章 302: Chapter 303: Arrival
When the white dragon descended into the courtyard of Cider Hall, Randyll Tarly stepped forward to greet him.
"Father."
Randyll's eyes lingered on the Valyrian steel circlet crowning his son's head. After a long pause, he gave a small nod.
Dismounting from the dragon, Samwell handed Loras Tyrell over to Ser Hyle Hunt to be guarded, then approached his father.
"Is my brother here yet?"
"He's arrived," Randyll replied. "But I sent him to Brightwater Keep."
Samwell immediately understood his father's intent. Randyll intended for his younger brother, Dickon Tarly, to take over the lands of House Florent.
The Florents, close kin to the Tarlys, had once been staunch supporters of the Horse Faction. Samwell's uncle, Ser Alekyne Florent, had been one of his earliest allies.
Unfortunately, the Florents had shifted their loyalties to Stannis Baratheon, given that his wife, Selyse Florent, came from their house. This was understandable—Stannis was the Iron Throne's legitimate heir, and marrying into the royal family seemed like a logical bet for House Florent.
However, Stannis's disastrous defeat at the Battle of Blackwater Bay, where Tyrion Lannister destroyed his fleet with wildfire, had left him a spent force.
The Florent army had been annihilated, their resources wasted. Many of their family members, including Alester Florent, had perished in the conflict.
Randyll, a practical man, had his sights set on Brightwater Keep. As Lady Melessa Florent, the widow of Alester, and Dickon's betrothed, both had claims to the castle, this was an opportunity to consolidate the Tarly family's influence.
Samwell didn't object.
Randyll, however, shifted the conversation. "Have the Stormlander troops been ransomed?"
"They've been ransomed."
"And what of Doran Martell?" Randyll asked, his expression sharp.
"I had the Dornish lords stab him, one by one, before sending him back to Sunspear. He won't live long."
"Good," Randyll said approvingly. "That should throw Dorne into chaos. But remember: even if Dorne fractures into infighting, don't intervene. They're fiercely xenophobic, and an external threat might unite them against us."
"I understand. After settling matters in the Reach, I'll focus on strengthening the Stormlands."
Randyll nodded. "Only power you can fully control is true power. Never forget that. Even the Horse Faction is not truly loyal. While lords like Hightower, Rowan, and Peake support you now, their allegiance depends on the benefits you can provide. To make them submit completely, you must possess overwhelming strength that leaves them no room for rebellion."
"I understand."
---
With most of the Horse Faction lords now gathered at Cider Hall, the castle was teeming with nobles and knights. Even the grand banquet hall couldn't accommodate them all at once.
Samwell opted to host multiple feasts, each time sitting at the head of the table, wearing the Valyrian steel circlet. Yet none of the Horse Faction lords referred to him as "Your Grace."
This was not unexpected. While they supported him, they had not yet sworn fealty.
During one such feast, Mathis Rowan, Lord of Goldengrove, raised his cup and jeered:
"Sam, the Tyrells betrayed you, yet you still keep their daughter as your wife. Aren't you afraid she'll stab you in your sleep? If you ask me, you should just kill her. And if you can't bring yourself to do it, I can arrange it for you!"
"Lord Mathis, you're drunk," Samwell said with an impeccable smile, his tone betraying no offense.
"Drunk? Nonsense!" Rowan stumbled toward Samwell, throwing a companionable arm over his shoulder. "Listen, once you're rid of her, you can marry my daughter Janyce. She's eighteen, fair enough, and more importantly—broad hips! Perfect for childbearing."
"Lord Rowan," another voice interjected. "I heard your daughter was sullied by a traveling bard."
The speaker was Titus Peake, Lord of Starpike, grinning wickedly.
"Lies!" Rowan roared, glaring at Peake. "Where did you hear such slander? My daughter hasn't even held a man's hand!"
"Right, just as Cersei Lannister is the most virtuous woman in the realm, and the Kingslayer is the most loyal knight," Peake retorted with a laugh. "Admit it, Mathis. The bard's been sent to the Wall, hasn't he? If I were you, I'd have gutted him already."
"Lies! Lies!" Rowan hurled his goblet at Peake but missed, dousing a nearby knight from House Green with wine instead.
The hall erupted into laughter and chaos.
Peake, still grinning, turned to Samwell. "Caesar, if you're considering a new queen, how about my daughter Marga? She's fourteen, freshly flowered, and untouched. Far better than Rowan's secondhand Janyce!"
Enraged by the insult to his daughter, Rowan lunged at Peake, and the two lords began grappling, overturning tables and spilling food and drink.
"Enough!" Samwell's voice cut through the din, sharp and commanding.
Knights rushed forward to separate the two combatants.
Samwell stood, his gaze sweeping the room. His voice was calm but cold.
"I swore vows to Margaery before the Seven. She and I are one body, one soul. To insult her is to insult me."
His right hand tightened around a steel goblet, crushing it effortlessly. He flung the mangled cup to the ground between Rowan and Peake.
"If anyone dares insult Margaery again," he said, his voice steely, "next time, it won't be a goblet I throw—it'll be a white glove."
The hall fell silent.
The gathered lords felt the weight of Samwell's authority, his quiet strength cowing them into submission.
Then, just as suddenly, Samwell's expression softened. He smiled.
"Of course, I understand that Lord Rowan and Lord Peake spoke in jest, their words fueled by drink. No offense was intended."
"Drunk! Yes, drunk!" Rowan stammered, latching onto the excuse.
"Too much wine, indeed," Peake added hastily.
Samwell lifted a fresh goblet and raised it high.
"Let us drink to Queen Margaery!" he proclaimed.
"To Queen Margaery!" Rowan was the first to echo, followed quickly by the rest of the room.
As the lords finished their toast and prepared to resume their seats, Randyll Tarly rose and lifted his own cup.
"To Caesar, the Storm King!"
Samwell turned, meeting his father's gaze. A silent understanding passed between them.
For a moment, the Horse Faction lords hesitated. Then, one by one, they raised their goblets.
"To Caesar, the Storm King!"
The sound of a hundred cups clinking together filled the hall.
For the first time, the ancient title of Storm King was spoken by the lords of the Reach.
It wasn't yet a pledge of fealty, but it was a step forward—a promising start.
(End of Chapter)
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