Chapter 696

To be honest, Aegor rather enjoyed this.

It was true—Margaery’s arguments held merit—but they were old, predictable, and lacked real weight. He shrugged slightly, neither agreeing nor denying her words.

He didn’t make a show of being impressed, but he remained silent, staring at her face, his gaze conveying a simple message: Not bad, but not enough.

For one, she wasn’t a knight. And for another… she was afraid.

That tone of hers!

"It’s easy to imagine," Margaery continued, shifting from complaints to strategy, "that the Queen wishes to end the war in the Reach quickly and recall her invincible general to King’s Landing or Storm’s End to oversee the defense of the Narrow Sea. Am I wrong?" She cut straight to the point. "Only if the entirety of the Reach surrenders in an orderly fashion, under House Tyrell’s leadership, can the war end as swiftly as possible—minimizing famine during the transition and giving you time to deal with the slavers beyond the sea."

Aegor raised an eyebrow, intrigued.

Survival is all. House Tyrell’s words had never rung truer.

No matter how composed, articulate, or sharp Margaery appeared, it did nothing to change the fact that House Tyrell was terrified.

Biting her lower lip slightly, she pressed forward. "House Tyrell has deep roots in the Reach. We know its lords, its armies, its culture, and its wealth better than anyone. We know which houses still have the strength to resist, which can be swayed with the right incentives, and which can be brought to heel without forcing them into desperation. If Her Majesty guarantees House Tyrell’s title and standing, we will provide this information and ensure her conquest is as smooth and profitable as possible."

Lacking substantial bargaining power, she aimed at his difficulties instead.

By pointing out the logistical and administrative challenges the Queen’s government would soon face, she subtly demonstrated her own value. See? Even in the midst of war, House Tyrell’s intelligence network remains intact. We still know everything that happens in the Reach—our influence endures.

"House Tyrell has laid all its cards before you, Lord Hand. Now, it's your turn."

Aegor smirked.

Because this was exactly what he had wanted from the start.

"Is that all?" he asked, utterly unimpressed.

Despite her rising frustration, Margaery held back. She couldn’t afford to snap.

He nodded slightly, signaling for her to continue.

Clearing House Tyrell’s debts to the Crownlands? That was feeding his war machine. And a ‘donation’ of one hundred thousand gold dragons? A bribe in all but name.

Now we’re talking.

She had played the game well.

Uninvited, she had come groveling. That alone exposed her desperation.

Aegor had worried about a prolonged siege if they ran out of gunpowder. House Tyrell, on the other hand, feared that he might not even need it—that he’d simply storm the gates and burn them all to the ground.

The last time they had met, Margaery had left their conversation with her pride intact, choosing to walk away rather than yield. But now?

The lives of everyone inside Highgarden, along with her father’s and brothers’ fates—wherever they might be—hung entirely on this negotiation.

She couldn’t walk away.

She dared not.

She had lost the first round of this battle before it had even begun.

And she knew it.

Had Highgarden sent a delegation at his summons, Aegor would have been harsh but not outright unreasonable.

"Lord Commander!"

The flickering lamplight danced in Margaery’s brown eyes, reflecting her rising fury. She clenched her jaw, barely restraining herself from slamming her hands onto the table. Her voice, tight with controlled anger, slipped into a sharp plea.

"I would hope you might offer some realistic, sincere terms—so this negotiation might actually continue!"

Aegor nearly chuckled.

The two concessions she had named were, in truth, substantial. More importantly, they were framed in a way that didn’t make them seem like she was groveling—or at least, not openly.

She paused, perhaps to prevent him from pressing her further. Then, after inhaling deeply, she pushed forward with her closing argument.

"I can see it clearly, Lord Hand—you have ambitions beyond this war. You wish to aid the Queen in strengthening royal authority, to build something greater than a simple conquest."

And the Reach has become your proving ground, she thought bitterly, though she didn’t say it aloud.

"But from what I know, you have never spent time in the Reach before this campaign. Population, land, and trade figures may be recorded in official ledgers, but what of the details beyond that?

"Do you know how many villages and farms exist across the Reach? How many dialects are spoken? Which of the Seven is most revered in each region?"

She let the weight of her words settle.

Aegor smirked.

"Calm yourself, Lady Margaery. I do not intend to humiliate you."

He enjoyed seeing the ever-poised Margaery Tyrell falter—such opportunities were rare.

But ultimately, he did want to end this war swiftly.

After a deliberate pause, he lazily offered her an opening.

"But tell me this—why should I accept your surrender… when Highgarden and the Reach are already in the palm of my hand? Why shouldn’t I simply take them for myself?"

Margaery’s breath hitched.

Some Reach lords had once suggested abandoning Highgarden as a decoy, withdrawing further and burning their own lands to stall the Queen’s advance—only to counterattack once her forces were mired in multiple wars.

That idea had been dismissed as madness.

But looking at Aegor now, Margaery realized—perhaps it hadn’t been so ridiculous after all.

"I doubt even you could answer that question, Lord Hand," she countered, regaining some composure. "But let me remind you: the Reach is not merely land to be claimed. Its people need rulers who understand them.

"They need their own.

"Not a Queen who rules from afar. Not a foreign Hand who speaks with steel and fire."

Control requires consent, she was saying.

Kill too many, exile too many, purge too many, and the land itself would become ungovernable.

Margaery knew it was an old, obvious argument. But it was effective nonetheless.

She had laid out her case.

Now, it was Aegor’s turn to show his hand.

"You’ve won the war. The Reach acknowledges your victory. But the Queen’s army controls less than one-third of its lands. Even if every remaining castle surrendered, even if your forces split to occupy them all, it would take at least another month to fully secure the region.

"But spring planting has already been delayed. Any further, and the first harvest will suffer."

Her voice steadied.

She was back in control of herself.

And ready for round two.
----


Was she about to offer up her own allies as a gift? Or was she maneuvering to use the Queen’s power to eliminate disloyal rivals?

"While the Lord Hand led his Gifted Army against the dead in the North, the Reach, regrettably, contributed nothing to that cause," Margaery continued. "To rectify this failure—and to show our respect for the Night’s Watch—we are willing to assume all of its outstanding debts.

"Additionally, we will donate one hundred thousand gold dragons to aid in the rebuilding of the Gift."

Generous.

But likely a trap.

Aegor would need to be cautious.

Well now.

His original plan had been rather mundane: rest for the night, then use the last barrel of gunpowder to shell the city—mixing bombardment with surrender demands.

If that failed, he would grit his teeth and order an assault.

Yet now?

The enemy Queen had walked right into his hands.

If I don’t squeeze every drop from her now, when will I?
----


"Furthermore," Margaery continued, tilting her chin slightly, "as I understand it, the slaver lords across the Narrow Sea have regrouped. The eastern coast of Westeros is now under greater threat than ever."

Oh? Aegor mused.

Are you offering me war, Margaery?

Or a deal to make sure I never bring it to you?