Chapter 255: Chapter 256: Entering the City
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Title: Viscount
Territory: Eagle's Nest
Vassals: Gavin Mander, Lucas Dayne, Chiman Tigerfang, Todd Flowers, Ralph Buckler, Brus Buckler
Attributes:
Strength: 4.35 (8.70)
Agility: 3.93 (7.86)
Spirit: 9.38
Samwell lay on the soft bed, his attention focused on his status screen. As expected, his Strength and Agility had been halved—but curiously, his Spirit had increased by 1.00.
He also noticed that the original values of Strength and Agility were displayed in parentheses, indicating that Melisandre had been truthful: the reduction was temporary and could be restored.
However, the unexpected increase in Spirit puzzled him.
Still, the increase in Spirit paled in comparison to the loss of Strength and Agility. It was clear the trade-off was meant to feel costly rather than beneficial.
"Lord Caesar, are you thirsty?" Melisandre approached with a goblet of red wine.
She was completely nude save for the ruby necklace glowing at her throat. Her alabaster skin gleamed in the candlelight, while her fiery red hair cascaded over her shoulders, curling into a soft, plush halo at her chest.
Samwell casually accepted the cup, his gaze catching the crimson lipstick stain on its rim—a sign she had already tasted it.
After everything they had shared, such details felt trivial.
Taking a sip of wine, he asked, "When will the shadow assassin be ready?"
"Tomorrow night." Melisandre reclined beside him, resting her head on his shoulder.
"Good. Tomorrow, this war ends." Samwell stood and began collecting his scattered clothing.
The moment he rose, the toll of the reduced attributes became evident. While his Strength and Agility were still well above an average man's, the sudden drop left him feeling "weaker" than usual.
Melisandre didn't attempt to stop him. She instead stood gracefully, helping him dress with a gentleness that felt almost wifely—a gesture that made Samwell strangely uneasy.
Once fully dressed, he hastily left the tent, as if eager to escape.
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The camp was quiet under the late-night sky. A handful of sentries patrolled, offering respectful salutes as they passed.
Samwell absently returned their greetings, his thoughts elsewhere. Just as he reached his own tent, a commotion arose in the direction of Storm's End.
Stopping in his tracks, he turned to look.
The noise grew louder, rousing curious soldiers from their tents.
Although unsure of what was happening, Samwell quickly issued orders for the troops to armor up and stand on alert.
He then climbed onto Cleopatra's back and urged the white dragon into the sky.
As he flew over Storm's End, he was stunned by what he saw. Chaos reigned within the fortress. Fires blazed in multiple locations, soldiers ran in every direction, and the sounds of shouting, cursing, and crying echoed through the night.
Something has gone terribly wrong in Storm's End!
Samwell's heart raced with a mix of surprise and exhilaration. He remained cautious, scanning for signs of a trap. But when he saw the portcullis being raised and a group of Stormlander knights riding out under a white flag, his doubts began to fade.
"We surrender! We wish to surrender!" the knights shouted.
Samwell guided Cleopatra back to the camp, preparing his army to march into the city.
Yet, as he issued orders, an unsettling thought crossed his mind:
If Storm's End is surrendering, then all that effort with Melisandre… was for nothing?
For a moment, he felt as though fate was mocking him.
Nonetheless, caution prevailed. He directed his troops to seize the gates and secure the city before trusting the surrender.
When Storm's End was firmly under Reach control, Samwell summoned the man responsible for opening the gates: Ser Gawen Wylde.
"You're saying my brother Dickon assassinated Lord Edric Storm?" Samwell asked, disbelief coloring his tone.
"Yes, Lord Caesar," Gawen affirmed. "Your brother displayed incredible bravery and cunning. Disguised as a peace envoy, he managed to kill the bastard lord."
Samwell's face tightened. "Where is Dickon? Is he safe?"
"Your brother sustained some injuries but is out of danger. The maester is tending to him now."
Relieved, Samwell shifted his focus to stabilizing the city. Once order was restored, he followed Gawen to the maester's tower to see his brother.
Inside the tower, he found Dickon asleep, his body wrapped in bandages and sedated with milk of the poppy.
After questioning the maester about his brother's condition, Samwell left the room, stepping onto the corridor balcony.
The sounds of fighting still echoed faintly through the city, but it was clear the Reach forces were in control.
According to Gawen, dissatisfaction with Edric Storm had been simmering within Storm's End for some time. His status as a bastard undermined his legitimacy, and his reluctance to take decisive action against the Reach invasion had eroded support further.
When Stannis Baratheon came to Storm's End before, there had already been a riot in the city, but it was brutally suppressed.
But Edric's death had emboldened dissenters. Gawen seized the opportunity to lead a full uprising, opening the gates.
Standing in the cool night air, Samwell wrestled with mixed emotions. Triumph at taking the fabled Storm's End mingled with worry for Dickon—not for his injuries, but for his mental state.
Samwell had noticed something unsettling about his brother ever since his resurrection at Horn Hill.
Parts of Dickon's memory were missing, and in their place were behaviors and knowledge that didn't belong.
Samwell suspected R'hllor's influence. He had questioned Melisandre about it, but the red priestess had offered no satisfying answers.
Dickon's decision to pose as an envoy and assassinate Edric was daring but reckless. Success had hinged more on luck than on strategy.
Samwell couldn't shake the sense that his brother had been prepared to die—a mindset far removed from the rational, level-headed Dickon he once knew.
Behind him, soft footsteps approached. Turning, Samwell found Melisandre watching him, her expression serene.
She was dressed in her usual scarlet robes, her hair framing her face like a halo. But Samwell's attention was drawn to her subtly swollen abdomen.
"Lord Caesar," she said, "it seems you no longer require my assistance."
Samwell's gaze shifted to her hand resting lightly on her belly. His expression hardened.
"What do you plan to do with… that?" he asked, nodding toward her stomach.
"You can choose a different target for the shadow assassin," Melisandre replied, her tone calm. "However, the target cannot be far from me."
"How far is too far?"
"If you cannot reach them within an hour by dragon, it is too far."
Samwell frowned. "There's no one nearby I need dead."
"Then the shadow can remain in me for up to ten months. You still have time to decide."
Setting aside his unease about the shadow, Samwell redirected the conversation. "What about my brother? He would never have done something so reckless before. What's wrong with him?"
Melisandre hesitated. "Your brother… has been motivated by R'hllor's will."
"Motivated? Bullshit motivation! You mean controlled!" Samwell snapped. "R'hllor is manipulating him, isn't he?"
"Not entirely," Melisandre said, her voice steady. "R'hllor can amplify the emotions already present in a mortal's heart, but He cannot create what is not there. If Dickon did not revere you, if he were not willing to give everything for you, not even a god could compel him to act."
Samwell fell silent.
"Of course," Melisandre continued, "I cannot deny that R'hllor has influenced Dickon. But these influences stem from his own feelings, not from any external force. And you should understand: R'hllor does this to strengthen you, to prepare you for the greater darkness ahead."
Samwell's expression darkened."I don't need anyone, even gods, to tell me what to do. I won't accept help that turns my brother into a puppet. If that's the price for R'hllor's aid, I reject it."
"Lord Caesar, many would willingly give their lives for your cause—"
"Not if it costs their free will," Samwell interrupted. "Sacrifice is noble when it's voluntary. But when it's coerced, it's just slaughter. Is that the justice R'hllor preaches?"
"If Dickon really volunteered, I have nothing to say. But the Lord of Light altered his memories!" Samwell said coldly, "If your true god also needs to interfere with people's free will to achieve His goals, how is He any different from the evil deity who created the White Walkers?
Yes, the Lord of Light resurrected my brother, but now he is no different from the mindless corpses beyond the Wall. This kind of resurrection is worse than letting him rest in peace!
You always say we need to fight against the evil in the North, always preach that the Lord of Light is the savior of humanity.
But if the Lord of Light uses such means, then humanity would rather not have such salvation!
Tell me, Lady Melisandre, do you really think such a Lord of Light is just?"
Melisandre was stunned, her eyes seemed to have flames burning and leaping violently.
For once, Melisandre appeared genuinely shaken, her gaze flickering with uncertainty.
After a long pause, she murmured, "The sacrifice of a few… is for the good of many."
"Then let those few choose to sacrifice themselves," Samwell said coldly. "If your god must manipulate minds to achieve his goals, he is no savior. He's no different from the dark forces he claims to oppose."
Melisandre's lips parted, but no words came. For the first time, her unwavering faith seemed to falter.
Samwell stepped closer, his voice low but resolute:
"People are ends, not means."
(End of Chapter)
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone