Highgarden

After crossing a tributary of the Honeywine, Samwell and his party came upon a towering gray-stone castle.

Moss and ivy covered its weathered walls, silently bearing witness to the trials and hardships the ancient castle had endured. A white banner flew atop the castle tower, more than a hundred feet in the air. It bore a swarm of black-and-orange butterflies in flight.

It was the sigil of House Mullendore, the lords of Highgarden.

Not far beyond the city to the southwest lay the Red Mountains.

It was easy to imagine that if Samwell ever succeeded in establishing a domain in the Red Mountains, House Mullendore would be his neighbor.

So, to get on good terms with his neighbor ahead of time, Samwell chose not to ride around the city. Instead, he sent Gavin to Highgarden with a formal letter requesting an audience.

"Samwell Caesar."

Inside the castle, Viscount Martin Mullendore held the letter Gavin had brought him, a knowing smile playing across his face. "The same knight of the realm who was knighted by a woman?"

Gavin bowed slightly and replied without deference or defiance, "My lord, Lord Caesar was knighted on behalf of her father by Lady Margaery, daughter of Lord Mace. He is a sworn vassal of House Tyrell."

Viscount Martin curled his lip. "So he really was knighted by a woman."

Gavin kept his head lowered and said nothing.

The viscount gave a soft snort, then drawled, "Very well. Show him in."

Gavin bowed and silently took his leave.

Viscount Martin turned to the steward beside him. "Have the kitchen prepare supper. Nothing too extravagant; just make sure it's presentable."

"Yes, my lord."

"Father, is this the useless eldest son of House Tarly?" asked Mark Mullendore, Viscount Martin's eldest son.

He was a tall man with a thick beard. A black-and-white monkey sat on his shoulder, intently cracking a nut in its hands.

"That's right. Randyll Tarly is a formidable man, but unfortunately he fathered a useless son. Now he's finally decided to disinherit Samwell. I just didn't expect him to do it this way. Sending him off to the Red Mountains to carve out a domain... He'd have been better off at the Wall."

Mark shrugged. "If I had to choose, I'd take the chance to carve out a domain too, rather than go to that cursed place at the Wall."

Viscount Martin glanced at his son and smiled. "Do you think carving out a domain is easy?"

"Of course I know it's hard, but the Wall is obviously worse. It's freezing there, and I hear there are White Walkers that can't be killed."

"White Walkers?" Viscount Martin scoffed. "Just a tale to frighten children. It's been thousands of years. Has anyone actually seen one? As for the cold, it's summer now. It's not that cold at the Wall."

"But winter will come eventually."

"Who knows? Summer's lasted so long already and shows no sign of ending. Maybe it'll go on even longer. Only those tree-worshipping barbarians in the North keep shrieking hysterically, 'Winter Is Coming.'"

Mark seemed to remember something. "Father, do you think this might be the eternal summer the Seven promised humanity—that from now on there'll be no more winters?"

"The Seven said that eternal summer would come when humanity's sins had ended. So, do you think humanity's sins have ended?"

Mark shook his head and rested his chin in his hands, lost in thought. The monkey on his shoulder imitated him, as if pondering the meaning of monkey life.

Just then, the sound of orderly footsteps came from outside the castle.

Curious, Mark went to the balcony and looked out. A force of more than two hundred men was crossing the drawbridge into the castle.

"Father! Come and look!"

Hearing his son call, Viscount Martin ambled over. "What is it?"

Mark pointed at the expeditionary force below, his face full of shock. "Are you sure this Samwell is a useless nobody cast out by his family?"

Viscount Martin was stunned too.

The sight of more than two hundred soldiers in orderly ranks and fine equipment had truly astonished him.

Samwell's military training over the past two months had evidently paid off. At least on the surface, the more than one hundred newly recruited soldiers looked little different from seasoned veterans.

Of course, once they were in a real fight, the new recruits would surely be exposed.

They had yet to face the test of blood and fire.

But Samwell had spared no expense in outfitting them and feeding them meat. These recruits were already enough to fool most people.

So, in Viscount Martin's eyes, this famous useless man of the Reach had somehow assembled an elite force of more than two hundred men!

That was a military force no one could afford to ignore.

Highgarden, after all, had only a little over three hundred soldiers in its standing army.

Of course, House Mullendore also had more than a dozen sworn knights. If he called up a batch of farmers, Viscount Martin could muster an army of as many as three thousand.

He certainly wouldn't be afraid of the two-hundred-man expeditionary force before him.

But he was the lord of Highgarden, while the man opposite him was merely a knight of the realm with no lands of his own!

Even if he won, the comparison alone would be humiliating.

"Where did he get so many elite soldiers?" Viscount Martin ground out through clenched teeth.

His earlier scorn for Samwell quickly turned into an envy and resentment he couldn't even explain to himself.

Mark collected himself and ventured a guess. "Could Earl Randyll have given them to him?"

"How many regular soldiers does Horn Hill even have? Could they spare this many to send a useless man disowned by his family off to carve out a domain?"

Mark scratched his head. He'd never been to Horn Hill, but he knew that although House Tarly was stronger than House Mullendore, it couldn't possibly afford to send so many elite soldiers off with a useless man.

If those soldiers were lost in the Red Mountains, House Tarly's strength would take a serious hit.

After a moment's thought, Mark said, "Could House Tyrell have given him the troops?"

As far as he could see, only the wealthy Lord of Highgarden would be willing to hand such an elite force to a useless man to squander.

Viscount Martin rolled his eyes. "Lord Mace wouldn't even knight the fellow in person. Do you think he'd give him an army like that to go carve out a domain?"

Mark saw the sense in that and immediately started scratching his head again.

The monkey on his shoulder seemed to sense its master's distress and began leaping about.

Viscount Martin watched the expeditionary force for a long while, then finally went downstairs without a word.

Mark hurried after him.

The father and son reached the castle gates. The steward arrived with servants bearing bread and salt.

It was a sacred pact observed across Westeros for a thousand years—Guest Right.

When guests came beneath their host's roof and accepted the bread and salt offered to them, Guest Right took effect at once. Neither side could harm the other, on pain of being forsaken by the Old and New Gods.

Samwell picked up a small piece of bread, dipped it in salt, and put it in his mouth. Then he placed a hand over his chest, bowed slightly to Viscount Martin, and said, "My lord Mullendore, thank you for your warm welcome!"

Viscount Martin's face beamed with the most sincere smile. "Lord Caesar, welcome to Highgarden!"