Chapter 110: The Battle of Oldtown

The Reach, Oldtown.

This colossal city, with a history as vast as its scale, was said to have been the largest settlement in Westeros as far back as the time of the First Men. Even today, it surpasses King's Landing and Lannisport. Massive walls enclose the city's grand and beautiful structures. At its heart stands the Starry Sept, the seat of the High Septon, surrounded by other notable religious sites such as the Sailor's Sept, the Lord's Sept, the Sept of the Seven, and the Motherhouse.

These edifices collectively pay homage to the Seven, their light ever-present in this great city. Foreign temples cluster near the docks: the Red Temple of R'hllor, the Temple of the Black Goat, the High Shepherd's Sanctuary, the MoonSingers Temple, and even shrines to the Pale Child. Yet all are overshadowed by the radiance of the Seven.

Before the war, Oldtown's harbor bustled with ships from across the world. Even vessels from Asshai and Qarth sought its market, and the Vaelarys Silver Fleet brought silks and other luxuries here for trade. Unlike King's Landing, Oldtown boasts not only a vibrant harbor but also a network of canals and streams that flow gracefully through its streets. Cleanliness and order leave a lasting impression on travelers.

The Citadel, Westeros's hub of knowledge, also resides here. This sprawling complex sits by the Mead River, with its towering structures connected by great stone bridges. At its entrance stand two green sphinxes, symbols of unending pursuit of knowledge. Once the dwelling of a pirate king, the ancient stronghold now serves as the Maesters ravenry. Each year, new Maesters leave here, their chains forged, to serve as advisors to the realm's lords.

Towering above all is the Hightower itself, the city's heart. Rising 200 feet, its black stone foundation was laid by a vanished elder race. In times of peace, its great beacon lights the way for passing ships, its flames burning day and night.

Now, the city is lifeless. On the Hightower, ghastly green flames rise into the sky, signaling to its people that war has come.

The fleet from the Arbor has blockaded the harbor, where once-bustling merchant vessels are now absent. The remains of Oldtown's fleet smolder in the docks, consumed by flames. Above the city walls, Silverwing and Vermithor soar, their recent assault having destroyed every scorpion aimed to slay dragons.

Beneath the walls, the Hightower forces, surrounded by 35,000 coalition soldiers, cling desperately to survival.

Lord Ormund Hightower ordered the city gates shut. He understood that a last stand behind the walls would doom both his family and Oldtown itself to fiery annihilation. Fighting beneath the walls, however, might allow the city to surrender and grant his family a chance at survival, even if it cost his own life.

"What now, Lord Ormund?" Unwin Peake rode up to him, his voice laced with despair. The Peake's three castles had already fallen to the Vaelarys forces. NightSong had surrendered to Lynn Valtaken. Even House Tyrell had opened its gates—Lady Jenny Fossoway, cradling her infant son, Lyonel Tyrell, had led her troops to join the coalition.

In the north, the Riverlands reeled from recent losses. Grover Tully, bedridden, had passed away upon hearing of the deaths of Sunfyre and Vhagar, the uncertain fate of Aegon, and Aemond's charred head being displayed on a pike. His grandson Elmo Tully, newly titled Lord of Riverrun, wasted no time. Together with his sons Kermit and Oscar Tully, he marched south, uniting Riverland and Westerlander forces with Forrest Frey to reinforce the Reach. At the army's vanguard, they carried the scorched remains of Aemond's head, mounted atop a spear as a grim banner.

"One last charge," declared Lord Ormund Hightower as he drew Vigilance, his Valyrian steel sword. "Let them witness our courage."

"And the Queen, the Princes, and Princesses?"

"As long as the Queen lives, everything else can be resolved," he replied. Spurring his horse forward, he led the knights of House Hightower and House Peake into battle. Behind them, the infantry and levies followed in a desperate charge.

On a normal battlefield, such a frontal cavalry assault would have been suicidal. Yet in these moments of despair, the valor of such a charge commanded respect.

"What a pity," muttered Valar as he observed the scene from above. He had sent Jacaerys back to oversee the main army. As much as he wished to experience the honor of facing a foe's last stand, the grim necessities of war left no room for such sentiments.

Mounted on Silverwing, he abandoned any notions of knightly or warrior's honor, swooping down to unleash dragonfire upon the rear ranks of the Hightower infantry.

The Hightower cavalry were swallowed by the tide of Black forces almost immediately after their charge. Lord Ormund was struck down from his horse by a spearman. On the ground, he faced Lord Alan Tarly. Ormund, unskilled in swordsmanship compared to the Tarly, fell within moments, cleaved nearly in two by Alan's blade.

Alan Tarly stood over Ormund's body and sighed, preparing to retrieve Vigilance. But a young voice called out to him.

"Drop my father's sword!"

A boy, barely a man, struggled beneath a knight of House Beesbury. Alan recognized him, recalling tales he'd heard of this lad. "You must be Lyonel Hightower," Alan said, gesturing for the knight to release him. "My sister told me about you. Seven hells, aren't you the one who tried to court her? Your stepmother, wasn't it? No need to look at me like that—I'll pay his ransom." Alan glared at the disappointed Beesbury knight before turning back to Lyonel.

Lyonel, eyes red with tears, ran toward his father's corpse. Before he could grasp Vigilance, his head was severed by a clean strike. It rolled to the ground, coming to rest beside his father's lifeless form.

"What a fool," Alan muttered, shaking his head. "Didn't my sister ever tell you what war is?" He sighed, picking up Vigilance and tossing a pouch of gold to the knight.

"Another Hightower?" Valar remarked from above, perched on Silverwing. He spotted the two heads beneath Alan's feet. "Two Hightowers in one day," he chuckled. "Bards will probably call you the Hightower Slayer, little Alan."

With that, he guided Silverwing higher into the sky, unleashing another torrent of flames.

A deafening roar echoed through the battlefield. Vermithor had arrived. The bronze dragon carved a fiery path through the Hightower infantry, leaving a long stretch of ash in its wake.

Elsewhere, Ormund Hightower's second son, Martyn, and his cousin, Myles, encountered Lord Thaddeus Rowan and Ser Harwin Tyrell.

Myles, seeing no hope, immediately tried to surrender, but Martyn struck him down with a single blow.

"Hightowers don't need traitors," he spat, before charging at Thaddeus Rowan.

Moments later, Ser Harwin's warhammer crushed Martyn's skull, leaving the young man's body steaming in the cold air.

"The Hightowers are finished," Harwin muttered, wiping blood from his weapon.

"Yes," Thaddeus replied. "Lyonel, Martyn… nearly all the Hightower men are gone. For power, they paid a terrible price."

The last Hightower commander, Ser Harry Hightower, led a desperate charge against the Marwyne family's forces. He and his men were driven back by a storm of arrows.

Wounded and bloodied, Harry broke through the encirclement and found himself near Lord Unwin Peake, who had just been thrown from his horse by Silverwing's flames.

"My lord," Harry pleaded, clutching his side. "Return to the Hightower and warn the Queen! The situation is dire—decisions must be made immediately. Lord Unwin, what are you doing?"

Before Harry could finish, Unwin's sword slashed across his throat. Staggering in shock, Harry fell to his knees.

"Let the great lords decide her fate," Unwin muttered wearily, cleaning his blade. "The Hightowers are done. Oldtown cannot hold, and my castle is gone. House Peake must endure."

Lord Unwin Peake severed Harry Hightower's head with a clean strike and mounted it on the spear of a nearby knight, signaling his surrender.

He earned a path forward.

Unwin Peake opened the gates of Oldtown.

At the Starry Sept

The High Septon, adorned with his crystal crown, watched in silence as Queen Helaena knelt before the statue of the Mother, her lips moving in quiet prayer. Nearby, her three children played, unaware of the storm outside.

The High Septon seemed on the verge of speaking but hesitated, as if words might shatter the fragile peace.

"Your Holiness," a bishop interrupted, rushing to his side, breathless. "Lord Unwin Peake has opened the gates. The Blacks' army has entered the city. Their three dragons are now flying above Oldtown."

"Your Grace…" The High Septon finally addressed the Queen, but his words were drowned out by a mighty roar.

In the square outside the Starry Sept, Dreamfyre bellowed at her airborne kin. The sound echoed across the city, but the dragon made no move to engage them.

She could do little against both Vermithor and Silverwing. Without her rider, Queen Helaena, Dreamfyre held her ground, helpless against the overwhelming odds

At the Citadel

"Maester, Maester!" A masked archmaester burst into the chamber of the Conclave. His voice trembled as he stumbled inside. "Dragons! Dragons have entered the city!"

"Calm yourself!" Archmaester Munkun intercepted the man, his tone firm but reassuring. "Which ones? Silverwing? Vermithor? Who else?"

"Vermithor, Archmaester," the man stammered. "I saw Vermithor heading toward the Citadel!"

"Stay calm, stay calm," Munkun said, though his hidden face betrayed unease. "No lord has ever chosen to destroy the Citadel."

Yet Munkun could not entirely suppress his fears. The Citadel had long dabbled in matters it dared not reveal, particularly to House Targaryen or House Vaelarys.

Their mission to shape a world without magic had led them to study dragons extensively. Through the research of Septon Barth and the records provided by "The Dragonless" Vaegon Targaryen, the Citadel had taken certain actions in King's Landing—actions that, if discovered, could spell doom.

Munkun shook off these thoughts. Now was not the time for speculation. His immediate task was to summon the Conclave to greet the arriving dragonlords.

At Hightower

Samantha Hightower, née Tarly, stood quietly by the window of her chamber, gazing out at the city. From her vantage point, she could clearly see the forces of the Blacks pouring through Oldtown's gates.

"Lady Samantha, I beg you," Hobert Hightower pleaded from the doorway. "Your sister is Prince Draezell's wife. Please, I implore you, save House Hightower!"