The Arbor.
The ancestral castle of House Redwyne sat nestled between sun-drenched vineyards and the sparkling blue ocean. The air here was usually thick with the sweet scent of wine and the salty breeze. But inside the Great Hall, the atmosphere was heavy enough to crush a man.
A raven's scroll—the crude, threatening declaration from the Iron Islands—lay cold and flat on the ornate table. Sitting right next to it was the cause of the problem: a copy of the Royal Command from King's Landing, stamped with the dragon seal.
Lady Olenna Redwyne, the Queen of Thorns and matriarch of House Tyrell, hadn't been invited. She had rushed back to her childhood home from Highgarden, driven by a deep, nagging worry. Though aged, she was still as sharp as her nickname suggested. Right now, her eyes—which had seen through every lie in the Seven Kingdoms—were drilling holes into her brother, Lord Adrian Redwyne.
"The King's orders?" Olenna scoffed, her voice dry as autumn leaves scraping against stone. "Show me exactly where on that paper it says, 'When you see Ironborn food ships, hijack them and drag them back to the capital.' My dear brother, did you marinate your brain in a barrel of your own vintage last night? or have you finally gone senile enough to buy into this absolute load of horse manure?"
She didn't give Adrian a second to interrupt, her words coming fast and stinging.
"King Aerys has nothing between his ears these days but wildfire and paranoia. The man is a lunatic! When a madman speaks, smart people nod politely and then throw his letters into the fireplace. But you? You actually believed it? You sent your precious fleet to do his dirty work? Why didn't he order Tywin Lannister to do it? Why not use his own Royal Fleet? Why the Arbor? Is it because you're 'loyal'? Or is it because you're an easy mark?"
Lord Adrian's face flushed red at his sister's bluntness. He tried to muster the dignity of a House Lord. "Olenna! Watch your tone! We are the King's most loyal bannermen. When the King commands, we naturally..."
"Loyalty?" Olenna cut him off with a bark of laughter. "Spare me the speech! Read the damn letter from the Iron Islands! Do they mention the King even once? No. They care about one thing—that you, Adrian Redwyne, hijacked a Greyjoy ship!"
"It's a frame-up! They're scapegoating us!" Adrian slammed his hand on the table. "They're too scared to go after King's Landing, so they're taking their anger out on us!"
"Even if they are, so what?" Olenna's voice dropped to a chill. "The problem is, they have the facts on their side! You did take the ships. You did take the grain. Legally, they've got you dead to rights. The whole continent is probably laughing at us right now, watching my 'loyal and reliable' brother walk face-first into a bear trap. I don't want to hear another word about the King—it just makes you sound stupider."
Adrian took a deep breath, forcing down his rage. "I'll write to the Capital immediately. I'll ask the Crown to clarify the situation and prove we were acting under orders!"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk..." Olenna shook her head, looking at him with a mix of pity and mockery. "Naive. It's almost tragic. So, you plan to piss off the vindictive squids, and then announce to the world: 'Your Grace, the Mad King, that dirty job you told me to do is causing problems, so please tell everyone you made me do it'? Do you think the Crown cares about you? You think the Tyrell alliance will save you? Are you trying to make enemies on both sides?"
"Then why are you even here, Olenna?!" Adrian finally snapped, growling at her. "Did you come all the way from Highgarden just to enjoy your brother's misery and throw insults at me?!"
"Why am I here?" Olenna drew herself up to her full, albeit short, height. Her gaze was fierce. "Because my name was Redwyne before it was Tyrell! Because you are my brother! Because my daughter Mina is going to marry your son Paxter! I'm here to stop you because I'm terrified that your brain—which is apparently stuffed full of 'loyalty' instead of gray matter—is going to drag both our families down with you!"
"Drag you down?" Adrian laughed, finding his confidence again. "Relax, sister. What are the Ironborn? Nothing. The Arbor has the strongest navy in the Seven Kingdoms! We have the best warships! Highly trained soldiers! The sharpest steel..."
"Yeah, yeah," Olenna interrupted again, waving a dismissive hand toward the window where soldiers were likely drilling. "The armor is shiny. The swords are expensive. It all looks very pretty in the sunlight. But let me ask you one simple question, brother."
She took a step closer, her voice low but piercing. "These handsome young knights of ours... when was the last time they fought a real battle? Not chasing off a few ragged pirates, and not hitting wooden dummies in the training yard. When was the last time they fought for their lives?"
"You don't understand war, woman!" Adrian waved her off, trying to dodge the question.
"I admit, I'm not a man," Olenna said, her tone razor-sharp. "I don't wave swords around. But I have a brain! The Ironborn spend their lives on the Narrow Sea. They dance on the knife's edge every single day. They are born fighting storms, reefs, and people trying to kill them. Are you really ready to send your boys—who grew up in soft vineyards drinking sweet wine—to fight a deathmatch against a bunch of psychos who worship drowning? For a Mad King's order? For your fragile ego?"
"What choice do I have?!" Adrian roared, completely losing his cool. "The grain is already in King's Landing! Do you expect me to bow my head to those squids? Return ten times the amount? Publicly apologize? Hah! How would House Redwyne ever hold its head up in Westeros again?!"
"Negotiate!" Olenna said the word like a command. "Swallow that ridiculous pride and negotiate! Contact them. Offer compensation—pay them off under the table if you have to. Find a way out that lets both sides save face. It's better than feeding your fleet and your handsome young men to the fishes!"
"There is nothing to talk about!" Lord Adrian spun around, turning his back on his sister. "Go back to Highgarden, Lady Olenna. Leave the affairs of House Redwyne to me. I know what I'm doing!"
Olenna stared at her brother's stubborn back. The last light of hope in her eyes flickered and died, replaced by a cold, resigned acceptance of the disaster to come. She didn't say another word. She simply shook her head slightly and walked out of the hall.
Outside, the air still smelled of sweet grapes and summer wine, but to Olenna, the wind already carried the metallic tang of blood and the ash of burning ships.