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Olenna Redwyne was well aware that young, handsome, wealthy noblemen of impeccable character were in short supply, so when the time came to be married, she decided to be pragmatic about it. All she asked for was that he not be cruel. She trusted her parents to at least fulfill that requirement for her. In her prayers, however, she added one more criterion: He can be the size of an aurochs and older than dirt with twenty bastards and twice as many boils, but please don’t let me marry a fool!
When the Tyrells made their offer, it was too good to pass up. Olenna traveled to Highgarden with her parents and a respectable retinue to meet her prospective betrothed.
“If you marry Luthor, you may one day be the Lady of Highgarden,” her father whispered as they neared the Tyrells’ great hall.
“Really? Oh, thank you so much for reminding me! I must have left my memory of this fact back at the Arbor,” Olenna said, rolling her eyes.
Her mother sighed. “Olenna dear, please at least try to be courteous when you meet Luthor. Save the derision until safely after the wedding.”
Olenna assured her mother that she would be the very picture of a gentle maiden. Surely it would not be too difficult, not with such high-stakes motivation. As she awaited Luthor’s arrival (Lord and Lady Tyrell had apologized profusely for his lateness; apparently he had “been detained” during his ride), she felt confident in her abilities.
Suddenly there were heavy footsteps outside, followed by a loud thud. Everyone turned to the door.
Thud.
Thud.
The guards inside quickly pulled the door open. A tall young man with slightly disheveled brown curls entered, grinning sheepishly. “Sorry. I always forget that you push that door instead of pull it.”
Lord and Lady Tyrell exchanged a look. “Son...”
“Ah!” The young man dropped into a haphazard bow as the court crier announced the presence of Luthor Tyrell. “I am honored to finally meet you, my… lady?” He glanced up out of the corner of his eye, trying and failing to be surreptitious. His mother nodded in Olenna’s direction. Luthor saw her and beamed. “My lady!”
Olenna forced a smile and curtsied. Inside, she cringed.
Her soon-to-be betrothed was an absolute dolt.
She hoped that perhaps her first impression of Luthor would prove false—that he wasn’t stupid, just easily flustered. But he dispelled that lovely hope within seconds of their first ride together, when he explained that the reason he had been late that first day was that he had gotten lost in the woods less than a mile away.
“I thought you went hunting often,” said Olenna, trying to figure out just how he could have managed that mishap.
“Oh, I do! I suppose the trees just looked differently that day,” Luthor explained. “Does that ever happen to you, my lady?”
“…No, the trees in the Arbor tend to be rather static.” She bit back a mocking response and searched for a new topic. “I am told that you also enjoy hawking?”
“I do! I have four of my own.” Luthor urged his horse forwards and motioned for Olenna to follow. “Come, you should meet them! If you’d like to, that is.”
His enthusiasm inexplicably made her smile. “I would be delighted.”
“I present Lord Hawkey, Lady Hawksworth, Ser Hawkish, and Ser Hawksley,” he said, pointing them all out to her in turn.
“How imaginative,” Olenna remarked.
Thankfully, her dry tone went unnoticed. “Thank you! I used ‘hawk’ for all of them.”
“…Yes, I noticed.”
Luthor, it turned out, doted on his hawks more than some mothers doted on their children. He smuggled them choice bits of meat from the kitchens and brushed their feathers every day with a tiny soft brush that Olenna suspected was intended for a doll. He even talked to them, which was odd, but strangely endearing.
After seeing that Olenna wasn’t terrified of the hawks, Luthor insisted on visiting them at least once a day. Olenna didn’t mind. In fact, she quite liked it. It made it much easier to focus on Luthor’s positive traits. The hawks were so well-trained that he had to be good at some things, at least. He was certainly gentle. And she had to admit he was not bad-looking.
“They like you,” Luthor said one day. Ser Hawkish had just deposited a dead squirrel at Olenna’s feet. “I don’t think they’ve ever brought prey for anybody besides my family.”
“That may be for the best. I doubt most ladies would appreciate their taste in gifts.” Olenna graciously accepted the squirrel and held it up by the tail. “What do I do with it?”
“Give it to Lady Hawksworth. She likes them.”
Lady Hawksworth snatched the squirrel out of her hand. Ser Hawkish watched with interest. Olenna chuckled. “Did I just deliver a favor for him? What will poor Lord Hawkey think?”
“Aw, he’ll be fine. Don’t worry.” Luthor gazed at Olenna for a moment, tilting his head to the side rather like one of his hawks.
“What? Do you want a squirrel lunch of your own?”
Luthor rubbed the back of his neck. “Um. I was wondering… would it be alright if I kissed you, my lady?”
Ah. It occurred to Olenna that this was the first genuinely romantic overture he’d made thus far. “You may.”
Luthor shuffled forward and placed his hands on her shoulders. As Olenna stood on her tiptoes to reach, she was not expecting much. He was sweet, but given the way he acted, surely—
Hmm.
Well.
Now this was a nice surprise.
“Was that alright?” Luthor asked when they broke apart.
“Yes, my lord,” Olenna said dazedly. “That was more than alright. You are more than welcome to do it again.”
As Luthor bent to kiss her once more, Olenna thought that marrying a fool was really not that bad.