Chapter 379: The Firstborn

Margaery was carried into the already-prepared birthing chamber.

Inside, three of Storm's End's most experienced midwives were waiting. A group of maids bustled about, boiling water and sterilizing cloths with orderly precision.

"Don't worry, Your Grace. Mother and child will be safe," said Melisandre, her voice calm and full of certainty.

Samwell Tarly nodded gravely, his expression tense.

In this moment, he found himself earnestly hoping that the flames' prophecies were accurate and trustworthy.

From inside the room came the sounds of Margaery's cries. Maids entered and exited frequently, carrying supplies.

The busy scene seemed surreal to Samwell.

Whether in this life or the last, this was his first child—the continuation of his bloodline.

From the moment he arrived in this world four years ago, Samwell had faced countless hardships. Now, it felt as though his journey had finally taken root.

For the first time, he felt truly bound to this strange new world.

As the real and the surreal intertwined, Samwell felt a peculiar sense of temporal disorientation.

---

Time crawled by. The sun sank in the west, giving way to the moon, which rose above the treetops before descending again to welcome the piercing dawn.

"Still no progress?" Samwell, who had stayed awake all night, began to grow restless.

"Your Grace," one of the midwives explained cautiously, "childbirth often takes one or two days, especially for first-time mothers. It's not uncommon for it to be more difficult."

Samwell understood this in theory, but knowing his wife was suffering behind those doors made it impossible to remain completely calm.

"Your Grace, would you like breakfast?" one of the maids asked timidly.

Samwell waved her off, his appetite nonexistent. Seeing Daenerys Targaryen waiting nearby, he said:

"Dany, why don't you eat something?"

"Let's go together," Daenerys replied, taking his arm. "Margaery is surrounded by people taking care of her. She'll be fine."

Recognizing that his nerves were getting the better of him, Samwell nodded in agreement.

The two of them made their way to the dining hall, where servants brought breakfast to the table.

Before they could begin eating, footsteps echoed from the doorway. Gavin hurried in, followed by Ser Lucas Dayne.

"Your Grace! Victory! A great victory!" Gavin exclaimed, his voice brimming with excitement. "Our fleet encountered the Arbor fleet in the Dornish Sea. After a fierce battle, we achieved a decisive victory!"

Samwell shot to his feet, laughing heartily. "You haven't had breakfast yet, have you? Sit down and tell me everything."

"Thank you, Your Grace," Lucas said as he took a seat at the long table and began recounting the details of the battle.

It was indeed a glorious victory. According to the post-battle report, the Stormlands fleet had sunk 28 large ships of the Arbor fleet, damaged 17, and destroyed 56 smaller vessels. They had also captured 3,800 sailors and officers, including Horas Redwyne, the commander of the Arbor fleet.

The Stormlands fleet had sustained damage to several ships, but all were repairable. Around 200 sailors had been killed in action.

"You've done excellent work!" Samwell said, his spirits soaring. He turned to Lucas and declared,

"Ser Lucas Dayne, you have distinguished yourself in this battle. I officially appoint you as Lord Admiral of the Stormlands fleet and the lord of the Arbor."

Lucas immediately rose from his seat, knelt, and thanked Samwell profusely.

He knew well that, although the Arbor still belonged to House Redwyne for now, Samwell's title grant was a promise. Once the Arbor was conquered, it would become his rightful domain.

This was no empty gesture.

After the devastating defeat in the Dornish Sea, the Arbor fleet's strength was broken. The fall of House Redwyne—and the Arbor itself—was inevitable.

"Lucas," Samwell said with a wry smile, "you'd better find yourself an heir soon. It'd be a shame if such a fine piece of land had no one to inherit it."

Lucas laughed. "Your Grace, you're absolutely right. But at my age, I don't think I'll be having children. Perhaps I'll adopt someone from House Dayne."

"That's fine," Samwell replied. He had been about to encourage Lucas to have a child of his own but remembered the knight's vow to remain unmarried.

The two continued discussing the future development of the Stormlands navy and plans for advancing up the Blackwater River.

---

Time ticked by. By noon, there was still no news from the birthing chamber.

Samwell's impatience resurfaced.

Heading to the chamber, he was about to step inside when a shadow fell over the courtyard.

The sound of leathery wings beating against the air reached his ears.

Samwell turned and saw Cleopatra, his white dragon, descending into the courtyard.

He chuckled. "What brings you here, Cleopatra? Come to join the excitement?"

The massive dragon nearly filled the entire courtyard. Its serpentine neck swayed as it opened its jaws and let out a piercing roar.

Roar!

The sulfuric heat of its breath sent the surrounding servants and guards scurrying back in fright.

"Sam, she seems… unsettled," Daenerys observed.

Samwell approached Cleopatra cautiously.

The dragon lowered its head, nuzzling Samwell's hand as if seeking comfort.

"What's wrong, girl?" he asked softly. "Are you worried about Margaery too?"

Cleopatra opened her jaws and expelled a few embers. Its powerful legs shifted, accidentally smashing a section of the courtyard wall.

Samwell's gaze followed the dragon's movements.

Behind Cleopatra, something glimmered—a round, red object nestled against the ground. Its surface was scaled, and a faint mist surrounded it.

Samwell's eyes widened in delight. "So, you've laid an egg!"

He stepped forward and gently picked up the dragon egg.

The scorching heat of the shell sizzled against his skin, but thanks to his Unburnt trait, he felt no pain.

---

At that moment, the door to the birthing chamber flew open, and a maid rushed out, her face beaming with joy.

"Your Grace! Queen Margaery has given birth—it's a boy!"

"Congratulations, Your Grace!" The crowd erupted in celebration.

Laughing, Samwell handed the dragon egg to Daenerys and hurried into the chamber.

He went straight to Margaery's bedside, taking her hand and kissing her sweat-drenched forehead.

"You've done wonderfully," he whispered.

Margaery smiled weakly and gestured toward the midwives. "Go see our child."

Samwell turned to the midwife, who handed him a small, swaddled bundle.

The baby was incredibly light, yet Samwell held him as if carrying the weight of the world.

Though his skin was wrinkled and his cries filled the room, the boy's voice was strong and healthy.

Samwell felt a wave of emotion. He beckoned Daenerys closer.

"Bring the egg," he said.

Daenerys hesitated. "Sam, it's very hot."

"Bring it," he insisted.

Taking the egg from her, Samwell carefully placed it beside his newborn son.

The baby, who had been wailing moments before, fell silent immediately.

Gavin Mander's voice boomed:

"Your Grace, he bears the blood of the dragon!"

Another wave of cheers erupted.

Margaery, struggling to sit up, asked, "Sam, have you chosen his name?"

"I have," Samwell replied solemnly. "He is my firstborn, my heir. His name shall be—Octavian."

(End of Chapter)