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x Lady Margaery entered the great hall and dipped into a graceful curtsy.
“Forgive me for keeping you waiting, Lord Tarly, Master Samwell, Dickon.” Her smile was bright and easy, like a rose opening in morning light.
Samwell lowered his head at once.
That smile was not meant for him.
Not yet.
Dickon, standing beside him, was not so cautious.
The boy stared until he could hardly look away.
Lord Randyll frowned and asked, “When will Lord Mace arrive?” “Father is feeling unwell today,” Margaery said softly.
“If Lord Mace is indisposed, the investiture can be held another day.” “There is no need.” Margaery lifted the roll of parchment in her hand.
“Father has already signed the settlement charter.
He asked me to bring it here and complete the investiture in his name.” The great hall fell quiet.
Samwell understood at once.
So did his father.
Lord Mace had not been delayed by illness.
He simply did not want to see Samwell.
There was little truly ownerless land left in the Reach.
Any charter worth granting would point toward the borderlands: the Red Mountains, the stony marches, the places where outlaws, wild mountain folk, and old grudges bred faster than wheat.
Even a capable knight might fail there.
Samwell Tarly was not a capable knight in the eyes of the Reach.
He was the fat, useless eldest son Lord Randyll had finally cast aside.
Lord Mace had agreed to grant the charter because the Lord of Horn Hill had asked.
That did not mean he intended to honor the matter with his own presence.
Sending his daughter to perform the ceremony was a slight wrapped in silk.
Lord Randyll’s jaw tightened.
Margaery only watched him with that sweet, harmless smile.
Samwell stepped forward before the silence could turn uglier.
“It would be my honor to receive the charter and investiture from Lady Margaery.” Lord Randyll’s eyes cut toward him.
He could almost hear the words his father did not say: You would accept investiture from a woman?
Samwell kept his head bowed.
Anger was a luxury for men with power.
A weak man’s fury only made him look smaller.
The most important thing today was the charter.
He had learned that much in his previous life, if nothing else.
Swallow the humiliation.
Take the thing that mattered.
Remember the insult for later.
Lord Randyll said nothing.
Margaery’s smile deepened by a shade.
“Then let us begin.” She climbed the steps at the end of the hall and stood before the high seat.
Samwell drew his sword, knelt on one knee, and offered the blade hilt-first.
Sunlight poured through the colored glass above them.
The soft gold of it fell across Margaery’s hair and shoulders, making the whole ceremony seem almost holy.
Just as she reached for the sword, Lord Randyll spoke.
“A son of House Tarly should be knighted with Heartsbane.” The guards beside him brought forward a greatsword in its scabbard.
Heartsbane.
Valyrian steel.
The ancestral blade of House Tarly.
Even sheathed, the sword seemed to pull the eye.
Its dark hilt and heavy guard carried a weight older than any man in the hall.
Margaery’s fingers paused only for an instant.
Then she smiled.
“A worthy blade for a worthy house.” She accepted Heartsbane from the guards.
The greatsword was clearly too heavy for her.
Her wrists sank the moment she took it, but she steadied herself, lifted it with both hands, and laid the flat of the blade on Samwell’s shoulder.
“They say no man in the Reach wields Heartsbane like Lord Randyll Tarly,” she said.
“Today, I am honored to hold it, even for a breath.” The compliment was gentle.
It was also precise enough to leave Lord Randyll no clean place to strike.
His frown remained, but he did not interrupt again.
Margaery turned her gaze back to the kneeling man before her.
“Samwell Tarly, before the Seven and this hall, I ask you: will you keep the name of your father’s house, or choose a new name for the line you mean to found?” A chartered knight who carved out new lands could keep his birth name, but he could also found a house of his own.
Once named, that house would stand apart from Horn Hill.
Samwell’s fingers tightened.
For one wild heartbeat, it seemed the whole hall had fallen away.
Words and numbers appeared before his eyes, clean and bright, written in no script used anywhere in Westeros.
[Status] Name: Samwell Tarly Title: Chartered Knight Domain: None Vassals: None Strength: 1.08 Agility: 0.52 Spirit: 1.12 An attribute panel.
It had finally appeared.
The fear he had carried for three months, the resentment, the shame, the bitter caution of a man trapped in another world inside another man’s flesh, all of it flared at once.
He had thought only of surviving.
Of clinging to some powerful lord before the realm tore itself apart over the Iron Throne.
Now something hotter rose inside him.
If he was to begin again, he would take a name older than the pride of the men around him.
A name rooted in the first green memory of the Reach.
“I have chosen my new house name,” Samwell said.
Margaery’s hand tightened slightly on Heartsbane.
He lifted his eyes.
“Greenhand.” For the first time, the smile on Margaery’s face faltered.
“Greenhand?” “From this day forward, I am Samwell Greenhand.” She studied him for a moment.
In the colored light, there was a brightness in his eyes she had not expected to find.
Then the Rose of Highgarden smiled again.
“No living house of the Reach bears that name,” she said.
“So let it be witnessed.” She raised her voice.
“In the name of the Father, the Warrior, the Smith, the Maiden, the Mother, the Crone, and the Stranger, and by the authority of Lord Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden, Lord Paramount of the Mander, and Warden of the South, I name Samwell Greenhand a chartered knight of the Reach.” Heartsbane touched his other shoulder.
“May he settle the lands granted to him, defend the realm, uphold the honor of his oath, and bring glory to his new house.” Samwell bowed his head.
“I, Samwell Greenhand, in the sight of the Seven and by the memory of Garth Greenhand, forefather of the Reach, swear loyalty to Lord Mace Tyrell and his lawful heirs.
I will settle the lands granted to me, defend them with my sword, and honor my oath until death takes me.” The hall held its breath.
Margaery lifted Heartsbane away from his shoulder.
“Rise, Ser Samwell Greenhand.” He rose.
A charter had been granted.
A knight had been named.
And a new house, born from an old name, had taken its first breath.
CREATORS’ THOUGHTS TheDevotedReader I hope you enjoyed this chapter.