"Not enough money, you say?"
Nathalie looked baffled; surely a castle this vast should be brimming with gold, enough to pay any amount needed for war reparations.
Yet the steward Alfer shook his head wearily. "No, my lady. We're still about seventy thousand gold dragons short."
Nathalie blinked, then glanced toward Samwell for guidance.
Clearing his throat, Samwell gave a noble nod. "In that case, I'll let my share be deferred. Pay the others first."
"Oh, thank you so much, Ser Caesar!" she replied gratefully.
"No thanks needed," he replied, patting her shoulder with a smile. "I promised your mother I'd treat you like my own sister, and I won't go back on my word."
Nathalie's cheeks flushed slightly as she asked, "Then, how should I go about repaying you?"
"Don't worry about that," Samwell said, drawing another scroll from his pouch. "I've drafted a thirty-year repayment contract. The interest rate is low—just nine percent. You'll have plenty of time to repay."
She wasn't sure what interest meant, but hearing that she could pay gradually made her smile. "Thank you, Ser Caesar. You've thought of everything."
Alfer could only roll his eyes, defeated.
"If you agree, just sign here." Samwell passed her a quill and pointed to the dotted line. "Oh, and one more thing—the debt requires collateral. But don't worry; as long as Starfall repays on time, the collateral will be returned to you. If you default, the collateral becomes mine as compensation."
"Of course, that makes sense." She tilted her head thoughtfully. "And what would you need as collateral?"
Samwell grinned. "Dawn."
"Dawn?" she asked, puzzled.
Alfer jumped up. "No! My lady, Dawn is the ancestral sword of House Dayne! It represents generations of honor for your family. You cannot entrust it to an outsider!"
"So Dawn is a sword…" She looked at Alfer with mild curiosity.
Alfer's face turned crimson as he struggled to explain the sword's ancient legacy, but his shoulder suddenly locked under Samwell's grip, so tight he feared his bones would crack.
"Alfer," Samwell smiled, "you're overreacting. I'm only holding Dawn as collateral temporarily. Once Starfall repays its debt, the sword will be returned to its rightful place."
"Yes, yes!" Nathalie nodded eagerly. "It's just a sword, after all. Ser Caesar, if it suits you, take it as collateral."
"A sword? Just a sword?" Alfer's heart sank; this was the sword emblazoned in the Dayne family crest.
Yet with that iron grip on his shoulder, he dared not speak up further. He could only stand back, helpless, while Nathalie signed the contract with a smile.
After she signed, Samwell let go of Alfer and smiled warmly. "Thank you, Lady Nathalie. Now, go ahead and pay the others. I'll take a look at Dawn."
"I'll come with you!" Nathalie chirped, trotting after him, eager to see the sword herself.
As they passed Alester Florent, Samwell's uncle gave him a discreet thumbs-up. Samwell returned the smile, convinced his uncle was impressed by his generosity.
Guided by a servant, they walked toward the western edge of the castle, Nathalie's nervous chatter filling the silence. Samwell nodded occasionally, admiring the fortress as they strolled.
Soon they arrived at a cliff overlooking the sea, where a tower of pure white stone jutted from the rocky outcrop.
"My lord, my lady, this is the Tower of the White Sword."
Samwell nodded and led Natalya toward the tower, its base guarded by four sentries who bowed at their approach.
The seven-story structure gleamed in the daylight, built from brilliant white stones, yet compared to the Hightower, Samwell found it rather quaint.
They climbed up the winding stone steps, each level empty, until they reached the top. There, before them, stood the legendary greatsword, Dawn.
Embedded in a slab of rock, Dawn's blade was almost as tall as a man, its thick, translucent length gleaming with a milky white glow under the sunlight.
Legend held that this sword had been forged from the heart of a fallen star. Its edge was said to be sharper than any mortal blade.
Unlike other family heirlooms, Dawn was not automatically passed to the Dayne family's lord. It was reserved for a knight worthy enough to draw it from the stone. This knight would bear the title of Sword of the Morning.
The last Sword of the Morning had been Arthur Dayne, Ashara's brother, who fell in Robert's Rebellion. Since then, Dawn had waited in silence, ready for a new hero to awaken it.
Looking at the sword, Samwell felt a pang of curiosity. In the past, he'd wondered if Dawn might be the prophesied weapon Lightbringer, the blade Azor Ahai would wield to vanquish the Others. Dawn's name and its connection to a star's fall made it a fitting candidate. House Dayne itself, an ancient lineage, might well have fought in the War for the Dawn. Perhaps they had taken Lightbringer as their own, renaming it for their family's legacy.
But Lightbringer was said to blaze with fire. Dawn bore no flame.
"It's beautiful," Nathalie whispered in awe.
With a nod, Samwell stepped closer to the stone slab, just as a low voice warned him, "Be careful, young man. Not everyone is worthy to wield Dawn."
Turning, Samwell noticed an elderly knight watching him. He had been so focused on the sword that he hadn't seen the man.
Samwell chuckled. "How would you know I'm unworthy?"
The knight smirked. "Do you know why most families can barely keep an ancestral sword for a few centuries?"
Samwell, intrigued, shrugged. "A sword is a weapon, after all—easily lost or damaged. I suppose it's not easy to maintain."
"Precisely." The knight nodded. "And yet Dawn has remained with House Dayne for thousands of years. Do you know why it has never been lost?"
"Because no one outside your house can wield it?" Samwell ventured.
"Correct." The knight's gaze softened as he looked at the sword with reverence. "Dawn is a living sword. Those unworthy of it find it unbearably heavy, impossible to lift from the stone. Many have tried, but none have budged it even a fraction."
With a grin, Samwell replied, "All the more reason for me to try. Perhaps Dawn will take a liking to me."
The knight gave a bemused chuckle and stepped back, clearly expecting Samwell's failure.
Samwell took a deep breath, wrapping his hands around Dawn's hilt.
Suddenly, the sea breeze roared like a war horn in his ears. He felt resistance—the sword itself was resisting him, refusing to move.
But Samwell's grip only tightened.
With a bellow of effort, his face flushed as his muscles strained. The stone trembled beneath him, and the entire tower began to quake.
The wind howled louder, the air growing hot.
Nathalie shrank back into the corner, trembling, while the knight looked on in shock.
Samwell could feel Dawn draining his strength, drawing it down to its hilt. The blade was changing, faint red-gold patterns snaking across its white surface, glowing with an eerie radiance.
"Up!" Samwell roared, pouring every ounce of strength into his grip.
His muscles burned, vision reddening as he fought against the sword's resistance.
He was close to his limit. He began to wonder if he should let go.
But at that moment, Dawn shifted. Just slightly, it rose from the stone.
And then—he felt his strength surging into the blade, pouring in as if being siphoned away. The blade pulsed with a bloody crimson light, and then, in a blinding flash, he pulled it free from the stone.
Dawn was fully alight, its ghostly white surface now ablaze with a fiery red glow, as though it burned from within.
The knight's jaw dropped as he muttered phrases like "weeping star" and "flaming red sword."
Samwell raised Dawn high, an inferno of energy surging around him.
In that moment, he was fire, he was light, a blazing sun that tore through the darkness.
Then the glow faded. The fire dimmed.
And with a heavy thud, Samwell toppled backward, collapsing to the ground.
(End of Chapter)