Emmon
Gyles sat at the window seat in his solar, a spot where he could see all of Highgarden, in all its splendor, and ponder of its fate. Emmon Tyrell had his back to the king as he played cyvasse with Randyll, his son of nine. This is what happened every day, an hour before noon in Highgarden, except this time, Emmon read the sadness and anxiety on the king's face. Randyll moved his dragon onto a mountain, one unprotected by Emmon's archers, while he was distracted.
"Emmon." He looked up. Gyles had gotten up from the window and slid his ancestral horseman's pick onto his belt, which he had apparently been honing.
"I resent interrupting at such a critical moment, but we need to talk. Alone." Randyll got up obediently, though he was disappointed he wouldn't be able to follow up on his victory. As the heavy oak door creaked to a close, the King of the Reach sat in the opposite chair.
"I have recieved troubling news from Ser Wilbert. The Lannisters have moved south, and dug in on the ocean road, cutting off Old Oak. The Ironmen have already taken the Arbor, and Sun House. War is coming to the reach, and i intend to move it out of our homelands. The four corners of the Reach must rise up in arms, before we can drive these determined invaders from our homes. This starts in Highgarden. I want you to work with the Master at Arms to find the best boys for Men at arms, and rally the local Knights and squires. We march in a week. You may take your leave. I have many letters to write." Emmon stood, and bowed. As he rose, he saw once again the melancholy on his king's face. The Gyles he knew loved to host tournaments, toast at feasts, and watch boys train in the yard. Emmon pushed the door open, and went down the stairs to hear a familiar voice.
"Can we continue the game, father?"
"No, Randyll, the king shouldn't be bothered right now. We should go and see if Helda has finished the stew yet."