The Rose and the Wolf

Chapter 48 – The Rose and the Wolf

298 AC - Riverrun

The banners of the Reach fluttered in the wind as the Tyrell host rode through the gates of Riverrun. The golden roses of House Tyrell mixed with the direwolves of House Stark, an alliance that would shake the foundations of Westeros.

Robb Stark stood atop the ramparts, watching as Mace Tyrell and his knights dismounted. Beside him, his mother, Catelyn, let out a quiet sigh of relief. Their gamble had paid off.

They had gained an army—and a queen.

---

The Alliance is Sealed

Inside the Great Hall, the banners of the North and the Reach hung side by side. The lords of both factions gathered, speaking in hushed voices, their faces marked by the weariness of war.

Robb sat at the head of the table, across from Mace Tyrell and his son, Garlan. Beside Mace sat Margaery, her green eyes bright with intelligence, her lips curled in an effortless smile.

"You have my gratitude, Lord Tyrell," Robb said, his tone firm yet respectful. "Your aid turns the tide of this war."

Mace puffed his chest, clearly pleased. "We do not follow lost causes, Your Grace. The North and the Reach together will bring justice to the realm."

Robb nodded. He knew this was not just about honor or justice. The Tyrells wanted power, and by wedding Margaery to him, they ensured their influence in the North and the Riverlands.

But he did not mind. Power is necessary to win wars.

The conversation turned to strategies, troop movements, and supply lines. Garlan Tyrell, a seasoned commander, spoke of flanking maneuvers with the legendary blackfish.

After hours of discussion, the meeting concluded.

The war would continue, but now, Robb had the strength to march south.

---

A Walk Through Riverrun

As the sun began to set, Robb found himself walking through the castle grounds with Margaery Tyrell at his side.

She moved with grace, her gown of green and gold silk flowing around her as if she floated rather than walked.

"Are all the negotiations finished?" she asked, tilting her head slightly, her eyes studying him.

"For the most part," Robb answered. "There are still matters of strategy, but the major decisions have been made."

She smiled. "Good. War talks are so dreary, don't you think?"

Robb chuckled, shaking his head. "Only for those who don't have to fight in them."

Margaery laughed, a soft, melodic sound. "A fair point, Your Grace. Though I suppose I must care for such things now that I will be your queen."

Robb glanced at her. "You don't seem afraid of what that means."

She turned to face him, her green eyes glinting in the evening light. "Should I be?"

Robb paused. He had expected nervousness, perhaps hesitation, but Margaery Tyrell was utterly composed.

"It means more than just wearing a crown," he said finally. "The North is not the Reach. Winters last for years, and my people are hard, unyielding. They will not love you easily."

Margaery stepped closer, her voice a soft murmur. "Then I shall have to win them over, just as I will win you over, my king."

Robb felt heat rise in his chest.

She was beautiful, intelligent, and utterly confident.

A dangerous woman.

He smirked. "You're certain of that?"

She lifted her chin, a playful challenge in her gaze. "Oh, I am."

They continued their walk, their conversation flowing effortlessly. Margaery spoke of Highgarden's gardens, of the feasts, of the songs sung in the halls. When the subject turned to war, she subtly steered it elsewhere, filling the air with light laughter and teasing remarks.

Robb knew what she was doing—this was Olenna Tyrell's training at work—but he did not mind.

For the first time in a long while, he felt at ease.

Then, as they passed a small courtyard, Robb's direwolf, Grey Wind, bounded toward him.

The massive beast nuzzled against Robb's hand, and he laughed, scratching behind its ears.

For a brief moment, Margaery's mask slipped.

Her confident smile faltered, replaced by something else—genuine fascination.

Robb noticed.

"You've never seen a direwolf up close before?"

Margaery hesitated before slowly reaching out a hand. Grey Wind sniffed her fingers, then allowed her to touch his thick fur.

"He's magnificent," she whispered. "Not a beast… but a protector."

Robb watched her carefully. This was not calculated charm, not courtly flirtation.

This was real.

And in that moment, he knew—he could learn to love her.