Two servants quietly swept the ashes from the hall, then exited with careful steps. Samwell's loyal retainers looked on, silently observing as a former comrade had now completely vanished from the world. It was a complex moment, evoking both a sense of loss and renewed awareness.
Yet along with this awareness came a sharpened understanding of their lord's authority. Once again, they were reminded exactly who ruled Eagle's Nest. Not even the gods could overshadow Caesar's influence here.
"Let Gonga's case serve as a lesson," Samwell's voice resonated through the silent hall.
Seated high on his platform, he spoke with a grave tone, "To prevent any misuse of authority among my officials, I've decided to establish an oversight group. This group will monitor the actions of all household officials, including the estate steward. Should any member violate the law, this group will investigate and report directly to me for the final judgment."
Gavin felt a chill run down his spine, quickly realizing the significance of this new group's authority. Naturally, he didn't dare oppose his lord's command, but cautiously inquired, "My lord, how many will be in this group, and who will they be?"
"For now, we'll start with three members," Samwell replied. "They'll be Ser Lucas Dayne, Hal Hunt, and Miss Tima. Their term will be one year, after which I'll assess their performance and decide whether to renew or replace them."
The three named individuals quickly stepped forward, bowing to their lord in acknowledgment.
Others in the room had mixed reactions. No one was surprised by Lucas Dayne's appointment—after all, the Dornish knight had consistently proven himself reliable, deserving of the role. But the choice of the other two raised some eyebrows.
Hal Hunt was squire to Ser Todd Flowers, and his appointment made sense if Samwell sought a Reachman representative. But Tima… even if Samwell wanted to include a wildling representative, there were others with stronger credentials than her.
Various theories swirled in people's minds, but none dared voice them.
Samwell himself offered no explanation. Whether this oversight group would actually curb abuses of power, he wasn't entirely certain. But governance required experimentation and adaptation, making adjustments as problems arose.
After confirming the establishment of the oversight group, Samwell turned his attention to Brother Ivan.
Since Gonga's sentencing, the septon had remained silent, keeping his head low like a subdued bird. Perhaps witnessing the dragon's fearsome power had doused any desire to contest his lord's authority.
Still, Samwell wasn't about to relax his vigilance.
The Faith couldn't be allowed unchecked influence on Eagle's Nest—there had to be a counterbalance.
"Everyone, I'd like to introduce someone to you," Samwell announced, gesturing to the red-robed woman standing at his right. "This is Lady Melisandre, a servant of R'hllor, the Red God."
With elegance and grace, Melisandre stepped forward, bowing to the assembled group.
"Master Vidor," Samwell continued, addressing one of his senior officers, "you'll organize a team to build a temple for the Red God here on the estate. Lady Melisandre will provide you with the details on its design."
"Yes, my lord." Vidor stole a quick glance at Brother Ivan, who remained silent, his head bowed as if he hadn't heard the command.
"Lord Caesar, may the Lord of Light bless you," Melisandre said, expressing her gratitude.
Initially, she had hoped to convert this prophesied prince fully to the Faith of R'hllor, expelling all other beliefs from the territory. However, over time, it had become clear that Samwell was no pliant follower. While he hadn't outright opposed the Red God, there was a caution in his attitude, a reserve that seemed to stem from something deeper.
But Melisandre wasn't troubled. She was confident that, as the prophesied end approached, this chosen one would increasingly recognize his own limitations and surrender to R'hllor's radiant power.
"Gavin," Samwell then addressed his steward, "bring me up to speed on the estate's progress."
"The estate is thriving, my lord," Gavin replied respectfully. "Our population has been steadily increasing and now exceeds seventy thousand. Wildling tribes from across the surrounding regions have pledged their loyalty, and Ser Chiman is leading an expedition northeast, which should bring in even more. If this trend continues, our population growth will be substantial.
"As for production, our brandy output has ramped up to meet demand, and the vineyards are now yielding fresh grapes consistently. This means we're gradually reducing reliance on imported ingredients, maximizing our profits.
"The silver mines are also producing steadily, averaging 270 ounces a day…"
Samwell listened quietly, pleased with the estate's progress. Gavin had proven himself a reliable steward, managing countless affairs with efficiency and precision.
He began to consider granting Gavin a formal title; though the steward hadn't earned battlefield glory, his contributions to Eagle's Nest were no less significant.
Just as Samwell pondered how best to reward his steward, Gavin's tone grew more serious. "There is one matter, however, that's become quite challenging, and I haven't known how to resolve it…"
"What is it?"
"Workpoints redemption."
Samwell frowned.
Eagle's Nest owed much of its rapid development to three main factors: profits from brandy and silver, generous investments, and Samwell's strategic use of future promises.
Of these, the largest "loan" was in the form of workpoints.
By issuing workpoints—an empty currency at the time—Samwell had enlisted thousands of wildlings to build his castle, promising that each workpoint would eventually be worth a copper coin, redeemable once the castle was completed.
When the castle was finished, Samwell was in King's Landing, and Gavin had deferred payment, saying they'd wait for the lord's return. After Samwell returned, the war summons from the Iron Throne provided yet another reason to delay.
But people wouldn't wait forever. Any further delay risked inciting frustration among the populace. It might not lead to an outright rebellion, but it would certainly undermine Samwell's authority.
The trouble was, Samwell simply didn't have the funds for full redemption. He'd once hoped to use the 70,000 gold dragons promised by Lord Tywin to House Dayne, but with the Lannister lord now likely eager to see him dead, that promise was surely off the table.
"I'll think about it," Samwell said.
…
After the meeting, Samwell returned to his quarters.
Ironically, since his castle's completion, he had scarcely stayed here, spending most of his time traveling. The room was spotless, well-kept by the servants, with its purplewood furniture modest but befitting a noble's dignity. The bed was large and feather-stuffed, covered in soft silk sheets.
A door at the side of the room led to a private bath, where servants had already drawn hot water for him.
Samwell removed his clothing and sank into the tub, feeling the warm water envelop him. He let out a deep sigh of relief as the warmth eased away the exhaustion of travel.
Cleopatra, his white dragon, seemed unimpressed by the water. After a few splashes with her wings, she flew out the open window.
Samwell wasn't concerned. The dragon was well-trained and wouldn't harm anyone unless provoked. If hungry, she would hunt wild animals in the forest.
Lying in the tub, he gazed absently at the ornate Myrish tapestry on the wall opposite.
He'd lost track of time when he heard the door open. Thinking it was a servant refilling the water, he didn't react.
Then, catching the familiar scent of roses, Samwell turned his head and saw Margaery Tyrell standing there, smiling shyly.
Her delicate features seemed like something out of a painting, her skin smooth as cream, with a soft blush from a recent bath. Her chestnut curls, damp and lightly tangled, cascaded over her shoulders. She wore a pale green dress, the low neckline accentuating her slender waist and the enticing curve of her neckline.
Combined with her poised, noble demeanor and sweet, warm smile, she was truly captivating.
"Need any help, Lord Caesar?" Margaery asked with a teasing smile.
Samwell swallowed. "What kind of help?"
"Redeeming those workpoints," she replied with a grin. "That's quite a hefty sum. Would you like a loan from House Tyrell?"
"Would House Tyrell be willing to lend me money?"
Margaery shrugged. "We can always ask my family."
"Ah, so you want me to go with you to Highgarden."
"Of course." She pouted playfully. "Or don't you want to make me your bride?"
"Of course I do. But if I go to Highgarden, I'm afraid Lord Mace might tie me up and hand me over to the Lannisters."
"He wouldn't," Margaery replied with an unwavering gaze. "Not unless he wants to lose me as his daughter. Don't you trust me, Sam?"
Samwell was about to respond, but he stopped short.
In that moment, Margaery undid the laces of her dress, letting the gown slip down her shoulders.
She wore nothing underneath.
Her skin glowed with a pearly sheen, her figure perfectly proportioned, making Samwell's pulse quicken and his breathing catch.
"Let's be completely honest with each other," Margaery said with a smile that was both tender and inviting. "Shall we?"
There was no way Samwell could say no.
A familiar cry sounded outside the window—Cleopatra, returning and trying to fly in.
Click—
Samwell decisively closed the window and then pulled the women in front of him into his arms.
The water in the bathtub splashed all over the floor.
(End of Chapter)