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x “My lord, have you reached a decision at last?” Samwell had been preparing to leave Uplands when Lord Martyn finally sent for him.
In a private solar, the lord did not answer at once.
Instead, he opened another bottle of wine and smiled.
“A Dornish red.
Will you taste it?” “Gladly.” Samwell accepted the cup and took a small sip.
It was rough, heavy, full of tannin and heat.
Lord Martyn drank as well.
“From Godsgrace,” he said.
“Strong and sharp, like the Dornish themselves.
If it is your first cup, take care it does not choke you.” Samwell finished the wine in one swallow.
“I have a good appetite, my lord.
Strong wine goes down as well as anything.” Lord Martyn laughed.
“I wonder more and more how you ever gained a reputation as a waste.” “Youthful foolishness.” Samwell gave the easy answer and guided the conversation back.
“Have you considered my proposal?” Lord Martyn set down his cup.
His expression turned serious.
“I have.
This matter touches the thousand-year enmity between the Reach and Dorne.
House Mullendore should not stand aside.
I will loan you every craftsman in my lands, including apprentices.
Two hundred and seventy-five people in all, for one year.” Samwell did not bother hiding his delight.
“My lord, you are generous and wise.
Believe me, this stake will repay you many times over.” “Not so fast.” Lord Martyn raised one hand.
“To guard against failure, I require collateral.” “Collateral?” “Raiding merchant ships is no easy matter.
If you cannot repay me, I will take the collateral as compensation.” Samwell considered that.
“Then let it be the most important thing in my future domain: the docks.” “The docks.” Lord Martyn’s interest sharpened.
“And the fees and taxes tied to them?” “Yours as well.” After a moment, the lord of Uplands nodded.
Whatever Samwell’s pirate venture became, whatever greater design House Tyrell held for western Dorne, the docks would be vital.
As collateral, they could hardly be better.
The two men spent the next while discussing details.
When they were done, a contract was drawn, read, and signed by both.
“A profitable partnership,” Samwell said.
With that, House Mullendore of Uplands became one of his backers.
The expedition remained in Uplands for three more days while the craftsmen gathered.
When it finally departed, the original column had more than doubled in size and looked all the more imposing for it.
Samwell felt pleased despite himself.
With such a foundation, the hardest early days of settling would be far easier.
As for the debts he had taken on, he barely cared.
In his previous life, Samwell had been a man of business.
He knew very well that a debtor with enough creditors was not powerless.
The more he owed, the more his creditors needed him to succeed.
Once construction began, he was already planning to write Lord Martyn again.
A small request for laborers, perhaps.
If the docks were not built within the year, House Mullendore’s collateral would suffer too.
His people had grown, and so had the need for food and supplies.
For now, House Tyrell’s monthly aid could barely hold things together.
In time he would need more patrons.
But that could wait.
The first task was to reach the land itself.
They had left Highgarden nearly three months ago.
At their pace, they might have set a record for the slowest march in the history of Westeros.
Now, deeper in the Red Mountains, the road grew worse.
There was also the danger of mountain clans.
Once they entered the mountains, Samwell stopped the routine drills.
The men needed their strength for the march and for whatever trouble the hills might send.
To his surprise, no attacks came.
The wild men were not fools.
Faced with more than two hundred armed soldiers, they judged the prey too dangerous.
A few beasts were less wise.
Those ended on spits over the fire.
After nearly another month, with the pace finally quickened, the expedition saw the Summer Sea.
A salt-wet wind rolled toward them, heavy with heat, scattering the mountain mist.
Men breathed more easily.
Samwell found his own steps quickening.
Southward, the slopes softened into a rare valley that ran all the way to the sea and ended in a jut of land like a beak thrust into the water.
Todd Flowers pointed ahead.
“Lord Greenhand, this is Eagle’s Beak Point.
It will serve well as your new domain.” Samwell looked around and silently agreed.
Mountains guarded two sides.
The Summer Sea lay at its back.
Only a narrow valley to the northwest offered easy entry.
The flat land within covered thousands of acres.
The soil was poor stone and grit, useless for grain, but suitable for a castle.
The point itself was ideal for docks.
Todd had led them here with too much certainty for this to be chance.
House Tyrell had clearly surveyed the place before.
It was isolated, hard to reach, and poor in farmland.
Any settlement here would need coin, supplies, and blood from outside.
Highgarden had never truly committed to it.
Then Samwell came.
Lady Olenna must originally have meant for Todd to control a timid chartered knight and use his name to raid passing ships, funding the settlement through piracy.
Samwell had no intention of accepting that fate.
If piracy were exposed, his place among the nobility would be finished.
He might end as Jorah Mormont had, fleeing across the narrow sea to escape judgment.
Perhaps all the way to Daenerys Targaryen.
The thought made him pause.
Then he shook it away.
He had not taken a new name just to crawl beneath someone else’s banner.
If he meant to climb in the chaos to come, he needed land of his own and soldiers loyal to him first.
Eagle’s Beak Point, and the four hundred souls behind him, were the beginning of it all.
CREATORS’ THOUGHTS TheDevotedReader I hope you enjoyed this chapter.