บท 286: Chapter 287: The Storm King
"Do you feel any better, Myrcella?"
In the old palace of Sunspear, Princess Arianne Martell asked gently.
"My… my head feels dizzy," Princess Myrcella murmured as she struggled to sit up in bed. "What happened to me?"
"We were watching the rain-calling ritual by the Greenblood River when a commotion broke out in the crowd. An assassin had hidden among the people, trying to harm you. Luckily, the guards arrived in time, and you only hurt your arm."
Myrcella looked at her tightly bandaged right hand. Memories of the incident slowly returned, and a shiver of fear ran through her.
"Was the assassin caught? Who sent them?"
"We couldn't capture them. But don't worry—I've already increased your security detail. I won't let anything like this happen again."
"Thank you," Myrcella said softly.
"It's my duty. Rest well. The wound isn't serious, but you lost a lot of blood, so don't take it lightly."
"Okay." Myrcella obediently lay back down.
"By the way," Arianne added, "I have some good news for you."
"Good news?"
"The man who killed your brother will soon face the punishment he deserves."
"You mean the man who killed Joffrey?"
"Yes," Arianne replied, a flash of cold resolve in her eyes. "My father has gone to avenge my uncle's death."
Myrcella's heart trembled.
She knew that the man who killed Arianne's uncle, the Red Viper Prince Oberyn, was the same one who killed her brother Joffrey—
Samwell Caesar.
The knight who, at the tournament in King's Landing, had presented her with the crown of the Queen of Love and Beauty.
Her feelings about him were complicated.
Though he had killed her brother, she couldn't bring herself to hate him.
Now, he was going to die?
An inexplicable sadness welled up in Myrcella's heart—a sorrow she felt she should not have.
---
"'A man owes the gods a life.'"
Hearing these words, Samwell's mind roared as if struck by thunder. He instantly realized that the girl before him, Princess Myrcella, was actually a Faceless Man in disguise!
But when had he ever owed the Many-Faced God a life?
Numbness rapidly spread upward. He could no longer feel his right hand.
Poison!
"Get out!" Samwell roared, swinging his left hand with a ferocious force.
The Faceless Man froze, clearly unprepared for Samwell to have enough strength left to attack. Even more shocking was Samwell's speed—it was lightning fast.
There was no time to dodge.
Smack!
Samwell's large hand seized the Faceless Man's face.
Under the immense pressure, the Faceless Man was lifted like a rag doll and slammed against the iron chair behind him.
Crunch!
His head burst like a watermelon.
The gathered nobles erupted into startled cries, still struggling to comprehend what had just happened.
Then they saw the corpse on the iron chair begin to change, revealing the slim form of a man.
A Faceless Man.
This was an assassination attempt on Caesar!
"No!" Margaery screamed as she rushed forward. "Sam!"
But Loras grabbed his sister, holding her back.
Samwell turned, staggered, and saw this scene.
A bitter, mocking smile tugged at his lips.
"So… this was the Tyrells' plan all along…"
No wonder the Queen of Thorns had made her suggestion without worrying about arousing his suspicion.
Even if he had refused to acknowledge Myrcella as queen, they had another way to kill him.
And Doran Martell…
Samwell's gaze landed on the Prince of Sunspear, whose cold expression said it all.
What a fool he'd been, thinking Doran had genuinely sought an alliance. In truth, the prince had merely set a trap to lower his guard.
So that's why Doran had seemed so accommodating earlier.
Tywin Lannister, Olenna Redwyne, Doran Martell, Varys… Samwell suddenly realized how many master schemers had conspired against him.
His thoughts grew sluggish. His body felt as heavy as lead.
With a loud thud, Samwell collapsed to his knees.
Outside the cave, Cleopatra grew frenzied, thrashing against the stone pillars barring her path.
Margaery wrestled free of Loras's grip.
"Let me go!" she cried.
"Margaery…" Loras faltered, too ashamed to meet his sister's eyes.
Smack!
Margaery slapped him hard, breaking free, and ran toward her husband.
At least she hadn't betrayed him…
Seeing her rushing toward him, Samwell found a shred of solace. He reached out to embrace her.
But darkness surged over him, swallowing him whole.
He felt no embrace. Only—
Cold.
---
Storm's End.
In front of a blazing hearth, Melisandre screamed.
Her eyes glowed crimson, her skin oozed droplets of blood, and her swollen belly looked ready to burst.
Dark blood gushed from her, and a shadow crowned with light began to emerge.
She trembled and wept.
Finally, the shadow stood tall, as large as a grown man.
Its face was a dark, indistinct replica of Samwell Caesar's.
The flames in the hearth roared, leapt, and seemed to cheer as they welcomed their master into the world.
The shadow moved to leave, but Melisandre clung to it.
"Remember who you are!" she cried desperately. "Caesar, remember who you are!"
The shadow bellowed in rage, shaking her off, and vanished into the night.
---
---
Bloodstone Isle
Margaery lay on Samwell's chest, crying uncontrollably, her sobs tearing through the silence.
Loras stood nearby, wanting to console her but unable to find the words. Shame and guilt clenched his heart, leaving him desperate to flee the scene.
The Stormland nobles stood frozen, their shock evident, yet their expressions betrayed confusion and unease.
The Dornish nobles were also shocked, but their eyes glimmered with schadenfreude.
The Reach lords bore the most complicated expressions of all.
Prince Doran Martell cleared his throat, preparing to speak.
But just then, a cold wind swept through the cave.
The sunlight streaming into the cavern seemed to shiver.
Everyone felt an eerie, malevolent presence seep into the air, carrying the stench of death and decay.
It was as if a shadow had flitted by…
Before anyone could react, the figure on the dais—the supposedly dead Samwell—began to rise!
For the first time, a look of genuine shock crossed Doran Martell's face.
"Areo," he called out to his guard, his voice tinged with resignation and frustration.
Areo Hotah instantly understood. Raising his massive axe, he charged toward Samwell.
The giant man was like an enraged bear, barreling forward with terrifying force.
But Samwell, standing tall on the dais, unsheathed the greatsword on his back—
A flaming red blade.
The fire surged forth, engulfing the cavern.
Areo was like a moth darting toward the flame—unyielding but ultimately futile.
The roaring fire consumed his axe, armor, and flesh, leaving nothing but ashes.
Boom!
The cavern trembled violently as Cleopatra finally broke through two stone pillars and stormed inside.
The massive dragon spread her wings, casting a shadow over the crowd. It was as if she awaited Samwell's command to incinerate everyone with her scorching flames.
"Sam!" Margaery cried out, a mix of joy and hesitation in her voice.
The man before her felt utterly alien, his demeanor completely transformed.
His eyes were no longer familiar—they were blood-red.
Cold, unfeeling, blood-red.
Devoid of any trace of humanity.
Samwell seemed deaf to Margaery's voice as his blood-red gaze swept slowly across the cavern.
Each person who met his eyes felt an overwhelming, divine power bearing down on them, compelling them to kneel in awe and submission.
"Sam!" Margaery called again, this time daring to take his hand.
It was blisteringly hot.
She winced but held on tightly, refusing to let go.
The wreath of winter roses atop her head began emitting a faint chill, easing the searing heat.
This chill flowed through their clasped hands, spreading to Samwell's body. The bronze armor he wore seemed to come alive, its ancient runes glowing with pale light. A web of white patterns spread across the armor and onto Samwell himself, resembling a lattice of eternal ice.
Meanwhile, the greatsword Dawn flared with radiant fire, its red-gold patterns creeping from the blade onto Samwell's other side.
The two opposing forces—the chill of ancient ice and the heat of fiery flames—achieved a tenuous balance, dividing Samwell's body in two. One side was covered in pale frost, resembling eternal winter, while the other burned with red-gold fire, like an unquenchable inferno.
The onlookers watched this surreal transformation in stunned silence, too terrified to utter a word.
Cleopatra sensed the change and let out a thunderous roar.
Her piercing cry echoed through the cavern, dislodging small stones from the ceiling.
Samwell's consciousness flickered back to life.
Yet the world he saw was fractured—one half aflame, the other encased in frost.
In the icy realm, pale figures stood tall, their eyes like blue stars, their armor blending seamlessly with the snow. A woman of ice emerged from among them, a wreath of winter roses on her head and a crown of frost in her hands.
She placed the icy crown on Samwell's head, her voice like the crack of frozen rivers.
Speaking in a long-lost tongue, her words nonetheless rang clear to Samwell:
"Wear the crown of frost, and you shall be the Master of Winter, the Ruler of Night."
"You are—" the icy woman proclaimed loudly,
"The Night King!"
In the flaming realm, a glowing red sword appeared.
It was the sword Samwell had forged.
A weapon of unimaginable power, capable of destroying all—yet fragile, as if it might shatter at a touch.
Something was missing.
What was missing?
Samwell turned and saw his wife, Nissa Nissa.
She gazed at him with a look both gentle and resolute, her eyes shining with red-gold light.
Loosening her robe, she revealed her bare chest.
Realization dawned upon Samwell. Gripping the red sword, he plunged it into her heart.
The smoldering blade pierced her beating heart, absorbing her blood, soul, and courage.
The blade became the fabled Lightbringer!
"Go, save the world," she whispered to him. "You are the prince that was promised, Azor Ahai…"
But suddenly, her face twisted.
It became the face of the Red Priestess, Melisandre.
Her eyes wept blood as she screamed:
"Remember who you are!"
Who am I?
Samwell was jolted.
Who am I?
Cleopatra let out another deafening roar.
"Sam!" Margaery threw her arms around him.
It was like embracing both ice and fire, clutching both winter and summer.
Who am I?
Samwell's gaze cleared. The red-gold and pale white lights gradually faded.
Who am I?
He was not the Night King, nor Azor Ahai reborn.
"I am Caesar!" Samwell declared.
The world stilled. Time itself seemed to pause.
A piercing, otherworldly screech echoed through the air, twisting and writhing before fading away in unwilling defeat.
The patterns of fire and frost vanished from Samwell's body, restoring his natural color.
The greatsword Dawn ceased burning, its blade returning to a pale white. The bronze armor, Chrinicle, shed its icy mist, reverting to its ancient, weathered hue.
All the strange phenomena disappeared, as if they had never happened.
Samwell's black eyes returned. He pulled Margaery close and kissed her hair, whispering in her ear:
"Will you be Caesar's queen or the Rose of Highgarden?"
Margaery hesitated briefly.
She understood the weight of his words and knew that Highgarden bore no innocence in this assassination attempt.
From this moment forward, Caesar and Highgarden were irrevocably divided.
"I will be your queen!" she declared firmly.
Tears streamed down her face as she added, "We swore before the Seven—one soul, one body. No one can separate us!"
At her words, she recalled the prophecy whispered by the mysterious old woman at Bitterbridge. What she had once dismissed as mad ravings had come true, piece by piece:
"A faceless girl, a golden serpent in her hair;
The eagle devoured by flame and frost, reborn as a roaring dragon;
The golden rose falls from its stem, drowned in sorrow and tears…"
Now she understood—the rose falling from its stem symbolized her separation from Highgarden and House Tyrell.
Margaery did not regret her choice.
The rose had fallen, but it would bloom again, undying.
"Good," Samwell said, kissing her again before turning to retrieve the bloodstained crown from the corpse.
The crown of Aegon the Conqueror.
Its blood-red rubies glimmered malevolently, the Valyrian steel sharp as blades.
Three centuries ago, the Dragon King Aegon wore this crown to unite Westeros.
Now, Samwell placed it upon his own head.
The cavern fell silent for a moment.
"Storm King!" cried Selwyn Tarth, suddenly understanding.
He stepped forward, drawing his sword, and knelt before Samwell. "House Tarth swears fealty to you!"
Lady Merryweather soon followed, kneeling to pledge her loyalty.
Then came the other Stormland lords—Ralph Buckler, Bryen Caron, and more.
One by one, they knelt before Samwell, swearing their allegiance.
The title of Earl of Storm's End on the attribute panel quickly faded away, and was replaced by two new big characters.
For the first time since Aegon the Conqueror unified Westeros, this title reappeared in grandeur, echoing through the stone halls of Bloodstone isles:
"Storm King!"
"Storm King!"
"Storm King!"
(End of Volume III)
TL: Was my translation up to par?
What do you guys think so far?
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