Chapter 255: The Cost

Before sunset, Samwell led his army back to Storm's End.

Crossing open fields and rugged hills, he gazed at the massive fortress rising against the sky, casting a shadow over the vast ocean beyond.

In the presence of such an imposing castle, the Reach army appeared small and powerless in comparison.

For centuries, the fierce winds of the Narrow Sea had battered Storm's End, yet its walls remained unyielding. The towering outer walls, hundreds of feet high, were built of seamlessly interlocked stones, curving and smooth, impervious to weather and siege alike.

It was no wonder that no army in history had ever successfully taken Storm's End by force.

After contemplating the castle's grandeur, Samwell reunited with the garrison left behind and set up camp.

There, he met the messenger from the Reach, who brought word of Lady Olenna's order to withdraw. The messenger also conveyed that Randyll Tarly had already begun his retreat and was waiting at Bronze Gate for Samwell to regroup.

As darkness fell, Samwell ordered the troops to rest for the night, planning to march at dawn.

The flickering light of campfires pushed back the oppressive darkness. In the distance, Storm's End loomed under the faint starlight, its colossal walls indistinct. The ocean beyond was hidden in the shadows, though the crash of waves against the rocks echoed in the night.

Samwell sat motionless by the fire, holding a roasted deer leg, though his appetite had abandoned him. After a moment, he tossed the meat to Cleopatra.

The white dragon, unbothered by its master's brooding mood, happily flapped its wings and tore into the meal.

"What's on your mind, brother?" Dickon asked, noticing Samwell's distracted demeanor.

"I'm wondering if I'll ever have another chance to take this castle," Samwell replied, his gaze fixed on Storm's End, which seemed to merge with the dark sky.

Waging war was no easy task, and the Reach was not under his sole command. Once they retreated, rallying the Reach lords for another campaign in the Stormlands would be far more difficult.

Moreover, the political landscape of the Seven Kingdoms was bound to shift dramatically. Even if he could persuade the Reach lords to embark on another eastern campaign, interference from other factions was almost certain.

"If you want it so badly, why not give it one last try tomorrow?" Dickon suggested.

Samwell sighed. "Storm's End isn't so easily taken. I won't waste my soldiers' lives. Besides, the army has no will to fight after Lady Olenna's withdrawal order."

Despite his words, Samwell's tone betrayed his frustration and unwillingness to let go.

"Is there's no other way?" Dickon pressed.

"It's nearly impossible to breach the castle from the outside," Samwell admitted. "But from the inside, it would be much easier."

"How could we attack from the inside?"

"By killing that bastard lord," Samwell murmured, his gaze fixed on the fire. "If he dies, the defenders will lose their reason to hold out."

"The bastard lord…" Dickon's gaze lingered on his brother, and faint red-gold patterns flickered in his eyes.

"Yes," Samwell muttered. "But such a plan comes at a price."

Dickon seemed to reach a decision. Rising silently, he walked away.

Lost in thought, Samwell didn't notice his brother's departure.

He was still wrestling with whether to accept Melisandre's proposal.

Losing half his attributes for a year—was such a steep cost worth one castle?

Finally, Samwell made up his mind.

Attributes could be regained, and the castle, once taken, would grant him more titles and opportunities to acquire resources. It would be an investment in his future.

Missing this chance could mean losing any hope of securing Storm's End.

The fall of Highgarden had been a stark reminder that his enemies wouldn't wait for him to strengthen his position.

If the Reach forces retreated from the Stormlands, the Lannisters would undoubtedly reassert their influence. Could the castles he had conquered remain under Reach control?

Samwell clenched his fists.

Do it.

With his decision made, Samwell rose. Turning, he found Melisandre standing silently behind him.

Clad in her red robe, her pale skin gleamed in the firelight. The ruby at her throat pulsed with a crimson glow, radiating an eerie and seductive aura.

"Have you decided, my lord?"

"I have," Samwell said, steeling himself. "I'll need your help."

Melisandre's expression was calm as she offered a slight bow. "It is my honor to serve you."

Without another word, she turned and walked toward her tent.

Samwell inhaled deeply and followed.

When he entered the tent, Melisandre had already loosened her sash, letting her crimson robe fall to the floor. Her alabaster skin gleamed in the dim light as she stepped forward, her face serene and devout.

She leaned into him, her body radiating a heat that burned like fire.

---

Storm's End

Edric Storm, the Bastard of Baratheon, sat on the Storm King's ancient throne in a finely tailored green tunic, his expression grim.

"Ser Gawen Wylde, why did you betray me?"

"Why?" Ser Gawen, bloodied and bound, met the young lord's gaze without fear. "Because you locked us inside the castle while the Reachmen ravaged our lands. Why wouldn't I betray you? A coward like you, hiding behind these walls, has no right to rule the Stormlands!"

"We're outnumbered," Edric said, trying to justify his actions.

"That's just an excuse for your cowardice!" Gawen spat. "When Ser Cortnay Penrose was intercepted outside the castle, why didn't you send reinforcements? When Lord Ralph begged you to defend Bronze Gate, why did you refuse? And what about…"

"Enough!" Edric's advisor, Ser Eldon Estermont, interrupted. "Our main force is trapped in Dorne. Reckless attacks would only end in disaster."

Gawen sneered at Estermont. "It's easy for you to say, sitting safe on Greenstone. But what about our lands? They've all been overrun! What's the point of holding Storm's End?"

"The Reachmen's success is temporary. Once Lord Tywin…"

"Damn Tywin! Damn the Lannisters!" Gawen bellowed. "Where is this sixty-thousand-man army Ser Kevan promised us?"

"Ser Gawen," Edric interrupted, his voice cold. "If you think our plan is flawed, then tell me: what would you do?"

For a moment, Gawen was silent.

Estermont smirked. "He'd surrender to the Reach."

Gawen bristled, ready to retort, when hurried footsteps echoed from outside the hall.

A knight entered, saluting briskly. "My lord, the Reach have sent a messenger."

"A messenger?" Edric's brow furrowed. "Bring them in."

The assembled knights exchanged wary glances, but their expressions shifted to shock when the messenger arrived—carried on a stretcher, bloodied and pierced with arrows.

"What happened?" Edric demanded.

The knight hesitated. "We thought he was trying to infiltrate the castle…"

"One man infiltrating a fortress?" Gawen sneered.

"Enough," Edric said, waving a hand. "Is he alive?"

"Barely. His sigil is a striding huntsman. Some recognized him as Dickon Tarly, Lord Randyll's son."

"Edric… Storm…" Dickon gasped from the stretcher, his voice weak.

Though Edric felt uneasy, he approached. "Ser Dickon, my apologies for your treatment. Why have you come?"

"My father… seeks… peace…"

"Peace?" Edric leaned closer, hope flickering in his eyes. "What are his terms?"

"My father… says… if you agree to…"

Dickon's voice grew faint, forcing Edric to lean in.

Suddenly, Dickon pulled an arrow from his shoulder and drove it into Edric's throat.

The act was so swift and unexpected that no one reacted in time.

Blood sprayed across Dickon's face as Edric collapsed, choking on his own cries.

For a moment, the hall was silent. Then chaos erupted.

Knights scrambled to aid their fallen lord or shouted for the maester, while others drew swords to execute the treacherous Reachman.

Dickon, lying motionless on the stretcher, seemed unafraid of death. His eyes glimmered faintly with red-gold light.

"Stop!" Gawen Wylde roared. "Edric Storm is dead! If you value your lives, do not kill this Reachman!"

The swords froze mid-swing.

(End of Chapter)