The silhouette of the Hightower loomed large in the dawn light, a massive pillar of white stone standing on Battle Island like a sword piercing the sky.
Here, the Honeywine River flowed into Whispering Sound. The wide estuary shimmered, reflecting the eternal flame that burned atop the great tower.
Even hundreds of nautical miles away in the Redwyne Straits, sailors could clearly see this guiding beacon—just as the words of House Hightower, "We Light the Way," proclaimed.
The streets of Oldtown radiated outward from the Hightower like a spiderweb.
Morning sunlight cast the tower's shadow across the cobblestone squares. Merchants needed only to glance up at the direction of the shadow to judge the time accurately.
However, the master of this colossal tower, Lord Leyton Hightower, had not stepped out of the Hightower in years.
He left all matters of his domain to his sons, including the call to arms issued by Highgarden a few days ago to support House Roxton of the Ring.
Clank. Clank. Clank.
Footsteps echoed on the spiral stairs of the Hightower.
Ser Garth Hightower, known as "Greysteel," was briskly climbing the white stone steps.
After returning from the tourney at Starfall, thanks to the careful treatment of the Archmaesters of the Citadel, he had finally regained consciousness and recovered from severe heatstroke.
During his convalescence, when he learned that the champion of the tourney was Arthur Snow—the man who had defeated him—he had smashed his medicine bowl in fury.
"Damn that Dornish sun..."
Garth gritted his teeth at the thought, his right hand unconsciously resting on the hilt of his sword.
If not for that brutal sun, how could Snow have defeated him? The honor of defeating the Sword of the Morning, the glory of being champion—all of it had slipped through his fingers because of the heat!
But this time, we are in the Reach. This is my home ground. You won't be so lucky again, Snow!
Thank the Seven for giving me this chance so soon to face Snow again and prove myself.
Thinking of this, Garth sneered. His steps quickened, his steel boots ringing dully on the stone, his eyes burning with battle lust.
Sunlight streaming through the tower windows cast mottled shadows on his armor, making him look like a beast ready to pounce.
Lost in fantasies of his glorious victory over Arthur Snow, Garth nearly collided with the guards stationed outside the council chamber.
The guards bowed hastily and pushed open the heavy oak doors carved with the Hightower sigil.
Inside the council chamber, sunlight filtered through stained glass, splashing colors across the floor.
His brother, Baelor "Brightsmile," along with the Maester and Ser Moryn Tyrell, Lord Commander of the Oldtown City Watch, were already seated.
A map was spread across the table around which they gathered.
"Garth, you're just in time."
Baelor looked up at his younger brother. His signature smile played on his lips, but his eyes were unusually serious. He gestured for Garth to take a seat.
The Maester cleared his throat, his withered finger tapping a spot on the map. "Latest news: Ring has fallen into the hands of Ser Arthur Snow.
"Earl Quentyn Roxton and his entire family are being held prisoner within the castle."
Baelor sighed. "After receiving that letter from Starfall accusing the Redwynes, I knew conflict between the Reach and Dorne was inevitable.
"But I never expected Ser Arthur to choose to cross the natural barrier of the Red Mountains to attack the Ring—and to actually succeed in taking it."
"Now that Ring is occupied by Arthur Snow, they can use it as a base to strike deep into the Honeywine valley without fear for their rear," Ser Moryn Tyrell said, stroking the tuft of white beard on his chin.
"We should respond immediately."
Ser Moryn Tyrell was an uncle to Duke Mace Tyrell. As Commander of the City Watch, he led Oldtown's defense and police force, a role comparable to the Commander of the Gold Cloaks in King's Landing.
Garth noticed his brother's brow furrowing tighter.
Baelor traced a line on the map with his finger. "I have already notified House Mullendore of Uplands and House Cuy of Sunhouse, bordering the Ring, to increase their alertness. If necessary, they are to retreat into their castles and wait for the Oldtown levies to complete their training."
Garth frowned. "Brother, passive defense is no solution. If we wait until everything is slowly prepared and the main army marches, those Dornishmen and wildlings will have long since retreated back into the Red Mountains with their loot.
"Why not let me lead the elite Hightower cavalry and infantry, join up with the vassals along the way, and serve as the vanguard? I'll fight Snow and redeem the honor of the Reachmen."
"Is that not too risky?" The Maester pushed up his copper-rimmed spectacles and advised cautiously.
"According to the letters from Ring before it fell, Earl Quentyn led over two hundred cavalry and was routed and captured by Ser Arthur. Even his heir died in battle."
"Maester, please do not compare me to Earl Quentyn. We may both be knights of the Reach, but there is a difference." Garth looked disdainful.
"At the tourney in Starfall, Earl Quentyn was unhorsed by Ser Loras, a boy who had just earned his spurs. I, on the other hand, broke over ten lances against the Sword of the Morning and only lost because of the Dornish weather."
"Besides, Earl Quentyn didn't even send scouts to check his surroundings and got ambushed and captured on his own land..."
Garth shook his head, his contempt evident.
Baelor raised a hand to quiet his brother. Sunlight from the colored window played across his face as he weighed the options. Finally, he spoke.
"Garth, the Maester's concerns are valid.
"Arthur Snow is indeed a formidable opponent. His record, both in the lists and on the battlefield, is nothing short of brilliant."
"Brother!" Garth stood up abruptly, the fighting spirit in his eyes practically solidifying. "You were there at the tourney. I only lost because of that damned Dornish sun.
"Now, Oldtown has gathered over five hundred fully armored cavalry. The City Watch, sellswords, and archers we can mobilize number several times that. On the soil of the Reach, I will achieve total victory."
Baelor shook his head helplessly. Thinking of Garth's misfortune at Starfall, he finally relented.
"Garth, I grant your request to be the vanguard. You will command the Hightower cavalry."
Baelor then turned his gaze to Ser Moryn Tyrell beside him. "However, you must obey Ser Moryn's command. Do not act on your own."
Garth, whose face had lit up with joy, froze. "Brother..."
Baelor silenced him with a stern look. "Ser Moryn, take half of the City Watch and the archers. Lead them as the vanguard toward Ring.
"Remember, your mission is defense and containment, not to seek a decisive battle with Starfall's forces.
"I need you to pin the Dornishmen down until the main host from Oldtown or Highgarden arrives. Make sure they cannot escape!"
"As you command!" Ser Moryn stood and bowed, his armor clanking dully.
Garth reluctantly grunted his agreement.