Chereads / Game of Thrones: Lord of the Flames / Chapter 47 - Chapter 47: The First Dance

Chapter 47 - Chapter 47: The First Dance

To everyone's surprise, the highlight of the banquet wasn't the radiant Lady Margaery or the distinguished Lord Renly, but rather a new drink: Brandy.

Nearly every guest who tasted the brandy had nothing but praise for it, but since production hadn't yet begun on a large scale, Samwell had only brought a limited supply. The first round barely made it through before the cask was empty.

The scarcity drove up demand, leaving the guests even more eager to acquire some. Soon, a circle of nobles gathered around Samwell, eager to discuss purchasing arrangements for the brandy.

Despite the fervor, Samwell remained composed, explaining that he had already arranged an exclusive sales agreement with House Hightower and that they would need to speak with Ser Baelor for any orders.

Though direct sales could have meant higher profits, Samwell was well aware that he neither had the resources to organize trade routes nor the time. Moreover, the allure of brandy's profits would undoubtedly attract envious eyes, and he knew he needed powerful allies to protect and support his venture.

Right now, House Hightower was precisely the ally he needed.

Watching as Lord Leyton and Ser Baelor were swiftly encircled by interested nobles, Samwell sipped his drink, his smile broad.

Then, his stomach rumbled—a sharp reminder that he had yet to eat. Handing his empty glass to a servant, he retrieved a silver plate and headed for the long banquet tables at the front of the hall.

His eyes quickly scanned over the feast until he spotted a dish he'd been hoping for—goldtail shrimp.

Samwell's face lit up.

Even though the shrimp's effects on his strength had diminished as he consumed more, every bit helped. And this was a self-serve banquet, so he could eat as much as he liked on House Hightower's coin.

He stationed himself beside the platter, happily stacking shrimp onto his plate, eating without concern for the curious stares from other guests.

Reputation, after all, was a fluid thing.

Once, he was seen as the shame of House Tarly. But after he'd secured a foothold in the Red Mountains, he became the enterprising and promising Ser Samwell Caesar. And if one day he managed to ascend the Iron Throne, he'd be remembered as King Caesar!

By then, any awkward moments, struggles, or failures would dissolve in the legend of his achievements.

Todd Flowers, witnessing his lord's unabashed feasting, quietly withdrew to a corner of the hall, avoiding attention. Chiman, meanwhile, eagerly followed Samwell's lead, balancing a full plate as he sampled everything he could. The young wildling had never seen such a spread and certainly wasn't going to waste the opportunity.

As the eccentric pair indulged, a soft melody began to fill the air, signaling the start of the evening's dancing.

Samwell remained rooted in place. Dancing was not among his talents. Although his predecessor had learned the basics in his youth, those skills were long forgotten.

As for Chiman, dancing was even more of a stretch—he had begun reaching for the shrimp platter himself, only to be met with Samwell's fierce "don't even think about it" glare.

Already, many nobles had found partners and stepped onto the floor, where they moved gracefully in tune with the music.

Most eyes turned to Lord Renly, who naturally walked toward the most captivating woman in the hall, Margaery Tyrell, clearly intending to ask the "Rose of Highgarden" for the first dance.

But just as he reached her, a young lady in a purple evening gown unexpectedly intercepted him.

With little choice, Lord Renly took her hand and escorted her to the dance floor.

Samwell raised an eyebrow at this mystery woman bold enough to steal the "Highgarden Rose's" partner, until he noticed Ser Baelor's embarrassed expression—it was his daughter, the eldest granddaughter of Lord Leyton Hightower, no less. With such standing, she could certainly rival Lady Margaery for the evening's first dance, especially here in the Hightower.

With Renly's attention diverted, few men in the hall held sufficient rank to step forward and ask Margaery for the first dance. Normally, her brother Loras might have come to her aid, but he was already engaged.

So, the hall's brightest gem now found herself without a partner as the music played on.

Samwell noticed several young noblemen eying her, each hesitating, afraid of the potential embarrassment of being turned down. He scoffed and muttered under his breath, "Cowards."

Then, setting his plate down, he walked over to Margaery with purpose.

As House Tyrell's knight, he felt it was his duty to save Lady Margaery from any awkwardness. Even if he wasn't a skilled dancer.

Yes, it was purely out of loyalty.

"Lady Margaery, may I have the honor of this first dance?"

Seeing him, Margaery seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. She'd been left waiting long enough, and any longer might have appeared undignified.

"Of course, my knight."

She smiled warmly, placing her delicate, porcelain hand in his, allowing him to lead her to the center of the dance floor.

As they assumed their positions, Samwell leaned closer, whispering, "A little secret—I'm not exactly a seasoned dancer."

Margaery's eyes widened slightly, but she managed a small, amused sigh. "Well, I'll guide you then."

She began coaching him, showing him the steps, how to keep time, and how to carry himself gracefully—and most importantly, how not to step on her toes.

At first, their movements were clumsy. But as fragments of Samwell's childhood lessons returned, his steps grew steadier.

He wasn't exactly graceful, but he was no longer stomping on Margaery's feet either.

Her scarlet heels, however, bore a few black marks.

"Not bad, right?" he asked, smiling as he twirled her around the dance floor.

"Not bad," Margaery replied, puffing her cheeks in mock annoyance. "Although if you'd applied the same enthusiasm you showed for those shrimp to learning these steps, you'd be quite the dancer by now."

Samwell laughed, saying nothing in reply, and spun her in a daring turn that drew a surprised gasp from her.

As she steadied herself, Margaery shot him a playful glare, though it held no real malice.

They found their rhythm as they danced, and Margaery began to reveal her true elegance. Her movements were fluid and graceful, her beauty radiant, drawing all eyes in the hall. Even with a slightly uncoordinated partner, she reclaimed her place as the center of attention.

Watching from the sidelines, those same hesitant young nobles looked on with regret, realizing what they'd missed.

As Samwell guided Margaery through another turn, she whispered, "Samwell, you know House Tyrell can assist with distributing your brandy."

Samwell smiled faintly. "Sorry, Lady Margaery, I didn't quite catch that."

Rolling her eyes, she repeated her words.

"My apologies," he said, his voice laced with polite regret. "I've already signed an exclusive distribution contract with House Hightower…"

Of course, this was a fabrication. Samwell had made no such commitment, and he had no intention of creating a monopoly. However, in negotiations, sometimes one had to create leverage where none existed.

Margaery's elegant brows drew together in a slight frown.

Samwell leaned in, murmuring, "But for House Tyrell's sake, I could try renegotiating with Lord Leyton, though…"

"Though what?" she asked.

(End of Chapter)