The Waiting Game

Garlan Tyrell strode through the lush gardens of Highgarden, his boots crunching softly against the gravel path as he made his way toward the terrace where his grandmother and elder brother sat. The scent of roses and fresh-cut grass filled the warm air, but he paid it little mind. His body ached from three days of relentless riding, and his mind was clouded with exhaustion and frustration.

Ahead, seated beneath the trellis of ivy and hanging flowers, were Willas and Olenna Tyrell. The two sat at a stone table, shaded from the late afternoon sun, a pitcher of wine and a plate of figs laid out between.

Willas, as always, was composed, his calm demeanor making it seem as though nothing in the world could unsettle him. Olenna, on the other hand, sat with her usual sharp-eyed expression, her hands folded atop her lap as if she had been expecting Garlan's arrival.

Willas smirked the moment he caught sight of him. "You look awful, brother."

Garlan let out a sharp breath, shaking his head as he collapsed onto an empty chair, reaching for the wine without a word. He poured himself a cup and downed a few gulps before setting it back down. "Three days. That's how long it took to track down Loras after he rode off like an impulsive fool." He exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "Three days of scouring the countryside before we found him on the road to Bitterbridge."

Olenna sighed, shaking her head. "I should've known that boy would try something foolish." She plucked a fig from the plate, examining it absently. "He's lucky you got to him before he did something irrevocable."

Garlan's brows furrowed, his exhaustion giving way to irritation. "I still don't understand why we rescinded our support from Renly. When I left, father was more than prepared to throw the full might of the Reach behind him. By the time I returned, everything had changed."

Olenna and Willas exchanged a glance before the elderly matriarch turned her gaze to Garlan. "Because, my dear boy, while your father, for once, was correct in choosing Renly. Out of all the would-be kings, Renly is the most charming, agreeable, and, most importantly, the easiest to mold." She popped the fig into her mouth, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "But the letter about Eddard Stark escaping King's Landing changed everything."

Garlan leaned forward, frowning. "The letter had no signature."

Olenna waved a hand dismissively. "Of course it didn't. Only a fool would sign their name to something so damning. But that does not change the weight of the message. We may not know who orchestrated Eddard Stark's escape, but it happened, and that alone shifts the balance of this war."

Willas tapped his fingers against the table, nodding. "The facts remain, brother. Renly, without our support, has only twenty thousand men. We have allowed them to camp at Bitterbridge, close enough to offer support should we decide to. Stannis has barely a few thousand, though he is hiring sellswords from across the Narrow Sea. It will be months before he has a force that can truly challenge the Lannisters." His gaze darkened. "The Riverlands are scattered, their forces all but broken after the defeats they suffered against the Lannisters. The only other force of note belongs to the Starks."

Garlan's expression hardened. "According to the latest reports, Robb Stark has around fifteen thousand men."

"Hardly a formidable number," Olenna admitted. "But the real problem isn't the size of his host—it's his father."

Garlan's brows furrowed. "Eddard Stark is just one man."

Olenna's lips curled into a knowing smile. "One man who is well-respected, well-loved, and, more importantly, bound by duty and honor." She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she scrutinized Garlan. "You're looking at this as a numbers game. We have the largest army, yes, and if we had thrown our full support behind Renly, he would now have over a hundred thousand men under his banner. But what you fail to consider is how much of a game-changer Eddard Stark truly is."

Garlan's frown deepened. "What do you mean?"

Olenna sighed, shaking her head. "If Eddard had died in the Red Keep, Robb Stark's war would be one of vengeance. The North would have fought with fury, but it would have bled itself dry in the process. The Riverlands would have wavered, and in time, the war would have ended with Lannister banners flying over the ruins of Winterfell." She gestured with one wrinkled hand. "But now? Now that Eddard Stark is free, the entire war is unpredictable."

Willas nodded in agreement. "Eddard Stark was raised in the Vale under Jon Arryn. He was more than just a ward—he was loved by the lords of the Vale. If he joins his son's war, Lysa Arryn will no longer be able to keep the Vale from marching."

Garlan's eyes widened in realization. "If the Vale joins the Starks—"

"The North, the Riverlands, and the Vale will stand united against the Lannisters," Willas finished. "And if Stannis secures their support instead, many Stormland lords may abandon Renly."

Garlan's mind raced. "Which means that, depending on where Eddard throws his support, either Stannis or Renly will become the strongest force in Westeros."

Olenna smirked. "Now you're beginning to understand."

Garlan leaned back, his jaw tightening. "So, we withdrew our support for Renly because we're waiting to see where Eddard Stark aligns himself."

Olenna nodded. "Precisely."

Willas added, "Renly may have the best claim in terms of temperament, but in terms of legitimacy, it is Stannis who holds the strongest right to the throne. He is Robert's true heir, and Eddard Stark will know that. His sense of honor will not allow him to support Renly when Stannis has the stronger claim."

Garlan exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "And if Eddard Stark declares for Stannis, the entire war shifts."

Willas nodded grimly. "The North, the Riverlands, and the Vale would likely follow. If that happens, and Stannis is able to subjugate the Stormlands under his banner, the Lannisters would find themselves surrounded. Joffrey may sit on the Iron Throne, but he would be the weakest claimant with only the Westerlands and the Reach remaining neutral."

Olenna took another sip of her wine, her expression unreadable. "That is why we have chosen to wait. The Reach will not throw its strength behind a sinking ship. We will let the war unfold and see where the strongest alliances are forged before we make our move."

Garlan remained silent for a long moment before nodding. "And what of the Lannisters? Do we consider their offers?"

Olenna scoffed. "Tywin Lannister is many things, but a fool is not one of them. He knows we are the deciding factor in this war, and he will reach out eventually." She sighed. "But the Lannisters do not share power. They demand it. Supporting them would be akin to bending the knee, and that is something I do not intend to do."

Willas smiled faintly. "So we wait."

Olenna nodded. "Yes. We wait."

Garlan exhaled, nodding as he finally saw the full picture. The war for the Iron Throne was not just about armies or battles—it was about influence, about timing, about alliances carefully woven together. And in that regard, Eddard Stark's survival had changed everything.

The game had truly begun.