"Lady Nara, is there something you wanted to discuss?"
Just after finishing his address to the new recruits, Samwell took a sip of the wine his attendant handed him, looking at the woman in front of him with curiosity.
Pushing a stray lock of hair behind her ear, Nara asked softly, "Lord Caesar, I've heard that House Dayne of Starfall is preparing to attack Eagle's Nest?"
"Yes." Samwell nodded. "Since the Crow Clan are not technically my subjects, if you choose to leave, I won't stand in your way."
With that, he turned to continue on his way. With so little time left, he had no interest in worrying about the Crow Clan; their numbers were too small to make a significant difference in his plans.
To his surprise, Nara followed him, her voice determined:
"My lord, you misunderstand. You've shown great kindness to the Crow Clan, and we would not forget that debt. If Eagle's Nest is in trouble, we will not turn a blind eye."
Samwell looked at the woman beside him, surprised, and answered solemnly, "I appreciate the Crow's aid in this time of need. I won't forget it."
"It's our duty. However, the elderly, women, and children of the clan will still evacuate to the villages beyond the valley with the others. I, along with one hundred and eighty-five of our warriors, will stay to help defend the territory."
"Good!" Samwell nodded approvingly but noticed that Nara looked as if she had something more to say.
He waited patiently, but in the end, she simply bowed and turned to leave without another word.
Watching her walk away, Samwell had an inkling of what she might have hesitated to say.
But since Nara ultimately chose to remain silent, he decided not to press her. After all, even if she did reveal her true identity, it wouldn't change the course of this war.
The Dayne bastard of Starfall certainly wouldn't abandon his ambitions for the sake of a woman who had been "dead" for over ten years. Nor would House Dayne's soldiers lay down their arms over an unproven "Ashara Dayne."
Of course, this wasn't to say Ashara's identity was useless.
Much like how Robert Baratheon had ascended to the Iron Throne—not purely by virtue of his "dragon blood" but by winning the Rebellion—the Baratheon bloodline eased the consciences of those lords loyal to House Targaryen, allowing them to rationalize that they weren't breaking their oaths since, technically, Robert shared some Targaryen blood—even if it was diluted.
In the same way, Ashara Dayne's identity might have little influence now, but should Samwell win this war, it would mean something.
The vassals of House Dayne might not be willing to surrender to a noble from the Reach, but if they swore fealty to Ashara, they could convince themselves it was justifiable. Most would choose to ignore the fact that there was a certain Caesar standing behind her.
But for any of this to happen, Samwell had to win this war.
Refocusing, Samwell continued on his way, passing by his busy retainers who greeted him respectfully.
He returned their nods, observing their spirits closely. He was relieved to see little fear or panic on their faces.
It made sense—these wildlings had little understanding of House Dayne's strength. To them, their loyalty and awe lay solely with Samwell.
Perhaps in their eyes, their victorious Lord Caesar would lead them to victory yet again.
Little did they know, though, that their lord didn't feel nearly as confident as he appeared.
Because Samwell understood all too well that the Dayne army was unlike the wildling forces he had faced before. Their weapons, armor, and training were on a completely different level.
And to make matters worse, they had the advantage of numbers.
Barring some miracle involving Maester Qyburn's "special concoction," the outlook was grim. With Eagle's Nest's current defenses, defeat was likely.
On the surface, however, he had to keep up the appearance of control; otherwise, morale would plummet.
He made his way to Maester Qyburn's chambers, and upon entering, was greeted by a pungent, heady smell of alcohol.
"Well? How's it coming along?" he asked, striving to keep his tone steady.
"Better than I anticipated," Qyburn replied, a self-assured smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
With that, he tossed a set of Dornish armor onto the ground.
Because of the intense desert heat and harsh sun, Dornish warriors often wore minimal metal to avoid burns. This set was leather armor, reinforced with iron only in a few key spots.
Qyburn produced a flask and poured its contents over the leather armor before stepping back and throwing a candle at it—
Fwoom!
A fierce blue flame instantly enveloped the armor.
Samwell's eyes lit up. He immediately took off his coat and began hitting the burning armor, trying to smother the flames.
The fire diminished noticeably but didn't go out completely.
Gradually, Samwell's coat started catching fire itself, forcing him to discard it.
Once he stopped trying to smother the flames, they flared up again over the armor.
Samwell nodded approvingly. "What about water?"
Qyburn lifted a basin of water from a nearby table and poured it over the armor.
Sizzle!
The flames sizzled, momentarily receding but quickly roaring back to life.
Next, Samwell tried covering the flames with sand, which effectively smothered the fire.
"Both water and sand will extinguish the flames," Qyburn observed, "which does make it less effective than true wildfire."
Still, Samwell was pleased.
At around forty to fifty percent alcohol, brandy was easy enough to ignite but just as easily doused. Without enhancement, it would be nearly useless in battle.
But with Qyburn's "special ingredients," it wasn't quite wildfire, but it was close enough to suit his needs.
The substance wasn't impossible to extinguish, but the Dornish forces, who'd likely never encountered anything like it, wouldn't know how. Most had only ever seen low-proof wines, so they wouldn't think of associating alcohol with fire.
That small gap in knowledge could be the deciding factor in this battle.
"Excellent! Maester Qyburn, I want all the brandy in the territory converted into this substance as quickly as possible."
"All of it?" Qyburn asked, clearly taken aback.
He was well aware of just how much brandy the territory currently had—three months' worth, in fact, originally intended for sale in the Arbor, Oldtown, and Highgarden. The stock was worth a small fortune.
"All of it," Samwell repeated firmly, his voice resolute.
Though it pained him to sacrifice such a valuable stockpile, he knew he couldn't afford to hold back against such a formidable enemy.
If he lost, he'd be left with nothing.
"How long will you need to complete it?"
Qyburn thought for a moment. "Three to four days, I'd estimate."
"Good. Request any additional help you need. This is now your highest priority."
"As you command, my lord."
Exiting the chamber, Samwell let out a long breath.
With Qyburn's improvised "wildfire," he finally felt a spark of confidence in the upcoming battle.
Of course, he also realized his battle plans would need some adjusting.
"Gavin!" Samwell called, catching sight of his young steward in the midst of organizing supplies.
(End of Chapter)