Seeing his younger brother Dickon alive and well, Samwell felt a wave of intense emotion. Yet, along with his joy, he harbored a subtle anxiety.
According to what he remembered from the original story, the resurrection powers of the Lord of Light came with some troubling side effects. For instance, "The Lightning Lord" Beric Dondarrion lost a piece of his memory with each revival, and Lady Stoneheart, or Catelyn Tully, had become a soulless, vengeance-driven shell.
So what had Dickon lost after his revival? What price had he paid?
Lady Melessa, supporting her son, addressed the gathered nobility. "Dickon's injuries have yet to fully heal, so he cannot offer you all a proper greeting. Please forgive him."
"His health is what matters. A young man should face a few trials on the battlefield," Lord Randyll replied in his usual calm tone.
But those who knew him well could sense that the lord of Horn Hill was far from unruffled. In truth, when he had first received the news of Dickon's death from Ser Hal Hunt, his rage and grief had been unimaginable.
After Dickon's miraculous revival following the red comet's arrival, Ser Hal had sent another urgent message, rattled and panicked. Randyll had ordered Lady Melessa to meet Dickon with an escort, hoping to confirm his son's condition. Outwardly calm, Randyll had stayed behind at Horn Hill, sleepless and deeply troubled.
Now, seeing his son alive and safe, he was finally able to put his fears to rest.
With his mother's support, Dickon stepped forward to greet his father, though his gaze held a hint of confusion rather than joy at their reunion. His words, too, held a faintly unfamiliar tone.
"Brother!" However, upon seeing Samwell, Dickon lit up with excitement. "How did you escape the Dornish siege? And the Red Viper—you really killed him? That's incredible! And Joffrey… Oh, and the dragon! Brother, where's your dragon?"
Samwell ruffled Dickon's hair, smiling. "Cleopatra is out hunting in the forest."
Whenever Samwell had some time alone with Margaery, he'd send the little dragon out to hunt. It wasn't that he was worried the dragon would interrupt, but rather that it was growing quickly and needed plenty of food.
"When it returns, can I touch it?" Dickon asked eagerly.
"Of course."
"Alright, enough of this now." Lady Melessa gently scolded her younger son, guiding him away. "Your injuries haven't healed yet, so back to bed with you."
She then turned to embrace her eldest, leaving a fond kiss on Samwell's cheek.
After a few more warm greetings, they all headed inside the castle.
Randyll had arranged a grand feast to welcome the visitors from afar. The roaring fire in the hearth dispelled the autumn chill, while the aroma of roasted meat and freshly baked bread filled the air.
The great hall was adorned with the banners of Horn Hill, Eagle Nest, Brightwater Keep, and Goldengrove.
A colorfully dressed bard plucked at his harp and sang ballads, though his voice was drowned by the clink of goblets and lively chatter around him.
Across the hall, Lord Mathis Rowan's second son, Noah, sat in awe. Only thirteen years old, this was his first battle campaign, and everything he'd witnessed on the frontlines left him astonished, especially the feats of Lord Samwell.
To Noah, the feats of the Lord of Eagle Nest's seemed like the tales of legendary heroes come to life.
His gaze fixed on Samwell, who sat at the high table in a light blue silk tunic and dark, tailored trousers, his face graced with a sharp smile. Noah's mind replayed visions of the lord wielding his flaming sword and striking down the vile false king.
This, Noah thought, was what a true king should look like.
His admiration didn't stop with Samwell. Beside him sat Lady Margaery, even more beautiful than he'd heard, with a sapphire-studded headpiece crowning her soft brown curls. Her doe-like eyes shimmered with gentle affection, and Noah found himself glancing away, both entranced and too shy to meet her gaze.
And then, of course, there was the dragon.
Noah's eyes kept drifting to the white dragon perched on Samwell's shoulder.
Its milky scales glowed faintly in the candlelight, its translucent wings stirring the air, creating an eerie mist around it. When its blood-red eyes locked onto Noah, he felt a jolt, a cold shiver down his spine, and a hint of sulfur tinged the air around him.
Nervously, he gulped down a large sip of wine, his heart pounding as if it would leap out of his chest.
He dared not look again. He focused instead on his goblet, sipping quickly—until he heard a sudden exclamation.
He looked up and saw that the white dragon had glided down onto his table and was now reaching out its long neck to snatch a roasted chicken from his plate.
Noah's mind went blank. All sounds around him became distant and muffled, as if he were in another world. In his vision, there was only this strange, otherworldly creature, radiating a sense of primal power and danger.
"Cleopatra," a deep voice commanded. "Come back."
The dragon flapped its wings, obeying the call, and returned to its master's shoulder, with the roasted chicken still in its jaws.
The hot draft from its wings fanned Noah's face, and he sat there, stunned.
When a nearby knight reminded him that Lord Samwell was apologizing, Noah snapped back to his senses, rising hurriedly to return the courtesy, stumbling over his words.
Lord Mathis laughed heartily and called across the hall.
"Samwell, this is my youngest son, Noah. Ever since he saw you strike down the four Kingsguard at Skyreach, he's been your devoted admirer. On the way here, he kept saying he wants to be your squire. What do you say? Will you let him lead your horse?"
Samwell hesitated a moment, then smiled. "I'd be honored."
In Westeros, a squire wasn't merely a servant. The role was akin to that of an apprentice, almost like a son in training.
Indeed, a squire did tend to his lord's horse and armor, but his knight would also instruct him in combat, the knightly virtues, and, if the knight was a lord, in governance as well. It was often his lord who eventually knighted him.
For noble sons, serving as a squire to a great lord or renowned knight was a privilege.
And it also represented an almost marriage-level alliance of political allegiance.
By publicly offering his son to serve Samwell, Lord Mathis Rowan was signaling a deep alliance between Eagle Nest and Goldengrove.
"Excellent!" Lord Mathis laughed, summoning his son. "Come on, Noah. From today, you're in the service of Lord Samwell."
"Yes, Father!" Noah's face flushed with excitement. He stepped forward and offered a deep bow to his new master, though he couldn't resist stealing another glance at the dragon.
Unfortunately, the dragon was busy devouring its roasted chicken and ignored him.
Samwell felt a quiet pride as he accepted this new squire.
It wasn't every day a mere minor lord was given the honor of training the son of a house like House Rowan. But Lord Mathis had willingly entrusted him with this role.
This decision, beyond being a part of the anti-Lannister coalition, reflected Lord Mathis's respect for Samwell's achievements and growing influence.
Thanks to his victories and his dragon, Samwell now commanded enough prestige to stand as an equal among the Reach's powerful lords.
As the banquet reached its midpoint, the servants cleared the central table, leaving space for dancing. The musicians began playing a lively tune.
Margaery took Samwell's hand with a radiant smile.
"Come, Sam. Let's dance!"
"With pleasure."
(End of Chapter)