Exploring Highgarden

Jon began the day by falling into a routine he had established since he was old enough to wield a sword, and went out into the courtyard to practice. He had taken to tying blocks of wood to the sides of his blade and begun to swing, counting with each downward strike. This continued until eventually he reached around sixty, and his arms were well and truly aching and he decided to move on to other drills that his Kingsguard had instructed him with. He freed his sword and began to move around, cutting his blade through the air in defensive arcs until his whole body felt warm with the effort.

“Mind if I join you?” Came the familiar voice of Ser Garlan as he approached, “a good spar does wonders for the mind and soul,” he laughed good naturedly, “and it would make me feel a lot better if I knew my sister’s future husband could handle himself in combat.”

Jon smiles and nodded in agreement. “I always look forward to a challenge Ser,” he raised his blade, “ready when you are.”

Garlan raised his sword, and in an instant was upon him. The man was bigger than Jon, and the **** of his attacks were stronger than Jon’s, but there was enough energy left in the Targaryen to dance around the worst of the attacks and send in a few of his own. It was an effort, but Jon could see that he was making Garlan sweat as he kept up his attack. Eventually Jon could feel his lungs burn, his grip falter and he decided to lower his blade in defeat.

“I yield,” He said, huffing a breath, “I would hate to be your enemy Ser.”

Garlan laughed, his face flushed with sweat. “You’re a member of the family now My Prince,” he held up his blade, “this weapon will only be raised in your defence.”

Jon nodded and thanked the warrior for his words profusely and then bid him goodbye as he returned to the castle proper. He decided to take his time so early in the morning and strolled the castle’s halls and balconies, going wherever his feet would take him. Eventually he found himself on a balcony overlooking a garden deep in the centre of the castle, and stopped just in time to hear a very familiar voice.

He chanced a peak over the balcony and spotted Margaery sittimg with a cluster of her cousins and an ancient woman whom he knew at once to be the Queen of Thorns herself, Olenna Tyrell.

“Are you all prepared girl?” Olenna questioned, “King’s Landing isn’t remotely like here. You’ll need that dragon of yours tightly around your finger if you’re to get anywhere.”

Margaery breathed a small laugh. “Oh I don’t think that’ll be a problem. Between me and Loras I’d say we have him completely in our grasp.”

“Loras ?” The old woman sounded surprised for a moment, then hummed thoughtfully. “So they share proclivities? That may become a bother when it becomes time to get an heir”

“Oh, not at all,” Margaery replied, and Jon could almost hear the smirk in her voice, “He’s made it more than clear that he’s interested in me.”

Olenna hummed to herself again. “And to think he’s the only one without Dornish blood,” she paused to taste some tea, “Well the two of you can keep him under your thrall, and in due course we might find ourselves perfectly placed. At first I chastised your oaf of a father for so readily accepting a second son, but perhaps we can make this work.”

Jon moved away, careful that he wasn’t seen and went on his way through the grand paths of the castle, slowly digesting what he had just heard. It was clear now that he had quite plainly fallen into a trap laid out by the roses, found himself seduced by their apparent submission. Of course nothing he had heard constituted to open treason, but it sounded clear enough that their ambition was to eventually use him as a puppet ruler.

He chipped away at the problem for much of his walk, and when he returned to his chambers and found a collection of fresh letters from the Capitol he suddenly found the seed of an idea.