Their cousin was, of course, Margaery Tyrell—known across the Reach and beyond as the Little Rose.
She smiled first at Arthur, whom she had never met, then turned to warmly greet her cousins. Her gentle gaze, wide and warm like that of a doe, carried a subtle glimmer of amusement, and the corners of her lips curled easily into a faint smile, only enhancing her radiant beauty.
Her thick, chestnut curls cascaded down her shoulders in loose waves, contrasting with the pale cream of her arms. Because of the summer heat lingering over the Reach, she wore a breezy, dark green ankle-length gown with open sleeves and a plunging neckline. A soft cyan sash cinched at her waist, perfectly emphasizing her graceful figure.
Naturally, Arthur's eyes could not help but drift lower, drawn to the ample curves on display above the low neckline. He had not expected that much, to be honest.
In short, Margaery Tyrell was worthy of her fame—graceful, intelligent, and disarmingly beautiful.
Compared to Sansa Stark, who still lived in a world of maiden's dreams and courtly songs, Margaery had the advantage of maturity and social finesse. Arthur found her confidence alluring—and unmistakably womanly.
A thought began to stir in Arthur's mind. Why not both? Sansa would bring the North, and Margaery the Reach. If he dared to dream, he should dream boldly.
"This is Arthur Bracken, he's—" Hopper began the introduction, but Margaery cut him off gently.
"I know who he is," she said, turning her eyes to Arthur. "The champion of the joust at Lord Stark's tourney."
Her words were polite, but Arthur detected a note of formality beneath the warmth. "These past days, your name has been on everyone's lips. Who wouldn't admire a handsome, strong knight?"
Her phrasing betrayed a small error—Arthur was not a knight, and that fact had spread as gossip since the tourney. Margaery's mistake, minor though it was, told Arthur one thing: she didn't truly care about him—at least, not yet. She was merely repeating what she'd heard, offering a practiced charm.
Arthur felt a flicker of disappointment, but quickly buried it. He was just a minor lord now, far from the stature needed to draw sincere interest from the Tyrells.
But one day—when his banners flew over the Riverlands, and his soldiers marched in plate and steel—she would remember every whisper about him.
"It's an honor to know that a lady of such grace has heard my name," Arthur said, responding with courtly poise.
It was their first meeting. A real connection would take time—and power.
After their exchange of pleasantries, they all sat down together at the long oak table. Their retainers and guards found nearby seats, and servants brought wine and cold dishes.
"Are you going to your school again?" asked Horace, raising an eyebrow. "You really shouldn't spend so much time around the common folk. They can be… unruly."
"Truly," Hopper added. "They can't tell a chamber pot from a helm."
Margaery gave a patient smile. "Cousins, that's no way to speak. If you treat the smallfolk with dignity, they'll treat you in kind."
Arthur nodded in agreement. "That's true. One heart for one heart. They may be poor, but they are people—and people can be inspired."
"You see?" Margaery turned to her cousins with mock scolding. "Lord Bracken understands me better than the two of you, and we only just met."
The twins shared a look, well-acquainted with their cousin's habits. They let the topic drop, unwilling to challenge her further.
Arthur, however, was intrigued—not only by Margaery, but by her ideas.
He had long considered founding a school himself. Winning over the hearts of the smallfolk could be as valuable as winning battles, especially in a war-torn realm. This could be his key to building lasting loyalty.
"May I ask more about your school?" Arthur asked.
"Of course, Lord Champion," Margaery replied, visibly delighted. She had often faced skepticism from Reach lords for her philanthropic efforts. Arthur's interest, therefore, pleased her deeply.
She began to describe her project with growing enthusiasm.
Arthur listened closely and pieced together the essentials. The school was staffed by learned septons and septas—gentle, educated people handpicked from the Faith. The Tyrells provided food and shelter for both teachers and students. She avoided mentioning the stipends paid to the instructors, and Arthur, knowing his place, didn't press her on it.
The school was located right here in Ferrybridge, nestled between the Arbor's shipping lanes and the Roseroad. Its students were local boys and girls—mostly the children of farmers, fishermen, and small traders.
The main reason why most parents agreed to send their children to Margaery's school wasn't because they valued education, but because the children were still too young to be of use in the fields, forges, or vineyards. In the Reach—especially in and around Ferrybridge—boys and girls typically began helping with work by the age of eight or nine, but those younger were often left idle during the day. If they remained at home, their parents feared they might tumble into the Mander, fall from terraces, be trampled by mules, or even snatched by stray hounds or the occasional wolf that wandered down from the Kingswood. In such cases, having the little ones watched over by septas or gentlefolk during daylight hours was the safest option. For the smallfolk, safety always came first—education was a luxury they scarcely considered. Most mothers and fathers didn't truly care whether their children learned their letters or sums; they simply needed someone to keep them safe until they were old enough to carry a basket or swing a sickle. After all, who made them common-born? No matter how much a child learns, they believe it changes nothing. When those boys and girls reach the age of labor, not even the daughter of a high lord can convince their parents to keep them in school. Fortunately, the monks only teach the basics—simple prayers, counting, reading, and the Seven-Pointed Star—and the lessons can be completed within a year or two. In other words, this school served not only as a place of learning but also as a nursery of sorts. It allowed working families to labor with peace of mind, knowing their young ones were safe and supervised.
"This is a great initiative," Arthur praised Margaery with sincerity. "It frees weary parents from constant worry and gives children a place of shelter and safety."
"You're too kind," Margaery replied modestly, though a glimmer of satisfaction lit her eyes. "It's just a small effort to do some good with the time I have."
Though she spoke humbly, it was clear she was pleased—at last, someone who truly understood her intentions… and a handsome someone, at that.
"A highborn lady like you, with such care for the smallfolk, is truly worthy of being a queen," Arthur added meaningfully. "Unlike the two currently sitting in the Red Keep, who are…"
But before he could finish, Margaery lifted her hand with a small, graceful gesture.
"Queen Cersei and King Robert are our rightful rulers, and I am loyal to the Iron Throne," she said with a smile, her voice composed.
Still in a good mood, she even brought her hands together in a heart shape before her chest—a charming and theatrical gesture to show her loyalty. She liked Arthur more and more. He saw her efforts, and he'd said aloud what she often dreamed: to be queen. She didn't need to say it. That ambition lived in her heart.
Arthur watched her closely. Though Margaery denied any ambition, the flicker in her eyes told him otherwise. Her left eye seemed to gleam with power, the right with longing. It was a quiet fire, masked behind practiced charm—a far cry from her usual gentle serenity.
"Speaking of which, I've been thinking of opening a school of my own in my lands," Arthur lied smoothly, "something like this would do great good for my people. There are some questions I must ask Lady Margaery, if you would be so kind as to share your wisdom."
Of course, he had no time for such things—not with the War of the Five Kings looming—but it pleased Margaery deeply. Before the meal arrived, she happily spoke at length about her experiences: the challenges of recruiting monks, the problem of funding meals and clothing, even resistance from certain local septons who viewed her work as stepping outside her station. Arthur nodded and echoed her points, admiring her beauty while feigning deep consideration. The Redwyne twins, unable to interrupt, sat silently like stone pillars on either side.
"Your experience has been immensely helpful," Arthur said earnestly. "When I return to my lands and resolve the matter with my northern neighbors, I'll begin preparations to build a school."
"Your northern neighbors?" Margaery's interest was piqued. "You're still in dispute with them? Can you tell me more?"
Finally, the twins had a reason to speak. Competing for their cousin's attention, they eagerly recounted the recent feud between Arthur and the Blackwoods of Raventree Hall, painting the Lord of the Red Mill as a warrior of legend.
"Cousin," Hopper grinned, "do you know what it means for a man to kill three hundred foes on the battlefield?"
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