Game of Thrones: I am Dothraki, not a barbarian

Chapter 182 Marriage
"How did she die?" Cersei asked, her eyes filled with venom as she looked up again. "Who killed her?"

Why don't you ask yourself that question?

James thought to himself, but he couldn't bring himself to say it.

“Mace Tyrell!” Cersei wiped away tears from her eyes. “He must pay for this!”

James remained silent, because he no longer wanted to say anything more to this woman.

He glanced back at the coffin, his mind filled with images of Myrcella as a child, laughing as she pulled him by the hand and ran into the royal garden, saying that she would one day wear a crown like her mother.

"I'll help her put it on," he murmured.

At this moment, the senior ministers of the King's Council also rushed over upon hearing the news, including Tyrion, Varys, Petyr, and Grand Maester Paisell, among other King's Landing nobles.

When they saw the coffin, the atmosphere froze.

“I offer my condolences, Your Majesty.” Varys lowered his eyes and wiped his eyes. “Princess Myrcella was the kindest child in the city.”

“Her fate shouldn’t have been like this.” Littlefinger glanced at the princess under the coffin lid and sighed. “But this world has never been a place of reason. I’ve never seen a girl more like a queen than her. It’s a pity she’s now a corpse.”

Cersei looked up at him abruptly, her eyes practically spitting fire. "Are you cursing her?"

“I am mourning,” Little Finger said, spreading his hands. “It’s just that I mourn in a different way than everyone else.”

"Enough!" Tyrion interrupted them. "You all better shut up!"

He finally stood up from the coffin, staring at Cersei. "Myrcella is my niece. If you want to hold someone accountable, ask yourself first. Who sent the Blood Troupe to the Reach? Who thought burning a few farmhouses would intimidate the Tyrells?"

Cersei looked him straight in the eye and said, word by word, "It's me. So what?"

"Are you satisfied now?" Tyrion's lips curled into a cold smile. "You lost a child, what did you gain? You should see her corpse; you sent her there with your own hands."

“Shut up!” Cersei slapped Tyrion across the face. This time, he didn’t flinch.

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m not blaming you.” Tyrion spread his hands, his smile utterly bleak. “I’m just reminding you that Joffrey and Tommen are still alive. Don’t handle things the same way again.”

These words were like a thorn in Cersei's heart.

She held Mysera's hand, bowed her head and remained silent, her eyes red but without shedding a tear.

“Do you know how much she resembles me?” she whispered. “When she was little, she would cry very softly, because she was afraid of disturbing other people’s sleep.”

"She wanted to be queen, but what happened?" She suddenly looked up and glared fiercely at the crowd.

“I will never trust anyone again,” she said. “I don’t trust Tyrell, I don’t trust Dorne, and I don’t trust any of you who have flowery words.”

"You say I killed her? Fine, I'll show you with your own eyes who else I could kill."

The servants carefully lifted the coffin and walked deeper into the Red Keep.

Cersei followed behind, sealing all her grief deep within her heart.

Three days later, the raven in the Black Room of Braavos received an order.

"Target: Mace Tyrell. Bounty: One million gold."

...

Tyrion stood by the window, gazing at the overcast sky outside.

Princess Myrcella's funeral has just ended, and the entire Red Keep is shrouded in grief.

But what's more worrying than the grief is the cold hatred in Cersei's eyes.

Tyrion knows his sister too well; she would never admit it was her fault, and would only seek revenge on others.

Now, she has shifted the blame onto the Tyrell family.

However, Tyrion would never allow another formidable enemy to emerge in this environment where he was already surrounded by wolves.

“My lord, you summon me?” Littlefinger’s voice came from behind Tyrion, interrupting his thoughts.

Tyrion turned around and saw that Littlefinger and Varys were already there, so he gestured for them to sit down. "Lahalo has invaded Stormlands, Renly lost the duel and has now been declared dead, and Stormlands is in chaos. House Florent intends to side with Stannis."

We cannot allow the Reach to side with Stannis, nor can we allow them to side with Lahallo. We need to do everything in our power to win over House Tyrell and forge a bond that can firmly bind Highgarden.”

Littlefinger astutely caught Tyrion's intentions.

The alliance between Dorne and King's Landing has been severed, and if Highgarden is not won over, King's Landing will be left isolated and helpless.

Moreover, if Stannis were to preemptively forge an alliance with Highgarden, the Lannister dynasty's rule would be in grave danger.

“You mean, a marriage alliance?” Littlefinger asked.

“That’s right. Joffrey and Margaery Tyrell. The late Lord Renly taught us a lesson: we should use marriage to win over Tyrell’s allies, just like he did.”

Tyrion vaguely remembered that Renly's young queen was slightly older than Joffrey, but only a few years older, and besides, she was so beautiful and charming.

However, this matter absolutely cannot be discussed with Cersei beforehand. As long as her father agrees, it will be done. Once the deed is done, even if Cersei objects, it will be useless.

“Although Renly is dead, Margaery can still serve as the Regent Queen of Stormlands because she has the support of Randyll Tarly and Mattus Rowan, even if she can give up this power,” Littlefinger shrugged, then changed the subject, “She is, after all, a widow. Is she worthy of our King Joffrey?”

“Margaery is not a widow.” Tyrion glanced at him. “Everyone knows that Renly has never laid a finger on her.”

“The Reach doesn’t like us, not even the Florentine family,” the eunuch Varys interjected.

"But they didn't like Stannis either, otherwise they would have followed him from the beginning."

“But Joffrey is engaged to Sansa Stark,” Varys said. “Have you considered your reputation? Sansa is no ordinary woman.”

“The engagement can be dissolved,” Tyrion said. “What good would it do for the king to marry the sister of his enemy? Robb killed my father’s brother and turned the Westerlands into a mess; this feud is irreconcilable.”

Littlefinger agreed: "Stark girls are sweet, but they're of no use to Joffrey except to offer themselves to him. Margaery Tyrell is different; she still has an army of 80,000 and the entire power of Highgarden as her dowry."

“I believe His Majesty the King is proud by nature; he will not accept Renly’s leftovers and will not agree to this marriage,” Varys said.

Littlefinger retorted, "What's wrong with that? Lord Tyrion can remind His Majesty the King that the Tyrells are richer than the Starks, and Margaery is even more adorable... adorable enough to share a bed with him."

“Yes, Joffrey is very concerned about that,” Tyrion said firmly. “I’m glad someone agrees with me. Lord Petyr, I need you to set off for Storm's End immediately and persuade Margaery to marry Joffrey.”

"Why me?" Little Finger raised an eyebrow.

"Because no one is better at persuading others than you."

Tyrion doesn't trust Petyr and doesn't want him out of his sight, but does he have any other choice?
This matter could only be handled by himself or Littlefinger, and he was fully aware that as soon as he stepped out of King's Landing, no matter how long or short it would take, all the plans he had made there would be abandoned halfway.

Littlefinger pondered for a moment, a calculating glint in his eyes.

“I need a written letter of appointment. This document must not only dispel any doubts the Tyrells have about my authority, but more importantly, it must grant me full authority to negotiate the marriage and all related arrangements, and to make a vow in the name of the King. This document must bear the signatures of Joffrey and all the high-ranking officials, and be stamped with their seals.”

“It’s a deal!” Tyrion asked. “Is that all? I’m just reminding you, the road from King’s Landing to Stormlands is quite long.”

“I will set off before dawn.” Littlefinger rose. “I believe that when I return, the King will be grateful and reward me for my valiant service to the country!”

"What do you want, Petyr?"

Littlefinger, a sly smile on his face, glanced at Tyrion. "Let me think about it. I'll figure it out eventually."

He gave a slight bow, then turned and left.

Varys chuckled, “Our Joffrey is a grateful king, so go in peace, my brave and good lord.”

As Littlefinger disappeared through the door, Tyrion turned to Varys: "I need you to go to Highgarden and meet Olenna Tyrell. If anyone can rule the Tyrell family, it is her."

Varys nodded: "I understand."

Tyrion looked out the window. The fog was thick, and he couldn't see the outer walls through the courtyard. A few dim yellow lights flickered faintly in the grayness.

"Begin drafting the document, Lord Varys. Send someone to fetch parchment and a quill, and wake Joffrey."

(End of this chapter)