Storm's End
Samwell stood with Melisandre before a roaring fireplace.
The flames raged fiercely, sending gray embers spiraling upward into the air. These embers danced briefly before swirling downward, coalescing into Samwell's outstretched palm.
The red gemstone on Melisandre's throat shimmered intensely as it absorbed the firelight, growing ever more vibrant, ever more crimson.
With a sudden motion, she ran her hand over the gem and pressed it against Samwell's palm.
A burst of pale flames erupted violently before vanishing just as quickly, leaving behind a searing pain in Samwell's hand. Looking down, he saw the silver flower engraved on his palm, now with one more petal restored to its former luster.
"Why hasn't the entire flower been restored?" Samwell asked.
Melisandre sighed softly.
"This is the limit of what I can achieve for now. Your entanglement with the Sea of Elements has grown too deep, making it nearly impossible to fully sever that connection."
Samwell studied the mark on his palm, his expression thoughtful.
"What happens if these final two petals wither away?"
Melisandre hesitated, her gaze heavy.
"I cannot say for certain. You've already gained considerable mastery over sorcery. Without the seal's protection, you might withstand the Sea of Elements' intrusion—or you might..."
"Be assimilated by it?"
"Yes."
Samwell fell silent for a moment before asking:
"How can I prevent the seal's power from being consumed?"
"Use your spiritual energy sparingly," Melisandre advised. "If I'm not mistaken, your recent journey to Slaver's Bay must have required significant use of sorcery."
"That's true," Samwell admitted, sighing deeply. "But I had no other choice at the time."
He then recounted the strange, mystical events he had experienced in Slaver's Bay. Melisandre listened intently, her face revealing no emotion.
"What do you know of the Ghiscari gods?" Samwell asked when he finished. "What is their goal, and why did they show me Nissa Nissa in that illusion of ruins?"
Melisandre seemed hesitant but eventually answered:
"The records of the Ghiscari gods were lost long ago, destroyed alongside the Old Ghiscari Empire by dragonfire. The people of Slaver's Bay may still worship them, but their traditions are fragmented. Even the priestesses of the Temple of Graces understand little about the deities they serve."
She paused before continuing.
"As for Nissa Nissa... I believe your suspicion is correct. Daenerys Targaryen is likely Nissa reborn, destined to fulfill her sacrificial role."
"I don't believe in destiny," Samwell said flatly. "It's nothing more than a plan devised by self-proclaimed gods. I refuse to accept any predetermined fate."
Melisandre's gaze softened.
"I believe you will master your fate, and humanity's as well."
Samwell chuckled wryly.
"Humanity's fate is far too grand a burden for me. I'll settle for saving as many lives as I can."
"Then you must act quickly." Melisandre turned her eyes to the fire, watching the flames dance.
"The sands in the hourglass are slipping away. Winter is fast approaching. Despair and terror will descend upon the Wall. You must be ready."
"I know." Samwell glanced into the flames.
"Does the fire tell you how long until winter arrives?"
"No," Melisandre said, shaking her head.
Samwell nodded, showing no disappointment, and turned to the table behind him.
On it lay a massive horn, its surface dark and glossy with red-gold patterns that seemed to breathe with life.
"Look into this dragon horn for me," Samwell instructed. "I suspect it's connected to R'hllor."
"Of course," Melisandre said, bowing her head.
When Samwell left her chamber, he found Gavin waiting for him.
"What is it?"
"Your Grace, Ser Alekyne Florent seeks an audience."
Samwell narrowed his eyes.
"He's from Dragonstone, isn't he?"
"Yes, Your Grace."
"Take him to the reception hall. I'll meet him shortly."
"Yes, Your Grace."
Samwell did not head directly to the reception hall but instead made his way to the harbor.
The Storm's End fleet was preparing to set sail, escorting a shipment of grain bound for Dorne.
This fleet was under the command of Ser Lucas Dayne, one of Samwell's earliest and most loyal supporters. Though not an experienced admiral, Ser Lucas was dependable and capable enough. With the fleet's innovative design and new combat strategies, he was the best available choice for the job.
As the newly built warships left the port, their sleek forms gliding through the water, Samwell's heart swelled with pride. He was confident these ships would deliver a stunning blow to their enemies.
"I wish I could sail with them," Daenerys said wistfully beside him, her violet eyes glowing with longing.
Samwell laughed.
"Still dreaming of becoming a captain?"
"Why not?"
"You can." He grinned, taking her hand. "If I'd known, I would've assigned you a position in the fleet."
"Really?" Daenerys raised an eyebrow, her excitement palpable.
Samwell was about to tease her further when his brow furrowed.
"Why are you so warm? Are you feeling unwell?"
Daenerys blinked in surprise and shook her head.
"I feel perfectly fine."
Samwell touched her forehead and neck, finding her skin unusually hot to the touch. Alarmed, he quickly escorted her back to Storm's End to see Maester Qyburn.
"Your Grace," Qyburn reported after an examination, "Queen Daenerys is in perfect health, aside from an elevated body temperature."
"What's causing it?"
Qyburn hesitated.
"There could be many reasons, Your Grace. We'll need more time to observe."
"Samwell, I've never felt better," Daenerys interjected, her tone reassuring.
"Targaryen bloodlines are unique," Qyburn mused.
Daenerys's eyes lit up as she suddenly recalled something.
"I've experienced this before!"
"When?"
"The last time I was pregnant!" Daenerys exclaimed, her face glowing with excitement.
"Samwell, I think I'm carrying your child!"
"Are you sure?" Samwell's worry melted into joy.
Daenerys nodded emphatically.
"I'm certain of it!"
She took his hand and placed it on her still-flat stomach.
"We are of true dragon blood, forged from fire and life. This warmth—it's our child's."
Samwell gently caressed her warm, soft skin, a profound sense of awe washing over him.
"Yes," he murmured.
"Our child."
(End of Chapter)