Chapter 308: Uprising
"Steward! Steward!"
Ser Igon Vyrwel, captain of Highgarden's guards, shouted after Garth Tyrell.
"Lord Mace? Have you seen him?"
"He should be resting in his chambers," Garth replied calmly. "What's the matter?"
"He's not there! I've already looked," Ser Igon said, his face pale with panic. "I've searched the entire castle but can't find Lord Mace. Meanwhile, the Horse Faction's vanguard is nearly upon Highgarden! We must gather the army for defense immediately!"
Garth sighed, a faint smile tugging at his lips.
"Defense? Do you really think Highgarden can hold against the Horse Faction's assault?"
Igon thought of how the Horse Faction had captured Old Oak and Cider Hall in a single day, and his heart sank. Yet he stood firm, protesting:
"We can't just surrender without a fight. This is Highgarden! I can't believe they would dare storm the castle."
"Then you underestimate Caesar, and the Entourage," Garth said with a slight shake of his head, turning to leave.
Igon grabbed his arm, his grip firm and demanding:
"Tell me the truth—has Mace fled?"
Garth hesitated for a moment before nodding slowly.
"Highgarden is lost."
"He's the Lord of Highgarden, Warden of the Reach!" Igon erupted, his voice shaking with anger. "Even if he must die, it should be here, defending his home!"
A bitter laugh escaped Garth as he retorted:
"You're only concerned because you fear the Horse Faction will hold you accountable. During the Stag rebellion, you betrayed your oaths and abandoned your honor."
"I was acting for the good of House Tyrell," Igon muttered, deflated.
Garth snorted and walked away without another word.
Igon stood frozen, torn between rage and despair.
Just then, a group of servants came rushing down the spiral staircase, shouting:
"The Lady is gone! Lady Olenna is gone!"
Igon's stomach dropped. He lunged forward, grabbing one of the maids by the arm:
"What are you saying? Lady Olenna is dead?"
"Y-yes…" the maid stammered, her face pale with fear.
"How did she die?"
"I… I don't know," she said, her voice trembling. "She was lying on the balcony. We thought she was asleep, but when we checked…"
Igon shoved the servant aside and bolted up the stairs.
When he reached the balcony and saw Olenna Tyrell's lifeless body, any lingering hope within him crumbled.
Highgarden is finished.
Igon stumbled back to his quarters, his mind racing. The cries of panic echoed through the castle halls—maids and servants running aimlessly, guards rushing by in full armor.
Normally, Igon would have stopped the soldiers to issue orders, but now, he could barely think straight.
Upon reaching his room, he finally snapped out of his stupor and began hastily packing his belongings.
Highgarden was no longer safe. He couldn't return to his family seat at Castle Vyrwel, either; with the Horse Faction on the verge of dominating the Reach, his family would likely betray him to save themselves.
There was only one place left: King's Landing.
If he could make it there, perhaps he could find sanctuary with the Lannisters.
But to ensure his survival, he would need leverage. Kevan Lannister.
Igon finished packing and set off toward the dungeons where Kevan was being held.
When he arrived, however, he found the cell empty.
"Where is Kevan Lannister?" Igon demanded.
"Ser Garrett flowers took him," one of the guards replied.
"Garrett Flowers?" Igon repeated, stunned. He immediately recalled his earlier encounter with Garth Tyrell. A sinking feeling settled in his gut.
Realization dawned.
Garth had betrayed them.
Panic surged through him as he stormed out of the dungeons.
When he emerged into the daylight, his eyes adjusted just in time to see a squad of crossbowmen waiting for him.
Terror gripped him, and he raised his hands, shouting:
"I need to speak to Garth Tyrell—"
The crossbowmen gave no reply. Their bolts flew.
Igon collapsed, pierced by multiple arrows, writhing in agony.
As his vision dimmed, his eyes fell upon the lifeless body of another Tyrell knight sprawled beside him—
Like him, the man had been a staunch supporter of the Stag Faction.
In his final moments, Igon understood.
Garth Tyrell had allied with the Horses.
But the realization came too late.
---
Cider Hall
Samwell sat in his chambers with the doors locked and the windows shuttered. No candles were lit, yet the room was far from dark.
A crimson flame danced in his left palm, casting a flickering, otherworldly glow.
Wisps of gray smoke curled around the fire, swirling as if alive, condensing and dispersing like the breath of some unseen creature.
The flame shifted—first gold, then orange, then a sickly green.
The fire crawled across Samwell's hand, caressing his skin like a lover's touch. Thanks to his Unburnt ability, he felt no pain—only a soothing warmth, like soaking in a hot spring.
Drawing his greatsword Dawn, Samwell examined its milk-white blade.
Since his return from Bloodstone Island, the sword had lost its fiery radiance. The once-glowing red-and-gold veins had vanished, leaving only a smooth, translucent surface.
He ran his flaming hand along the blade, watching the fire climb the sword's length as if finding its true home.
Moments later, Dawn burned again.
The flame was not as powerful as before; it lacked the divine strength of R'hllor, the Lord of Light. Still, it was an impressive weapon—capable of holding fire without burdening its wielder.
Samwell raised the sword, watching the flames trace its edges.
Through the fire, he saw his reflection in the blade's polished surface.
But as he stared, the reflection distorted, the flames casting eerie shadows that seemed to breathe. Ashes floated upward, swirling with flashes of white, red, and gold.
The crackling of the fire began to sound like whispers—low, guttural, and insistent.
"Hantam… Hantam…"
That voice again.
He had first heard it when he channeled his newfound power into his spirit.
Images flickered in the flames: burning cliffs, roaring infernos, and an avalanche of white mist extinguishing the fire.
Finally, he saw it clearly—a mountain of skulls, piled high and burning.
"Hantam… Hantam…"
"Enough!" Samwell growled, extinguishing the flames with a swipe of his hand.
The visions vanished, but the whispers lingered, faint and insidious.
Samwell looked at the flower-shaped scar on his palm—the mark left by Melisandre.
Once a seven-petaled bloom, one of its petals had faded.
Was the seal failing?
A knock at the door broke his thoughts.
Samwell sheathed Dawn and opened the door to find his cupbearer, Noah Rowan, holding a sealed letter.
"Your Grace, a message from Highgarden."
Samwell broke the seal and skimmed the contents. A grin spread across his face.
"Highgarden is in chaos," he said.
"Chaos?" Noah's eyes widened. "Should we march immediately to capture Mace Tyrell and Olenna?"
"No rush," Samwell said with a smirk. "Lord Peake's vanguard is already en route. Ride ahead and deliver this news to him. Tell him to secure Highgarden as soon as possible. The main army will follow."
"Yes, Your Grace!"
(End of Chapter)