Night descended over Eagle's Island.
On the beach, bonfires blazed in clusters, filling the air with the mouth-watering aroma of roasting meat and the sound of laughter and celebration. To welcome their lord's return, the island held a grand bonfire feast.
With nothing but the open sky above them, formalities were cast aside. People ate and drank freely, sharing stories, while Samwell's guards recounted their adventures along the way.
Samwell himself strolled along the beach, talking with Petyr Baelish.
"This place reminds me of my own land," Baelish said, his face softened by a momentary hint of nostalgia. "Both lie along the sea, and both are littered with rocks. Although, the Shivering Sea is hardly as gentle as the Summer Sea."
"I've never seen the Shivering Sea myself, but I'd like to one day."
"If you do, you may regret it," Petyr chuckled. "It's said that in the depths of the Shivering Sea, great ice giants dance endlessly, stirring up terrifying waves capable of swallowing any ship."
"Ice giants? I remember reading about ice dragons instead."
"Maybe both," Petyr shrugged, then abruptly shifted the topic. "Ser Caesar, do you know why I personally came to Eagle Island?"
'Here it comes', Samwell thought, steeling himself for what was to come.
Petyr Baelish, the most cunning schemer of the realm, certainly hadn't traveled all the way to this remote mountain pass merely to inspect a silver mine. He surely had his own agenda.
But Samwell kept his composure. He was well aware of the true nature and methods of this seemingly charming Master of Coin.
Baelish wanted nothing more than to plunge Westeros into chaos—an opportunity for a man of humble origins like himself to climb higher. As one of the most skilled players in the game of power, Petyr knew how to obscure his motives, sometimes even undertaking actions that appeared to bring him no benefit. This subtlety kept suspicions off him, allowing him to manipulate the "Main characters" on the stage to fight, compete, and, ultimately, destroy each other.
"To be honest, Lord Baelish, I was quite surprised by your visit," Samwell responded sincerely.
Petyr stopped, turning to face Samwell.
"Actually, I came here to meet you, Ser Caesar."
"To meet me?"
"Yes. You remind me of myself when I was young," Petyr replied, his gaze tinged with unmistakable admiration. "Although your birth was somewhat better than mine, your father shows you no favor, and Horn Hill is entirely out of your reach. So, like me in my youth, you have nothing. You're dismissed, overlooked."
"But like me, you won't yield to fate."
"I sought a position as the tax officer of Gulltown and increased the town's revenue tenfold within three years. You, meanwhile, received a charter to claim lands from Lord Mace, carved out a foothold in the depths of the Red Mountains, and now command the loyalty of thousands of wildlings.
"So, while you may not even have your castle built yet, I believe that one day, you'll astonish all of Westeros."
Samwell had to admit, Petyr's words held a certain allure. Delivered in his rich, well-paced voice, they could stir the heart of anyone listening.
And coming from a high-ranking lord, such praise would likely have been irresistible to most young men.
Unfortunately for Petyr, Samwell knew all too well who he truly was. To Samwell, Petyr's eloquence was nothing more than the whispering of a devil.
And what fate awaited those who trusted Petyr Baelish? One need to only look at Eddard Stark's end to understand.
"You honor me too highly, Lord Baelish," Samwell replied, pretending to be humbled, his expression a carefully managed mix of excitement and humility.
"These eyes of mine rarely misjudge," Petyr replied with a pleasant smile. "Moreover, I have always been inclined to offer any help I can to promising young men of the kingdom—to speed along their growth."
"Your generosity is a blessing to the realm!" Samwell praised him, all the while growing more curious about what exactly this "help" would entail.
Petyr stepped closer, placing a hand on Samwell's shoulder and lowering his voice.
"I know how difficult it must be to develop a territory in the barren Red Mountains," he began. "And with so many people to feed, you must be in desperate need of funds…"
Samwell's mind raced. Would the Iron Throne really offer subsidies to pioneering lords?
But Petyr's next words erased any hope of that, and filled him instead with cautious understanding.
"To the kingdom, this silver mine may be insignificant, but to you, it is invaluable. That's why I came here myself. And that's why I'm leaving someone I trust here on Eagle Island to supervise the minting of silver stags."
At these words, Samwell immediately understood what Petyr was implying.
The man was hinting that he could cook the books.
If he held back some of the silver stags, the tax he owed to the crown would be significantly reduced.
Seeing Samwell's surprise, Petyr smiled knowingly and added, "I know it's not exactly honorable, but trust me, this benefits the kingdom rather than hurting it. Our King is not exactly frugal, and these coins would be squandered if given to him. Better to leave them here, where they'll be used to expand the realm."
A lofty justification, indeed.
Samwell lowered his head, pretending to wrestle with his decision, while inwardly calculating Baelish's true motives.
There was no way this man genuinely cared about the kingdom's well-being. In fact, Petyr would probably relish watching the realm plunge into chaos.
He'd likely surmised that Lady Olenna had sent Samwell to Eagle Island for specific purposes and was now seizing this opportunity to add fuel to the fire.
The more Eagle's Eyrie prospered, the more likely the Reach would make a move against Dorne. And if the two regions clashed, it would create plenty of opportunity for Petyr and his ilk to reap the rewards amidst the chaos.
That had to be his true aim.
Even though Samwell had seen through Petyr's intentions, he found himself with little reason to refuse.
Keeping some of the silver stags for himself would certainly benefit him, after all.
Though Petyr's plan came with its own dangers, the gains were all too real.
As for whether this would accelerate an inevitable clash between the Reach and Dorne, Samwell wasn't overly concerned. After all, he knew it wouldn't be long before chaos erupted in King's Landing itself, with King Robert's eventual death throwing Westeros into a war for the throne. At that point, who would care about a small, isolated pioneer in the Red Mountains?
Still, to be cautious, Samwell knew he couldn't keep all of this secret stash for himself. What if Petyr chose to hold this over him one day?
So, after a display of internal struggle, he finally said:
"You're right, Lord Baelish. Also, I'd like to set aside a portion of the silver stags as a gift to you. I know a great man like you, ever devoted to the kingdom, could always find use for extra funds."
Petyr gave Samwell a long look before breaking into a satisfied smile, as though he'd gotten exactly what he wanted.
"Very well."
(End of Chapter)