Chapter 110: The Battle of Oldtown
The Reach, Oldtown.
This immense city possessed a history as grand and ancient as its vast size. Legends claimed that even in the age of the First Men kings, it had already been the greatest city in Westeros, and even now it remained larger than both King's Landing and Lannisport. Mighty layers of walls protected the sprawling metropolis, enclosing magnificent buildings and beautiful avenues. The Starry Sept, seat of the High Septon, rose proudly within the city. The Sailor's Sept, the Lord's Sept, the Sept of the Seven, and the Motherhouse stood scattered throughout Oldtown, yet all existed beneath the glory of the Starry Sept where the High Septon resided. The light of the Seven forever shone upon this great city.
Foreign temples clustered near the harbor: the Temple of R'hllor, the Black Goat Temple, the Temple of the Great Shepherd, the Temple of the Moon Singers, and even shrines dedicated to the Pale Child and the Blood God. Yet all of them paled beneath the radiance of the Faith of the Seven.
Before the outbreak of war, the docks of Oldtown welcomed merchant vessels from across the known world, even ships from Asshai and Qarth. House Varezes's Silver Fleet frequently arrived here carrying silk and other luxuries. Unlike King's Landing, the city possessed both the beauty of a grand harbor and countless canals and flowing streams winding through its streets and alleys. Cleanliness and freshness were the first impressions every traveler received upon arriving in Oldtown.
Westeros's greatest center of learning, the Citadel, also stood here. This enormous complex beside the Honeywine was connected by massive stone archways and towering spires. Two green sphinxes flanked the Citadel's main gate, symbolizing the endless pursuit of knowledge. What had once been the stronghold of a pirate king had become the ancient fortress where maesters raised ravens. Every year, gray-robed maesters forged their chains here before departing for castles across Westeros to bring knowledge to the lords of the realm.
At the heart of the city stood the Hightower upon Battle Isle. This colossal stone tower rose from foundations of oily black stone left behind by some vanished ancient people. In times of peace, a beacon burned day and night atop the tower, guiding ships safely into harbor.
Now, however, the city felt deathly silent.
A ghastly green flame rose from the Hightower into the heavens, warning the city that war had arrived.
The Arbor fleet had blockaded the harbor. The once-crowded merchant vessels had vanished, replaced only by the burning wreckage of Oldtown's fleet floating upon the waters.
Silverwing and Vermax circled outside the city walls, having already destroyed every scorpion mounted upon the battlements. Now only the Hightower forces, trapped beneath the walls and completely surrounded by an allied army thirty-five thousand strong, continued their desperate resistance.
Lord Ormund Hightower ordered the gates of Oldtown sealed. He understood clearly that if they chose to resist to the bitter end, the entire Hightower family and all of Oldtown would be consumed in dragonfire.
Only by fighting outside the walls—even if it meant death—could they preserve a chance for the city to surrender and the family to survive.
"Lord Ormund, what do we do now?" Lord Unwin Peake rode up beside him. Despair already filled his heart. House Peake's three castles had all fallen to the armies of House Varezes, and Nightsong had opened its gates to surrender to Lyn Valtygar. Even House Tyrell had formally yielded Highgarden, with Lady Jeyne Fossoway carrying the infant Lyonel Tyrell as she led her banners to join the invading host.
And to the north in the Riverlands, Lord Grover Tully had died bedridden upon hearing of the deaths of Sunfyre and Vhagar, the disappearance of Aegon II, and the display of Aemond's charred head upon a spear. Elmo Tully inherited Riverrun and immediately marched south with his sons, Kermit and Oscar Tully, joining forces with Forrest Frey to lead the combined Riverlands and Westerlands armies into the Reach. At the head of their vanguard rode Aemond's blackened head mounted upon a spear.
"One final charge," Lord Ormund declared as he drew Vigilance, the Valyrian steel blade of House Hightower. "Let them witness our courage."
"And what of the Queen? The princes and princesses?"
"So long as the Queen still lives, everything remains negotiable."
Lord Ormund spurred his horse forward.
His bannermen followed. The knights and cavalry of House Hightower and House Peake launched the first charge, followed by infantry and levies alike.
On any ordinary battlefield, such a frontal cavalry assault against a superior enemy force would have been suicide. Yet there was always something admirable about a desperate final charge.
"What a pity." Valarr shook his head from atop Silverwing. He had left Jacaerys behind with the army to command the battle. If he had not been a dragonrider, he too might have wished to experience the thrill of meeting such a desperate charge head-on.
Instead, he cast aside thoughts of knightly honor and warrior pride. Riding Silverwing, he swooped low and unleashed dragonfire upon the infantry ranks behind the cavalry.
The Hightower cavalry collapsed almost instantly upon crashing into the allied Black host.
Lord Ormund was dragged from his saddle by a pikeman and found himself face-to-face with Lord Alan Tarly. Ormund's mediocre swordsmanship failed him immediately; Alan's blade cut him nearly in half within moments.
Alan Tarly stared at Ormund's corpse and sighed before moving to claim Vigilance, only for a youthful voice to halt him.
"Release my father's sword!"
A young boy struggled in the grasp of a Beesbury knight. He resembled Ormund somewhat. Alan searched his memory before gesturing for the knight to release him.
"You're Lyonel Hightower. My sister mentioned you before. Seven Hells—you once wished to court my sister? Your own stepmother?" Alan snorted. "Do not look at me like that. I'll pay the ransom myself."
The Beesbury knight reluctantly loosened his grip.
Lyonel tore himself free, red-eyed with grief, and rushed toward his father's body.
Before he could grasp Vigilance, his head rolled across the ground beside his father's.
"Foolish child." Alan looked down at the boy's lifeless eyes as though observing a fool and sighed again before picking up Vigilance. He casually tossed a pouch of gold to the knight. "Didn't my sister teach you what war truly means?"
"Another Hightower?" Silverwing swept across the battlefield, and Valarr spotted the two heads lying beside Alan's feet.
"Two Hightowers," Valarr laughed. "After the war, the singers will probably call you the Hightower Slayer, little Alan."
Valarr tugged upon Silverwing's reins and sent the dragon soaring skyward once more before unleashing another torrent of dragonfire.
Then another mighty dragon's roar echoed overhead.
Vermithor had arrived.
The bronze dragon swept across the battlefield and immediately bathed the Hightower infantry in dragonflame, leaving behind long trails of ash and charred corpses.
Ormund's second son, Martyn Hightower, and his cousin Myles Hightower encountered Lord Mathis Rowan and Ser Harlen Tyrell amidst the fighting. Myles attempted to surrender immediately, but Martyn cut him down where he stood.
"House Hightower needs no traitors. Bah!"
Then Martyn charged directly toward Lord Rowan.
Ser Harlen wiped blood from his warhammer. Martyn's body still steamed at his feet; Harlen had nearly shattered the boy's skull in a single blow.
"Lord Rowan, House Hightower is finished."
"Yes," Rowan sighed. "Lyonel, Martyn… nearly every male of House Hightower marched into battle today. Power has cost them dearly."
The final Hightower commander, Garth Hightower, led a dozen knights in one last assault against the Merryweather lines, only to be driven back by volleys of arrows. Garth, pierced by more than a dozen shafts, fought through the chaos and reached Lord Unwin Peake, who had just been thrown from his horse by Silverwing's flames.
"Lord Unwin, return to the Hightower at once and inform Queen Helaena the situation is dire. She must make her decision soon. Unwin… what are you doing?"
Garth suddenly clutched at his throat in horror.
Unwin Peake withdrew his sword from the man's neck and spoke wearily.
"Let the lords decide for her. House Hightower is finished. Oldtown cannot be held. My castles are gone. But House Peake must survive."
With another swing, Unwin severed Garth Hightower's head and raised it upon a nearby spear as a signal of surrender.
He had found a path to survival.
Unwin Peake opened the gates of Oldtown.
At that same moment, within the Starry Sept—
The High Septon, wearing his crystal crown, silently watched Queen Helaena pray before the statue of the Mother while her three children played nearby. He wished to speak but did not dare.
"Your High Holiness, Lord Unwin has opened the city gates. The Black host has entered Oldtown." A septon hurried to the High Septon's side. "Three dragons are now flying above the city."
"Your Grace…" the High Septon began carefully, only to be interrupted by another deafening dragon's roar.
Within the plaza of the Starry Sept, Dreamfyre cried out furiously toward her kin in the sky but made no move to attack.
After all, both Vermithor and Silverwing were present.
Without Helaena upon her back, Dreamfyre could do nothing.
The Citadel.
"Archmaester! Archmaester!" A masked maester stumbled into the chamber where the conclave had gathered. "The dragons—the dragons are inside the city!"
"Calm yourself, calm yourself." Archmaester Marwyn steadied the terrified man. "Which dragons entered the city? Silverwing? Vermax? And the third?"
"Vermithor, Archmaester," the younger maester answered nervously. "I saw Vermithor flying directly toward the Citadel."
"Relax," Marwyn reassured him, though tension filled his hidden expression as well. "No lord has ever chosen to destroy the Citadel."
Yet the Citadel had indeed done things that neither House Targaryen nor House Varezes could ever be allowed to discover.
For generations, the order had worked toward shaping a world free from magic. Dragons themselves had become a vital object of their study. Through the writings of Septon Barth and the knowledge provided by Vaegon Targaryen—the Dragonless—the Citadel, through its maesters in King's Landing, had quietly undertaken certain actions.
If those deeds were ever uncovered…
Archmaester Marwyn forced the dreadful thought from his mind. What mattered now was gathering the archmaesters to greet the Dragonlord who would soon arrive.
The Hightower.
Samantha Tarly gazed silently from the window of her chamber. From there she could clearly see the armies of the Blacks entering the city.
"My lady, please." Hobert Hightower pleaded from outside her door. "Your sister is Prince Dragonzel's wife. Please save House Hightower."
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