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x To Lady Margaery Tyrell, Forgive me for troubling you with small matters, but since you and Lady Olenna have shown such generous patronage toward my settlement, I believe it proper to report our progress.
After leaving Highgarden, I met Ser Todd Flowers and the one hundred Tyrell soldiers placed under his command.
They are excellent men, disciplined and well equipped.
Please convey my gratitude to Lady Olenna.
I also recruited one hundred and eight dockworkers from the banks of the Mander.
They are raw, but strong, and I believe they will be of great use once trained.
We remained near Highgarden for one day to purchase food, tents, tools, and weapons, then set out south along the Roseroad.
After nearly a month of marching, we have reached the area near Honeyholt, where we mean to rest before leaving the road.
Here I must confess an error of my own.
I did not understand how much food and coin more than two hundred men could consume on the march, especially when I promised the new recruits meat each day.
At this pace, I fear my purse may be empty before we ever reach the Red Mountains.
I am ashamed to trouble my lady with this, but I have no choice except honesty.
If you are willing to offer further aid, I will remember the debt.
If not, I will bear no resentment.
I worry only that the settlement may fail before it truly begins.
Your loyal knight, Samwell Greenhand Margaery read the letter twice beneath the shade of the rose garden.
The garden swing moved gently beneath her, stirred by the breeze.
Brown curls framed her face, and sunlight fell through the leaves in shifting patches across the parchment.
“Which knight has written to make my little sister frown so deeply?” Willas Tyrell rolled his chair along the garden path.
He was thin, bearded, and gentle-eyed, with the calm manner of a man who had long ago made peace with moving slower than the world around him.
Margaery looked up.
“It is from Samwell Greenhand.” “The young knight with the heroic appetite?” A smile touched her mouth.
“The same.
He is asking for money.” “Already?” “He has only reached Honeyholt after nearly a month.
At this rate, I wonder whether he has been marching or admiring flowers.” Willas accepted the letter and read it.
“You sponsored him?” “Grandmother did.
I only added a purse of my own.” “And Grandmother sent Todd Flowers with one hundred guards.” Margaery nodded.
Willas rested the letter in his lap.
His gaze drifted south, toward places hidden by distance and memory.
“The Red Mountains.” Margaery’s expression softened.
His ruined leg lay beneath a blanket.
Years ago, at a tourney, Oberyn Martell’s lance had shattered it.
The wound had never healed cleanly, and the Reach had never forgotten that a Dornish prince had crippled Highgarden’s heir.
“Do not look like that,” Willas said.
“I do not hate Oberyn.” “I know.” “It was a fair defeat.
He writes to me still.
His last letter included a recipe for horsemeat.
I mean to send it to the kitchens and see whether Father notices.” Margaery laughed despite herself.
Willas handed the letter back.
“If Grandmother has put coin and men behind this, then she wants him to keep moving.
Give him what he asks for.
If your purse is not enough, come to me.” “Five hundred dragons?” Willas raised an eyebrow.
Margaery sighed.
“Three hundred, then.
And I will tell him to be thrifty.” In the camp near Honeyholt, Gavin stared at his lord in dismay.
“Thrifty, my lord?
We should be thrifty.” Samwell looked up from the supplies spread before him.
“We are being thrifty.” “My lord, with respect, the coin is almost gone.” “Only almost.” Gavin opened his mouth, then closed it.
He had learned in the past month that Ser Samwell could look soft, speak gently, and still make a decision as immovable as a castle wall.
“We do not have to give the men so much meat,” he tried.
“You promised meat every day, yes, but broth with a little meat in it would still be meat.
Twenty pounds a day is too much.” “How are they supposed to train without eating?” “Other lords do not feed recruits like this.” “Other lords do not have my recruits.” Gavin looked helpless.
Samwell smiled and tossed him a small purse of gold dragons.
“Do not worry about coin.
Your lord is not short on coin.” Gavin caught the purse as if it were a holy relic.
“My lord is the most generous knight in the Reach.” “That is what I like to hear.” Samwell pointed toward the town.
“Buy what we need.
Meat, grain, salt, oil.
And while you are there, look for food I have not tried before.
Anything strange.
Anything rare.
If I have not eaten it, buy one portion, no matter the price.” Gavin looked puzzled, but he nodded.
“Yes, my lord.” Samwell’s generosity was not entirely an act.
The funds were low, but the Tyrells would not let the expedition die on the road.
Not after sending one hundred trained soldiers south with him.
Lady Olenna had plans for this settlement, and until those plans bore fruit, he had room to press.
He meant to use every inch of it.
The horn sounded.
The new recruits formed ranks in the field beyond the camp.
Samwell did not truly know how to train soldiers.
His only organized drills came from compulsory training back at university in his previous life, and the original Samwell’s memories of martial training were scattered and incomplete, like shells half-buried along a beach.
But even broken knowledge could be gathered.
Marching.
Standing formation.
Turning on command.
Running in armor.
Thrusting, cutting, raising shields, lowering spears.
Horn calls.
Camp discipline.
Night drills.
Nothing clever.
Nothing glorious.
Repetition made men.
From a rise outside the camp, Todd Flowers watched in silence.
At first he had expected the dockworkers to flee before they reached the Red Mountains.
They had been hungry men chasing meat and coin, not soldiers.
A month later, none had deserted.
Worse, they were beginning to look like an army.
Not a real one.
Todd knew better than that.
They had a frame now, but not yet the hard muscle and instinct of battle.
Still, Ser Samwell had built that frame in a month.
Todd was not certain he could have done the same.
The fat young knight had been clumsy at first, panting after a few exercises, barely able to mount a horse without help.
Now he trained beside the recruits from the first horn to the last, still heavy, still awkward, but improving at a pace that made Todd uneasy.
This was the useless heir Lord Randyll had cast aside?
If so, what sort of monster was the son he had kept?
Carter, Todd’s squire, stood beside him with a sour expression.
“It is only because they eat meat every day,” he muttered.
CREATORS’ THOUGHTS TheDevotedReader I hope you enjoyed this chapter.