Chapter 382: Sycamore

A grand carriage escorted by a column of cavalry rolled slowly into the estate just outside the Caesar family's hold.

This manor, nestled against Kingswood, bordered the vast Red Mountains to the south. Known as the Sycamore Estate, its grounds were filled with tall sycamore trees, whose golden autumn leaves spiraled gracefully to the ground, forming a gilded carpet.

The estate, once a vacation retreat for the Baratheons, now belonged to the Caesar family.

As the carriage halted at the estate gates, its door—engraved with golden roses—swung open. Mace Tyrell, now visibly heavier and slower than before, stepped out with the help of his attendants.

Gavin Mander stepped forward to greet him. "Welcome, Lord Mace, to Sycamore Estate."

Mace Tyrell returned the greeting with uncharacteristic politeness.

Though Gavin held only the title of a minor baron, his role as Storm's End steward and the Storm King's trusted aide gave him considerable power.

But as Mace glanced at Gavin's modest origins—once a laborer on the Tyrell docks—he couldn't help but reflect on how much things had changed under Caesar's meteoric rise.

Many had prospered under Caesar's rule, while many more had fallen.

Mace wasn't sure which category he belonged to.

---

"Is His Majesty here?" Mace asked as he followed Gavin into the estate.

"Apologies, Lord Mace. His Majesty has gone hunting in the Kingswood with Lord Randyll Tarly and is not currently in residence."

"Oh." Mace quietly sighed with relief.

His son-in-law, Samwell Caesar, was a figure of deep intimidation to him. That Caesar wasn't here saved Mace from an encounter he had been dreading.

Gavin continued, "Queen Daenerys is hosting the lords of the Stormlands and Reach in the main hall. Would you like to join them?"

Mace frowned slightly. "Where is Margaery?"

"The queen is in the rear garden."

"Then I'll visit her first."

"Of course."

---

Following Gavin, Mace crossed a wooden bridge spanning a small stream and entered the estate's secluded rear garden.

Here, purple rosemary blossoms were in full bloom, their fresh aroma invigorating the senses.

Gavin pointed toward a gazebo ahead. "Queen Margaery is waiting there, my lord. I will take my leave."

"Thank you."

Mace quickened his pace and soon spotted Margaery Tyrell, seated in the gazebo, sipping tea. She gently rocked a cradle resting in a small carriage beside her.

"Margaery!"

At her father's voice, Margaery turned, placing a finger to her lips before gesturing to the cradle.

Understanding the gesture, Mace lightened his steps and entered the gazebo.

The sight of the cradle's occupant brought a broad smile to his face.

Moving carefully, Mace first kissed his daughter's forehead, then crouched beside the cradle to gaze at his grandson. His wide grin made his round face seem even larger.

"What's his name?" he whispered.

"Octavian," Margaery replied.

"Octavian?" Mace repeated, puzzled. "What kind of name is that? Does it have a special meaning?"

"Sam said it came to him in a dream."

Mace immediately dared not question further.

The Targaryens, after all, were known for their prophetic dragon dreams. These dreams had saved the family from the Doom of Valyria but had also plagued them for centuries, driving many to bizarre or even mad decisions.

To outsiders, dragon dreams and the ability to tame dragons marked the Targaryens as beings closer to gods than mortals.

"If the gods revealed his name in a dream, then this child must be destined for greatness," Mace marveled.

Margaery shook her head gently. "I only hope he lives a safe and peaceful life."

Just then, Octavian stirred, his eyes opening. He did not cry but stared curiously at Mace, his tiny face filled with wonder at the unfamiliar man before him.

Mace leaned closer, attempting a benevolent smile.

"He has the Tyrell family's brown eyes."

"And Sam's black hair," Margaery added as she lifted her son into her arms, rocking him gently.

It was then that Mace noticed something unusual in the cradle—a red, oval-shaped object. Pulling back the blanket, he uncovered a smooth stone covered in intricate patterns that gleamed like enamel under the afternoon sun.

"Is this…a dragon egg?"

Margaery nodded with a smile. "Cleopatra laid it the same day Octavian was born. Sam placed it in the cradle with him."

Octavian suddenly began fussing, his tiny hands reaching toward the egg.

"What's wrong? Is he hungry?" Mace asked.

"I fed him just before his nap," Margaery replied helplessly. "He wants the egg. If he can't feel it, he won't settle."

Mace laughed heartily, picking up the dragon egg with care and placing it on Octavian's belly. The child immediately quieted, content.

"According to Targaryen tradition, every newborn is gifted a dragon egg at birth. If the egg hatches, the child becomes a dragonrider," Mace said, his gaze full of anticipation as he looked at Octavian. "Do you think this one will hatch?"

Margaery stroked her son's face, her voice calm yet assured.

"Lady Melisandre says it will."

"Wonderful!" Mace exclaimed, rubbing his hands together as though the dragon would belong to him.

After a pause, his expression turned cautious. "I heard that…Horas Redwyne has been captured?"

Margaery's smile vanished, her gaze sharpening.

"Father, you haven't been meeting with the Redwyne family, have you?"

"No, no! Of course not!" Mace hurriedly denied. "How could I? I only thought…we're all family. There's no need for bloodshed…"

"Father, I advise you not to mention the Redwynes in Sam's presence or meddle in Arbor matters," Margaery warned.

"I understand, I understand…"

Seeing the sweat forming on her father's forehead, Margaery softened.

"You needn't worry too much. Sam isn't a bloodthirsty man. He's even willing to tolerate Stannis Baratheon. Why wouldn't he tolerate the Redwynes? But only if they lay down their arms and swear loyalty. If Lord Paxter continues his stubbornness, no one will be able to save him."

"Of course, of course," Mace said, nodding fervently. He quickly changed the subject:

"To celebrate Octavian's birth, Caesar has invited all the lords of the Stormlands and the Reach to Sycamore. It seems he's quite fond of his son."

"As he should be," Margaery said with a proud smile. "Octavian is his firstborn."

"But this gathering isn't just about celebrating Octavian's birth, is it?" Mace asked.

Margaery's gaze shifted northward.

"Of course not. It's also about King's Landing."

"So soon?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "Winter is coming. It's time for the Seven Kingdoms to unite."

(End of Chapter)