Chapter 48: Convincing

"But I worry that Lord Leyton may not be willing to amend the agreement."

"Yes, that's possible." Margaery also suspected that House Hightower might be reluctant to share the profits, and so she offered, "Perhaps I could ask my mother to speak to Lord Leyton on this matter?"

"That might not be wise." Samwell quickly intervened. "If word got out, people might say House Tyrell was vying with its own bannerman for profit."

"Very well," Margaery sighed, abandoning the idea. "How confident are you that you can persuade Lord Leyton to renegotiate?"

"Well…" Samwell put on a pained expression, "it depends on how much of the profits I'm willing to give up to the Hightowers. I imagine Lord Leyton will ask for a larger share."

Feeling somewhat guilty, Margaery replied, "Thank you, Samwell. I'll explain the situation to my father and ask him to ensure you receive a larger share to offset any losses."

"You're truly a kind soul, my lady," Samwell said, barely restraining a smile. "Actually, what I would prefer even more than a share of the profits is compensation in another form."

"Another form?"

"Yes. As you know, most of my current subjects are wildlings, and I have too few Reachmen in my lands. This lack of balance poses a latent danger that could erupt at any moment. And as a Reach noble, I naturally feel more trust in Reachmen. Therefore, I would like permission from the Duke to gather the dispossessed and encourage them to settle in Cape Eagle."

"This…" Margaery hesitated, well aware of how valuable population was for any noble. No wise ruler would allow their people to leave en masse, even those without land.

Samwell's earlier recruitment of dock laborers had already skirted the rules, and House Tyrell had only overlooked it because the numbers were small. But now he was talking about gathering far more people.

Uncertain of the total number of dispossessed in the Reach, Margaery nonetheless knew it wasn't insignificant. Allowing Samwell to take so many would be hard to justify.

Seeing her hesitation, Samwell urged further, "Lady Margaery, those landless wanderers don't contribute taxes to House Tyrell; they're simply a drain on resources. The more of them that linger, the more they tarnish the beauty of Highgarden. Please, let me help clean this blemish for you."

"I'll speak to my father about it," Margaery said, clearly torn, but added quickly, "Rest assured, if he doesn't agree to allow resettlement, we'll arrange other ways to compensate you."

But I only want people! Samwell thought.

At present, he commanded only a few hundred Reachmen, a number far too small compared to his thousands of wildling subjects. And as his reach extended further into the Red Mountains, he was sure to recruit even more wildlings, but he had no real way to balance this with loyal Reachmen.

While Samwell didn't dislike the wildlings, he recognized that an imbalance of this magnitude posed a real threat. The best way forward was to bring enough Reachmen into his lands to offset the numbers—not necessarily to outnumber the wildlings, but at least to hold enough influence to keep them in check.

And with enough Reachmen, he could encourage intermarriage to promote unity. Right now, though, he barely had enough Reachmen to go around among the wildling women.

Gathering himself, Samwell tried again, saying, "Lady Margaery, you're different from most noblewomen. You have a compassionate heart. I remember hearing beggars speak of the food you've shared, bakers say you purchased their fresh pies, and farmers mention how kindly you spoke to them. Though you're of high birth, you never put on airs. I'm sure you understand the hardship of those who have lost their land."

"I give you my word, my lady. Once those poor souls become my subjects, they will want for nothing as long as they're willing to work. May the Seven bear witness to my promise!"

Hearing this, Margaery finally met Samwell's gaze.

He immediately responded with his most sincere, confident look, returning her gaze with unwavering honesty.

After a long pause, the beautiful young woman gave a solemn nod, saying, "Very well. I'll do my best to convince my father to allow it."

That's the promise I needed! Samwell thought with glee. If he weren't afraid of getting pummeled, he might have pulled Margaery in for a hug.

With Margaery's support, he was confident the plan would succeed. Lord Mace Tyrell was not known for his independent thinking and would hardly deny his cherished daughter's wishes over a few insignificant wanderers.

"Thank you for your help, Lady Margaery. Your kindness is sure to be rewarded!"

"Ser Samwell," Margaery's tone grew serious. "I hope you'll remember this promise. Perhaps one day I'll visit your lands myself, and if I find those people's lives are no better…"

"Then you may tell all that Samwell Caesar is a man who breaks his oaths," Samwell replied with equal gravity.

"Good." Margaery's smile returned, bright and sweet. "I trust you won't disappoint me, my knight."

Looking into her bright, earnest eyes, Samwell felt a pang of guilt—he'd gone to great lengths to manipulate her compassion. Was this fair?

Then, reassuring himself, he remembered that he fully intended to improve those people's lives.

With brandy and silver, Cape Eagle would prosper. So really, it wasn't deception—it was strategy.

Of course, manipulating and calculating? Well, those were harder to justify.

But for any great achievement, there were bound to be sacrifices, weren't there? He could always find a way to repay her kindness later.

His thoughts drifted back to Margaery's tragic fate. Her family's ambitions ultimately led her to marry three kings, each as short-lived as the last.

No, Samwell resolved he couldn't let such a sweet and noble woman suffer that fate. And the best way to shield her from it?

To marry her himself!

It was purely out of concern, of course. Certainly not because of her beauty or her connections. And not because of the wealth and power of the Reach. Just a chivalrous sense of duty to save her from future heartbreak.

Though he knew his current status made this an impossible dream, he still had time.

Margaery's first marriage was still a few years off during the chaos of the War of the Five Kings. Samwell figured he had a little over two and a half years.

Yes, it sounded impossible to go from a frontier lord to a man worthy of marrying a duke's daughter in two years. But if he couldn't aim for that, he might as well forget about his dreams of the Iron Throne.

With this in mind, he gave in to the thrill of the dance, spinning Margaery with renewed confidence.

As the notes of a final, lingering chord hung in the air, the dance came to a close.

Samwell stopped, letting Margaery's hand rest in his as he guided her off the floor.

"Thank you, Ser Caesar."

"The pleasure was mine, Lady Margaery."

As he released her hand, he noticed Lord Renly approaching them.

After a courteous nod to Samwell, Renly graciously asked Margaery for the next dance.

Of course, Margaery accepted.

Watching them make their way to the floor, Samwell prepared to return to his precious goldtail shrimp, but froze when he overheard Renly say, "Lady Margaery, your beauty outshines the stars tonight. I've brought a painter with me. May I have him create a portrait of you?"

Samwell's steps faltered.

If any other man said this, it would be an unmistakable gesture of courtship.

But Lord Renly? He probably wanted to paint Margaery's brother Loras just as much, if not more.

As Samwell watched them walk off together, a tiny detail from the original story resurfaced in his mind—

At some point in the near future, Renly would show a portrait of Margaery to Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell.

A chill ran down Samwell's spine.

Suddenly, he realized that Renly's unexpected presence at the Hightower, and Margaery's coincidental visit with her mother, were no accidents.

There was the unmistakable scent of conspiracy in the air.

(End of Chapter)