As the Stargazer sailed gracefully toward Oldtown, the city slowly unveiled itself on the distant horizon—a sprawling tapestry of towering structures and labyrinthine streets. Long before the sight crystallized, the distinctive scent of the city wafted through the sea breeze—a medley of sea salt, fish, and the multifaceted undertones of bustling trades within the city walls.
Oldtown, both ancient and grand, extended a welcoming embrace, its towering Hightower dominating the city's core. The calls of seagulls resonated through the air as our ship skillfully navigated the harbor, progressively revealing the diverse architecture that defined the cityscape.
As we drew near, the sprawling docks unfolded—a vibrant spectacle attesting to Oldtown's status as a bustling hub of trade and culture. Ships of varied sizes bobbed in the harbor, testament to the ceaseless activity that painted a vivid portrait of a city that never truly slept.
In the heart of this maritime symphony, the Stargazer smoothly berthed. The seasoned crew expertly maneuvered the ship, and as the gangplank descended—an unspoken announcement of our arrival—the pulse of Oldtown enveloped us. It was a city where history whispered through every stone, and the currents of time flowed seamlessly through its bustling streets.
The wooden planks creaked beneath my boots as I descended onto the docks, my men flanking me. An honor guard awaited, led by none other than Lord Leyton Hightower.
"Oros Whitewater," Lord Leyton greeted, his voice carrying both authority and an unspoken tension. "I thank you for returning Gerold to us."
"Lord Leyton," I replied, inclining my head in acknowledgment. The lingering tension spoke of the unspoken history between us. I stood on unfamiliar ground, my honorable purpose seemingly the only reason for my tentative welcome.
His gaze scrutinized me. "You fought for Robert Baratheon, the Usurper. Your blade found its mark on our Lord Commander."
The weight of accusation in his words reminded me of the divided loyalties that shaped our realm. "I fought for my foster house and stand by their cause, my lord," I responded, my tone measured yet with palpable apprehension.
Lord Leyton's expression tightened, the thickening tension mirrored in his demeanor. "A cause that led to the death of one of the noblest men I've known. Gerald deserved better."
"As did all those who fell on the field of battle," I added, my words laden with the burden of truth and contradiction.
His nod was a begrudging acknowledgment. "Let us pay our respects," he suggested, leading the way.
As we approached the wagon, Lord Leyton spoke softly, "Our esteemed Lord Commander's sacrifice will be remembered. May his journey to the afterlife be peaceful."
The honor guard closed in around us as the wagon was meticulously prepared. Lord Commander Hightower's remains were handled with utmost care. As they were gently placed into the wagon, I couldn't escape the weight of responsibility for the life and legacy of a man who had fought valiantly to his last breath.
The bustling city, accustomed to the ebb and flow of trade and life, now witnessed the solemn procession from the docks to the heart of the Hightower. The whispers of onlookers carried both curiosity and a sense of reverence for the events unfolding before them.
The honor guard, led by Lord Leyton Hightower, drew measured attention as it made its way through the labyrinthine streets. Faces peered from windows, and the usual hustle of the city seemed to soften in acknowledgment of the gravity that accompanied Lord Commander Hightower's return.
At the Hightower itself, the residents and servants, aware of the distinguished guest's arrival, paid their respects in hushed tones. The city guards stationed along the route maintained a respectful distance, their gazes a mix of curiosity and restrained solemnity.
Entering the Hightower was like stepping into a realm where time had sculpted the very essence of the stones. The great gates swung open, and the inner courtyard received us with an aura of reverence, as if the ghosts of the past whispered through the hallowed stones.
More guards awaited us inside, their vigilant presence a testament to the gravity of the occasion. The Hightower's impressive architecture soared above, a monument to the power the family holds. The funeral procession paused, and Lord Leyton, with a commanding gesture, beckoned for me to follow him deeper into the heart of the keep. Each step in the stone halls resonated with a sense of timelessness, the weight of centuries pressing down upon us.
Guided by Lord Leyton, we reached a room where the filtered light through stained glass painted the cold stone floor with vibrant hues. Lord Leyton signaled to the maester and attendants, and in a ceremonial gesture, I was offered Salt and Bread. The simple yet profound ritual, a symbol of welcome and protection, eased some of the tension that had gripped my shoulders. Lord Leyton then motioned for us to sit, and a reverent silence enveloped the room.
"Oros Whitewater," Lord Leyton's voice carried the weight of generations. "Recall the events at the Tower of Joy. Tell us how my cousin met his end."
A deep breath steadied me as I delved into the memories of that fateful day. The room hung in rapt silence as I recounted the battle, the clash of arms, and the moment my poleaxe found its mark against the formidable Lord Commander Hightower.
Tension thickened in the room, and Lord Leyton's gaze bore into mine, seeking understanding. "Your allegiance is to Robert Baratheon, the Usurper. You wielded the weapon that felled Gerald, yet you return his remains to us. Explain this paradox, Whitewater."
"I fought for House Bracken, my foster house," I explained, the weight of truth pressing upon me. "In the aftermath of battle, alliances and banners matter less than honoring those who stood beside you and those who fell. The Lord Commander's honor is unquestionable, and he deserved the dignity of being returned to his family for his last rites."
Lord Leyton's expression remained inscrutable, the complexity of our shared history hanging heavily in the air. "Your words honor House Bracken, but you leave me with matters I must contemplate, Whitewater. We shall continue this conversation during the evening meal. Until then, Maester Loras will attend to your wounds, and you are welcome to rest in your chambers."
The evening meal unfolded within the great hall of the Hightower, where a sense of somber respect lingered in the air. Jack, seeing the household guards, took his meal alongside them, a silent figure in the vast hall. Meanwhile, I found myself seated at the head table, next to Lord Leyton, the weight of our earlier conversation still palpable.
As the courses progressed, Lord Leyton led the conversation. "Whitewater," he began, his tone measured, "I find myself at odds. In different circumstances, your actions would have merited great rewards. Had you been a loyalist returning Gerald's remains, your place in our graces would be secure. However, being a rebel, even a victorious one, and the one who struck the fatal blow, puts me at a crossroads."
He continued, the tension thickening in the air, "Rewards for one who fought against the Targaryens is a complex matter. I must consider the perceptions and loyalties within my banner houses."
As the evening progressed, Lord Leyton excused himself, leaving me with the knowledge that the Stargazer would set sail for Kings Landing in the morning.
Come morning, horses were provided for Jack and me, and a purse of gold was handed over. The weight of it hinted at a significant sum, perhaps a thousand golden dragons, a lord's ransom but a mere fraction of the Hightowers' vast wealth. The horses, now ours, were loaded onto the Stargazer, and the ship captain informed us of a stop in Sunspear for resupply before our final leg to Kings Landing. As we set sail, I thought Lord Leytons decision well balanced a purse of gold and a swift departure shouldn't cause as much as a grumble amongst his banners.
Our time in Sunspear passed without incident, and I took a moment to appreciate the beauty of the city. Jack and I found a private moment in our shared cabin as we set sail for Kings Landing. With a weighty sincerity, I admitted, "Jack, I have two great secrets. You know one already. When we arrive at Kings Landing, I'll share the other. Depending on the outcome, I'll either meet the executioner's block or be in a position to reward you for your loyal friendship."
Jack, true to his stoic nature, agreed to wait and see. I won't lie; my neck had a distinct scratching feeling for a moment or two during our talk.
The Stargazer eventually docked at Kings Landing, where Lords Stark, Tully, Bracken, and a contingent of men awaited us on the pier. As we disembarked, Jack leaned in and whispered, "Looking more like the executioner's block, my friend." The uncertainty of my fate, the weight of secrets, and the looming confrontation with the lords all converged in this moment of arrival. I, as eloquent as ever, had a simple response. "Well Shit."