Game of Thrones: Lord of the Flames

To the Honorable Lady Margaery Tyrell:

I shouldn't trouble you with such trivial matters, but since you are the sponsor of this expedition, I felt it my duty to keep you informed of our progress.

After we parted, I met Sir Todd Flowers and the hundred Tyrell soldiers. They are outstanding warriors, and I kindly ask that you convey my gratitude to Lady Olenna on my behalf. Additionally, I recruited 108 dockworkers, who I believe will play an important role in this endeavor.

After a day's stay in Highgarden to gather supplies and gear, we set off. Following the Roseroad southward, we reached the area near Honeyholt after nearly a month. We plan to rest here briefly before leaving the Roseroad to head further south.

However, we have encountered a problem.

I'm embarrassed to admit it, but it is indeed my oversight. I hadn't anticipated how quickly provisions would be consumed by a force of over two hundred, especially with my promise of a daily meat ration for the newly recruited soldiers… I fear that, at this rate, I'll be bankrupt before reaching the Red Mountains.

After much deliberation, I decided to write you this letter and humbly ask for your support.

I am well aware that this is an unreasonable request, and if you should refuse, I will harbor no resentment, though this expedition will likely come to an untimely end.

Your most loyal knight,

Samwell Caesar

---

In a rose-filled garden, Margaery sat on a swing, the gentle breeze lifting her brown curls as she frowned at the letter in her hands, a sight that would easily stir pity.

"What's troubling you? Which knight's letter has our little princess so lost in thought?"

The speaker was a young man with a calm air, sitting in a wheelchair with a thin face and a neatly trimmed beard.

This was Willas Tyrell, the heir to Highgarden and Margaery's older brother.

"It's not what you think, Brother." Margaery jumped off the swing and handed the letter to Willas, pouting. "It's from Samwell Tarly. That man actually wrote to ask me for money. And he's only reached Honeyholt after all this time—what has he been doing, sightseeing?"

"Samwell? Oh, I remember him." Willas skimmed the letter, a trace of amusement showing. "The pioneer knight with a fondness for golden-tail shrimp? And you're funding him?"

"I'm just helping Grandmother with her plans."

Willas furrowed his brow. "I haven't asked before, but why did Grandmother send Sir Todd and a hundred of our household guards to assist this man with his expedition? What is her goal?"

Margaery shrugged. "I don't fully know either. I only know it has something to do with Dorne."

"Dorne…" Willas lowered his head, glancing at his injured leg.

Located in the southernmost part of Westeros, Dorne was separated from the Reach by the Red Mountains.

Neighboring regions often spark conflict, and Dorne's feud with the Reach spanned over a thousand years. Legend has it that the Red Mountains were once green but turned crimson from the blood of fallen soldiers in their centuries-long war.

And Willas's leg had been injured by Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne during a tourney, further fueling the rivalry between the Tyrells and the Martells.

Seeing her brother's pensive look, Margaery took his hand, comforting him.

"Don't worry, Brother. We'll make House Martell pay."

But Willas only smiled, shaking his head.

"In truth, I don't hate him. Honestly. He defeated me honorably in the tourney; I hold no grudges. You may not believe this, but we still write to each other. Oberyn even shared a recipe for cooking horse meat recently. Actually, I should go inform the kitchens—we can try it tonight." He laughed.

Willas handed the letter back to Margaery.

"As for our pioneer knight's request, it's up to you to decide whether to continue supporting him. If you need more funds, let me know."

Margaery couldn't tell if her brother's acceptance was genuine or feigned but chose not to press the issue. She sighed as she took back the letter.

"I suppose we have to keep funding him; we can't have him slinking back here so soon."

"All right. How much do you need?"

"Five hundred… no, three hundred gold dragons. This time, I'll make sure to tell that glutton to spend more carefully!"

---

"Careful with money? Do I look like I'm short on cash?"

Samwell's boastful words left Gavin looking concerned.

"But, my lord, the funds you gave me for supplies are nearly gone…"

"So quickly?" Samwell looked surprised but remained calm.

Seeing this, Gavin felt slightly reassured, though he still tried to reason with his lord.

"My lord, you don't really have to be this generous with us. Although you promised a meat ration, we'd be fine with just meat broth. Right now, you're giving us twenty pounds of meat every day—that's a bit extravagant…"

"How will the men have the strength to train without a hearty meal?" Samwell countered. "And don't worry about the money; I'm not short on cash!"

Gavin sighed, but he couldn't deny the warmth in his heart. "My lord, you're the most generous knight I've ever known."

Completely at ease with this praise, Samwell handed Gavin more gold dragons.

"All right, go to the village and stock up on supplies. See if there's anything we haven't bought before. No matter the price, bring it back."

"Yes, my lord."

Samwell's lavish spending was no bluff. Although his funds were indeed running low, he was confident House Tyrell wouldn't let him fail.

After all, they'd already invested a hundred elite soldiers—surely they'd be willing to spend a bit more gold.

Samwell knew that while Lady Olenna had her motives, mutual benefits were a part of any alliance.

Until she achieved her aims, he held the advantage.

After Gavin left, Samwell walked to the front of the camp and ordered:

"All right, today's drills—begin!"

He blew the assembly horn.

Within moments, the new recruits burst from their tents, lining up in perfect rows.

In truth, Samwell was far from confident in his training methods.

The only experience he had with military drills was from his college ROTC days in his past life.

The original Samwell had indeed been forced into military education by his father, but those memories felt foreign, like seashells scattered on a beach. He had to painstakingly gather and piece them together.

Since deciding to undertake this expedition, Samwell had been reviewing the original Samwell's knowledge of military tactics, blending it with fragments of modern military theory he'd picked up from books, movies, and shows. Combined with his management experience from his previous life, he'd been developing a training system that was gradually taking shape.

As for its effectiveness…

Samwell wasn't sure yet; he'd need a real battle to see.

But at least now, the recruits could understand basic commands and perform simple formations and combat moves. Gone were the days of disorder. Now they looked like actual soldiers.

What Samwell didn't realize was that his training methods were unsettling Sir Todd Flowers, who watched from a distance.

When Samwell first announced his plan to recruit dockworkers, Todd had fully expected it to be a disaster.

He thought Samwell, the infamous "wastrel" of the Reach, would lose all his new recruits long before reaching the frontier.

But things had turned out very differently.

Not only had none of the recruits deserted, but they were now surprisingly disciplined. After only a month, they looked so well-trained that no one would doubt they were regular soldiers.

Todd's initial disdain had turned to serious attention, and he now watched Samwell's training sessions closely.

The unusual methods filled him with both shock and… a hint of fear.

Could this really be the same "worthless" son of House Tarly?

If Lord Randyll rejected such a son, just how incredible must the heir he chose be?

Todd noticed that Samwell had been awkward at first, but he'd grown increasingly skilled and confident, with the recruits' appearance and morale visibly transforming.

Of course, Todd knew these recruits were still inexperienced, nowhere near the level of regular soldiers. But the fact that Samwell had achieved even this in a single month was impressive; Todd doubted he could have done the same.

"It's just because they're eating meat every day that they have so much energy," Todd's squire, Carter, muttered jealously.

(End of Chapter)