Chapter 212: The Obsidian Candle

"Lady Olenna agreed to stay neutral?"

Samwell's face lit up with barely-contained excitement.

Margaery replied with a smile, "Yes, she promised. So now it's up to you to convince enough Reach lords to sway my father's stance."

"Don't worry! Without Lady Olenna's interference, we practically have this in the bag!"

Samwell's excitement was palpable. Without the "Queen of Thorns" meddling, if they couldn't sway the "Puff Fish," they might as well give up and prepare to have Tywin's forces come knocking.

"You've done a great service!" Samwell pulled Margaery into his arms, his tone turning playfully suggestive. "I'll have to reward you well for this!"

He moved as if to carry her into his room, but Margaery slipped away, laughing as she said, "Remember, we're at Highgarden. We shouldn't be so bold—it wouldn't leave a good impression on my family."

"Fair enough." Samwell nodded, respecting Margaery's wishes.

"I'll head back now. Rest well," she whispered, leaning in to give him a gentle kiss before slipping away.

Samwell watched her retreating figure disappear down the corridor, feeling a slight sense of longing.

Back in his room, he found himself too restless to sleep. Cleopatra had already curled up into a ball, using her tail as a blanket over her eyes.

After lying there, tossing and turning, he finally got up to take a walk. The night was peaceful, and the cool moonlight washed over the courtyard, casting soft shadows over the stone statues, fountains, and rose bushes draped in a gossamer veil.

Samwell wandered along empty paths, letting his feet guide him aimlessly until he found himself in the godswood.

The grove was filled with oaks and cypresses, their interwoven branches forming a canopy. The deeper he went, the more he felt enveloped in a tranquil, calming silence.

"Who's there?" A voice called out suddenly.

"Samwell Caesar."

Stepping forward, Samwell saw a slender man sitting in a wheelchair beneath a giant weirwood tree.

The man had a full beard and a face that bore a resemblance to Margaery's, with a kind expression and a gentle smile.

"Good evening, Ser Willas," Samwell greeted, recognizing Mace Tyrell's eldest son.

"Good evening, Lord Caesar," Willas replied. "Can't sleep?"

"No, I couldn't," Samwell replied. "I decided to take a walk and appreciate Highgarden's beauty." His gaze fell on the weirwood tree. "I hadn't expected there to be a heart tree here in the godswood."

Willas explained, "These are called the 'Three Singers.' Legend has it that they were planted by Garth Greenhand himself, so we've kept them even though we now worship the Seven."

Samwell noticed that it wasn't just one tree but three intertwined weirwoods, their branches intertwined to look like a single, massive heart tree. Each trunk was carved with a massive face, red sap trickling down from the eye sockets, giving the illusion of weeping blood.

The sight reminded Samwell of the visions he'd seen when he first donned the armor Chronicle, especially the heart trees beyond the Wall and the icy, breathtaking woman carved from snow.

"Margaery cares for you deeply," Willas's voice pulled Samwell back to the present.

"I care for her deeply, too," Samwell replied sincerely.

"I never thought she would elope, let alone with a minor lord," Willas said, smiling warmly. "Since she was young, Margaery has always dreamed of becoming a queen."

"That dream may not be impossible."

Willas laughed. "The dragon gives you that confidence?"

"I made her that promise even before the dragon hatched."

Willas chuckled again. "Now I see why my sister is so taken with you, Caesar. But still, be careful. In Westeros, people's feelings about dragons are mixed. It's hard to say whether more people revere them or fear them."

"Thank you for the advice," Samwell replied with a polite smile, though he dismissed Willas's caution inwardly. Now that he had a dragon, how could he stay low-key? Even if he loudly proclaimed he had no ambitions, no one would believe him. No strategist would allow his dragon to grow unchecked until he became another "Conqueror."

"To be honest, Samwell, I support my sister marrying you," Willas added suddenly.

"Thank you for the approval," Samwell replied sincerely. "If only you were the Lord of Highgarden."

Willas chuckled and shook his head. "I understand your frustration with my father. He can be short-sighted, overly concerned with immediate gains, and sometimes fails to see the bigger picture. But, Samwell, bringing four houses to Highgarden was a bit excessive. It only serves to heighten tensions."

Samwell held his silence, recognizing the differing loyalties between them. He had no desire to argue with his future brother-in-law.

Willas remained calm. "You are a lord of the Reach, my father's vassal. When he returns, if you approach him with a humble attitude and an apology—especially with Margaery by your side—he may just change his mind."

"Thank you for the advice," Samwell replied curtly.

His emblem is a double-headed eagle, and his pet is a white dragon. How could he wag his tail and beg for mercy from an inflatable fish like a dog? Perhaps he saw Samwell's perfunctory attitude, but Willas said nothing more and left.

As he watched Willas disappear into the trees, Samwell muttered to himself. A baron with a dragon and a lady's heart shouldn't be reduced to groveling before the "Puff Fish."

Left alone in the stillness of the godswood, Samwell stood gazing at the Three Singers, his thoughts drifting.

---

Three days later, Mace Tyrell returned to Highgarden with his army.

To Samwell's surprise, accompanying him was none other than Jaime Lannister, the "Kingslayer." It was clear enough which side Mace Tyrell was leaning toward.

His admiration for Tywin Lannister's power apparently ran deep.

But Samwell wasn't overly concerned; this time, he wasn't facing the Tyrells alone.

In a week's time, the annual autumn hunt would commence, gathering Reach lords from across the region—perfect timing for a decisive confrontation.

Over the following days, Randyll Tarly, Mathis Rowan, and Alekyne Florent worked tirelessly, reaching out to various Reach lords and gauging their allegiances. Highgarden appeared calm, but tensions simmered beneath the surface.

Lacking connections of his own, Samwell spent his days in leisure, drinking tea and strolling with Margaery, occasionally playing with Cleopatra. This seemingly idle behavior was, in fact, his way of showcasing his two greatest assets—Margaery's favor and his dragon.

As long as the Reach lords observed these two points, he could influence them over time.

Mace Tyrell seemed determined to ignore Samwell entirely, avoiding any private meetings or even acknowledging him at banquets. Samwell couldn't care less and had no intention of begging for an audience.

The day before the hunt, Lord Leyton Hightower arrived from Oldtown, prompting Samwell to pay him a visit.

"Samwell, long time no see!" Leyton greeted warmly, his tone cordial.

"Indeed, Lord Leyton," Samwell replied, sensing a friendly atmosphere, which boosted his confidence.

Leyton had previously expressed an interest in seeing the dragon, so Samwell brought Cleopatra with him. The white dragon perched quietly on his shoulder, her slender tail wrapped around his arm.

But as soon as they entered Leyton's chamber, Cleopatra suddenly became agitated, hissing toward a candle on the central table.

Samwell noticed a tall, black candle in the room, the only light source, casting a strange, unsettling glow.

The flame was unusual, a mix of snowy white, molten gold, and fiery red, yet its shadow was pitch-black, like a void devouring all light.

"What is that?" Samwell asked, though he suspected he already knew.

"It's a glass candle," Leyton explained. "Some call it obsidian, or dragonglass, or frozen fire."

Just as he had thought.

Samwell knew that dragonglass held a crucial role in the world of A Song of Ice and Fire, particularly in combating the White Walkers.

In the books, it was a dragonglass dagger that earned Samwell the title of "White Walker Slayer" when he killed a White Walker with it.

Samwell moved closer to examine the strange candle.

Standing three feet tall, thin as a blade, with spiral edges as sharp as a knife, the glass candle emitted a mysterious glow.

"What fuels it?" Samwell asked.

"What fuels dragonfire?" Leyton countered.

"Magic?"

"Yes," Leyton replied, gesturing for Samwell to sit. "The Valyrians' magic was based on blood and fire. With candles like these, the dragonlords could see across mountains, seas, and deserts, even invade others' dreams or communicate over vast distances."

"Do you know this magic?" Samwell asked, intrigued.

Leyton shook his head. "This knowledge has been lost. With magic's ebbing, too many mysteries faded. But now, with magic returning, they'll reemerge. Just like your dragon."

Cleopatra was still eyeing the candle with a strange fascination.

Samwell wondered if he should let his dragon consume dragonglass—would it have any effect?

This glass candle belonged to Lord Leyton, so Samwell couldn't exactly feed it to Cleopatra. But dragonglass was plentiful on Dragonstone, though long disregarded as common rock.

Still, if dragonglass could speed up dragon growth, House Targaryen would have surely discovered it long ago.

But seeing the white dragon's performance, Samwell thought he could still send people to Dragonstone to dig some dragonglass and give it a try.

Even if the white dragon doesn't eat it, he can nibble on it himself to see if it can add any attributes.

"In fact, you are not the only one." Lord Layton looked at the white dragon on Samwell's shoulder with sharp eyes. "Someone on the continent of Essos across the narrow sea has also hatched a dragon."

"Who?" Samwell pretended not to know.

Lord Leyton slowly uttered a name:

"Daenerys Targaryen."

(End of this chapter)