Bab 166: Chapter 167: The Hall of Summer
"Brother! When the time comes, can I charge right behind you?"
As Samwell donned his armor with the help of his squire, his younger brother, Dickon Tarly, piped up excitedly.
This time, Lord Randyll hadn't come himself, instead sending Dickon with 1,800 soldiers to answer the call from Highgarden. The number was only half of what the Tarlys had previously sent to support Samwell at Eagle's Eyrie, suggesting that Lord Randyll wasn't keen on expending much for the Iron Throne's campaign.
"You're representing Horn Hill now, little brother," Samwell said absentmindedly, adjusting the clasps on his chestplate. "Charging into battle right behind me? Not exactly fitting."
"But Lord Mace will likely appoint a commander for the infantry, and I'll be joining the cavalry for the charge. You will too, so I'll be right behind you!" Dickon's face was flushed with excitement.
"Don't be naive, Dickon. The Dornish won't meet us for an open-field battle this time. They'll hole up in their castles and forts. You're not planning to charge your horse into a stone wall, are you?"
"Oh... I guess not." Dickon scratched his head, disappointed.
Samwell shot his earnest but somewhat simple-minded brother a quick look and thought with mild exasperation: If you stay this gullible, Lord Randyll might reconsider who should be his heir.
Still, he had to admit that Dickon had grown a great deal in the last few months, both taller and more robust. Armored and ready for battle, he indeed looked imposing.
"Come on, we'd better not be the last ones there." Samwell slung Dawn across his back, tucked his eagle-winged helmet under his arm, and beckoned to Dickon.
"Alright!"
The two brothers, fully equipped, strode out of the room, weaving through the winding corridors and lush gardens until they reached the knights' hall in the main keep. Although it was early morning, every torch in the hall blazed brightly. A herald stood at the doorway, loudly announcing the names and titles of each noble and knight as they entered.
Inside, the hall was awash with gleaming armor and flashing blades. Samwell took in the scene, estimating that at least a thousand knights had gathered here—though he knew this was only a glimpse of the Reach's vast military power.
As the birthplace of the Faith of the Seven and the chivalric code, the Reach boasted more knights than any other region in Westeros. Coupled with their wealth and advanced blacksmithing techniques, the Reach's army of knights was one of the most formidable forces in the Seven Kingdoms.
The problem, of course, was that House Tyrell, which ruled the Reach, lacked the influence needed to truly command these forces. Mace Tyrell, in particular, the current lord of Highgarden, was hardly one to inspire loyalty.
As Samwell glanced up at the plump figure on the high dais, he allowed himself a faint smirk of disdain. If only I could wield such power.
"Honored knights!" Mace Tyrell's voice boomed from the dais as he began his speech to rally the troops.
The words themselves were hardly stirring, and Samwell found his attention waning as Mace droned on.
When Mace Tyrell finally finished, the High Septon approached, holding the Seven-Pointed Star aloft to bestow a blessing upon the knights. Following this came a choir of seventy-seven septas, who led the hall in song, followed by a lengthy prayer led by the High Septon himself.
By the time the ceremonies concluded, Samwell was practically nodding off.
But Mace Tyrell's final battle cry, "Death to the Dornish!" jolted him awake, as the assembled knights responded with a mighty roar.
"Death to the Dornish!" Samwell shouted, joining in the battle cry.
Finally, they were ready to move out.
One by one, the lords and knights filed out of the hall and headed toward the camp. As the varied colors and banners unfurled and caught the morning breeze, the army surrounding Highgarden began to stir, like a giant beast slowly roused from slumber, its lumbering form snaking eastward.
As Samwell directed his own men, he carefully observed the Reach's forces.
By his reckoning, the total forces assembled numbered around forty thousand soldiers. Including the servants, farriers, and camp followers, the total entourage likely exceeded seventy thousand. For any other region, such numbers would have been staggering, but for the Reach, it wasn't even a full mobilization.
A closer look revealed the mixed quality of the soldiers. Far too many were hastily drafted farmers barely given time to learn basic drills, resulting in a ragged line that wound across the landscape like an unsteady serpent.
Then again, Samwell hadn't expected much more. This war was, ostensibly, for vengeance on behalf of Jon Arryn, something that had little to do with the nobility of the Reach. Few were willing to risk their best troops for such a distant cause. Were it not for the deep-seated enmity with Dorne, Mace Tyrell would likely have struggled to muster even this much.
Though he recognized the army's faults, Samwell couldn't help but feel awe. He had never seen a force of such scale. As the forty-thousand-strong army moved, their banners cast a shadow over the land, the sound of hooves a rolling thunder, and the ground trembled beneath their weight. Each man, caught up in the enormity of it all, felt a mixture of dread and reverence.
But as the hours dragged on, this feeling faded, replaced by the inevitable frustration and fatigue of the endless march.
Samwell began to hear more and more shouting and cursing. Heads mounted on stakes along the road became an increasingly common sight.
Discipline in such a massive force was enforced by bloodshed, and many commanders did not hesitate to strike down unruly soldiers. It was common wisdom that an army's order was maintained only through the iron hand of fear.
This relentless harshness seemed to harden Samwell as well. Where he once might have tolerated minor faults with a reprimand, now he responded with the lash.
Fortunately, the troops from Eagle's Nest maintained strong discipline, sparing Samwell the need for harsher measures.
After departing Highgarden, the army followed the course of the Mander River eastward, then veered onto a tributary at Cider Hall. Along the way, they passed a site that held special significance for the Tarlys—Willow Pond, where Randyll Tarly had once defeated Robert Baratheon.
Samwell and Dickon paused briefly to pay their respects before rejoining the march. Through hills and valleys, they continued eastward for over two weeks before reaching the designated assembly point ordered by the Iron Throne:
The Hall of Summer.
Located at the convergence of the Reach, the Stormlands, and Dorne, the Hall of Summer was once a grand summer palace for the Targaryens.
Over a hundred years ago, King Daeron II had married his sister to the Prince of Dorne, finally uniting all seven kingdoms. To commemorate this union, he had Summer Hall.
The palace, nestled amid craggy mountains, had been more of a royal retreat than a fortress. But thirty years earlier, a great fire had reduced it to ruins.
This disaster was known as the Tragedy at Summerhall.
Toward the end of Aegon V's reign, the Targaryens had lost all their dragons, and the few remaining dragon eggs had turned to stone. Desperate to revive his family's power, Aegon V had undertaken numerous experiments, and it was said he found a method in an ancient scroll from Asshai.
The method involved fire rituals.
The king had come to Summer Hall, bringing seven dragon eggs and a cache of wildfire. His plan was to restore the dragons and celebrate the birth of his first great-grandson.
But instead of dragons, the ritual had only brought destruction.
The wildfire went out of control, consuming the entire palace and claiming the lives of many royals, including the king and his eldest son. Only a few survived.
Yet amidst this inferno, Aegon V's granddaughter had given birth to a prince—a prince named Rhaegar Targaryen, whose life was forever marked by that tragedy. Haunted by its shadow, Rhaegar would go on to make choices that would ultimately bring about the fall of House Targaryen.
In a way, the seeds of Robert's Rebellion had been planted in the Tragedy at Summerhall.
House Targaryen, after all, had not been native to Westeros. They had come from the eastern continent, Essos, from a peninsula known as Valyria. Valyria had been ruled by forty "dragonlord" families—ancient, wealthy, and powerful—who commanded dragons and magic.
But one day, the Doom had come, destroying Valyria and shattering its empire.
Only House Targaryen had heeded a prophetic warning of the calamity and fled, settling on Dragonstone. They waited for centuries, until they finally rose with three dragons to conquer Westeros.
In time, prophecy became both their salvation and their doom.
With whispers of a new apocalypse, House Targaryen had become obsessed, with some members turning paranoid, even mad.
Aegon V, it was said, had foreseen some part of this coming darkness, and this had driven him to resurrect the dragons.
Rhaegar, too, had seen visions—he believed that his children would fulfill the prophecy, that one of them would be the promised hero to ward off the coming darkness. But Rhaegar was also convinced that "the dragon must have three heads."
This was the Targaryen sigil—a three-headed dragon. When Aegon the Conqueror had first brought his sisters and three dragons to Westeros, each sibling had ridden one of these fearsome beasts.
Rhaegar, however, had only two children with his wife, Princess Elia of Dorne. And after their second child was born, Elia's health prevented her from bearing any more.
Fearing that the prophecy could not be fulfilled without a third child, Rhaegar sought another path. He looked to the North, to Lyanna Stark, thinking that perhaps a union of "fire and ice" could yield the child he needed to complete the prophecy—ignoring that Lyanna was already promised to another.
In his obsession to save the world, he unwittingly sowed the seeds of House Targaryen's destruction.
Now, as Samwell gazed across the barren ruins of the Summerhall palace, his thoughts drifted to these lost legacies and the old prophecy. But he wasn't here to mourn the tragic fate of the Targaryens or their doomed prince. He was here because of a much simpler, far more tangible objective buried beneath the rubble.
The seven dragon eggs.
(End of Chapter)
Status Power Mingguan
-- Peringkat
Power 
-- Power
stone