Chapter 279: Resolve

From dusk until nightfall, the feast of 77 courses was finally nearing its end.

Samwell and Margaery shared their meals from the same plate throughout, exuding an almost enviable sweetness that drew admiring gazes from many in attendance.

As the music began to play, Margaery placed her hand in Samwell's, smiling brightly.

"My dear, it's time for us to lead the first dance!"

Samwell wiped his mouth with a napkin and stood up, offering his hand to his wife. Together, they stepped into the center of the hall.

Guests soon followed, taking their places in the dance.

"Do you remember the first time we danced?" Margaery asked, leaning into her husband's embrace with a smile filled with nostalgia.

"Of course," Samwell replied, returning her smile. "It was at the Hightower. Someone stole your dance partner, and you almost missed the first dance."

"And then my knight came to the rescue."

"It was my honor."

"And you managed to swindle a good number of Highgarden's refugees while you were at it."

Samwell froze for a moment, caught off guard.

Feigning indignation, Margaery puffed her cheeks, saying, "Hmph! I asked my grandfather about it. Turns out you never signed an exclusive supply deal with the Hightowers."

Samwell laughed awkwardly. "But you still helped me get Mace Tyrell's endorsement."

"I couldn't let you fail after seeing how hard you worked in the Red Mountains," Margaery said with a giggle. "Though Grandmother teased me endlessly for being so foolish, saying you'd eventually swindle away all my savings. Who'd have thought that in the end, you'd swindle me away entirely?"

"Swindle?" Samwell exclaimed in mock protest. "I've always treated you with the utmost sincerity!"

Margaery laughed even harder, her mirth lighting up her entire face.

Samwell pulled her closer, holding her securely as they moved in perfect harmony to the music. The sound of flutes and harps wove through the hall, accompanied by the steady beat of drums.

When the song ended, it was time to change dance partners.

Samwell next found himself dancing with his mother-in-law, Lady Alerie Hightower. Taking advantage of the moment, she quietly urged him to let Margaery remain in Highgarden for the birth of their child, citing the more favorable climate and food.

Samwell politely deflected her suggestions with vague reassurances, offering no promises.

Next, he danced with Lady Taena Merryweather. With her large, dark eyes and flowing black hair, the beauty from Myr captivated many envious glances from the other men in the hall.

Later, Samwell invited his mother to the dance floor, followed by his younger sister, Talla.

"Brother, I want to get married too!" Talla declared with a flushed face, her excitement evident.

Samwell chuckled. "Oh? Do you have someone in mind?"

Talla hesitated for a moment before discreetly pointing in a certain direction, quickly withdrawing her hand.

She really does have someone in mind, Samwell thought, glancing toward the figure she had indicated. Standing at the edge of the hall was Chiman Tigerfang, exuding his usual unapproachable aura.

"Chiman…?"

"Yes, isn't he cool?"

Samwell was momentarily speechless.

"Brother, he's your knight, right? He must be so brave on the battlefield, making enemies tremble in fear!"

"He certainly makes enemies tremble…" Samwell replied with a dry smile.

Talla's eyes sparkled with admiration. "Can you ask him to invite me to the next dance?"

"He's a wildling; he doesn't know how to dance," Samwell said quickly, grasping for an excuse.

"That's okay! I can teach him."

Seeing her persistence, Samwell finally sighed. "Actually, Ser Chiman is already engaged. Maybe you should consider someone else."

"Really? Oh… fine." Talla looked disappointed.

Fortunately, teenage infatuations are fleeting. With some encouragement from Samwell, Talla soon shifted her interest to Ser Brus Buckler, a knight from Storm's End.

A good match, Samwell thought, given that Buckler had recently sworn allegiance to him and his lands at Bronzegate were strategically important to Storm's End.

When the music ended, someone in the crowd called out, "Isn't it time for the bedding ceremony?"

Samwell frowned.

The traditional Westerosi bedding ceremony was a custom he deeply disliked. The practice of stripping the bride and groom bare before raucous guests felt invasive and vulgar to him.

As the guests began chanting and urging the couple toward the ceremony, Samwell quickly stepped forward, scooped Margaery into his arms, and dashed for the door.

"Caesar's in a hurry!" Lord Mathis Rowan shouted with a laugh. "Stop him! The clothes aren't off yet!"

Margaery gasped in surprise but didn't resist her husband's actions.

To appease the guests, she mischievously undid his cravat and tossed it behind her. "See? I'm undressing him!" she giggled.

"Strip the bride! Strip the groom!" the musicians sang bawdily, adding to the growing frenzy.

The guests erupted into laughter and surged forward to intercept them.

Loras Tyrell managed to grab hold of Samwell's sleeve, but with one swift motion, the fabric tore away as Samwell sprinted toward their chamber.

Behind him, the crowd shouted:

"The Caesars are fast runners!"

"Does he have wings between his legs too? Should we tempt him with bait?"

"Slow down, mighty eagle! Save your energy for later!"

Samwell didn't stop until they reached the bridal chamber.

Margaery, still laughing uncontrollably, tossed fragments of his clothes to the pursuing guests.

Once inside, Samwell slammed the door shut, barring the overly enthusiastic revelers from entering.

Undeterred, the crowd outside continued shouting suggestive remarks.

"The eagle's attacking the castle!"

"Rose petals make for sturdy walls!"

"Want some help with the battering ram?"

Inside, Margaery's laughter finally began to subside.

Samwell, smiling outwardly, felt a cold, sinking weight settle in his heart.

The warmth and joy of the wedding stood in sharp contrast to the frigid truths of the power games swirling around him.

This was his first wedding, across both lifetimes. The murderous intent hidden in the joy seemed to have really killed something in Samwell's heart.

The realization hit him like a hammer: he had underestimated the stakes of this game.

Though he had taken the name Caesar, he hadn't fully embraced what it meant. Deep down, he was still just the merchant he had been in his previous life—a man of small ambitions and clever tricks.

Such a mentality might be enough to become a lord in this world, but it is far from enough to ascend the Iron Throne.

But this was Westeros, a land where only the strongest could survive.

In this realm, he could no longer afford to be a petty lord content with a modest dominion.

To live, to thrive, he would need to become a true Caesar.

"Sam?" Margaery's soft voice broke his reverie.

He turned to her, forcing a smile. "I was just thinking how lucky I am to have married you."

"And I'm lucky to have married you," Margaery replied, her smile radiant. "The Rose of Highgarden belongs to you now."

"No," Samwell said firmly. "From this moment on, you're no longer just the Rose of Highgarden. You're my wife—Lady Caesar."

"Oh, how domineering!" Margaery teased, before bursting into laughter again.

Samwell pulled her onto the bed, gently removing the remnants of her gown. Margaery quieted, her arms wrapping around him.

Their lips met.

The revelry outside and the sinister plots beyond their chamber faded into oblivion.

---

Later that night, Highgarden fell silent.

Margaery lay fast asleep in his arms, but Samwell remained wide awake.

Carefully disentangling himself, he rose and dressed.

The cool night breeze carried the faint hum of crickets as he made his way to his father's chambers.

Randyll Tarly stood waiting in the garden, as if he had known his son would come.

"You couldn't sleep?"

"No. And you?"

"I knew you wouldn't be able to."

Samwell smiled faintly, touched by his father's understanding. He stood beside Randyll and recounted the conversation he had overheard from Horas Redwyne.

When he finished, Randyll's expression was grim.

"This was always inevitable," the elder Tarly said flatly. "Never expect mercy from your enemies. They'll only strike harder."

"Yes. At the banquet today, Lady Olenna reminded me not to go to Sunspear for the coronation ceremony, but suggested choosing a small island in the Sea of Dorne..."

"It seems she really hopes you'll go to the coronation ceremony," Randyll said with a cold smile. "I can probably guess her plan. Once you acknowledge Myrcella Baratheon as queen, not only will you not receive the title of Duke of Storm's End, but you'll also be charged with regicide.

"This way, she can justifiably execute you, and the Tyrell's won't have to dirty their hands. Margaery can then naturally take over your lands, and any future children she bears can inherit your dragons."

"I understand." Samwell's voice was cold.

Randyll studied him closely before advising, "Don't act rashly. As long as the Tyrells remain your overlords, you can't move against them without provocation. Maintain your honor, or you'll lose everything."

"I won't act impulsively," Samwell assured him.

"Good." Randyll nodded. "I still suggest the same thing as before .Take Margaery and return to Storm's End. Forget this nonsense about coronations. Focus on consolidating your power in the Stormlands. Once you've done that, no one will dare threaten you."

"As long as you don't acknowledge Myrcella as queen, Lady Olenna can't do anything to you unless she can mobilize an army to attack Storm's End."

But Samwell shook his head.

"No," he said quietly. "I won't let the Tyrell's off so easily. I can't act directly, but I can use someone else's hand."

"Whose hand?"

"The rebels."

"The rebels? You mean the Stag faction?"

"Exactly. Don't forget, Willas and Garlan are still in their hands. What we need to do is make the Stag faction truly become a true rebels!"

Randyll Tarly pondered for a moment, and just as he was about to ask further, he heard his son say again, "And I'm still going to the coronation ceremony."

Randyll Tarly frowned, "What are you going there for? You don't really intend to crown Myrcella, do you?"

"Of course not," Caesar replied.

"I'm going to crown myself."

(End of Chapter)