Chapter 204: The Minstrel

"We're going to die!"

Hank wailed as he and his companions were surrounded by a group of wildlings. "It's all your fault, Farl! You insisted on coming to Eagle's Nest to see a dragon, and now we're probably about to meet the Stranger!"

Farl, frustrated with his friend's whining, turned and shouted, "Hank, shut up! There are five of us with five swords. What's there to fear?"

"Four swords!" Hank retorted. "I'm a minstrel! I only have a harp! And there are more than ten of them! How are we supposed to fight that?"

"Just be quiet and we'll manage!"

Before Farl could say more, the wildlings charged with battle cries, their dark skin and wiry bodies clad in stolen, ill-fitting leather armor. Their faces were hidden beneath matted hair and beards, and they wielded a chaotic assortment of weapons.

One of Farl's companions handed Hank a sword, which he accepted with trembling hands, desperately wishing he could sing his way out of this mess instead of fighting.

The scene turned chaotic, filled with screams and blood. Hank saw a friend locked in combat with a wildling, only to be stabbed from behind, a spurt of blood marking his end. The minstrel let out a scream, high-pitched and shrill, almost like a woman's.

"Seven save us! Someone, please help us!"

As if the gods had heard his plea, a distant but swift sound of hooves began to echo, growing louder with each second.

"Someone's coming! Help is coming!" Hank cried, his voice cracking as he yelled. "Over here! Save us!"

Farl had just slashed a wildling's throat and looked up to see five riders approaching, a blue banner with a double-headed eagle waving above them.

They were men of House Caesar!

Relieved, Farl was about to join in the shouting for help when he noticed the wildlings breaking and fleeing, muttering something about a "dreaded lord" as they ran in terror.

One of the riders reached them and asked, "Who are you?"

"I'm a minstrel!" Hank replied eagerly, adopting a lyrical tone. "Oh, we heard of Lord Caesar's brave deeds—how he slew the false king and awakened a dragon! We've come to pay our respects. Could you take us to Eagle's Nest?"

"No need for that," the rider replied. "Lord Caesar is just up ahead."

…

Lord Caesar was just climbing out of the carriage, disentangling himself from Margaery.

His clothes were scattered throughout the carriage, and it took him a while to find them all.

When he handed Margaery her silken gown, she looped her delicate arms around his neck, pulling him close for a lingering kiss, before gently helping him dress.

Her movements were soft and attentive, like a newlywed bride caring for her husband.

"Aren't we nearly out of the Red Mountains?" Margaery asked.

"Yes," Samwell replied, running his hand through her soft brown curls. "By tonight, we should reach Uplands."

His hand trailed along her ivory neck, down to her slender waist, and over the curves that made him linger a moment longer.

"Enough!" Margaery laughed, catching his wandering hand. "We still have a journey to complete."

She kissed him again, though, and they lingered close, lost in each other once more.

In the end, dressing took nearly an hour.

By the time they emerged, the scouts had already returned with Hank and his companions.

"Lord Caesar! Thank you for sending your men to save us!" Hank called out eagerly to a man in armor.

But the knight, Todd Flowers, gave him a blank look and said, "You've mistaken me. I am but one of Lord Caesar's sworn knights."

Hank quickly recovered, switching to lavishing praise upon Todd's valor.

Unmoved, Todd finally had a soldier hand them some oatmeal to silence the chatterbox.

As Hank crouched by the now-cold campfire, slurping the warm oatmeal, he couldn't help but eye the camp with curiosity.

The group was around a hundred men strong, disciplined soldiers with about ten knights mounted on warhorses—horses that were noticeably larger than the usual breed.

Parked by the stream was a spacious carriage bearing the Caesar family's double-headed eagle, drawn by four powerful horses.

"When can we meet Lord Caesar?" Hank asked a nearby soldier, still eyeing the carriage. "I'd like to thank him in person for saving us."

The soldier cast him a look. "You think you can just meet Lord Caesar? Be patient and wait."

"Yes, yes, of course."

As Hank finished his oatmeal, he clutched his harp and considered singing a song to catch Lord Caesar's attention. But at that moment, the carriage door opened.

First, he saw a delicate green lady's boot step out, followed by a slender, pale hand resting on the doorframe. Then, a graceful figure emerged.

Hank held his breath.

All the fair ladies he'd ever dreamed of paled in comparison to this vision of beauty before him.

She had eyes like a doe's—bright, warm, and expressive—set against a face so delicate that a touch of blush could make any man's heart race. Her brown hair was styled in an elegant bun, and her fair skin held a gentle warmth that only heightened her allure.

At that moment, Hank wanted nothing more than to kneel at her feet, kiss her boots, and sing her praises.

But the lovely young lady didn't even glance his way. Instead, she turned back to help a dark-haired young man step out of the carriage.

Hank instantly realized that this must be Lord Caesar, the very man he'd journeyed here to meet. He'd been filled with awe and admiration at the thought of this legendary baron, but now, jealousy roiled in his chest. In his eyes, the handsome young lord was nothing less than infuriating.

Why wasn't I the one in that carriage?

He recalled rumors he'd heard of a noblewoman eloping with a minor lord, and now he understood this beautiful lady's identity, his envy flaring up even more.

Just then, a strange screech caught his attention. Looking up, he saw a flash of white in the sky—a dragon that flew gracefully down to perch on Lord Caesar's shoulder.

A dragon!

Hank's jealousy vanished, replaced by sheer awe in the face of the dragon's majestic presence.

His wits returned, and he donned a fawning smile of admiration.

"Come along. Lord Caesar will see you now." Todd had returned to escort them.

Hank and his companions hurried to follow.

"These are the travelers we rescued this morning?" Samwell asked.

"Yes, my lord. They say they're bound for Eagle's Nest."

"Lord Caesar!" Hank launched into a theatrical voice, "We have heard of your valor and your dragon-hatching! We came all this way to see your splendor."

Samwell glanced at the harp in Hank's arms, intrigued. "You're a minstrel?"

"Yes, my lord. It would be my honor to compose a ballad in tribute to you, your dragon, and this lovely lady by your side."

"Very well," Samwell said casually. "Where are you from?"

"From Nightsong," Hank replied, adding quickly, "My grandfather had the blood of House Caron. He was the illegitimate son of Lord Elliot Caron."

Nightsong was a town on the Dornish Marches, north of the Prince's Pass, ruled by House Caron.

Samwell, however, had no recollection of Lord Elliot Caron, much less interest in this minstrel's distant noble blood.

"What other news have you heard? Has the army at Skyreach withdrawn?"

He'd last heard that the Northern forces were retreating, though the Reach and Crownlands troops had yet to move. Being on the road, he hadn't had recent updates, so he was curious to hear what the minstrel knew.

Traveling minstrels often picked up and spread news, though their tales required careful sifting to find truth among the rumors.

"The Northern forces have pulled back," Hank said eagerly, pride coloring his voice. "I was in Nightsong just last month. After declaring Joffrey a usurper, Lord Eddard Stark voiced his support for Stannis Baratheon as the rightful heir to the Iron throne.

"As for the Reach and Crownlands forces, they remain at Skyreach. I heard that Lord Mace Tyrell intended to withdraw, but then Lord Tywin promised that Tommen Baratheon would marry Lady Margaery Tyrell, so…"

"My father promised me to Tommen?" Margaery asked indignantly.

So the rumors were true, Hank thought, shocked. The highborn lady of Highgarden had truly eloped with a mere baron!

"It seems Lord Mace truly desires a Tyrell queen," Samwell remarked with a smirk.

"Then he'll have to find himself another daughter," Margaery said, tightening her grip on Samwell's arm. "I'll never marry Tommen."

Hank was still staring in disbelief when Samwell turned back to him with another question.

"And Lord Tywin's army? They've been besieging Sunspear for nearly a month. Any word on their progress?"

"That… I don't know," Hank stammered.

"I imagine Tywin will withdraw," Margaery guessed.

"Likely. The old lion may try to negotiate with Dorne," Samwell agreed. "The Lannisters' biggest threat now is Robert Baratheon's brothers."

Margaery nodded. "Though I doubt Prince Doran will agree to peace easily. After all, Dorne suffered heavy losses in this war, and he will definitely take the opportunity to demand compensation."

"That's going to be a headache for the old lion." Samwell replied casually, then looked at the bard and asked, "By the way, what do you think of my killing of Joffrey?"

"Well..." Hank hesitated.

"It's okay, just speak up."

"Everyone says...you are another 'Kingslayer'..."

Samwell was a little depressed: "See, no one thinks I am the 'King deposer'."

Margaery giggled and said gently,

"Don't worry. When I see my grandmother, I will ask her to send someone to help you clear your name. Highgarden has many bards. When the time comes, ask them to write a song of praise for you and sing it throughout the seven realms."

Hank immediately volunteered: "Lord Caesar, I can also help you compose a ballad!"

"Very well." Samwell took out a silver deer and threw it over. "Remember to emphasize that I deposed a false king, not a regicide, but a dethroner!"

"Yes, M'lord!" Hank caught the silver deer and smiled.

(End of this chapter)