Chapter 708

If the Wall was the largest man-made structure in the world of ice and fire, then the Hightower of Oldtown was certainly the tallest.

A castle and a lighthouse combined, it was an unmistakable landmark, standing out as if the gods themselves had placed a colossal candle atop a pie laden with assorted fillings. One could see it from miles away.

In fact, not just today—its beacon had been visible even the night before, when Aegor and his forces were still twenty to thirty leagues away.
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Oldtown, as its name suggested, was one of the most ancient settlements in Westeros. Built by the First Men long before the Andal invasion, it had once been the largest city in the Seven Kingdoms—before the rise of King’s Landing, and even for a century after.

Nestled at the southwestern edge of the Reach, where the Honeywine River flowed into Whispering Sound and the Sunset Sea, it was a critical artery in Westeros’s east-west trade. The Rose Road connected it directly to King’s Landing, making it the very opposite end of the realm’s greatest highway.
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The moment was perfectly orchestrated.

As Aegor and Rhaegal descended, kicking up a cloud of dust, the Hightowers and their assembled retinue could not conceal their awe and fear.

It was exactly the effect he had intended.
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Ser Baelor Hightower—"Laughing Baelor," as he was sometimes called—was momentarily speechless, though he maintained his awkwardly polite smile. A moment later, he found a reasonable excuse:

“Well… Lord Hand, you wouldn’t know this, but my younger brother Garth is well past the age of marriage and still unwed.

“The whole family was preoccupied with finding suitable matches for him.

“But high ambitions lead to high standards, and the search has proven… difficult.

“To this day, he remains single.”

Baelor chuckled, then added slyly, “Perhaps this is a matter that might require your assistance, Lord Hand.”

This was an amusingly plausible excuse.

Aegor had to give the man credit. Not only had he come up with it swiftly, but he had also managed to use the moment to ingratiate himself.

A natural diplomat.

“Ah, matchmaking? I fear I am too busy for such affairs,” Aegor said with a smirk. “You may have a long wait ahead if you’re counting on me.”
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Baelor Hightower had taken over a full minute just to introduce the delegation that had come to greet Aegor outside Oldtown’s gates.

The difference between a castle’s surrender and a city’s surrender was scale.

A noble keep had a lord, his household, and his retainers.

A city?

It had people. Free men. Merchants, scholars, guild leaders.

The Hightowers had brought them all.

Whether this was a calculated display of submission or merely an adherence to formalities, Aegor couldn’t yet tell.

But he had to admit, their sense of ceremony was impeccable.

Oldtown’s thick walls—once comparable to King’s Landing’s fortifications—looked small in comparison to the Hightower itself.

Under its looming shadow, even the great city seemed diminished.

Aegor turned to Baelor with a thin smile.

“Ser Baelor, have you and your family made preparations for relocation?”

Baelor’s face barely twitched, but Aegor saw it.

He had his reasons for asking.

Years ago, during King Robert’s campaign against the Vale’s Faith Militant, Aegor had camped outside the Bloody Gate, seizing the opportunity to promote the Night’s Watch among the assembled lords.

Baelor Hightower had been among those who had declined to meet with him.

An arrogant noble who hadn’t thought it worthwhile to speak to a mere Night’s Watch quartermaster.

And now?

Now he was first in line to greet the Queen’s Hand.

Aegor remembered.

And he wanted to see just how deep that change in attitude ran.
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After circling the city once to ensure there were no hidden ambushes, Aegor gave Rhaegal an encouraging pat before guiding him downward.

The Hightower delegation had already been disarmed by the advance scouts.

Still, Aegor respected how well they hid their resentment.

None of them looked openly offended at the treatment.

Perhaps they were truly that disciplined.

Or perhaps they simply understood reality.

Regardless, their first meeting proceeded with remarkable cordiality, and soon enough, they were riding through Oldtown’s streets.
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The southeast gate of the city stood wide open, just as the Hightowers had promised.

A short distance away, at a crossroads beneath a signpost, a large and impressively well-dressed delegation waited patiently for the Queen’s army to arrive.

They had not been forced to kneel.

They had chosen to stand in welcome.
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“Lord Hand, I have long heard of your legendary prowess,” said the nobleman at the forefront of the group.

“It is an honor to finally meet you in person.”

The man smiled—a confident but calculated smile.

“I am Ser Baelor Hightower, heir to House Hightower.

“My father, Lord Leyton, is unfortunately unwell and unable to make the journey himself.

“In his stead, I have been entrusted with the duty of welcoming you.”

Aegor glanced over the rest of the group.

A rotund noble in gold and white robes gave him a somewhat ingratiating nod.

An elderly man with white hair radiated an aura of knowledge.

A younger man, eyes filled with admiration, looked on in silent reverence.

Baelor gestured towards them.

“This is the Mayor of Oldtown…”

“This is His High Holiness, the High Septon…”

“And this is Archmaester Perestan, this year’s rotating overseer of the Citadel.”

Aegor took it all in.

A city the size of Oldtown did not surrender lightly.

And it did not surrender empty-handed.
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Unlike the war-torn regions of the Reach, the lands west of Highgarden had remained untouched by battle.

Spring planting had already been completed.

As they rode the final stretch of the Rose Road, the air was thick with the scent of growing crops.

Fields of lush green stretched as far as the eye could see.

The farther they traveled, the less it felt like war.

And the more it felt like spring itself had taken hold.
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Upon dismounting from Rhaegal, Aegor began removing his riding gloves, stepping toward the assembled lords.

As he did, a tall, handsome nobleman dressed in fine, gray-green robes took the initiative to stride forward.

His confidence was clear.

He was not afraid.

Baelor had courage, Aegor would give him that.
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Their first meeting was a test of appearances.

The Hightowers had learned well from history.

Three hundred years ago, their house had flourished during Aegon the Conqueror’s invasion—not through battle, but through submission at the perfect moment.

And now, they sought to repeat history.

Unfortunately for them…

Aegor had no intention of letting them dictate the terms of their surrender.

So, after taking his seat at the negotiation table, he opened the meeting with a question that immediately shattered their expectations:

“Have you made preparations to relocate your family?”

Baelor’s confident expression faltered for just a fraction of a second.

He laughed, covering the awkwardness.

“I have long hoped for the chance to meet you, Lord Hand,” he said smoothly.

“Though I do recall we nearly met once before—outside the Bloody Gate.

“Alas, some matters must have taken precedence over meeting a mere quartermaster of the Night’s Watch.”

Aegor smiled, cold and knowing.

“Indeed.”