Chương 316: Chapter 317: The Gentle Armor
The soft autumn breeze, fragrant with the scent of grass and flowers, gently swept through the forested hills.
On the eastern slopes of the Red Mountains, Samwell and his party of several dozen people traveled slowly along a rugged stony path at the base of the hills.
"Your Majesty, as per your request, we conducted a thorough study. I must say, the irrigation system you envision is not only feasible but immensely promising. Once completed, it will add tens of millions of acres of farmland to the Stormlands!" Maester Edgar's face glowed with excitement, even fervor.
Edgar, previously the maester of Fellwood, had once overseen the construction of reservoirs and aqueducts for House Fell.
However, upon hearing of the grand irrigation system envisioned by the Storm King, Edgar was astounded by its ambition.
In all the history of the Seven Kingdoms, perhaps only the Wall could compare to this project in scale.
When he received Samwell's invitation, Edgar didn't hesitate to join this monumental undertaking, one destined to be remembered for generations.
"Your Majesty, please look." Edgar pointed to a nearby mountain stream. "The source of the irrigation system can be established here. The Red Mountains block the moist air currents from the Narrow Sea, resulting in abundant rainfall. You can see numerous streams flowing down from the mountains.
"These natural channels indicate the terrain's gradients. With minor modifications, they can serve as natural conduits. The first reservoir would require about 200 acres of land, with a depth of 80 feet, and its base paved with crushed stone. During the rainy season, the influx of water would easily fill it.
"From the reservoir, a man-made canal would extend outward, 10 feet wide and 5 feet deep, with steps every thousand feet to create a 12-foot drop to prevent sedimentation. Both sides would be lined with embankments, rising 9 feet above the ground.
"To reach the Wendwater River, approximately 300 reservoirs would be required, with the canal spanning 700 miles across the central and northern Stormlands. It would flow from the southwest to the northeast, eventually merging into Blackwater Bay.
"An intricate network of branch canals spreading outward would provide water to nearly 50 million acres of new farmland!"
Samwell, too, felt his heart surge with excitement but asked cautiously:
"How long would it take to complete such a canal?"
"That depends on how much manpower and resources you can mobilize..."
"The initial workforce will consist of 100,000 laborers, increasing to 500,000 or more over time," Samwell replied. "As for supplies, you needn't worry—I'll ensure they're sufficient."
Gavin Mander, the castle steward, frowned slightly at the mention of such a large labor force but remained silent.
Edgar, however, was greatly encouraged and exclaimed enthusiastically:
"With at least 300,000 workers, I estimate this grand project could be completed in three to five years!"
At this, Gavin interjected a reminder:
"Your Grace, building such a massive irrigation system is not merely a matter of manpower and materials. The canal would cross dozens of different lordly territories within the Stormlands. Securing their consent and cooperation will be a significant challenge."
Samwell had anticipated this issue from the beginning.
Large-scale public works projects often required centralized authority. In Westeros, with its feudal system, such initiatives would undoubtedly face resistance.
Although the Stormlands' lords had acknowledged Samwell as their king and sworn fealty, fealty alone didn't grant him the authority to dictate what they could or couldn't do with their own lands.
"I'll handle the negotiations with the lords. For now, begin construction within the lands directly controlled by Storm's End."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Edgar replied confidently. "Once we complete a section of the canal and it yields vast new farmland, other lords will surely be more inclined to cooperate when they see the benefits."
"Exactly," Samwell said with a slight smile.
In truth, his confidence stemmed from the approaching winter.
The Stormlands, located in the south of Westeros, wouldn't face the same extreme cold as the North or the Riverlands. However, temperatures would still drop significantly, reducing crop yields. Fields would only be able to grow hardy crops like rye, potatoes, and beets, leading to inevitable food shortages.
Samwell, however, knew this coming winter would be unprecedentedly harsh and prolonged. Faced with famine and dying subjects, the lords of the Stormlands would find it hard to resist joining a project that could significantly expand farmland.
Once the canal was completed, not only would it mitigate the effects of famine, but it would also greatly enhance Samwell's prestige. More importantly, the organizational mechanisms needed to manage the canal could undermine the foundation of the feudal system.
This was the true reason Samwell was willing to commit immense manpower and resources to the irrigation project.
"Maester Edgar, you'll take the lead on this project. Whatever you need, report to Gavin—he'll ensure full support."
"Yes, Your Majesty!" Edgar took a deep breath, his eyes shining with determination. "I will see this unprecedented project to completion for you!"
After finalizing the canal's plans, Samwell mounted his dragon and returned to Storm's End.
Coincidentally, he arrived just as Margaery Tyrell was returning from an outing.
During this time, Margaery had not remained idle within the castle. As Queen of the Stormlands, she frequently toured the region, held court for women, aided the poor, and attended to the people's needs.
Gavin had once remarked that the queen's charm and approachability had won the hearts of many Storm's End subjects. Her popularity among the people rivaled, if not exceeded, that of Samwell himself.
"Your Grace, you've returned!" Margaery quickened her pace to greet him, exuding an air of regal elegance. The gentle curve of her swelling belly beneath her snow-white woolen cloak added a touch of maternal radiance.
Behind her stood Brienne of Tarth, clad in armor.
Samwell nodded to Brienne before gently embracing his wife.
"Yes, I've been back for two days. I just went to discuss the canal plans with the maester and engineers."
Margaery took his arm and leaned against him like a bird nestled beside its mate. Together, they walked toward their chambers.
"I heard about the canal from Gavin—it's a massive undertaking. But with the Stormlands just settling down, mobilizing so many workers so soon... isn't that a bit rushed?"
"Winter is coming. The Stormlands need more farmland—we can't afford to wait," Samwell reassured her, patting her soft hand. "Don't worry. I've thought it through."
"Alright." Margaery, ever astute, did not press further once her husband had made up his mind.
She also refrained from asking about Highgarden, as if entirely indifferent to its affairs.
Samwell likewise chose not to bring it up. It was an unspoken understanding between them.
When they reached their chambers, Samwell helped her remove her cloak and lit the beeswax candles.
"House Buckler has invited me to Brinze Gate for a tour. Will you join me if you have time?"
"I'm afraid not. I need to travel across the Narrow Sea," Samwell said after a brief hesitation. He decided to tell her the truth. "Katu has confirmed the whereabouts of the last Targaryen princess, Daenerys. I'm going to meet her."
"So, it's her." Margaery showed no visible reaction. "I've heard about her and her three dragons. Samwell, you should marry her. It will make the Seven Kingdoms more willing to accept you as their king."
Samwell was taken aback, staring at his wife in surprise.
Margaery smiled faintly. "What's wrong? You wear the crown of Aegon the Conqueror. Isn't it only fitting to emulate him and take two wives?"
"You wouldn't mind?"
"I would, a little. But I trust you won't neglect me for your new wife, will you?"
Margaery tilted her face upward, gazing at him.
"Of course not," Samwell assured her, knowing exactly what to do. He leaned down and kissed her soft lips.
Her body gradually softened, melting into his embrace like water.
Samwell swept her off her feet and carried her to their bedroom.
...
The next morning, bright sunlight streamed through the windows onto the spotless floor.
Margaery rested her chin in her hands, gazing at the white dragon as it grew smaller in the distance. Her thoughts drifted.
A knock at the door jolted her from her reverie.
"Come in."
Brienne of Tarth entered, bowed, and asked, "Your Grace, will you be going out today?"
"No, I'll rest today," Margaery said lazily, reclining in her chair. She gently caressed her swelling belly. "You can rest too. No need to stay with me all the time."
"Understood." Brienne bowed again and turned to leave.
At the door, however, she hesitated and turned back.
"What is it, Brienne?" Margaery asked with a smile. "Say what's on your mind—I won't be upset."
After a moment's hesitation, Brienne spoke plainly:
"Do you truly not mind if King Samwell takes a second wife?"
Margaery did not answer but instead countered with a question:
"Do you know of House Tyrell's Words?"
"Growing Strong."
"Yes, Growing Strong." A faint sadness appeared on Margery's face, "Grandmother always thought this words lacked grandeur. To her it was a weak saying, simply too uninspiring. She tried to reshape House Tyrell in her own way, attempting to make it more worthy of the title of Lord of the Reach.
But unfortunately, she failed.
Perhaps the blood of the Tyrell's simply does not carry the trait of strength."
Margaery looked at Brienne, offering a gentle smile:
"Just like not every woman can wear iron armor like you. For me, gentleness is the best armor."
As she spoke, Margaery's gaze turned to her rounded belly, her eyes softening:
"More importantly, I will give birth to a boy for Caesar, an heir."
(End of Chapter)
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