Mace Tyrell
Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South, a genial, self-important man who commands the realm's richest lands and does mostly what his mother tells him.
A soul of House Tyrell, born at Highgarden.
The fuller tale
How it ends for them
On the screen. Died when the sept burned (S6┬ÀE10)
The amiable Lord of Highgarden followed his children into the Great Sept for Loras's trial and died with them in Cersei's green fire, the last Lord Tyrell of the old line.
In the show he dies as he lived: adjacent to the point. Summoned to the Great Sept of Baelor for Loras's trial before the Faith, Mace stands in the crowd as his son confesses and is mutilated, visibly grasping, one beat behind everyone, that something is wrong ÔÇö Margaery has read Cersei's absence correctly and is trying to empty the building. The High Sparrow's certainty holds the doors, and the wildfire cached beneath the sept takes the congregation whole: Mace, his daughter, his son, the Faith's leadership, and the future of House Tyrell in a single green bloom over the city. He is alive in the published books, at the head of an army, with no idea what the show has planned for the ground beneath the sept.
Their chapters, book by book
Where the page and the screen part
Book Mace is less buffoon and more blowhard-with-leverage: the books keep him permanently camped between the reader and the throne ÔÇö angling for the Handship, promoting his cronies, besieging Storm's End again ÔÇö and the realm's regents fear his army even while the story mocks his judgment. His Ashford 'victory' and the year of feasting outside Storm's End are book details the show never states. The show, needing a comic register for the Tyrell scenes, pushed him further toward farce ÔÇö the Braavos singing, the wardrobe ÔÇö and then gave him an ending; in the published books Mace is alive outside King's Landing with the Reach's power at his back and both his children in the Faith's hands, a situation with considerably more gunpowder in it than his show fate allowed.
Their journey
Where the two tellings send them to the same place the road runs whole; where they part, the screen keeps the left and the books the right.