow skirt swayed gently behind her, like a rose that was gradually moving away, yet still bright.

Aegon stood on the stone bridge, watching that figure disappear around the corner of the road, blending into the dust raised in the distance.

The river breeze brought a chill, blowing his silver hair.

Emotions based on interests—he did not need them, nor would he accept them.

The allegiance of Highgarden, he welcomed.

The assistance of Margaery Tyrell, he might use. But others—

He withdrew his gaze and looked toward the surging Blackwater Bay.

There, a massive pale golden shadow was looming beneath the clouds.

Power and dragonfire were the only two realities he cared about at this moment.