It had been weeks since Lord Ormund Hightower had fallen at Tumbleton. Samantha Tarly sat in the high seat of her late husband’s solar in the Hightower, her grief buried beneath a mask of resolve. The letter from Lord Corlys Velaryon lay open before her, its words a promise of peace if only they would yield.

"Peace." Samantha murmured, tracing the edge of the parchment with her finger. "An end to bloodshed..."

The door burst open, and her step son entered, his youthful face flushed with anger. Only fifteen, two years younger than her but already carrying the weight of Oldtown on his shoulders. Without a word, he snatched up the letter and tore it in half, the pieces fluttering to the stone floor.

"I will not kneel to the blacks!" he spat, his voice shaking. "They killed my father."

Samantha rose slowly, her emerald eyes fixed on him. She approached, her movements deliberate, her silk skirts brushing the floor.

"Lyonel," she said softly, her voice carrying both sorrow and steel,* "this war has taken much from us. Your father... my husband..." She placed a hand on his arm. "If you continue down this path, it will take more. Oldtown will burn, and so will we."

His anger faltered, replaced by hesitation as he looked at her. She saw the flicker of yearning in his eyes, the same that had lingered since her wedding to his father. She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a murmur.

"But peace... peace could save us. Could save you. And perhaps, together, we could find a way to ensure our future. I dont need another death in the family."