The next morning.
As Samwell opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was Margaery's radiant, charming face.
The young woman in his arms was still asleep, her delicate, smooth skin resting softly against him. Samwell couldn't help but admire her, captivated by the feel of her warmth.
His movement stirred Margaery awake. Their gazes met, and a spark of unspoken emotion passed between them.
"Good morning, my knight," Margaery greeted him, her smile as fresh as morning dew.
"Good morning, my rose," Samwell replied, pulling her close and capturing her soft, rosy lips in a kiss.
After a lingering embrace, Margaery gently pushed him away, still tenderly smiling. As a newly initiated lover, she wasn't yet used to such fervent intensity.
Samwell climbed out of bed, picking up their scattered clothes and handing Margaery her dress.
"Thank you, Sam," she said sweetly, slipping it on while asking, "So, are you ready to come back to Highgarden with me?"
"Sure," Samwell replied, pulling on a linen shirt. "If your father doesn't agree to our marriage, I'll just whisk you away again."
He had been planning to visit Highgarden anyway; after all, he couldn't truly elope with a Great House's daughter. It would be a disservice not only to Margaery but also to the potential alliance her status afforded him.
A "Highgarden Rose" wasn't just any woman; she was the only daughter of Lord Mace Tyrell. Marrying her would immediately elevate Samwell to one of the most influential nobles in the Reach. Eloping, on the other hand, would turn him into a fugitive and a pariah.
Margaery playfully winked at him. "It won't be so easy to whisk me away from Highgarden. But don't worry. I'm sure I can convince my grandmother. And once she's on board, my father will have no choice but to nod and give me to you."
"Oh? Lady Olenna likes me that much?" Samwell teased.
Margaery chuckled, a mischievous glint in her eye. "She always said you were sly and cunning, destined to accomplish great things."
"Is that a compliment or an insult?" Samwell pretended to frown, pulling her into an embrace and giving her a playful swat.
Margaery gave a surprised little gasp, but her eyes sparkled with delight. Their gazes locked, and the mood turned warm and intimate once more. Moments later, they were wrapped up in each other again.
...
It wasn't until the sun was high in the sky that Samwell finally emerged from his room, looking very pleased with himself. The enchanting rose he'd left behind was too exhausted to get out of bed.
They say that nothing feels as rewarding as conquest, especially the conquest of a woman as noble and captivating as her. The sense of accomplishment Samwell felt was unparalleled.
"Bring breakfast to Lady Margaery's room," he instructed the maid stationed outside the door.
"Yes, my lord," she replied, blushing as she hurried away.
As Samwell made his way to the dining hall, he couldn't help but notice how exceptionally bright and clear the sky seemed that day. The blue was smooth as silk, and birds were singing joyfully... though one bird seemed unusually large and loud.
Wait. That wasn't a bird—it was his dragon!
Cleopatra swooped down with a shriek, her triangular head ramming into his chest in a show of affection—or was it reprimand?
Samwell realized that shutting the window on her last night must have left her feeling neglected. Holding her wings to steady her, he tried to console her.
Cleopatra, however, flapped and squirmed in his arms, knocking him back several steps with surprising strength.
"Alright, alright. You're big enough to start sleeping on your own now…" Samwell spoke to her as though she were a child.
In response, Cleopatra lifted her head and unleashed a burst of flame that narrowly missed his face.
Although Samwell's "Unburnt" trait shielded him from the flames, he still ended up covered in soot and ash.
Cleopatra gave an amused hiss, and he couldn't shake the feeling that she was gloating a little. But with that final puff of fire, her frustration seemed to subside. She coiled around his shoulders, content.
After a quick rinse and a fresh change of clothes, Samwell finally made it to the dining hall.
Breakfast was a hearty affair—oatmeal, roasted venison, boiled eggs, strawberries with cream, and his own personal dish: dragonbone broth.
After last night's "exertions," Samwell had a ravenous appetite, and Cleopatra was also enthusiastically helping herself to his plate. They had to refill his portions three times.
As he sipped his dragonbone broth and felt his mind grow sharper, an idea struck him—
What would happen if Cleopatra drank dragonbone broth as well?
He pushed the bowl towards the dragon. Cleopatra sniffed it, but turned away with a snobbish flick of her head, returning to the venison instead.
"Picky, aren't we?"
Determined not to indulge this behavior, Samwell held her steady and forced a spoonful of broth down her throat.
Cleopatra struggled briefly, flapping her wings and releasing puffs of hot steam. But as the broth settled in her, she grew still, as though sensing something unusual.
Now, without any prompting, she eagerly plunged her head into the bowl, lapping up the rest of the broth on her own.
Samwell watched, deep in thought.
Since hatching Cleopatra, he had harbored a persistent concern—the slow pace of a dragon's growth.
The Targaryens, after fleeing Valyria, had waited over a century on Dragonstone before they attempted to conquer Westeros. Why wait so long? Simply put, they needed time for their dragons to grow.
When they'd arrived on Dragonstone, they had five dragons, but only Balerion had survived the ensuing years. Fortunately, two dragon eggs had hatched into hatchlings—Vhagar and Meraxes—but they required decades of growth before they could be useful in battle.
If history proved anything, it was that dragons matured at an agonizingly slow pace.
Though Samwell now had a dragon of his own, Cleopatra was still too young to ride. Her flames could only handle a small skirmish, nowhere near the devastation of a fully grown dragon.
If he wanted to conquer Westeros with her, he'd need to find a way to speed up her growth.
Watching Cleopatra finish her broth, then unfurl her wings with renewed energy, Samwell wondered if he'd just found a solution.
Without wasting another moment, he polished off his own breakfast, then led Cleopatra down to the storage room.
Inside were the dragon skulls he had smuggled from King's Landing.
Two of the skulls had been boiled down for broth so many times that they'd turned pale and chalky, losing their magical properties. But the other five were still dark and glossy as onyx, radiating an eerie, otherworldly sheen.
These skulls had been a valuable source of dragonbone broth, enhancing Samwell's mental acuity. But if they could also accelerate Cleopatra's growth, he wouldn't hesitate to use them for that purpose.
A full-grown dragon was worth armies.
And if he needed more dragon bones, he could always make another trip to King's Landing...
"Look, Cleopatra. These are your relatives—recognize any of them?" Samwell joked, patting her on the head.
Cleopatra flapped her wings, hissing softly as she inspected the skulls, though he couldn't tell if she recognized them or not.
Picking up one of the darker skulls, he held it out to her. "Go on, try a bite. It's good for you."
Cleopatra leaned forward to sniff it, but seemed hesitant, perhaps reluctant to chew on the bones of her kin.
But the lingering flavor of the broth must have stirred her appetite, for after a moment, she opened her jaws and tried a tentative nibble.
Crunch, crunch—
Cleopatra immediately pulled back, hissing in frustration. She hadn't even managed a dent.
Growing irritated, she blasted the skull with a stream of fire. Instead of cracking, the dragonbone only gleamed brighter, reflecting the flames like a starry night.
When the flames proved ineffective, she finally gave up.
"Well, I guess we'll have to stick to soup," Samwell mused, stroking his chin. It seemed the only way to feed Cleopatra was by boiling the bones into broth.
Hopefully, this would indeed help speed up her growth. He had no desire to leave a dragon for his grandchildren to raise.
As Samwell exited the storeroom, he found his steward Gavin waiting outside.
"My lord, did you rest well last night?" Gavin asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and approval.
It was clear he wholeheartedly supported Samwell's match with the "Rose of Highgarden," as it could only brighten the future of Eagle's Nest.
Samwell merely chuckled. "Not bad. What's on your mind?"
"It's about the workpoints…"
Samwell nodded, his expression confident. "Tell the people that in fifteen days, they'll be able to redeem all their workpoints."
Gavin blinked, looking uncertain. "Can we really afford that, my lord?"
"No." Samwell's smile grew wider. "But I can provide them with ways to spend their points."
"Ways to spend them?"
"Yes. Come along, and I'll explain."
(End of Chapter)