Chapter 457: Surrender of the City

Samwell sipped from his cup, his expression bemused as he studied the man before him.

"Aren't you worried I'll strip you of your title?"

"I trust in your wisdom, Your Grace," Roose Bolton replied evenly. "I'm also aware of your close relationship with Eddard Stark. But if I may be so bold, if you wish to avoid the mistakes of your predecessors, you should consider limiting the Stark family's power."

"My predecessors?"

"The Targaryens," Roose said in a somber tone. "Though you now bear the name Caesar, everyone knows you're descended from the dragons. And wasn't it the alliance of wolf, fish, and stag that ultimately drove the great dragon family from Westeros?"

Samwell responded with a faint smile, signaling for Roose to continue.

Roose swallowed a sip of wine and resumed:

"In my view, Your Grace, your power base lies in the south. Even if the northern lords yield to your forces for now, their loyalty remains uncertain—especially the Stark, Arryn, and Tully families. These three houses have forged a strong bond through marriage, with their territories forming a contiguous alliance. Only a madman like Aerys Targaryen would dare provoke such a coalition, and you know how that ended for him.

Now, as you stand on the brink of the Iron Throne, even if you wish to move past the events of Robert's Rebellion, you must remain vigilant of the northern alliance."

Samwell's voice turned playful.

"If I cannot trust the Starks, should I trust the Boltons?"

"At least House Bolton's influence in the North doesn't run as deep as the Starks'," Roose countered calmly. "We have fewer connections to the Vale and Riverlands."

Samwell raised an eyebrow.

"If I'm not mistaken, you married the granddaughter of Walder Frey, Lord of the Twins."

"The Freys' influence in the Riverlands can't compare to House Tully's," Roose acknowledged. "While Tywin Lannister named Walder Frey Warden of the Riverlands, I suspect you'd prefer to see the Tullys reclaim their place, wouldn't you?"

Samwell didn't deny it.

Roose offered his conclusion:

"In any case, Your Grace, House Bolton poses far less of a threat to you than the Starks do. If you wish to prevent the North from uniting as a single, impenetrable bloc again, it would be best to let me remain Warden of the North.

Especially now, with winter approaching and a terrible threat looming from beyond the Wall. Eddard Stark has joined the Night's Watch, leaving behind a seven-year-old son who is far too young to lead the North."

Samwell was slightly surprised.

"So, you believe the White Walkers are real?"

"I do. The Dreadfort is not far from the Wall, and I understand the North far better than most southern lords," Roose replied. "That's precisely why you shouldn't doubt my sincerity. If the White Walkers breach the Wall, my lands will be the first to suffer. I have more reason than anyone in your southern army to see this civil war end quickly, so we can focus on the real threat."

Samwell nodded thoughtfully. "How are things at the Wall?"

"Dire," Roose said grimly. "The previous Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Jeor Mormont, was killed beyond the Wall. Eddard Stark has been elected the new Lord Commander.

The King-Beyond-the-Wall, Mance Rayder, has led an army of 100,000 wildlings south. They claim unspeakable horrors have emerged in the far north, forcing them to flee.

The Night's Watch has refused to let the wildlings pass the Wall, as is their duty. The two sides are locked in fierce battles.

Additionally, Stannis Baratheon has brought his remaining 2,000 soldiers to aid the Night's Watch, but their forces are still vastly outnumbered. Without the Wall's defenses, Castle Black would have already fallen.

While the Wall hasn't been breached yet, it's doubtful they can hold much longer. And with winter's winds rising, the horrors of legend may indeed descend upon us. The entire continent of Westeros will face an unimaginable threat.

Compared to that, our disputes here are petty and ridiculous."

Samwell chuckled softly.

"Lord Bolton, you're quite the persuasive speaker."

"You flatter me, Your Grace," Roose replied humbly. "I'm merely stating the facts."

At that moment, a guard entered and reported:

"Your Grace, King Tommen and the nobles have left the city to surrender."

Roose immediately offered his congratulations:

"Congratulations, Your Grace. The Seven Kingdoms now look to you as their rightful ruler!"

Samwell had expected this and remained composed.

"Ending this war quickly is a blessing for all the people of Westeros." He set down his cup and stood.

Roose followed suit.

"Let's go. It's time to meet the Lannister king and the northern lords," Samwell said, turning to Roose. "As for your suggestions, I'll consider them. But I already have my own plans for the North. You'll understand in due time."

Roose's pale eyes flickered briefly, but he bowed his head and replied, "As you command, Your Grace."

---

Outside the western gates of King's Landing, young King Tommen clutched his uncle Tyrion's hand, standing at the forefront of the surrendering procession. His round face was pale as paper.

Soldiers bearing the double-eagle banners of House Caesar stood at attention on either side of the road, their swords and spears glinting coldly in the sunlight.

"Don't be afraid," Tyrion squeezed his nephew's clammy hand reassuringly. "Caesar won't harm you. At most, he'll take your crown."

"I never liked the crown anyway," Tommen confessed with surprising relief. "It's too heavy."

"A wise child," Tyrion said approvingly.

Suddenly, gasps erupted from the nobles behind them. A massive white dragon rose from the Caesar camp, its shadow quickly stretching over the procession.

A furnace-like gust swept past, forcing everyone to shield their eyes and cover their mouths.

BOOM!

The dragon landed with a thunderous impact, shaking the ground.

Even the proudest nobles instinctively lowered their heads, unable to meet the dragon's blood-red gaze.

Though they had heard tales of Caesar's dragon, seeing it in person was an entirely different matter.

Respect—and fear—for Caesar sprouted within their hearts.

Samwell dismounted from the dragon, landing directly in front of Tommen.

The young king's mouth hung open in awe, his wide eyes fixed on the dragon. He didn't even notice when Samwell stepped closer.

Tyrion coughed and bowed first.

"Your Grace, House Lannister surrenders to you."

He forced his nephew into a bow as well.

When Tommen straightened, he finally seemed to regain his senses. Quickly removing the golden crown from his head, he held it out to Samwell.

"Here's the crown. Can I ride the dragon now?"

Samwell studied the young king for a long moment before accepting the crown with a smile.

"Of course you can."

Relief swept through the gathered nobles like a wave.

"Now?" Tommen asked eagerly.

Laughing, Samwell lifted the boy and leapt onto the dragon's back.

Cleopatra unfurled her wings, generating a searing wind as she ascended into the sky.

As King's Landing shrank below them, Tommen cheered in delight.

"Can we go higher? Higher!"

Samwell didn't answer. His eyes were fixed on Blackwater Bay, where an ominous storm was brewing.

The storm churned unnaturally fast, crawling toward the city.

BOOM!

Thunder roared as countless bolts of lightning snaked across the dark red sky.

For a fleeting moment, Samwell thought he saw a massive, blood-red eye staring back at him from the storm.

A terrible wind rushed forward, carrying with it the smell of blood—

And sorcery.

(End of Chapter)