Chapter 262: Dreams

Surprise and disbelief struck Samwell like a stone cast into a still lake, sending ripples of emotion through his heart.

In both his past and present lives, this was the first time he would have a child of his own.

Since arriving in this strange new world, Samwell had never felt so deeply connected to it.

He was finally putting down roots here.

"Was it that night in Grassy Vale?" he asked, unable to stop himself from gently resting a hand on Margaery's barely rounded belly. His tone was tender beyond measure.

"It should be," Margaery replied, covering his hand with hers, her smile radiant with maternal warmth. "Grandmother has agreed to let us marry ahead of schedule. We were planning to go to the Stormlands to find you, but… well, this happened along the way."

Samwell now understood why Lady Olenna had not been at Highgarden; she had been accompanying her pregnant granddaughter.

But perhaps her absence from Highgarden was also why she failed to notice the rebellion brewing.

"What happened at Highgarden?" he asked.

"It was the Oakheart! They betrayed Highgarden and allied with the Ironborn!" Margaery's voice was heavy with fury.

"The Oakhearts…" Samwell had suspected as much.

When Ser Omer Oakheart died at Bronze gate Town, both Samwell and Lord Randyll had anticipated potential retaliation from the Oakhearts. They had even written to Lady Olenna, warning her to stay vigilant.

It seemed that letter had crossed paths with Olenna as she journeyed to Bitterbridge.

"Were there any other Reach lords involved in the rebellion?"

"There are rumors about Ser Igon of House Vyrwel, but the Vyrwel's have sent a letter swearing their loyalty and denying any involvement."

Samwell nodded. He knew Igon was the captain of Highgarden's guard, and his supposed betrayal would have been devastating if true.

"Where is Lady Olenna now?"

"She's at Longtable," Margaery said.

"The Merryweather family's Longtable?"

"Yes. Lord Orton Merryweather has raised an army to hold off the Ironborn advancing up the Mander River. Longtable has become their primary target, and Grandmother went there to support the Merryweathers and rally other Reach lords to send reinforcements."

Samwell knew Longtable was strategically vital. Situated at the confluence of the Mander River and the Blueburn, holding Longtable secured the upper Mander and the Blueburn Valley.

But if Longtable had become the front line, it meant the wealthiest parts of the Reach, including Highgarden, were already lost.

It didn't make sense.

Even if the Oakhearts had collaborated with the Ironborn and managed to catch Highgarden off guard, the news had spread by now. Why were the Reach lords so slow to respond?

Especially the fleet from the Arbor.

If the Redwyne fleet had blocked the mouth of the Mander, the Ironborn would have been trapped with no way out.

Samwell recalled how no Redwyne forces had come to assist during the siege of Storm's End. Could the Arbor also be complicit in the rebellion? Or were they deliberately letting the chaos unfold?

"Grandmother asked me to wait for you here, Sam. How soon can the northern army return?"

"The main infantry will take about ten days," Samwell replied. "But Father has sent the cavalry ahead. They should be here in two or three days."

Margaery's face clouded with worry. "I hope they can hurry. My parents and brother are still in Highgarden…"

Her voice broke, and she covered her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

Samwell embraced her gently, whispering words of comfort.

"Sam, should we go to Longtable and join Grandmother?" Margaery asked.

"Let's wait a bit longer," Samwell said after some thought. "The two of us wouldn't be of much help. It's better to wait for the cavalry and head there together."

"Alright."

In truth, Samwell hesitated to bring Margaery to Longtable because he didn't fully trust the Merryweathers.

The chaos in the Reach felt orchestrated, and Samwell suspected Tywin Lannister was behind it.

The old lion had been unnervingly quiet in Harrenhal, and Samwell doubted he was simply watching from the sidelines.

Omer Oakheart's death had seemed like an accident at the time, but Samwell now wondered if it had been part of a larger plot to incite rebellion in the Reach.

The Oakhearts' rapid coordination with the Ironborn felt premeditated.

It seemed likely that the Lannisters had brokered this alliance between the Oakhearts and the Ironborn, setting the stage for the rebellion.

Samwell also suspected Tywin had already swayed other factions within the Reach. The Merryweathers, in particular, seemed like prime candidates for Lannister allies.

In the original story, Orton Merryweather had later become Hand of the King under Queen Cersei, while his wife, Lady Tanda, acted as a spy for the Lannisters, betraying the Tyrells.

Given their history, Samwell doubted the Merryweathers' loyalty to Highgarden in the current crisis.

Lady Olenna's decision to go to Longtable might have been a mistake. But with her son and grandson trapped in Highgarden, it was understandable for her judgment to be clouded by concern.

Still, Samwell had no intention of risking his life—or Margaery's—on the Merryweathers' supposed loyalty.

As these thoughts swirled in his mind, he realized Margaery had fallen asleep in his arms.

She must have been utterly exhausted from the stress and worry of recent days.

Moving carefully, Samwell carried her to her bedroom and laid her on the bed.

After tucking her in, he noticed a wreath of flowers on the bedside table—woven from winter roses.

The crimson petals looked almost like drops of blood, radiating a strange beauty.

The sight stirred a vague sense of familiarity in Samwell, though he couldn't place it.

Shrugging off the thought, he returned to his room, washed, ate a simple meal, and went to bed early.

---

That night, Samwell dreamed uneasily.

In one dream, he sat upon the Iron Throne, gazing down at the lords and nobles who knelt before him, begging for his favor.

He smiled as he accepted their oaths of fealty.

But then his hand brushed against one of the throne's jagged spikes, slicing his skin.

Blood trickled down his arm, dripping onto the throne.

The lords gasped, their voices rising in a cacophony:

"The Iron Throne rejects him! He is unworthy of the crown!"

Samwell leapt to his feet, only to find the throne's metal spikes curling around his legs, climbing higher and higher as they pierced his flesh.

The nobles began to laugh and jeer as someone charged up the throne's steps and drove a sword into his chest.

Samwell woke with a start, drenched in sweat.

The image of the assailant's face lingered—golden hair and piercing golden eyes.

Tywin Lannister.

Shaking his head, Samwell chuckled at himself. The stress must be getting to him.

After changing into clean clothes, he lay back down and fell asleep once more.

This time, he dreamed of the Wall.

The icy wind whipped through the air, scattering snow in a blinding white haze.

Samwell stood atop the Wall, surrounded by countless figures.

They were not men.

Pale as snow, with eyes like frozen stars and armor that shimmered like ice, they radiated an otherworldly beauty.

They spoke in a language like the cracking of ice. Samwell couldn't understand their words but sensed they were cheering for him.

Beside him stood a woman, her hair adorned with a wreath of winter roses.

She spoke the same language, but this time, he understood.

They were calling him "King."

Samwell woke again, rain tapping softly against the windows.

Unable to sleep, he wandered to the balcony.

The cool night air carried the scent of rain, its chill chasing away the unease of his dreams.

He thought of the icy woman in his vision. He had seen her once before in a hallucination brought on by his armor Chronicle.

He had almost forgotten her, but the winter rose wreath beside Margaery's bed had brought it all back.

He didn't know what it meant.

"Roar—"

Cleopatra's cry broke the silence, snapping Samwell back to reality.

He looked up to see the white dragon diving toward him.

With a flap of her wings, Cleopatra landed gracefully before him, her breath warm against his skin.

The eastern sky was beginning to lighten.

Dawn was near.

Samwell mounted Cleopatra, a grin spreading across his face.

"Let's go. It's time to head south and see what's happening."

With a mighty beat of her wings, Cleopatra took to the sky, carrying her rider into the fading darkness.

(End of Chapter)