Chapter 218

The Reach. Highgarden.

Randyll Tarly.

“Lady Olenna.” This was a woman Randyll could barely stand, yet respected all the same.

The years hadn’t been kind to her. Forty years ago, he’d been nothing but a small boy, and Olenna the fairest maiden in all the Reach. Even across the years, he still remembered her beauty, and now that once magnificent rose had withered into an old woman on her deathbed. Time is kind to no one.

“Lord Tarly.” The old woman sat at her table, sipping wine at her leisure. “Care for some?”

“No, I imagine it’s poisoned,” Tarly admitted honestly.

“A shame, it’s Arbor gold. My father gave it to me as a wedding gift, and even then it was one of the finest vintages in the world. Now it’s likely the very best there is.” Pride crept into her voice, for she’d been born a Redwyne.

“If you called me here to drink wine, then I’ll be on my way.” He still had a great deal to see to after the siege.

“Surely a knight wouldn’t abandon a dying lady to her fate?” Olenna asked with a smirk. “There’s poison in this wine, and in a few minutes I’ll be dead, so do show a bit of tact.”

“…Very well.” Randyll decided to honor her resolve. “What did you wish to speak about?”

“Why did you turn against Highgarden, against King Renly? I could understand it, if Lord Tywin and his army still lived, but after the defeat at the Iron Plain, the Lannisters became nothing but outsiders in this war. You had no real need to betray us. So why?”

“The Lannisters promised me the title of Warden of the South, a royal marriage, and…”

“Oh, spare me! That’s only half the reason. If that were truly all of it, you’d have thrown your support behind one of the dragon spawn instead, and heaven knows there’s no shortage to choose from. Even that miraculously rescued son of Rhaegar’s would do. He holds the strongest position of any of them right now.”

“Perhaps, but what would be the point of telling you that?”

“And who else would you discuss it with? Who could better guarantee your words never leave this room?” the old woman asked, her usual venom lacing every word. “But perhaps you’re right.”

“…Say what you like about Tommen, but he was born in Westeros, and he’s lived here his entire life. And the Targaryens? They’ve become strangers on our own soil. Viserys is a puppet dancing on Essosi merchants’ strings, Daenerys brought a horde of savages down on us that’s already laid waste to the Stormlands, Rhaenys is a Dornishwoman through and through, and this ‘Aegon’ is just the latest attempt by a pack of Golden Company outcasts to find their way home.”

“And you abandoned King Renly because he’s a stag who doesn’t know which way to run, and because he never stopped looking down on you besides.” Sarcastic as ever, but Lady Olenna wasn’t wrong. “Ah… I did everything for the good of House Tyrell, and yet perhaps I only brought this ruin down on myself.” Randyll was fairly certain he owed a good deal of that “looking down on him” to this very old woman’s counsel.

“We’re finished here.” There was still a great deal to see to after the assault. “Farewell, Lady Olenna.”

“Goodbye, Lord Tarly. I do hope we meet again soon.” Her ghastly, toothless smile inspired absolutely no confidence at all.

……..

Highgarden. Night.

“FIRE!!!”

“Faster! Put it out!!!”

“BRING WATER, HERE!!!”

Those were the shouts that pulled Randyll from his sleep. He’d been on his feet nearly a full day straight since Highgarden’s fall, and had only just managed to carve out a moment for rest. Once he’d taken the lord’s chambers for his own, exhaustion had finally claimed him, and Tarly sank into sleep. It hadn’t lasted long before he was woken again.

“Lord Tarly, are you well?” Four guardsmen posted outside his chambers burst into the room.

A fire, breaking out at night, in the darkest hour, right after the castle’s fall. It could have been an accident, but he didn’t believe in accidents, not for a moment. Sabotage, then, but sabotage carried out for a reason. What reason? To sow panic, to draw attention away from something else… The Tyrells! Still not found. Could they be hiding somewhere within Highgarden itself? Easily enough, they knew this castle better than anyone alive. Which meant an escape.

“You two, one of you go to Ser Stefan, the other to Ser Luthor, tell them to seal every gate and send scouts out in every direction to find the Tyrells.”

“Aye,” the soldiers were well trained, and asked no needless questions.

While he dressed, he turned the matter over in his mind. Why tonight, of all nights? Why not wait a few days, a few weeks, when the escape would have carried far greater effect? Were they hoping to catch everyone off guard? That seemed foolish, and whatever Olenna made him out to be, Willas was no fool either.

Suspicious sounds echoed from the corridor. Randyll drew his sword, Heartsbane, and went to see what was happening. Two of his most loyal men lay on the floor. Sam’s throat had been slit before he could even reach for his weapon, and Otto had met the same fate. Standing over their bodies was a man dressed in black. A hired killer.

That’s what the sabotage had been for! But how had he slipped past every guard on this entire floor?

There was no time to search for answers now. Without a moment’s hesitation, Randyll moved to cut the assassin down where he stood, but with a sharp, practiced motion, the killer drew a crossbow from beneath his cloak. A single squeeze of the finger, and the bolt buried itself just below his ribs. With a groan, Randyll Tarly staggered backward and fell. He tried to rise, even managed it partway, but the unbearable pain refused to let him back onto his feet.

“I’m sorry,” the assassin said, and the air in the room hissed as something else cut through it.

With a dull thud, the body of Lord Randyll Tarly hit the floor of his own chambers, and did not rise again.

P.S. The joys of being a writer: kill when you feel like it, bring back to life when you feel like it. This time, luck simply wasn’t on Randyll Tarly’s side. Let’s raise a glass to him.