Chapter 301: Heading to the Reach

The morning sunlight bathed the gray-white walls of Storm's End, giving them a golden gleam like gilded foil.

Samwell stepped into the rear garden and pushed open the glass doors to the greenhouse.

Though it was late autumn, the greenhouse, constructed entirely from natural crystal, was as warm as summer.

Sunlight poured through the crystal dome, flooding the room with light. Along the walls, heated water flowed through copper pipes, maintaining the temperature.

The warmth and brightness allowed the roses within to bloom vibrantly.

Amid this sea of roses, Margaery Tyrell stood in a sky-blue silk gown. Her bright, focused eyes radiated a serene beauty as her slender, pale hands tended to a rose.

"Sam," she greeted, her lips curving into a sweet smile as she saw her husband enter.

Samwell approached and kissed her, his hand gently resting on her slightly swollen belly.

"I asked Lady Melisandre," Margaery said, leaning into his embrace. "She said it'll be a boy."

Samwell recalled that the red priestess had admitted to losing her gift of prophecy. He wasn't sure if this was a guess or if she had another method to discern the child's gender.

"Boy or girl, it doesn't matter," Samwell replied casually.

"It absolutely matters," Margaery insisted. "You're a king now; you need a male heir."

Samwell didn't argue, understanding that his wife, feeling vulnerable, placed great importance on bearing a son to secure her position.

"With the prisoner exchange with Dorne complete, I'm preparing to head to the Reach," he said, sensing her body tense. "Do you have any messages for your family?"

"No," Margaery said firmly. "Their betrayal is unforgivable. Sam, whatever you choose to do, you have my support."

"Good." Samwell kissed her hair before turning to leave.

---

Outside the greenhouse, Brienne of Tarth approached and bowed.

"Your Grace, you summoned me?"

"Ser Brienne," Samwell began, "from now on, you are to stay close to Queen Margaery and ensure her safety. Wherever she goes, you go. Understand?"

"Yes, Your Grace!"

Samwell nodded and moved on. Walking through the corridors, he encountered Gavin Mander, who was accompanied by a Dornish woman.

"Your Grace, this is Nymeria Sand, an envoy from Sunspear," Gavin introduced.

Nymeria wasn't a stranger to Samwell, having crossed paths with him on a few occasions before.

However, she had never imagined that the man standing before her, wearing the Valyrian ruby crown of the Conqueror, would one day rise to such heights.

"Your Grace, I bring Sunspear's most sincere greetings on behalf of House Martell," Nymeria said cautiously.

"Sincerity from Martells? I don't think I can bear it," Samwell replied coldly. "You're here to retrieve Doran, aren't you?"

Nymeria forced a polite smile. "Yes. Princess Arianne said you made no demands and that I could take Prince Doran at any time."

"That's correct," Samwell confirmed. "Follow me."

"Thank you for your generosity," Nymeria said, though suspicion lingered in her heart.

Samwell led her to the maester's chambers.

The moment they entered, a nauseating stench hit them—a mix of blood and herbs thick in the air.

A roaring fire burned in the hearth, casting the room in a dim red glow.

Nymeria's heart sank as she rushed to the bedside. Doran Martell lay motionless, his face as pale as a dead fish.

"Prince Doran!" Nymeria called, shaking him, but there was no response.

Pulling back the blanket, she gagged at the pungent, bloody smell and the sight of poorly tended wounds.

"What have you done to him?!" she demanded, spinning toward Samwell and the maester.

Maester Qyburn, holding a cup of murky liquid, replied indifferently, "What we've done? These injuries were caused by Dornish lords. Didn't they tell you?"

Nymeria hesitated, recalling how her cousin Arianne had detained those same lords. Perhaps Qyburn was telling the truth.

"Here, make him drink this," Qyburn said, handing her the cup.

"What is it?"

"Medicine to save him," Qyburn replied with a shrug. "If we wanted him dead, he wouldn't have survived this long."

"You think I trust you?" Nymeria snapped, hurling the cup to the ground. The white liquid spilled across the floor.

"Do as you please," Qyburn sneered. "But if you delay, he won't last long enough to reach Sunspear."

Nymeria glared at Samwell, her voice low with fury. "If Prince Doran dies, House Martell will make Storm's End pay dearly!"

"I suggest you figure out who's truly responsible for his condition first," Samwell countered calmly. "If you don't believe me, ask the Dornish lords who returned with you."

"No matter your excuses, Prince Doran suffered these injuries under your roof," Nymeria retorted. "As his captor, his safety was your responsibility!"

Samwell shot back, "And I was Doran's ally at Bloodstone Isle, yet he sent a Faceless Man to assassinate me. The Dornish have no right to lecture anyone about honor."

Nymeria clenched her jaw, turning to carefully lift the unconscious prince onto her back before leaving.

"Your Grace, the Dornish will likely blame us for Doran's death," Qyburn said after she was gone.

"Trust, like parchment, cannot be smoothed out once crumpled," Samwell replied. "Even if House Martell rationally places blame on their vassals, can they truly trust those lords again?

"And can those lords, their hands stained with Doran's blood, truly believe House Martell will not seek retribution?

"Once doubt is planted, it will grow roots."

Qyburn chuckled. "And Arianne Martell isn't the type to handle such matters rationally."

Samwell smirked but said no more, descending to the dungeons.

---

In the dungeons, Loras Tyrell sat against the cold stone wall, his expression weary.

When the door creaked open, he squinted against the torchlight.

"Caesar," he greeted bitterly. "What do you intend to do with me?"

"Take you to Highgarden."

Loras's eyes widened in disbelief. "You'll… let me return to Highgarden?"

"What do you think?"

"I…" Loras hesitated, guilt clouding his voice. "For the sake of old friendships… and for Margaery… I ask for your mercy."

"Mercy?" Samwell sneered. "Was there mercy at Bloodstone Isle?"

Loras fell silent, unable to refute him.

"Come," Samwell ordered. "The Reach awaits. And there's quite a show to perform."

Though unease prickled at Loras, he followed Samwell outside, where sunlight stung his eyes after so long in darkness.

"Treat Margaery kindly," Loras said quietly. "She had no part in this."

"She's my queen now," Samwell replied coldly.

As Loras prepared to climb onto the dragon, Cleopatra spread her wings and leapt into the air, seizing him in her claws and carrying him skyward.

---

Back in the greenhouse, Margaery looked up, sensing the dragon's ascent.

Her gaze lingered on the distant silhouette of Samwell and Cleopatra in flight.

After a moment of hesitation, she turned back to her roses.

Storm's End, though grand and imposing, lacked the vitality of Highgarden. Margaery resolved to fill it with life.

Someday, she vowed, Storm's End would rival Highgarden's beauty.

(End of Chapter)