Chapter 205: Hightower’s Invitation

As the sun dipped below the horizon, darkness enveloped the land.

Since the arrival of the Red Comet, the temperature had been dropping day by day, and the chill of night was unmistakable.

Samwell and his group made camp by the roadside.

As the campfire crackled to life, the smell of food wafted into the air, filling the night with warmth.

Nearby, a minstrel plucked his harp, singing a newly written ballad honoring the baron and his dragon.

"It feels like summer really has ended," Margaery remarked as she brewed a pot of flower tea.

"Yes," Samwell replied, his expression somber. "After this short autumn, Westeros will face a long winter—a dark, dreadful one."

Margaery's gaze lingered on him, a glint of curiosity in her eyes. "Sam, do you really believe in Melisandre's prophecy?"

Samwell ran his fingers through Margaery's soft hair, his tone playful as he replied, "You seem to have quite a bit of resentment toward Melisandre."

"She's a follower of a foreign god," Margaery said, smirking. "As a devout follower of the Seven, isn't it natural for me to feel a little distaste?"

"I see." Samwell pretended to look disappointed. "Here I thought you were jealous."

Margaery laughed, her eyes sparkling. "I'm not that petty. But I can't shake the feeling that she'll bring you trouble. If she hadn't saved your life, I would have advised you to send her away long ago."

Samwell chuckled, but his expression grew serious after a moment.

"While I don't place blind faith in her prophecies, the Long Night is not just some myth."

Margaery was about to ask more, but the sound of horse hooves interrupted.

Todd Flowers approached with quick steps, reporting, "My lord, Viscount Martyn Mullendore has arrived."

Samwell raised an eyebrow in mild surprise.

They had just passed Uplands but had decided not to visit House Mullendore to save time. He hadn't expected Martyn himself to follow and catch up to them.

"I'll go greet him," Samwell said, turning to Margaery.

She gave him a warm smile and returned to her tea.

Moments later, Margaery noticed that the minstrel was watching her intently with a strange look of admiration.

…

"Lord Caesar!" Martyn's hearty laughter reached Samwell's ears long before he arrived. "Why are you hiding from an old friend?"

Samwell chuckled. "Lord Martyn, I didn't want to inconvenience you."

Martyn dismounted, handing his horse to a squire before walking over briskly. "With the bond between House Mullendore and House Caesar, what inconvenience could there be? I've been looking forward to sharing a few drinks with you again."

Samwell held back a smirk, remembering his last trip through Uplands. Back then, Martyn had shown no interest in meeting him, likely hoping to avoid Samwell entirely due to their unresolved debts.

As the two walked back into camp, their conversation was cut short by the sound of raised voices.

Quickening his pace, Samwell found Margaery speaking sharply to the minstrel.

Martyn respectfully waited some distance away.

"What's the matter?" Samwell asked.

Margaery turned to him, pointing at the minstrel. "I don't like this man. Send him away."

Hank, the minstrel, stammered, "Lady Margaery, what did I do to offend you?"

"Do I need a reason to dislike you?" Samwell glanced at Todd. "Get him out of here."

"Yes, my lord!"

Todd and two soldiers grabbed the minstrel by his collar and began dragging him away.

Hank tried to protest, but a soldier's fist cracked against his mouth, sending teeth flying and reducing him to whimpers.

Samwell took Margaery's hand and asked quietly, "He didn't touch you, did he?"

"No," Margaery replied, looking troubled. "But…I think he assumed that a woman who would elope is easily won over."

Samwell sensed the self-doubt hidden in her words. Though Margaery had chosen to elope with him of her own free will, it was the sort of decision that could easily stain a woman's reputation—especially for someone of noble birth.

He squeezed her hand and promised, "Don't worry. I won't let you bear any such criticism."

"I believe you." Margaery smiled, her confidence returning.

Samwell turned back toward Martyn, but as he passed his squire, Katu, he gave a discreet signal. Katu immediately followed Todd and the others.

Outside the camp, as Hank continued pleading for mercy, Katu caught up and grabbed him by the hair, drawing his knife.

"Please—"

The plea was cut short as Katu slit his throat, his words lost in a pool of blood.

Todd frowned. "Lord Caesar didn't order his death."

Katu let the body fall and said coldly, "He didn't have to. Are we supposed to let this man wander off, spreading tales?"

Meanwhile, Samwell returned to the campfire with Martyn, introducing him to Margaery.

"Lord Martyn," Margaery said graciously, showing no trace of her earlier frustration. "I heard you wanted to share a drink. We have some good brandy here to fulfill that wish."

"Lady Margaery." Martyn bowed. "It's an honor to meet you. May your beauty never fade."

"And may you always be in good health." Margaery returned the gesture and invited Martyn to sit by the fire, before going to fetch the brandy herself.

Watching her retreat, Martyn gave Samwell an approving grin and whispered, "When I first heard the rumors, I thought it was just a minstrel's tale. But I must say, Samwell, as a friend, I have to offer some advice."

Samwell raised an eyebrow, smiling. "I'm all ears."

"This rose is beautiful, but she won't be easy to keep. Lord Mace is a shrewd man, and Lady Olenna is even more cunning…" Martyn shook his head. "I worry you may be in over your head."

"Thank you for the warning," Samwell replied lightly.

Martyn let the matter drop, glancing around the camp. "I've heard tales that you've hatched a dragon. Is it true?"

"Absolutely." Margaery returned with the brandy, pouring glasses for the two men. "Unfortunately, it just went off to hunt in the woods."

"A shame." Martyn looked genuinely disappointed. "I've dreamed of seeing a dragon in the flesh since I was a boy."

"I think every boy in Westeros has dreamed of that," Samwell said. "If you stay a bit, Cleopatra should be back soon. She doesn't usually stray far."

"Then I'll wait with pleasure." Martyn downed his glass of brandy with a satisfied sigh.

After a moment, he added, "Just a few days ago, Lord Leyton Hightower sent me a letter, asking about the dragon. He requested that if I saw you, I invite you to Oldtown—he has information about dragons he wishes to share with you personally."

Oldtown… Samwell thought, wondering whether this invitation came from House Hightower or the Citadel.

The Citadel was notoriously hostile to dragons, having always sought to create a world without magic. House Hightower, however, had a more ambiguous stance.

Either way, Samwell wasn't inclined to take Cleopatra to Oldtown anytime soon, especially without more power of his own.

"Please thank Lord Leyton for the invitation. I'll visit as soon as I have the chance."

Perhaps sensing Samwell's hesitation, Martyn pressed further. "Samwell, when it comes to raising dragons, aside from the Targaryens across the Narrow Sea, no one knows more than House Hightower. I really think you should consider going."

"Don't worry, I will."

Outwardly, Samwell agreed, though he felt no obligation to follow through.

Even the Targaryens had likely never thought to make dragonbone broth as dragon feed, a method Samwell was confident they hadn't discovered. After all, not everyone's first thought upon seeing dragonbones was to wonder if they could be eaten.

Realizing that further persuasion would be futile, Martyn changed the subject to lighter matters.

Soon after, Cleopatra returned, dropping a freshly caught rabbit at Samwell's feet.

Martyn marveled at the white dragon with a mix of reverence and excitement, then took his leave, satisfied with his glimpse of a true dragon.

At first light the next day, Samwell's party continued north, crossing a branch of the Honeywine and joining the Rose Road.

With the better path, their pace quickened, and they estimated reaching Highgarden within a week.

However, halfway through the journey, Samwell ordered the party to veer off the Rose Road and head east.

Their destination was Horn Hill.

Before meeting Margaery's family, Samwell felt it was only fitting to introduce her to his own.

Moreover, during the recent campaign in Dorne, his younger brother, Dickon, had died in battle, and Samwell owed his father, Lord Randyll, a personal explanation.

Whether Lord Randyll would insist on Samwell reclaiming the Tarly name remained to be seen…

But Samwell was already resolved not to change his name back.

Two days after leaving the Rose Road, they arrived at the castle of House Tarly.

Horn Hill rose among the rolling hills, a fortress of ancient stone with towering gray walls that exuded a simple, unadorned strength. According to legend, the first castle at Horn Hill had been built by two brothers, "Greenhand" Garth's sons, "The Hunter" Harlen and "Horned" Halys. Together, they had married a beautiful forest witch, and on each full moon, the three would perform rituals meant to extend their lives and continue their bloodline.

"What a beautiful old castle!" Margaery said, gazing through the carriage window at the fortress nestled between the hills.

In truth, compared to Highgarden or the grand castles of other noble families in the Reach, Horn Hill was modest. Its gray walls were solid and practical, with few ornamental touches. Only patches of green moss on the stone hinted at the castle's ancient history.

House Tarly was a house of warriors rather than politicians, and their heritage, though respected, was of a lesser rank than the region's great houses. Still, the martial prowess of their lineage and the reputation of Lord Randyll Tarly—a famed commander in the Seven Kingdoms—meant no one dared overlook this family.

"Yes, it's a beautiful castle," Samwell replied, his gaze lingering on the fortress that was at once familiar and foreign to him.

(End of Chapter)