Samwell Tarly, Jon Snow's best friend, was once ant to be sent to the Wall by his own father, Randyll Tarly. However, a series of unfortunate events—and the rise of Viserys Targaryen—changed everything. When King Robert mobilized the entire realm's army to prepare for an assault on Tyrosh, it disrupted Lord Randyll’s plans. It no longer seed appropriate to send Sam to the Wall at such a critical ti.
Instead, Randyll issued a harsh ultimatum: if Sam made even the slightest mistake, he would throw him over the Wall himself.
But what Randyll did not expect was that Sam would find his courage. Over ti, Sam stopped being the fearful boy he had been. He began to lecture soldiers, sweating through the effort, yet still maintaining the dignity expected of soone from the warrior aristocracy. Slowly but surely, it seed to be working. Sam grew more confident, more competent, and by now, Randyll Tarly had abandoned any thoughts of sending his son to the Wall.
...
So ti ago, Highgarden had renewed its allegiance to House Targaryen. The army of Horn Hill was assigned to defend Brightwater Keep, and Sam now found himself stationed there. Below the fortress, the camp of Horn Hill's soldiers spread out in neat rows.
'Status is like clothing; you get used to it after wearing it for a while,' Sam thought, chewing on a piece of dried at as he rode through the camp on his midnight patrol. The sun had just risen, and he was looking forward to getting so rest.
As he was about to turn his horse around, Sam spotted sothing unusual in the sky—large, dark shapes.
“What are those? Big birds? Eagles?” Sam muttered to himself, squinting for a better look.
Before he could take in the full sight, a deafening roar erupted from above—a sound neither bird nor beast could make, but sothing far more fearso. The unmistakable cry of a dragon echoed across the camp.
The roar jolted the entire army of Horn Hill into action. Soldiers—both asleep and awake—scrambled out of their tents, confused and alard.
“Is that... a legendary dragon?” Sam whispered, almost unable to believe his eyes. The horses beneath him neighed wildly, panicked by the presence overhead. He had always felt regret that he’d never seen a dragon, but now, here it was—flying right above him.
“Brother! Is that... is that a dragon?”
Sam’s younger brother, Dickon, stood beside him, barely fourteen years old, with only a fine layer of fuzz on his chin. Randyll had dragged him to the battlefield as well. Dickon’s voice trembled, his eyes wide as he gazed up at the enormous beast soaring above them.
"Don't be afraid, Dickon. If that is a dragon, then the one riding it must be Your Grace Viserys. Go get Father!" Sam said, steadying his nerves as he spoke to his younger brother.
As soon as Dickon took off, the dragon above the camp landed to the east. Sam, already guessing Viserys's intent, quickly gave instructions to his entourage and led a small group of n and horses to pay their respects to Viserys.
Viserys's arrival at Brightwater Keep was quickly reported to Ser Alekyne, the lord of the keep. Alekyne was Sam's uncle, the second eldest brother-in-law of Randyll Tarly. He bore the distinctive "protruding ears" of House Florent, a trait shared by Selyse and Shireen. However, Shireen often hid her ears beneath her hair.
Randyll Tarly's occupation of Brightwater Keep was sowhat akin to a son-in-law taking over his father-in-law's household. A ruthless man by nature, Randyll's presence left Gawen, the keep's steward, almost devoid of the courage to defend the castle in the face of Viserys's arrival.
"Maester Gawen," Alekyne asked cautiously, "if I choose to surrender, will Viserys accept?"
Maester Gawen, a man in his forties with a black goatee and dressed in green robes, replied with asured words. "At least Brightwater Keep remained neutral during the Usurper's War. I doubt Viserys will trouble you much, but I cannot say the sa for Ser Alester."
Ser Alester, Alekyne’s father, held a grudge, and Gawen's aning was clear: surrender, but tread carefully.
After so thought, Alekyne realized he stood little chance of defending Brightwater Keep. It would be wiser to send an envoy to et Viserys. However, Gawen intervened.
"No envoys, my lord. Have you thought about whose interests you’re representing if you send one?"
Gawen’s point was simple: if Alekyne didn’t handle this personally, it could be seen as aligning with Robert Baratheon, the usurper.
"Fine! I’ll go!" Alekyne exclaid.
Following this decision, Sam was once again brought before Viserys by Quentyn.
'So this is Viserys,' Sam thought as he looked upon the Targaryen. 'This is what a Targaryen should look like.'
Then his gaze fell on Daenerys. The two locked eyes for less than a second before Sam hastily looked away.
"Your Grace Viserys, Princess Daenerys, I am Samwell Tarly, son of Lord Randyll of Horn Hill."
Viserys regarded the sowhat rotund Sam but didn’t question why he hadn’t gone to the Wall. Too many things had changed with Viserys’s arrival, including the early appearance of the red cot.
Rumor had it that Randyll Tarly had once hired a sorcerer to bathe Sam in the fresh blood of a beast to instill courage in him. The ritual seed to have worked—at least enough to spare Sam from being sent to the Wall.
"So, you're the bookish Sam?" Viserys asked with a faint smile.
'Huh? Am I that famous?' Sam stamred, surprised that the legendary Viserys, a figure he had only heard of through bards' songs, knew of his reputation.
"Yes, Your Grace. My father doesn’t yet know of your arrival and is still preparing himself, so please forgive him," Sam said quickly, trying to regain his composure.
Viserys gave a brief nod, then glanced at Dany before replying, "It doesn’t matter. House Tarly renewing its allegiance to House Targaryen brings great pleasure."
Sam made small talk with Viserys for a mont before Randyll Tarly arrived, accompanied by his younger son, Dickon. As they approached, a faint commotion broke out when their warhorses halted at the sight of the dragons circling overhead. Randyll had to lead Dickon on foot to et Viserys.
"Your Grace, Viserys of House Targaryen, Lord of Horn Hill," Randyll greeted in his stern voice, bowing briefly, "and Princess Daenerys."
Viserys quickly sized up Randyll Tarly. Bald but well-grood, his beard neatly trimd, Randyll had earned a reputation as one of the few commanders who had dealt Robert Baratheon a defeat during the Usurper’s War. Viserys knew he had to treat this formidable military noble with care. Raising his hand in a symbolic gesture of respect, he spoke, "I’ve always admired the motto of House Tarly. When I was a boy, Ser Willem told about your victory at the Battle of Ashford. If my father's commanders had more n like you, that usurper would never have succeeded."
Randyll remained stoic, his expression unchanged in the face of the praise. "Your Grace is too kind. I rely did my duty. And whether it was your campaigns in the Free Cities or leading the young dragons to burn Robert’s fleet, not even Ser Barristan the Bold could have done better."
Though Randyll remained composed, his sons could not hide their pride, smiling broadly at Viserys’s words.
Sensing Randyll’s indifference to flattery, Viserys smoothly shifted the conversation. "It seems Horn Hill's army is besieging Brightwater Keep? How does the situation stand?"
"Yes, Your Grace," Randyll confird. "We are attempting to persuade Alekyne to surrender. If he refuses before sunset, I will lead the assault on the keep myself."
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