The dimly lit spiral staircase wound upward as Lady Taena led Samwell higher into the castle.
She walked ahead, swaying her hips with calculated allure.
Unfortunately for her, the man following behind remained completely unmoved.
Lady Taena felt a pang of disappointment, but the fear of Samwell's imposing aura kept her from pushing her luck too far.
At last, they reached the top floor of the castle. Lady Taena stopped before a door and gestured.
"Lord Caesar, Lady Olenna is inside."
"Good." Samwell nodded. He paused as if struck by a sudden thought.
"By the way, I've taken a liking to your son, Russell. I'll adopt him as my ward. When this war is over, he'll return with me to Storm's End."
Lady Taena's body stiffened briefly, but she quickly composed herself. A coquettish smile returned to her lips.
"It would be Russell's honor to be raised by the legendary knight of the Reach. Please guide him well and make him as great a knight as yourself."
"Good." Pleased with her obedience, Samwell added, "Pacify the Merryweather bannermen. Make them swear loyalty to you. If any refuse, you know what to do."
"I understand," Lady Taena replied through gritted teeth. The bloodstains on her face, left uncleaned, now lent her a ruthless air.
Samwell said no more. He pushed open the door and stepped inside.
---
The room was dim and grim, lit by a single candle. The air smelled of dampness and decay.
The space was small, sparsely furnished with only a bed and a table.
Lady Olenna lay on the bed, turning her head just as Samwell entered.
"Samwell? You rascal, you're finally here. Any later, and I might've died of boredom in this wretched place."
Samwell detected the weakness in her voice and frowned in concern.
"What did they do to you?"
"Orton Merryweather? That coward wouldn't dare harm me," Olenna replied, propping herself up with some effort. "It's my own fault for being blind to the treachery brewing in Longtable Keep. The thought of it made me too angry to eat or sleep…"
"You were preoccupied with Highgarden. Anyone would've been distracted."
"Spare me the platitudes," Olenna said, waving her hand dismissively. "I was careless, plain and simple. Fortunately, you were cautious enough to avoid their trap."
Samwell silently agreed, though his so-called caution was thanks to his knowledge of the original story. He had long known the Merryweathers couldn't be trusted and had avoided walking blindly into their clutches.
"Are you hungry? Shall I have some food brought up?" he asked.
"Actually, I am."
Samwell immediately stepped out and instructed a servant to bring some food. He specifically requested something light and easy to digest, mindful of Lady Olenna's weakened state.
Soon, a servant arrived with oatmeal porridge, berries, and a boiled egg.
As Olenna sipped the porridge, she asked,
"How did you deal with the Merryweathers?"
"I killed Lord Orton. Lady Taena is now managing things in his place."
"She's an ambitious woman. Are you sure you can control her?"
"I had her publicly execute Ser Gerold Hill," Samwell replied. "Additionally, I've taken her son, Russell Merryweather, as my ward."
"Well done," Olenna said, nodding approvingly. "And what of Margaery?"
"She's still en route. She'll arrive at Longtable tomorrow."
"Good. Once we retake Highgarden, I'll see to it that the two of you are wed."
Samwell expressed his gratitude with sincerity. After all his efforts, it seemed he had finally earned Olenna's full approval.
"It's a pity we missed the chance to invade East at stormlands…" Olenna sighed. "Such a rare opportunity. I heard you've already captured Bronze Gate?"
"Yes," Samwell replied with a smile. "Not just Bronze Gate—Storm's End is also mine."
Olenna's eyes widened in surprise. She studied him intently.
"It seems Margaery's faith in you was better placed than my own. She was confident you could take Storm's End, while I mocked her for being blinded by love."
"Just luck," Samwell said humbly, though his thoughts drifted to Melisandre's pregnancy and the strange twist of fate at Storm's End. It felt as though the Lord of Light had toyed with him there.
"Well, no matter the means, taking Storm's End is a great success!" Olenna's voice regained some vigor. "With Storm's End under your control, the Stormlands are yours for the taking. You've become a true lord of great standing. Margaery will not be marrying beneath her station."
"It's all thanks to the Tyrell family's support," Samwell said earnestly.
Olenna, pleased with his deference, changed the subject.
"Have the northern forces returned?"
"Yes, but only the cavalry has arrived. The infantry will take another six or seven days. I've also coordinated with House Hightower. They've assembled a large army in southern Highgarden. We've agreed to launch a simultaneous offensive against the rebels and the ironborn tomorrow at noon."
"Good. Lead your forces with confidence. Drive the ironborn out from the Reach first. As for House Oakheart… we'll consider their terms later."
"Understood." Samwell nodded.
After finishing her porridge, Olenna seemed to recall something.
"Any news from the southern forces?"
"None…" Samwell frowned.
"That's odd."
Indeed, it was strange. The southern forces were commanded by Ser Garlan Tyrell, Mace Tyrell's second son. Given his concern for Highgarden, Garlan should have ridden hard to return with his cavalry as soon as he received word of trouble.
Even if he couldn't match Samwell's dragon for speed, he shouldn't have been slower than the northern forces' cavalry.
"Could he have gone directly to Highgarden?" Samwell wondered aloud.
"No," Olenna said, shaking her head. "He might have headed to Cider Hall."
The realization struck Samwell immediately.
Garlan Tyrell's wife was the daughter of Lord Raymon Fossoway, the lord of the Cider Hall.
During his earlier patrols of the Mander River, Samwell had noted that Cider Hall was under siege by the ironborn. Garlan might have diverted to rescue his in-laws.
From a tactical perspective, this made sense. On land, especially on the Reach's wide plains, cavalry was a natural counter to the ironborn. Garlan's actions would undoubtedly lift the siege on Cider Hall.
But politically, the situation was more complicated.
What were the Fossoway family's loyalties? Had they sided with the Lannisters?
Could the ironborn siege be a ruse?
Samwell recalled the Fossoways' behavior during the Highgarden hunt. They hadn't openly declared their allegiance, leaving their position ambiguous.
Olenna, deep in thought, voiced his concerns.
"Let's hope the Fossoways don't betray us. Lead your troops out tomorrow as planned."
"Understood." Samwell stood. "You should rest now."
---
Cider Hall
The arrival of the Reach's southern cavalry quickly forced the ironborn besieging the Cider Hall to retreat toward the Mander River.
"They fled quickly!" Ser Sadie Rowan sneered, reining in his horse as he watched the ironborn scramble to their longships.
"Our enemy is cautious," Garlan Tyrell remarked grimly. "That's not a good sign."
"Don't worry. The ironborn are raiders, not conquerors. If they dared occupy a castle, they'd all die inside. They're sea monsters, after all—stay on land too long, and they dry out."
Garlan nodded silently, though his expression remained tense. He turned his horse and rode toward the castle gates.
The Fossoway soldiers, recognizing him, raised the portcullis and allowed his party to enter.
"Lord Raymon," Garlan said urgently upon dismounting. "Is my wife Leonette here?"
Raymon Fossoway sighed and shook his head.
"She stayed with us for a time after you left for the campaign, but she returned to Highgarden a month ago."
Garlan's face fell.
Raymon placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"Come, have some food and rest. You must be exhausted after all the journey back. We can discuss Highgarden's fate tomorrow.
The group entered the banquet hall and took their seats.
The servants brought out food and wine, but no musicians had been arranged for the evening. With Lord Raymon's daughter trapped in Highgarden, there was no mood for singing or dancing.
The meal proceeded in silence, the air heavy with unspoken thoughts. Few words were exchanged, and every clink of cutlery seemed louder in the quiet room.
After finishing his plate, Garlan wiped his mouth with a napkin and turned to Raymon, his tone calm but questioning.
"Lord Raymon, have you been in touch with my grandmother? She should still be at Bitterbridge."
Raymon nodded, though his tone was vague. "Yes, we've been in contact."
Before Garlan could ask more, Raymon shifted the conversation.
"Garlan, what do you think is the best way to resolve Highgarden's crisis?"
Garlan sighed, leaning back in his chair.
"To be honest, I don't know," he admitted, his brow furrowed deeply. "That's why I want to reach my grandmother. She always has a way of handling these situations."
Raymon shook his head slowly.
"Even Lady Olenna may not have a solution this time. Think about it—your father, your brother, your wife, and so many others are hostages in Highgarden. How could we attack the castle while they're inside? The only option might be negotiation."
Garlan lowered his head, saying nothing.
Raymon studied him for a moment, then continued.
"And we can probably guess what Lady Arwyn Oakheart's condition for peace will be: Samwell Caesar."
Garlan's expression hardened instantly. He looked up, his voice sharp.
"My grandmother would never agree to that. Samwell is not just an ally—he is Margaery's betrothed and a vital symbol of the Tyrell family's strength. Betraying him would destroy our credibility among the Reach's nobility."
Raymon leaned forward slightly, his tone more pressing.
"They're not married yet. Sacrificing one man to save Highgarden and everyone inside—can you honestly say that's not a fair trade?"
Garlan snorted coldly, his anger barely contained.
"It's impossible! The Tyrells will never yield to traitors!"
Raymon sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping as though burdened by an unbearable weight. He stood slowly and clapped his hands twice.
The sharp sound echoed in the hall.
Suddenly, the faint shuffling of footsteps and the rasp of steel rang out. Armed men emerged from the shadows, their drawn swords gleaming in the flickering candlelight.
Garlan instinctively reached for his sword, but his hand found nothing—his weapon had been left outside. Before he could move, the cold point of a blade pressed against his throat.
"Lord Raymon!" Garlan's voice was sharp with disbelief and fury. "What is the meaning of this?"
Raymon approached him slowly, his face somber yet resolute.
"Forgive me, Garlan. The Reach must not become Samwell Caesar's domain. I hope that one day, you will understand my actions."
(End of Chapter)