Chapter 259: Subjugation

"Roar—"

Cleopatra, the white dragon, let out a perfectly timed roar.

The searing heat of her sulfuric breath quickly filled the great hall, sending a chill of dread through the gathered Stormland nobles.

"I know some of you still refuse to submit," Samwell continued, his voice steady but commanding. "After all, most of you stayed behind these walls and never faced the Reach army in battle. Or perhaps you think we only won because the Stormland's main forces are trapped in Dorne, and that our victory was undeserved.

So, I will give you one more chance.

A chance for a fair fight."

As he spoke, Samwell slowly rose from his seat, leaning on the table with both hands, his piercing gaze sweeping over the nobles.

"Any of you willing to fight for House Baratheon, step forward. If you can defeat me, I will withdraw my army from Storm's End immediately. Otherwise, you will kneel before me and swear fealty—just as your ancestors did 300 years ago."

The hall fell silent.

None of the Stormland nobles moved, their expressions conflicted as they avoided Samwell's eyes.

Samwell Caesar's reputation was well-known, even among the Stormlanders. The legendary tale of him cutting down four Kingsguard knights with a single strike at Skyreach had spread like wildfire, immortalized in song by traveling bards.

Some had doubted the stories at first, but during the war between the Reach and the Stormlands, Samwell had displayed terrifying personal prowess on the battlefield. Those who once doubted now had no choice but to believe:

Caesar was likely the most formidable knight in all of Westeros.

Even Ser Lomas Estermont, who had been so arrogant just moments earlier, hesitated. He couldn't muster the courage to stand.

He had no desire to die.

He had hoped to incite the Stormlander nobles to resist the Reachmen, but Samwell's words alone had quelled the room.

After a long silence, someone finally moved.

It was "The Maid of Tarth," Brienne.

She stepped forward, presenting her sword with both hands. In a clear voice, she declared:

"Lord Caesar, Brienne of Tarth pledges her loyalty to you!"

Samwell remembered her. She had sworn in

Bronze gate that she would only serve the master of Storm's End. Now that he had taken the castle, she was honoring her word.

"I accept your loyalty," Samwell replied.

As Brienne prepared to rise, she suddenly noticed a massive sword, its blade glowing faintly with red and gold, resting on her shoulder.

Startled, she looked up to see Samwell smiling warmly at her as he spoke:

"Brienne of Tarth, do you swear, as a knight of the Seven, to fight for the dignity of the weak, the safety of women and children, and the honor of your liege lord? Do you vow to hold true to these oaths, no matter the hardships ahead, and never waver in your duty?"

Brienne froze in disbelief.

Was this man truly knighting her?

No woman had ever been made a knight in the history of Westeros.

Not even her own father had been willing to knight her.

All her life, she had been treated as an outcast—a strange woman wearing men's armor, a fool chasing a knightly dream.

But today, that dream was becoming a reality.

This legendary knight, the conqueror of Storm's End, was about to knight her.

"I swear!" Brienne declared, her voice trembling with emotion.

"I, Samwell Caesar, in the sight of the Seven, name you Brienne of Tarth, Knight of the Seven. In the name of the Father, I charge you to be just. In the name of the Mother, I charge you to be merciful. In the name of the Warrior, I charge you to be courageous. In the names of the Crone and the Maiden, I charge you to protect the weak and uphold justice.

Rise, Ser Brienne."

Brienne slowly rose, her face flushed with pride and joy.

"You knighted a woman? What a joke!" Ser Lomas scoffed.

"The real joke," Samwell retorted, "is that you probably wouldn't last a single bout against her. Lomas, you don't dare fight me. But do you dare to face Ser Brienne?"

"Face her?" Lomas's expression turned uneasy.

"Yes," Samwell said seriously. "I appoint Ser Brienne of Tarth as my champion. Choose your own champion. If they defeat her, I will let you all go free. So, Lomas, are you willing to try?"

Lomas didn't respond. He knew all too well how formidable Brienne was.

Her strength and skill had earned her mockery from men who couldn't bear the idea of being bested by a woman. But those same men had learned to fear her on the battlefield.

Lomas avoided Samwell's gaze, muttering, "My hand is injured. Is there any knight here who will fight for the honor of the Stormlands?"

He looked around, but no one stepped forward.

Frustrated and humiliated, Lomas raised his voice.

"Has everyone here lost their courage? Have you forgotten your oaths? Have you forgotten the pride of the Stormlands?"

Finally, Ser Symon Dondarrion stepped forward.

Symon wasn't loyal to the Baratheons—if he had been, he wouldn't have been imprisoned earlier. But he couldn't bring himself to kneel to a Reachman either.

Above all, he couldn't let the Stormlanders lose face entirely.

"I'll fight."

"Good!" Brienne said, her voice firm.

At Samwell's signal, soldiers brought weapons and armor for the duel.

Once armed, Symon saluted Brienne with his sword and charged forward.

His blade moved swiftly, cutting a deadly arc toward her.

Their swords clashed with a loud clang. Symon felt the force reverberate through his arms and was stunned by her strength.

She's stronger than I thought!

Anger bubbled within him. Fueled by frustration, he launched a relentless barrage of strikes.

His sword became a blur of motion, thrusting, slashing, and hacking in a storm of steel.

But Brienne parried each blow with calm precision.

Though it appeared Symon had the upper hand, the fight was taking a toll on him. Sweat dripped from his brow as his strikes grew slower and sloppier.

Brienne, meanwhile, bided her time, her defense steady and unyielding.

Finally, sensing her opponent's exhaustion, she roared and counterattacked.

Her sword swept in a powerful arc, slamming into Symon's helm with a deafening clang.

Dazed and staggering, Symon struggled to recover.

I can't lose to a woman!

With a furious shout, he launched one last desperate assault. But his strength had waned. His shoulder ached, his wrist throbbed, and each swing felt heavier than the last.

I must've been in the dungeon for too long... That's why I'm struggling... I can't actually be weaker than her!

Brienne deflected his final strike and smashed him to the ground with a kick to the stomach.

Symon lay sprawled on the floor, gasping in pain.

Brienne stood over him, her sword at his throat.

"Do You Yield!" she demanded.

Symon hesitated, then finally muttered through gritted teeth, "I yield…"

Brienne stepped back, saluting Samwell with her sword.

Samwell smiled at her, then turned his gaze to the defeated and demoralized nobles.

"You've lost. Now, kneel and swear fealty to me."

After a brief pause, Eldon Estermont of Greenstone was the first to step forward. Kneeling before Samwell, he placed his sword at the knight's feet.

"Lord Samwell Caesar, House Estermont pledges its loyalty to you. Our swords will forever fight in your name."

"I accept your loyalty," Samwell said, touching the blade with his greatsword.

One by one, the other nobles followed—Ser Gewan Wylde, the knights of Tarth, the knights of House Fell, and even the Baratheon cousins present.

By the end, fifty-seven knights of the Stormlands had placed their swords at Samwell's feet, creating a gleaming forest of steel.

Looking at the swords, some still stained with blood, Samwell suddenly understood how Aegon the Conqueror must have felt when he forged the Iron Throne from his enemies' blades.

This is what conquest feels like.

Of course, Samwell's conquest of the Stormlands wasn't complete yet. Many lords and castles remained unyielding, but the fall of Storm's End had brought him close to his goal.

The Stormlands could no longer muster significant resistance.

With this victory, Samwell had secured the leverage to bring the remaining lords to heel.

"Lord Eldon," Samwell commanded, "organize the surrendered forces within Storm's End. We march for the Reach at dawn."

"Yes, my lord," Eldon replied, bowing.

Samwell dismissed the knights, instructing them to prepare for the journey. He had no intention of leaving the Stormlander forces behind. While they had sworn loyalty, their commitment was untested.

Instead, Samwell prepared to take the troops from Storm's End and replace them with his own forces brought from Eagle's Nest and Starfall for garrison duty. This way, no matter what changes occurred in the stormlands during his absence, at least this politically significant core fortress would not be lost.

Samwell also planned to appoint his brother Dickon as the acting lord of Storm's End, but since his brother was severely injured, Samwell decided to entrust the daily defense duties to his three knights—

Lucas Dayne, Chiman Tiger Fang, and Brienne Tarth.

Samwell's gaze lingered for a moment on Chiman's cold and crazed face, he still felt it was better to keep this mad dog by his side.

However, leaving only two knights might not be enough.

After thinking for a moment, Samwell turned to his attendant Katu behind him.

This young man, also from the Tiger Fang Tribe, had been Samwell's attendant for nearly three years. He was diligent and hardworking, always willing to bear the burden. Although he hadn't achieved any great feats, he had always followed closely behind Samwell during battles.

"Katu," Samwell said, "choose a family name for yourself."

Katu was momentarily stunned, then fell into a frenzy of joy.

He knew what this meant—he would finally become a knight!

For all these years following Samwell, Katu had been eagerly anticipating this day.

"Lord Caesar," Katu knelt before Samwell, but his eyes glanced at his uncle Chiman, whose expression was as cold as ever. A flash of uncontainable hatred crossed his face, and he loudly declared, "My family name is, of course, Tiger Fang, the true Tiger Fang!"

(End of Chapter)