Title: Viscount
Territory: Eagle's Nest
Vassals: Lukas Dayne, Chiman Tigerfang, Todd Flowers
Strength: 8.69
Agility: 7.85
Willpower: 8.38
Foray: 3/100
In his quarters, Samwell adjusted the newly tailored attire befitting his title of Viscount, glancing over the recent changes on his attributes panel.
The viscount title alone had granted him five additional free attribute points, a surprise and a welcome boost. He decided to invest all five points in agility, effectively rounding out his skills. Even without the massive strength boost from wielding Dawn, his martial prowess was now unquestionably at the peak among Westerosi warriors.
The sudden boost also led him to realize that perhaps advancing in rank was the swiftest way to enhance his abilities. No amount of coin could buy him these gains. Despite his lavish spending, his base strength had barely reached the eights. Meanwhile, two title upgrades had already brought his agility close to matching it. The best part: these promotion-based boosts didn't seem to diminish; on the contrary, they only seemed to grow with each level.
Just how many attribute points might he gain upon earning an earldom? Ten points? More? And if he ever reached the rank of Duke… or even King?
The thought filled Samwell with a newfound determination and ambition.
Knock, knock.
The door creaked open, and his daydreams were interrupted by a soft knock.
"Lord Samwell," a maid bowed respectfully, "the engagement feast is about to begin."
"Thank you."
Samwell straightened his collar and followed her towards the grand hall.
Night had fallen, and the thousand beeswax candles imported from Candle Hall flooded the hall of Highgarden with light, as bright as day. Nearly every Reach lord was in attendance to witness the engagement of Samwell Caesar and Margaery Tyrell.
Guests gathered in small groups, conversing warmly in a pleasant, relaxed atmosphere that masked the tension of yesterday's hunt.
As Samwell entered, the chatter ceased momentarily, and all eyes turned to him. The gazes ranged from respect to admiration, with a few retaining a tinge of cold indifference.
No matter their individual sentiments, however, the crowd recognized that this young Viscount could now sway the fate of the Reach. His engagement to the "Rose of Highgarden" was a clear signal of the Tyrells' acquiescence, if not outright alliance. Even those still resentful dared not openly defy him.
Samwell maintained a calm composure, smiling and nodding in response to the crowd's attention, exuding the confidence of a man who knew his worth.
"Sam." Margaery stood at the far end of the hall, her face lighting up at his arrival as she approached him with a radiant smile.
She wore a lavish beige court gown, adorned with hundreds of tiny diamonds. Layers of finely woven chiffon cascaded down the skirt, giving her an air of regal elegance. The dress's daring design, with a sleeveless bodice, revealed her delicate collarbones and just a hint of her ivory shoulders—a look that was both elegant and enticing.
Meeting in the center of the hall, Samwell raised his right hand, and Margaery gracefully took it. Someone started clapping, and soon applause and cheers filled the room.
Together, they walked up to the dais where the High Septon, crowned in crystal, awaited them with a smile, blessing them as he held up the marriage contract for Samwell to review.
He had already read the document; its terms were simple: their marriage would be officially sealed three years hence. Samwell couldn't help but wonder, though—if he hadn't taken the Iron Throne by then, would the Tyrells extend the wait another three years? It might be wiser to speed things along by ensuring a Tyrell heir sooner than later.
The contract also stipulated that if they were to have multiple children, one would take the Tyrell name and be raised in Highgarden, a clear bid by the rose-bearing house to preserve a tie to his "true dragon bloodline." To Samwell, this was a fair exchange: his child as the lord of Highgarden would only deepen his control over the Reach.
Satisfied, he took up the quill and signed the contract.
The High Septon then passed the document to Lord Mace Tyrell, who, looking glum and dispirited, signed his name without so much as glancing in Samwell's direction or acknowledging the lords of the Reach assembled in the room.
Margaery attempted to embrace her father, but he pulled back, brushing her off without a word.
The High Septon, sensing the awkwardness, quickly announced in a loud voice, "In the name of the Seven, I declare Samwell Caesar of House Caesar and Margaery Tyrell of House Tyrell engaged!"
The hall erupted in cheers, and rose petals rained down from the attendants along the dais, falling softly onto Samwell and Margaery.
The ceremony concluded, Lord Mace remained like a stone statue, and it was Lady Olenna who stepped forward to declare the start of the feast. The guests found their seats as servants began to bring food and wine. Musicians filled the hall with the gentle sounds of harp and flute.
Lord Mace Tyrell, however, slipped away—a not-so-subtle protest against the union. But no one much cared what he thought anymore. His authority in the Reach had long been a subject of ridicule, and now, even his peers paid him little mind.
Garlan Tyrell looked as though he wanted to follow his father, but Lady Olenna's sharp look halted him. "Leave him be," she ordered. "He's old enough to know better. Can he not handle a little defeat?"
Garlan sheepishly resumed his seat.
One by one, guests approached Samwell and Margaery, offering their blessings. The couple smiled and thanked each in turn.
Then, the Tyrells' steward hurried up to Olenna, bowing slightly. "My lady, young Lord Loras has returned!"
"Loras?" Margaery exclaimed, delighted. "Where is he?"
Since word of Lord Renly's death had reached Highgarden, the Tyrells had anxiously awaited news of Loras, who had been serving as Renly's squire. They had sent envoys to negotiate his release from House Martell, but there had been no word until now.
"He's changing and will join us shortly. He's with Ser Edmure Tully and Ser Daemon Sand."
"Edmure Tully?" Olenna's brows drew together, clearly puzzled that Doran Martell would allow him to leave for Highgarden.
"Yes, my lady."
Samwell, too, was surprised but quickly recognized the subtle message. Prince Doran, despite his formal alliance with the Lannisters, likely leaned toward the wolf-stag-fish alliance. Allowing the Tully heir to come to Highgarden was a gesture meant to gauge the Tyrells' stance in the shifting landscape.
Not long after, the trio of arrivals entered the hall, looking slightly out of place amidst the festivities.
The three men were equally surprised. They hadn't expected to see Margaery Tyrell betrothed to a mere viscount—though he was now a viscount with the influence of a lord paramount. Yet they quickly grasped the political message: the Tyrells had chosen this lord over the king.
Edmure Tully, visibly perplexed, managed a polite smile.
"Lord Edmure, how fares the army?"
There was a murmur of agreement from the crowd; Samwell had now assumed a role close to lord of Highgarden.
"The army… well…" Edmure hesitated, and Daemon Sand quickly stepped in, giving a candid account of the retreat and the army's current state.
"So many captives?" Samwell commented, his tone somewhere between admiration and sarcasm. "Prince Doran certainly has a talent for controlling Dornish ferocity."
"We Dornish are not all beasts bent on slaughter," Daemon replied curtly. "Given Dorne's heavy toll in this war, Prince Doran has arranged for Loras' return in hopes of receiving aid from the Reach in the form of provisions."
"How much do you require?" Samwell asked.
Daemon read from a list: "One million three hundred thousand pounds of barley flour, seven hundred thousand pounds of oats, five hundred thousand pounds of legumes, and fifty thousand pounds of dried meat…"
Samwell's expression grew grave.
Though the Reach was Westeros's breadbasket, such quantities were excessive to request as mere aid.
"Prince Doran is quite the optimist," Lady Olenna remarked, coming to Samwell's defense.
Samwell was relieved. Since this involved Margaery's brother, he had hoped a Tyrell would handle it, as it might be inappropriate for him to negotiate too harshly.
"Lady Olenna, do you mean to say your grandson is not worth the cost?" Daemon retorted.
"Save your platitudes for someone else," Olenna replied coolly. "We'll send you a fifth of what you asked for. That's a generous ransom by any standard."
Daemon frowned, but Edmure quickly stepped in, "We are in dire need of supplies, Lady Olenna. Might we—"
"Then let House Tully purchase it," Olenna cut in. "Pay market price, and we'll deliver the provisions to Dorne."
"Fine," Edmure agreed through clenched teeth. He now understood that his role was more than an envoy; he was also a source of funds for the cause.
With both sides in agreement, Samwell spoke up, "I'm afraid this much food will be enough for the prisoners to eat for a year. You're not planning to hold them captive for that long, are you?"
Ser Daemon smiled slightly and said,
"Lord Caesar, His Highness Doran wants to discuss this with you."
"He wants to talk? Sure. Then please ask Prince Doran to come to Highgarden. We will definitely give him a warm welcome."
Ser Daemon shook his head slowly. "Lord Doran will definitely not come to Highgarden. Of course, he also knows that you won't willingly go to Sunspear. So he proposed that you both meet at Starfall?"
"Starfall..." Samwell finally became serious, "Prince Doran is willing to come to Starfall just to meet me?"
"Yes."
Starfall City is House Dayne's, which is basically equivalent to Samwell's territory.
Prince Doran's gesture was indeed both sincere and bold.
"I agree." Samwell nodded slowly. "I will be waiting for His Highness Doran in Starfall City in two weeks."
(End of this chapter)