Chapter 387: The Wheel of Time

The sunset's last crimson glow painted the western horizon blood-red.

Though night had yet to fall, Sycamore Manor was already ablaze with light.

Lord Mathis Rowan of Goldengrove, clad in a red-and-yellow striped velvet coat, made his way toward the banquet hall, his youngest son Noah Rowan trailing behind him.

"So, Caesar has resolved to march on King's Landing?"

"Yes," Noah, who served as Samwell's squire, nodded. He was well aware of the preparations the Storm King had made for this campaign.

Glancing at his father's furrowed brow, Noah hesitated, then ventured:

"Father, do you think now is not the right time to attack King's Landing?"

Lord Mathis shook his head lightly. "It feels a bit rushed."

Before Noah could press further, a massive shadow loomed over them, blotting out the twilight.

Lord Mathis stopped in his tracks, looking up to see Caesar's white dragon circling overhead.

"It's grown so large," he murmured in awe.

The white dragon's body spanned much of the manor's sky, its alabaster scales glimmering with a faint golden sheen in the fading sunlight. Each beat of its colossal wings sent deep gusts rippling through the air, chasing away the chill of autumn.

Another piercing roar echoed, and Mathis noticed the white dragon was not alone. A smaller black dragon and an even smaller green one followed in its wake.

The sight of three dragons circling above the manor was breathtaking. Lords and ladies attending the banquet stopped in their tracks, gazing upward in awe and reverence.

"It seems Caesar truly has made up his mind," Lord Mathis murmured.

The dragons were both a symbol of confidence and a warning. Their presence was a reminder of Caesar's power, meant to rally the loyal and intimidate the wavering.

While the Reach and the Stormlands now followed Caesar, some might still hesitate to fully commit to war, especially with winter on the horizon.

After a moment of watching the dragons, Mathis collected himself and continued into the grand hall.

From the outside, Sycamore Manor appeared unassuming, but its interior was a masterpiece of opulence.

The arched ceilings, constructed from century-old redwood from the King's Wood, were gilded and inlaid with diamonds. Seven massive chandeliers illuminated the space, their light dancing off depictions of the Seven Gods painted onto the walls and ceiling.

But what caught Mathis's attention most was the floor beneath his feet. The sprawling wool carpet, woven from Myrish lambswool, was both thick and luxuriously soft. It depicted a detailed map of Westeros, with every castle, village, river, and mountain rendered in vivid colors.

Standing on this grand map, it felt as though the entire continent lay beneath one's feet. The sensation was dizzying, almost surreal.

After the dragons and now this hall, Lord Mathis could sense the Storm King's resolve—and he wondered what other surprises lay ahead.

"Lord Mathis."

The voice pulled him from his thoughts. He turned to see Lord Leyton Hightower approaching.

"Lord Leyton," Mathis greeted with a smile.

Leyton chuckled, gesturing at the floor:

"It seems you've taken a liking to my castle and don't want to leave it."

Mathis glanced down, realizing he was standing on "Oldtown" on the map. He laughed.

"Who wouldn't covet the splendor of Oldtown?"

After the jest, Mathis's tone grew serious.

"Lord Leyton, what do you think of this timing to march on King's Landing?"

Leyton gave a cryptic smile and replied indirectly:

"Before Aegon Targaryen set out to conquer Westeros, he built a massive stone table on Dragonstone, carving the Seven Kingdoms onto its surface."

"I understand Caesar's ambitions," Mathis replied, "but is now truly the right moment?"

"There's nothing wrong with the timing," Leyton said calmly. "Caesar isn't seeking advice; he's demonstrating his resolve. Lord Mathis, if the king marches on King's Landing, the Rowan family will follow, won't they?"

"Of course," Mathis replied without hesitation.

"Then that's all that matters." Leyton's eyes shifted to the door, where a hush had fallen over the crowd.

Mathis turned as well, just in time to see Samwell stride into the hall, flanked by his two queens.

The young Storm King wore a blue velvet coat embroidered with his family's double-headed eagle crest in gold thread. On his head rested the ruby-studded Valyrian steel crown once worn by Aegon the Conqueror.

On one arm was Margaery Tyrell, radiant in a deep green silk gown; on the other was Daenerys Targaryen, regal in black and red.

One queen exuded sweetness and grace, the other beauty and majesty. Together, they captivated all who looked upon them.

Behind them, a nurse carried the infant prince, Octavian, nestled against a red dragon egg.

Trailing the group was a figure cloaked in firelit crimson—the Red Priestess Melisandre.

As they entered, all eyes turned to them. Samwell had become the indisputable focal point of the evening.

"Time is a wheel," Lord Leyton murmured suddenly, his tone wistful.

Mathis turned to him, puzzled, but as he looked back at the Storm King, he felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

The crown, the queens, the dragons—it was as though he were witnessing history repeat itself.

Three centuries ago, Aegon the Conqueror had strode across Westeros with a similar air of invincibility. Now, a new conqueror stood before them.

"Time is a wheel," Leyton repeated.

Samwell stopped walking, his feet planted firmly on the carpet over "King's Landing."

Maids glided forward, offering trays of delicate crystal glasses filled with a pale blue liquid.

Samwell picked up a glass and addressed the room:

"This is brandy from the Eyrie's newest vineyard, unlike anything you've ever tasted before."

Curious, Mathis took a glass and sniffed. The aroma was indeed unique.

Samwell raised his glass high, his voice ringing out:

"This toast is to my son, my heir—Octavian!"

"To Prince Octavian!" came the chorus, followed by the clinking of countless glasses.

Mathis drank deeply. The brandy burned at first but then blossomed into sweetness—a symphony of flavors he couldn't quite place but couldn't get enough of.

"Exquisite!" he exclaimed.

But beside him, Leyton stared at his empty glass, deep in thought. He suspected the drink contained Shade of the Evening—a mystical substance from Qarth often used by warlocks. He had tasted it once in his youth, and its effects were unmistakable.

If his hunch was correct, this brandy was more than a beverage; it was a vision-inducing elixir.

As Leyton pondered, he noticed Melisandre at the back, her lips moving in silent incantation, the ruby at her throat pulsing like a heartbeat.

Samwell stepped forward once more.

"Winter is coming, and with it, a cold darkness bringing horrors from the North."

Gasps and murmurs spread through the crowd as Samwell gestured to a black-cloaked figure.

"This man is from the Night's Watch and bears grim tidings: beyond the Wall, ancient terrors stir—giants, mammoths, the Children of the Forest… and the White Walkers.

"A Hundred thousand wildlings march south, fleeing the death that follows."

The hall fell silent.

"This is a threat unlike any before," Samwell declared. "We must unite as one kingdom under one king to face it. The gods themselves have sent us this warning!"

With that, he slammed his foot down.

The ground trembled. The Seven's frescoes above shimmered, and the gods seemed to come alive. Their images radiated light and shadow, filling the hall with an otherworldly presence.

Above, the dragons roared, their fiery breath illuminating the night sky.

"Winter is coming, and the Long Night with it!" Samwell's voice echoed powerfully. Ancient evil will bring destruction and disaster! The gods have sent down a warning, we can no longer waste time killing each other, the seven kingdoms must unite under one voice, one King, and fight against the evil forces from the north!

Therefore, I decided—"

Samwell suddenly pulled out the giant sword [Dawn] behind him, and the dazzling light instantly filled the entire space. The hot sword wind blew in the face of the people present, making their hearts palpitate and urging them to surrender.

In one month, we march on King's Landing!"

"Who will stand with me for justice and survival?"

A beat of silence, then Mathis knelt, raising his voice:

"I will fight for His Majesty The King!"

One by one, lords and knights followed suit, their voices swelling in a wave of oaths.

Leyton knelt last, his heart pounding. He still couldn't discern whether this was Melisandre's magic or the Shade of the Evening at work.

But as he gazed at Samwell, bathed in the light of his sword Dawn, with dragons circling above, he felt like he was looking at the hero of legend—a savior reborn.

"House Hightower will fight for the king!" he declared.

Samwell stood tall, sword in hand, three dragons above him and the Seven Gods encircling him in ethereal glory. His radiant presence seemed to pierce the encroaching darkness.

Time was indeed a wheel, and the Storm King was both a new conqueror and the savior of a new age.

(End of Chapter)