"Hahaha!"
A fit of nearly hysterical laughter echoed through the woods, breaking the heavy, stagnant atmosphere. The Reach nobles, who had been stunned to witness the Highgarden lord forced to yield by a mere minor lord, were jolted back to reality by the laughter. It was none other than Jaime Lannister, the "Kingslayer," laughing so hard on horseback he could barely stay seated.
"This is priceless! Absolutely priceless! Can none of you from the Reach tell a horse from a stag? Hahaha…"
"Is it really that funny, Kingslayer?" Samwell asked.
"Isn't it?" Jaime was still laughing, clutching his stomach with his left hand. "I just watched a lie get twisted into truth right before my eyes. You Reach lords are a marvel! And Lord Pufffish—are you really going to ride that deer now? Might want to get a nice stag saddle, eh? Hahaha…"
Mace Tyrell's face was beet red as he lowered his head, silent, seeming to have accepted his fate as the laughingstock.
Samwell shot back with sharp contempt, "And how many lies have you spun yourself, Kingslayer? Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen—whose children are they? And who was it that pushed young Bran Stark from that tower in Winterfell? You want to share the truth?"
Jaime's laughter stopped abruptly, freezing on his face.
The first question didn't sting so deeply. Jaime had long since grown numb to the secret of his sister's children. But the second—the truth about Bran Stark…
How does he know?
A surge of fear coursed through Jaime. It was as if a spotlight was suddenly shining on his darkest secret, leaving him exposed. He could feel the condemning gazes of the crowd on him, each stare stripping him bare, one layer of pride, then another, exposing the ugliness and emptiness at his core.
"What's the matter, Kingslayer?" Samwell taunted. "Did you lose your voice? I hear the White Sword Tower in the Red Keep holds a tome, The White Book, that records the deeds of every member of the Kingsguard. Tell me, Kingslayer—what do you think your entry will say?"
Jaime lowered his head, his disheveled hair concealing his face.
"Jaime Lannister," Samwell's voice rang out, sharp as a judge's gavel. "Firstborn son of Lord Tywin Lannister of Casterly Rock and Lady Joanna. In his youth, he served as a squire to Sumner Crakehall, assisting in the purge of the Brotherhood Without Banners.
"At fifteen, he was knighted by Ser Arthur Dayne, then inducted into the Kingsguard by King Aerys II Targaryen himself, becoming a Kingsguard.
"When King's Landing fell, he slew the king upon the Iron Throne and gained the title of 'Kingslayer.'
"And then… what next, Kingslayer?"
Jaime was silent, a sharp pang of emptiness ripping through him as he realized his life was little more than a hollow shell.
"Let me tell you." Samwell sneered. "Later, he was pardoned by King Robert Baratheon, allowing him to continue his position in the Kingsguard. However, he engaged in incestuous relations with Queen Cersei Lannister, siring three illegitimate children who usurped the Iron Throne.
"Then, during King Robert's visit to Winterfell, he threw Bran Stark from a tower after the boy witnessed his depravity, leaving him crippled for life.
"After that, he rode to Dorne in the service of the pretender Joffrey, where he was bested at Skyreach and left without his sword hand, no longer even able to draw his weapon."
"Shut up!" Jaime exploded, shouting in rage. "Shut up, Samwell! Shut up!"
"Oh, I'll shut up if you make me, Jaime. But it'll take more than words—show me your sword." Samwell's taunt cut deep.
Jaime gripped his sword hilt with his left hand but couldn't draw it. His body trembled, a vision of Samwell's flaming sword, slicing effortlessly through steel and flesh, flashed in his mind. The memory was seared into his nightmares.
There was no way he could withstand a strike like that—not from a mortal man.
Especially not with only one hand.
How could he fight?
He was terrified of facing that sword again.
And if he couldn't, what did he have left?
"What's the matter, Kingslayer?" Samwell pressed. "Is this it? Have you become a craven who can't even unsheathe his sword?"
"Samwell!" Jaime roared, finally drawing his sword. "I'll kill you!"
Samwell stepped forward without flinching, drawing his greatsword Dawn. As the milky, glasslike blade left its sheath, it gleamed with a red-gold light that ran up Samwell's arms, over his chest, and even across his face, like ancient runes shimmering on his skin.
"Jaime Lannister!" Samwell declared, his voice as cold and unyielding as iron. "In the name of the Seven, I call upon judgment for your sins!
"For slaying a king! For laying with your sister! For crippling an innocent child!
"If you are guilty, may the gods grant me strength to strike you down!
"If you are innocent, may the gods strip me of everything!"
The words barely left Samwell's lips when the blade of Dawn burst into a blinding glow, its radiance so fierce it was painful to look at.
Jaime charged with his sword in his left hand, as if throwing himself into a final act of defiance.
The fire surrounding Samwell's sword blazed higher as he took aim. In that instant, Jaime was no longer on a battlefield—he was back in the Red Keep, in the throne room of King's Landing.
It was that night again. The Iron Throne loomed above him, and the mad king's bloodied corpse lay at his feet. Through the high, narrow windows, the dying sunlight stained the room red.
A dozen dragon skulls watched him from the walls, each hollow eye fixed on him, judging his every step, his every sin.
Jaime tried to swallow, feeling heat rise around him, like the wildfire that Aerys had been so eager to unleash on his city.
"Samwell! Kill me!" Jaime's voice cracked as he shouted, rushing forward with reckless abandon as if running toward redemption.
In the last second, he closed his eyes, his mind flooded with the image of Cersei's face.
He could feel the fire lick up his blade, the steel already bending under the impossible heat, melting like wax.
And then, everything stopped.
Jaime opened his eyes in confusion, seeing the burning sword a mere inch from his face.
Then he felt a sharp pain in his stomach as Samwell's boot drove into him, doubling him over. The next moment, the flat of Samwell's sword smacked against his back, sending him sprawling face-first into the dirt.
"Samwell! You don't have the guts to kill me!" Jaime shrieked as he struggled up, his voice rising to a crazed pitch. "Just kill me! Kill me!"
But Samwell simply pressed his boot onto Jaime's head, forcing his face back into the mud.
"The gods have judged you guilty, Kingslayer," Samwell said with chilling calm. "But they are merciful—they have granted you exile. You will go to the Wall, where you can redeem yourself in the service of the Night's Watch."
"Igon Vyrwel," Samwell turned to the Highgarden guard captain and commanded without hesitation, "you're to see this traitor to the Wall. Take him by sea, and make sure no one from Casterly Rock has a chance to intervene."
"Understood!" Igon answered instinctively, though he hesitated briefly, glancing at Mace Tyrell for direction.
Mace's face was pale, his plump frame slumped in the saddle, as he sat, utterly defeated, no sign of defiance left in him.
Igon, seeing no further response from his lord, grasped Jaime by the collar and began dragging him away.
Jaime, his face smeared with dirt, continued to shout, his voice breaking, "Samwell! Have the courage to end it! Kill me, Samwell!"
Around him, the assembled nobles of the Reach watched, some with hidden satisfaction, others with unease. With Jaime's exile, it was clear that the Reach had chosen to stand against the Lannisters. And Mace Tyrell's silence signaled the end of his authority.
For those who had hoped for the strength of House Tyrell, today's hunt had revealed the truth of Mace's weakness. And for those watching Samwell, there was no denying the sight of a new kind of ruler—one who held the confidence and ruthlessness of a true lord.
As the sun shone upon him, Samwell stood over the stag, his posture regal and unwavering, his sword blazing in hand, the white dragon Cleopatra circling above, hissing with fierce pride.
In the eyes of the Reach, this single moment would remain unforgettable. Samwell Caesar had cast his shadow across the Reach.
(End of Chapter)
TL: Wow, just wow.