Chapter 170: The Battle Plan

"Brother, what's that you're holding?"

Early in the morning, Dickon Tarly walked into Samwell's tent and saw his brother inspecting an oval-shaped stone.

"A dragon egg," Samwell replied without hesitation, knowing his brother wouldn't believe him anyway.

"A dragon egg?" Dickon frowned, remembering all the supposed "dragon relics" his brother had shown him before.

This won't do! he thought. I've got to talk some sense into him!

The way Dickon looked at his brother now was like seeing a wayward spendthrift gone astray.

"Brother, there's something I've been meaning to tell you for a while."

"Oh? What's that?"

"It's about…well, those dragon relics you've been collecting—they're all fake!"

"What? Impossible!" Samwell exclaimed, feigning shock. "I spent a fortune on those! No way they're fake!"

Dickon sighed. "And this 'dragon egg'—how much did you spend on it?"

"Not too much. Just three hundred gold dragons," Samwell lied casually.

"Three hundred gold dragons!" Dickon's eyes widened. "Brother, no matter how generous your tournament rewards were, you can't keep spending like this! That 'dragon egg' is definitely a fake. Even if it were real, there's no way to hatch a dragon from it. Dozens of Targaryen kings tried for centuries without success!"

"Well, just because they failed doesn't mean I will," Samwell said, smiling to himself as he thought of the Red Comet.

If he calculated correctly, it would be less than a year until the comet's arrival—the return of magic to the world. That would be the time for dragons to rise once more. He still needed to make some preparations.

But to Dickon, Samwell's confidence looked like stubborn obsession.

"Brother! You can't keep doing this, or you'll bleed your own land dry!"

"All right, all right. I promise, no more," Samwell replied, waving it off. He tucked the dragon egg securely at the bottom of his chest. "By the way, when do we march?"

"Right away. The vanguard's already on the move, but our Reach troops are bringing up the rear, so we've got a bit more time."

"Perfect. I'll get some sleep, then," Samwell said, yawning and shooing his brother out.

After a refreshing nap, Samwell finally rose at Dickon's prompting, gathered his troops, and set out to join the main force.

The army moved south along the Boneway—a winding, rugged mountain path that made their progress painfully slow. Half a month later, they finally reached their destination: Blackhaven.

Blackhaven was a small but strategically vital fortress town near Dorne's border, with imposing black basalt walls and a wide moat, built as a military stronghold to guard the Boneway against Dornish incursions.

While it lay in the Dornish Marches, this borderland was actually under the Stormlands rather than Dorne, with most of the lords here sworn to the Storm's End. Oddly enough, though, the title Warden of the Marches had always been granted to the Lord of Highgarden. In theory, Mace Tyrell had the authority to command the Dornish Marches' troops, but whether these lords would follow his orders was another matter.

As a buffer zone between the Reach, Stormlands, and Dorne, the Marches had seen constant warfare over the centuries, even after Aegon the Conqueror unified six of the Seven Kingdoms. It remained a frontline against Dorne, where every border castle was a bulwark.

Blackhaven's lord, Beric Dondarrion, had a particular history with Samwell. It was at Blackhaven that Edric Dayne and his sister, Allyria—both scions of House Dayne and targets of Samwell's earlier accusations—had been killed, with Allyria being Lord Beric's own wife.

Yet, Lord Beric had never troubled Samwell about it. He seemed a reasonable man.

The army waited at Blackhaven for nearly two weeks until the Riverlands, the Vale, and the North finally joined them. The force now swelled to a staggering seventeen thousand soldiers.

And that was only counting soldiers. Add in supply carriers, peddlers, camp followers, and servants, and the total easily exceeded thirty thousand—perhaps closer to fifty thousand if one were to boast. Enough to give the Dornish a real fright.

Standing in the midst of such a massive army, Samwell could hardly grasp the scale of it all.

The riverbanks and hills on both sides of the Boneway were a sea of tents like mushrooms sprouting across fields. The constant noise of thousands of voices overpowered even the rush of the river and the whistling of the wind.

The trees for miles around had been stripped bare to make poles for banners, creating a forest of steel where thousands of spears and swords gleamed under the sunlight. At mealtimes, the smoke from countless fires filled the air with a pale haze.

"Lord Samwell, the king has called a war council. You're to attend immediately."

"All right."

Finishing the last of his meal, Samwell cleaned his hands and made his way to the largest, most lavish tent in the camp, its golden stag banner fluttering above. Along the way, he passed fully armed soldiers, porters carrying supplies, armorers, and camp followers. He couldn't help but wonder just how much it cost to sustain such a force every day.

No one could answer that question—not since the Master of Coin, Tyrion Lannister, had been sent back to King's Landing after a fiery clash with Lord Tywin the day Samwell had arrived.

The closer he got to the center, the more prominent the stag banners became, looming over the camp like enormous tapestries. Samwell was ushered inside and led to his designated seat—a small bench in the back corner, as befitted a lord of minor rank.

In the central seat sat a middle-aged man in crimson velvet emblazoned with a roaring lion. Samwell immediately recognized him: the Warden of the West, Lord of Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister.

Lord Tywin's expression was cold, stern, his gaze unyielding. It was said that ever since his father, Lord Tytos, had been humiliated as the "Laughing Lion," Tywin himself had never laughed again.

When Tywin had assumed power, he had swiftly reversed his father's lax rule, crushing rebellious vassals and razing their castles as a warning to others. Through harsh but decisive measures, he restored House Lannister's glory and stability.

He had also served as Hand of the King under Aerys II for twenty years, ushering in an era of prosperity and peace. However, his popularity and effectiveness eventually aroused the Mad King's jealousy, leading to their bitter fallout and Tywin's resignation.

During Robert's Rebellion, Tywin had held back, observing from afar as the royalists and rebels clashed. Only after Robert's victory at the Trident did Tywin finally march on King's Landing. Aerys, mistaking Tywin's arrival for a rescue, opened the gates—only for Tywin to seize the city and his son Jaime to slay the Mad King.

Despite his conquest of the capital, Tywin Lannister had chosen not to seize the throne, instead presenting it to Robert Baratheon along with his daughter, Cersei, as queen.

Now, after years of quiet at Casterly Rock, Tywin Lannister had returned to the heart of power, and it seemed he intended to stay there this time.

"Are all the lords assembled?" Tywin asked from the head seat, where he looked every bit the ruler.

"Yes, my lord," came the reply.

No one questioned why young King Joffrey wasn't present. Even Cersei Lannister, seated to Tywin's right, was dutifully playing the role of obedient daughter.

"Wait a moment. The king hasn't arrived yet," Lord Eddard Stark, the Hand of the King, reminded the council.

At least someone still remembered the king.

"His Grace was tired and has retired to bed," Cersei replied.

Lord Stark frowned, his gaze darting between Tywin and Cersei. He detested the Lannisters' brazen arrogance, but he was in no position to challenge them now.

Without the title of regent, he ranked below Cersei. If she deferred power to her father, there was little he could do.

More importantly, this campaign was aimed at avenging Lord Jon Arryn. Robert's vengeance would have to wait.

Remembering Samwell's advice, Eddard let the matter drop.

Seeing this, Cersei's lips curled into a small, satisfied smile as she proclaimed loudly, "Lords, His Grace has approved the campaign strategy. My father will present it to you now."

Lord Tywin swept his gaze across the assembled lords and knights, then announced, "This campaign against Dorne will be a four-pronged assault."

(End of Chapter)