Chapter 109: As High As Honor!

As Samwell entered the room, an intense heat hit him at once. Despite Dorne's naturally warm climate, servants had kindled a fire in the hearth, filling the chamber with stifling warmth.

Yet even this searing heat could not bring warmth to The Hand of The King. His face was ashen, lips tinged blue. Though he lay swathed in thick blankets, he trembled uncontrollably.

"Lord Arryn, is there anything else you wish to say?" Margaery stepped to his bedside, her voice soft with sadness.

But Jon Arryn's gaze bypassed her, instead fixating on the doorway. Only when he saw Oberyn Martell did he rasp, "Oberyn…"

At the sound of that name, Lady Lysa Tully shot up from beside the bed, furious. "Get out! You murderer! Who let you in here? Get out!"

The room threatened to spiral into chaos once again, and Samwell cut through the noise with a firm command. "Silence!"

Lysa stared at him, startled, as though disbelieving he would dare shout at her. Before she could retort, he continued, "Quiet down, all of you. Lord Arryn wishes to speak."

Once the room had stilled, Jon's voice, weakened yet resolute, spoke again: "My… wife… she is… exhausted… take her to… rest…"

"Jon! What are you saying?" Lysa sobbed, collapsing onto the bed. "I won't leave you. I'll stay by your side!"

Lord Arryn murmured something in reply, but it was lost amid his wife's shrill sobs. Samwell looked to the Arryn guards. "You've heard Lord Arryn's request. Please take Lady Arryn to rest; her grief is overwhelming her."

After exchanging glances, the guards reluctantly stepped forward, gently leading Lysa from the room.

As Lysa's son began to wail for his mother, Samwell gave a nod, signaling the guards to take him as well.

Finally, the room fell silent.

Jon Arryn cast a grateful look toward Samwell before fixing his eyes on Oberyn. "Oberyn… come here…"

Under the wary stares of the Reach knights, Oberyn approached the bedside. "Lord Arryn, you must believe me—I swear I would never poison you!"

"I… believe you…" Jon's voice, though faint, held conviction.

Relief washed over Oberyn, his tension ebbing slightly. He had prepared for the worst, and this acceptance seemed a gift he had not anticipated.

Lord Arryn's gaze never wavered as he spoke, voice halting yet clear. "Years ago… I owed you… justice… Today… I return it… But I ask… in exchange… grant me… peace…"

Oberyn's expression wavered, and memories surged within him of their arrival at the docks, where he had scorned The Hand for making peace at the cost of others.

And Jon Arryn had replied, saying he would be willing to sacrifice for peace himself. Oberyn had dismissed it then, but now—now he saw that Jon Arryn truly meant those words.

For the sake of peace, Jon Arryn was sparing him, even when the circumstances painted him as a likely culprit.

Oberyn Martell, always the rebel, rarely afforded respect to others. Yet here and now, he felt a surge of respect for this dying man before him.

"Yes," he murmured, voice steady. "I accept."

Jon Arryn exhaled softly, seeming to find comfort in the promise. His eyes drifted toward the young girl standing close to Samwell, almost hidden behind him. "Nathalie…"

"The lord is calling you," Samwell murmured, nudging her forward.

"Yes, Lord Arryn?" Nathalie stammered, moving cautiously closer.

Oberyn's firm voice commanded, "Kneel."

Nathalie blinked, startled, then glanced toward Samwell. With his encouragement, she sank to her knees before Oberyn.

"I, Oberyn Martell, brother of Prince Doran Martell, in the name of the Sun and Spear, hereby recognize Nathalie Dayne, daughter of Ashara Dayne, as rightful heir to Starfall. From this day forward, you shall be a vassal of House Martell, holding Starfall as its Countess."

Understanding washed over Nathalie—at last, her position was formally acknowledged, recognized by both Houses. She was now officially the Lady of Starfall.

"Lady… Nathalie…" Jon Arryn's voice was faint.

"Yes, Lord Arryn?"

"Please… grant safe passage… to both… Martell guests…"

Nathalie nodded. "Yes, Lord Arryn, I will allow them safe departure from Starfall."

Jon's frail body finally relaxed, a trace of peace softening his features. "Bring… my wife… and son… to me…"

The group stepped aside as Lysa Tully and her son were escorted back into the room, and their wails soon filled the chamber once more.

As Samwell observed the old lord lying there, his life waning, he couldn't help but feel a mixture of emotions. Jon Arryn's final acts were attempts to ease tensions and prevent future conflicts. Perhaps he had sensed that some shadowy figure was stirring unrest across the realm, or perhaps he only knew he needed to try.

Whether or not Jon Arryn fully grasped the truth, he had sacrificed justice for Oberyn for the chance of securing peace between the Reach and Dorne, even if it meant absolving his own suspected killer.

"Everyone, quiet!" Margaery's voice called out softly. "The Lord Hand is speaking."

Once again, silence settled over the room, and the lord's faltering words became audible:

"... As high… as honor… As high… as honor…"

The words of House Arryn—the words Jon had lived by his entire life.

A pang of understanding struck Samwell. In the original events, Jon Arryn had died repeating the words "the seed is strong." At the time, Samwell had puzzled over it—why hadn't Jon revealed Cersei's betrayal outright? Why not tell Robert that his queen's children were illegitimate, and that he had discovered the truth?

Now he understood.

Jon Arryn could not bear to ruin everything he had built, everything he had stood for. Revealing the truth would have provoked Robert's wrath and likely ignited a brutal conflict with the Westerlands. And Tywin Lannister would not have gone down quietly.

By staying silent, Jon had tried to keep the peace—one he had labored a lifetime to uphold.

Here and now, facing his end, Jon Arryn embodied his words to the last: "As high as honor."

Samwell knew, however, that the peace Jon Arryn had sacrificed so much for might not hold. Though the Seven Kingdoms appeared stable on the surface, he knew that factions and ambitions stirred restlessly beneath. And now, the king's principal counselor, the one who held the realm together, was gone.

In that moment, he knew that Littlefinger's plan had struck the realm's most vulnerable point.

"... As high… as honor…"

With a final, resounding breath, Jon Arryn whispered those words for the last time before his voice fell silent.

Lysa's anguished cries rose into the quiet night, her son's sobs echoing beside her.

The noble lords of the Reach bowed their heads in respect, silent and sorrowful.

Maester Gilmore slipped from the room and hurried to the rookery, where black-feathered ravens awaited. Soon, they would take to the skies, scattering across Westeros with news of The Hand of The King's death.

Under the gleam of the moon, the ravens' wings became harbingers of darkness.

Samwell remained standing in the shadowed courtyard long after leaving the stifling chamber. Amid the cold, whispering night, he found his thoughts unmoored—not on Littlefinger's machinations or the coming conflicts, but on Jon Arryn's last, desperate prayer.

That solemn phrase, echoing through his mind, seemed louder than the night's quiet:

"As high as honor."

(End of Volume I)