The white dragon soared across the Mander River, leaving trails of mist in its wake.
The morning light spread over the shimmering water, resembling a golden pathway stretching endlessly.
Samwell rode on the dragon's back. When he spotted the golden banner emblazoned with the Horn of Plenty, he knew he had arrived at Longtable.
A steel chain stretched across the wide river, sealing off the Mander.
On the southern side of the chain, remnants of destroyed ships floated silently, a grim testament to a fierce naval battle that once took place there.
Samwell did not land at Longtable but continued flying south.
Farther along the river, he spotted longships flying golden kraken banners—
the ships of the Ironborn, the invaders.
The villages along the shore were in ruins, bearing the scars of slaughter, arson, and plunder.
The scent of blood lingered in the air, while smoke rose in twisting columns, clawing at the sky like the talons of demons.
This was the occupied zone.
Samwell's heart grew heavy.
As he flew farther south, he saw a lone castle, its gates shut tight. Scattered Ironborn patrolled outside, keeping watch.
Above the castle, a golden banner with a red apple flapped in the wind—the sigil of the Fossoway family of Cider Hall.
It seemed the castle had not yet fallen.
Samwell did not linger and continued southward.
Soon, he arrived above Highgarden.
The once-beautiful castle of gardens had been stripped of its brilliance, overshadowed by blood, smoke, and death.
Samwell suddenly recalled Melisandre's prophecy about the wilting of roses:
"The white castle will crumble under the surge of the black tide, shadows coalesce into skulls, ash and white intertwine in the skies, forming a frigid wind that extinguishes all flames, ushering in death and destruction."
So, the black tide signified the Ironborn.
Samwell's expression darkened.
Rather than regret, he felt helplessness.
Though he had not taken Melisandre's prophecy seriously at first, he had still warned Lady Olenna.
Yet, it had not been enough to prevent the tragedy.
Even now, Samwell remained skeptical of prophecies.
To him, knowing the future did not guarantee one could escape it.
It was like guessing a magician's card trick—you might think you know the answer, but the magician can always cheat.
The only way to win was not to guess but to tear the cards apart altogether.
At Skyreach, Samwell had once "torn the cards."
Some visions the Lord of Light had shown him during the Great Sept fire had not come to pass, proving that prophecies could be changed—
If one had the strength to challenge fate.
The white dragon circled Highgarden several times before continuing south.
After flying ten miles along the Rose Road, Samwell spotted a large encampment.
Banners bearing the emblem of a burning stepped white tower fluttered in the air—the sigil of House Hightower of Oldtown.
Samwell's mission was not just to assess the situation around Highgarden but also to establish contact with House Hightower.
During the campaign in the Stormlands, House Hightower had sent over four thousand soldiers—a respectable force, though not nearly the full strength of the Reach's most powerful house.
In Samwell's memory, House Hightower and its vassals could easily muster over ten thousand troops.
If they were willing to commit their full forces, there would be no need to wait for the Reach's northern army to return from the Stormlands; the rebellion could be crushed swiftly.
The white dragon descended into the camp, causing a stir.
Fortunately, the men of the Reach recognized Caesar's white dragon and were not overly alarmed.
As Samwell dismounted, a knight approached and asked, "Are you Lord Caesar?"
"Yes." Noticing the black-and-orange butterfly on the knight's shield, Samwell recognized him as a knight of the Mullendore family, his old neighbors. "Is Lord Martyn here? Who is leading the troops?"
"He is." The knight smiled warmly. "Shall I take you to the command tent? This campaign is led by Ser Baelor Hightower."
Ah, the heir of the Hightower. An old acquaintance as well.
"Thank you. Lead the way."
---
Soon, Samwell entered the command tent. After the attendant announced his arrival, Ser Baelor himself stepped out to greet him.
"Samwell!" Baelor's face lit up with surprise and familiarity. "What brings you here? Did you fly?"
"You guessed it," Samwell replied, embracing him.
"Your dragon is already rideable? It grew that fast?"
"Yes, it eats a lot," Samwell answered casually, not elaborating further.
Baelor didn't press the matter and warmly welcomed Samwell inside.
Inside the tent were five others: Lord Tommen Costayne of Three Towers, Lord Warren Beesbury of Honeyholt, Ser Addam Bulwer of Blackcrown, Lord Martyn Mullendore of Uplands, and Lord Brandon Cuy of Sunhouse.
Samwell greeted each in turn before sitting down.
"How soon can the Stormlands army return?" Baelor asked.
"The northern army's main force should arrive in about ten days," Samwell replied. "However, my father has already sent cavalry ahead, which should reach Bitterbridge within two days. The southern army's timeline is unclear, but it should be similar."
"I believe we shouldn't wait any longer," Ser Addam Bulwer said urgently. "We already have six thousand infantry and eight hundred cavalry gathered here. Adding the forces at Bitterbridge from the northern Reach lords, we're more than enough to deal with the Ironborn and House Oakhart!"
Samwell glanced at the knight of House Bulwer and asked, "Is Countess Alysanne in Highgarden?"
"She is."
That explained it. Samwell recalled that the Countess of House Bulwer was a relative of the Tyrells—perhaps the daughter of one of Mace's cousins.
"I agree," Baelor said, nodding. His own sister Alerie, Mace Tyrell's wife, was also in Highgarden, undoubtedly anxious.
Turning to Samwell, Baelor added, "Since you're here, could you inform Lady Olenna of our plan? We intend to march on Highgarden at noon the day after tomorrow. We hope the northern forces will launch their assault simultaneously, so we can crush the rebels and Ironborn between us."
Judging that the northern cavalry would likely arrive by then, Samwell nodded. "Understood."
After a pause, he asked, "What about the situation on the Arbor Islands? Why hasn't the Redwyne fleet intervened despite the rebellion lasting so long?"
Baelor hesitated before replying, "I've sent a raven to the Arbor. It seems Lord Paxter hasn't returned from the Stormlands and isn't on the islands. There's been no response."
Samwell frowned. He hadn't seen the Redwyne fleet in the Stormlands either. It increasingly seemed that Paxter was deliberately ignoring the rebellion.
Given the Redwyne-Tyrell ties, however, Samwell refrained from commenting further.
---
The group discussed their battle plans in detail. Once the strategy was finalized, the atmosphere in the tent lightened.
Baelor sipped his wine and asked, "Samwell, how did the Stormlands campaign go? I heard you've taken Bronze Gate?"
"Yes, we have."
"That was quick!" Baelor remarked. "What a pity this rebellion interrupted things. Otherwise, you might have reached Storm's End by now."
"We already have," Samwell said with a faint smile. "And we've taken it."
The tent fell silent. Then came a chorus of astonished exclamations:
"You captured Storm's End?"
"Yes."
Looking at the calm and composed Samwell, Martyn Mullendor felt quite complex.
He still clearly remembered the scene when this young knight first came to Upland Castle. At that time, the lad was racking his brains to seek his help in expanding territory in the Red Mountains.
But who would have thought, in such a short time, he would have already taken one of the top castles in the Seven Kingdoms.
Brandon Cuy felt equally complex. Back then, he almost married his daughter to this young man, but now, the other party had suddenly become a major noble in the Seven Kingdoms.
It's all my daughter's fault for not being ambitious! Brandon sighed inwardly.
The expressions of the others also changed. If previously they thought of Samwell as a young man with great potential when he hatched a dragon and got engaged to Margery, now, with Samwell occupying Storms End, he had already transformed that potential into tangible strength.
House Caesar was about to become one of the most prominent families in the Seven Kingdoms.
---
By the time Samwell returned to Bitterbridge, dusk was falling.
After securing the white dragon in the stables, he went to find Margaery. A servant informed him that she had spent the entire day praying in the sept.
Pushing open the oak doors, Samwell saw Margaery kneeling before the statue of the Mother. The soft candlelight outlined her graceful figure, her thin, loose gown tracing gentle curves.
"Margaery," he called softly.
She turned, her smile warm and serene. "Where have you been today?"
"I took Cleopatra south to scout," Samwell said, embracing her from behind, his hands resting gently on her slightly swollen belly.
"What… did you see?" Margaery tensed.
"Things don't look good…" Samwell explained, sparing her the grislier details. He finished by reassuring her, "Don't worry. The southern Reach lords have gathered a large army under House Hightower's banner. We've already set a plan to attack the day after tomorrow. With a pincer movement, we'll drive the Ironborn back to the sea."
"And Highgarden?" Margaery asked anxiously. "With House Oakhart holding so many hostages, we can't risk an assault, can we?"
"They likely want Highgarden to change its allegiance," Samwell replied. "But don't worry. The situation is beyond the reach of House Oakhart and their Stag Party allies."
Margaery nodded, though unease still lingered in her eyes. Curling into Samwell's arms, she sought comfort.
In the quiet sept, under the a warm and peaceful atmosphere.
(End of Chapter)