บท 256: Chapter 257: To Caesar What Is Caesar’s
As the first rays of dawn cast their light over the walls of Storm's End, the battle within the city had largely subsided.
The Stormlanders, clinging to a desperate resistance, finally accepted their defeat. Many, after discarding their weapons, broke into loud sobs—
The castle, which had stood as an unyielding symbol in the hearts of the Stormlanders, had finally fallen into the hands of the Reachmen.
For the proud Stormlanders, this was a bitter pill to swallow.
Samwell Caesar had little interest in understanding the fragile and tumultuous emotions of the Stormlanders. His own emotions were equally conflicted.
The capture of Storm's End was undoubtedly a great triumph, yet the matter of his younger brother, Dickon, loomed over him like a shadow he couldn't shake.
Being familiar with the original story, Samwell was well aware that the resurrection magic of the Lord of Light often came with hidden costs. However, if it were merely memory loss, personality changes, or even physical disabilities, Samwell would have accepted it and been grateful to the Lord of Light.
But Dickon's situation was different—clearly manipulated by the Lord of Light, turned into nothing more than a tool. This time, he had been sent on the near-suicidal mission of assassinating the Bastard Lord. And next time?
If by some chance he survived again, would it even matter? The Lord of Light could simply resurrect him once more.
What difference would there be between his brother and a puppet?
And not just his brother—what about Samwell's own fate?
Had he, too, become a pawn in some grand divine plan?
Samwell had once gone to great lengths to align himself with the ancient prophecy from Asshai. But now, he found himself disgusted by his role as the "Prince That Was Promised."
The fall of Highgarden also seemed preordained by the gods. Melisandre had warned him at Eagle's Nest about the prophecy of "The Wilting Rose."
At the time, he hadn't taken it seriously. But now, the harsh reality struck him hard.
A few cotton-like clouds floated in the azure sky, forming what seemed like a cold and indifferent face that silently conveyed to Samwell—
Mortal, be humble.
"Lord Caesar, your brother is awake," came the maester's voice.
"Alright," Samwell snapped out of his thoughts and headed for the room.
Upon entering, the strong scent of herbs and faint traces of blood filled his nostrils.
The curtains had been drawn open, letting the bright morning sunlight pour in, dispelling some of the oppressive atmosphere.
"Brother," Dickon Tarly lay on a wooden bed near the window. His face was pale, but his expression was spirited, like a child eager for praise.
"Dickon," Samwell approached the bed with mixed emotions. He wanted to scold his brother for his reckless actions, but seeing the eager and admiring look in Dickon's eyes, the words turned into praise instead. "You're the greatest hero of this war!"
Dickon beamed with joy. "Does this mean I'm worthy of becoming a knight?"
"Of course," Samwell replied. "Not only that, you'll be one of the most famous knights in the Seven Kingdoms. Bards will sing your name, and noble ladies will dream of climbing into your bed."
Dickon flushed slightly. "Brother, I'm already engaged to Miss Elora Florent."
Samwell burst into laughter. At that moment, his younger brother finally felt familiar again.
"Your engagement with Lady Ellora might not be possible anymore."
"Why not?"
"We've taken Storm's End. Stannis Baratheon must hate us now. The Florent family will have to choose between Stannis and us. Who do you think they'll pick?"
"Probably Stannis," Dickon mused. "Our aunt... What's her name again? She's married to Stannis, right?"
"Aunt Selyse," Samwell reminded him, his worry deepening as he noticed his brother's memory lapses. "She's now Stannis's queen, and our grandfather is his Hand of the King."
"Oh, right," Dickon said with a sudden realization. "Grandfather probably wouldn't agree to Elora marrying me."
A mocking smile crossed Samwell's lips. "Stannis won't be king for long. I've already received word of his crushing defeat in his attack on King's Landing—his fleet was nearly annihilated. So, the Florents might reconsider. If you want to marry Elora, there's still hope."
"Brother, who do you think I should marry?" Dickon asked.
Samwell hesitated before saying, "That's something you should discuss with Father."
"Alright." Dickon didn't seem too concerned about the matter and changed the subject. "Brother, since I'm worthy of knighthood, will you knight me?"
Meeting his brother's expectant gaze, Samwell smiled and nodded. "Once you've recovered, I'll knight you."
"I can do it now," Dickon said, struggling to sit up.
Samwell tried to dissuade him. "Don't rush. It should be done properly. Ideally, you'd hold vigil in a sept, and a septon would anoint you with holy oils—"
"No need for all that," Dickon insisted. "Having your knighting is enough for me!"
Unable to refuse, Samwell helped his brother to the floor, where Dickon knelt on one knee.
Samwell drew the greatsword Dawn. Its blade didn't ignite this time but glowed faintly with red-gold patterns.
As Samwell laid the sword on his brother's shoulder, he noticed the same red-gold light flickering in Dickon's eyes.
Suppressing his turbulent thoughts, Samwell spoke solemnly:
"Dickon Tarly of Horn Hill, do you swear, before the gods and men, that from this day forth, you will fight for the dignity of the weak, for the safety of women and children, and for the honor of your liege lord? Will you hold true to these vows no matter the hardship, no matter how humble the path ahead?"
"I swear," Dickon replied fervently.
Samwell moved the sword from his brother's right shoulder to his left. "May the Father grant you justice."
Then back again. "May the Mother grant you mercy."
"May the Warrior grant you courage. May the Smith grant you strength. May the Crone grant you wisdom."
Finally, Samwell sheathed the greatsword and smiled. "Rise, Ser Dickon Tarly."
He helped his brother back onto the bed. Blood had begun to seep through the white bandages, but Dickon seemed unbothered, his face glowing with satisfaction. It was as if the sacrifices he had made were all for this moment.
Samwell, however, felt uneasy. His smile faded as he cautiously asked, "Dickon, how did you come up with the idea to disguise yourself as a messenger and assassinate Edric Storm?"
"It just came to me," Dickon said. "And the more I thought about it, the better it seemed..."
"It was a terrible idea," Samwell interrupted. "Do you know how risky that was? Even if you succeeded, the Stormlanders would have killed you in their fury."
Dickon's gaze darkened. After a long silence, he murmured, "Brother, I already died once, didn't I?"
Samwell froze.
Dickon smiled faintly. "I died in Skyreach, didn't I?"
"No. You're alive and well," Samwell insisted firmly.
"Don't lie to me, Brother," Dickon sighed. "I remember you giving me your horse so I could escape the sept. But midway, an arrow struck me off the horse. Then, a longsword pierced through the gap in my armor, shredding my heart. I still remember the pain..."
"Don't dwell on it," Samwell said, placing a hand on Dickon's shoulder.
"But what else is there to think about?" Dickon's face clouded with fatigue and confusion. "I can't remember so much anymore—Horn Hill's castle, the names and faces of our sisters, even Father. Everything's fading. But you, Brother—you're the only one I remember clearly."
Samwell remained silent.
"It was the true god, R'hllor, who brought me back, wasn't it?" Dickon continued. "He gave me a mission..."
"Mission, my ass!" Samwell cursed. "You live for yourself, not for R'hllor or me."
Dickon smiled faintly. "I thought you'd like this change in me. Besides, I've heard the prophecy in the flames. You're the chosen hero, Brother, destined to lead mankind against the darkness. Fighting for you is an honor."
"Who decides what's righteous and what's evil?" Samwell replied bitterly. "We invaded the Stormlands—was that righteous or evil? The Stormlanders who fought for their lords—righteous or evil? Both sides' knights fought for honor, but what is honor?"
Dickon's confusion flickered briefly before the red-gold light overtook his eyes. He replied fervently, "Fighting for you is honor. Fighting for you is justice!"
Samwell sighed, choosing not to argue further.
It wasn't that he rejected the Lord of Light's aid; in fact, he initially thought about clinging to the Lord of Light for support. However, after witnessing the god's manipulation of his brother's thoughts, he felt an uncontrollable sense of disgust and aversion.
"Get some good rest," Samwell said instead. "I'll withdraw the troops and return to the Reach tomorrow. Just stay here at Storm's End and recuperate."
"Okay." Deacon nodded in agreement.
Samwell stood up to leave, and as he reached the door, he turned back again, only to see his brother looking over, flashing him a brilliant smile.
I will take you back from the hands of the gods, Samwell silently vowed.
You are not a tool of the gods, but the brother of Caesar.
Unto the gods, let that which is theirs be rendered; but that which is Caesar's, shall be claimed by Caesar alone!
(Render unto Caesar the things that are Caesar's, and unto God the things that are God's)
(End of Chapter)
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