As the blue and white sails of the Redwyne fleet crossed Whispering Sound and unfurled at the mouth of the Honeywine, even the winds of the Sunset Sea seemed to take on the unique character of Oldtown. The salty sea breeze mixed with the sweetness of the Honeywine River, carrying the faint scent of ink from the Citadel and incense from the Starry Sept. It swept in from both banks, lifting Daemon's silver-gold hair from his neck.
The oak wine barrel carved on the prow of the lead ship, the Arbor Queen, was still slick with morning dew. The deep purple grape sigil on the blue-and-white striped sails glowed softly in the sunlight, forming a sharp contrast with the various vessels docked at the river mouth:
Colorful dugout canoes from the Summer Isles dotted the sea like scattered gems, their sails embroidered with tropical flowers.
Broad merchant ships from the Free Cities had decks piled high with Qartheen silk and spices from Lysene vessels.
And several iron-hulled ships, their gunwales carved with the stepped white tower on a smoke-gray field of House Hightower, quietly guarded both sides of the channel, as if welcoming distinguished guests.
"That's the Oldtown harbor!" Alyn Redwyne stood by the railing, pointing ahead, bits of salt from the river mouth clinging to his orange hair.
Stone piers extended from the eastern bank of the Honeywine into the sea. On the blue stone steps, porters wove back and forth carrying crates, their shouts interweaving with the flapping of sails.
In the canals along the banks, small skiffs carried passengers slowly through the water. The lanterns hanging from their prows weren't lit yet, but they already exuded a certain picturesque elegance.
Along the distant streets, ivy crawled over the roofs of stone houses. Occasionally, a bookseller pushed a cart full of parchment scrolls, causing a few maesters in gray robes to stop and browse.
Daemon looked down from the Cannibal's saddle. The silhouette of Oldtown became clearer in the twilight.
The stone walls of the guildhalls on the west bank of the Honeywine gleamed coldly, while warm yellow light spilled from windows along the river.
Further away, the Hightower pierced the clouds like a silver pillar. Although it wasn't time yet to light the beacon at the top, one could almost see the outline of the fire that would soon burn there. Standing over 800 feet tall, it commanded attention among the surrounding buildings, like an unextinguished star of the south.
"Prince Daemon! Princess Gael!" A steady voice drifted on the wind. At the end of the pier, a group of guards in smoke-gray armor stood in two lines, the burning white tower embroidered on their breastplates. Between them stood a tall, middle-aged man—Lord Ormund Hightower, the Count of Oldtown [Note: The text says Hobert Hightower, but later mentions Otto as his uncle. In canon, Hobert is Otto's brother. Ormund is Hobert's son/Otto's nephew. Assuming Hobert based on the text provided, but "Otto is my uncle" line from Bethany later implies Hobert is the wrong generation or the relationship is stated differently. Let's stick to the text's "Hobert Hightower" as the Count].
He wore a brocade robe of smoke-gray, the hem embroidered with the same sigil as his guards. At his waist hung a scabbard inlaid with sapphires, the Valyrian steel ripples of the ancestral sword Vigilance faintly visible.
The title of Count of Oldtown held by Hobert Hightower carried even more weight than Matthos Tyrell's dukedom. Titles like "Beacon of the South," "Defender of Oldtown," and "Defender of the Citadel" all seemed concentrated in his steady gaze.
He walked quickly to the dragon, offering a bow that was neither overly enthusiastic nor cold, but perfectly elegant and dignified. "We have long awaited the Prince and Princess. The Master of Laws sent a raven yesterday saying the true dragon was coming. All of Oldtown has been looking forward to this day."
Daemon dismounted, his scabbard clicking crisply against the blue stone steps. His gaze swept over the two people behind Hobert:
To the left, a young woman wore a pale lavender gown embroidered with tiny white towers. A water lily from the Honeywine was pinned in her hair. She bore a resemblance to Alicent Hightower in King's Landing, but her eyes held the shrewd capability of someone experienced in trade.
To the right, a teenage boy wore silver armor, the white tower sigil on his breastplate shining with the luster of new metal. He gripped a short sword, staring at the Cannibal with unhidden curiosity and a grin he couldn't suppress.
"This is my daughter, Bethany," Hobert introduced her, turning sideways. Bethany curtsied immediately, her voice warm but firm. "Greetings, Prince Daemon, Princess Gael. I often hear of your deeds in the Riverlands and Westerlands from my uncle Otto's letters. Seeing you today, you truly are as charismatic as the rumors say." She paused, then added, "I know a little about Oldtown's trade routes. If the Prince wishes to know about the merchant traffic, I would be happy to explain."
"And my son, Garmund," Hobert patted the boy's shoulder. Garmund straightened his back immediately, but his eyes kept drifting toward the Cannibal. "Prince! Can your black dragon really breathe black fire? I heard from the maesters at the Citadel that flame color relates to scale color. Is that true? But I seem to remember the Citadel records saying your dragon's flame is pale green?" The boy's bluntness drew chuckles from the surrounding guards. Hobert shook his head helplessly but didn't scold him—who wouldn't be curious about a true dragon?
Gael laughed at Garmund's enthusiasm. She took a small pouch of fresh berries from Dreamfyre's saddle and handed it to him. "These are fresh berries from the Arbor. You can try feeding them to Dreamfyre; she's very gentle." Garmund's eyes lit up. He took the pouch and walked carefully toward Dreamfyre, his face flushing with excitement as he watched the pale blue dragon lower her head to eat.
Mysaria leaned close to Bethany, the mist from the river clinging to her platinum curls. "Lady Bethany, does the Citadel really have that many books? I heard there are sheepskin scrolls recording the history of the First Men, and stories about dragons?" Bethany nodded with a smile, pulling a simple map of the Citadel from her sleeve. "I can take you to see it tomorrow. The library towers of the Citadel are even more fascinating than the Hightower itself."
---
The group followed Hobert toward the Hightower. The blue stone streets underfoot were worn smooth by time. In the canals on either side, small boats glided past, the boatmen singing ballads of the Reach that interwove with the distant bells of the Citadel.
Lights shone from the shops lining the street: the scent of cinnamon and nutmeg drifted from spice shops; booksellers displayed freshly copied poetry collections; the clang of ironwork rang from smithies. The bustle of Oldtown wasn't like the noise of King's Landing; it was more like a cup of warm mead—rich and lingering.
A banquet was already prepared in the courtyard beneath the Hightower. The courtyard was paved with blue stone, and in the center stood a fountain statue of their ancestor, Uthor of the High Tower. Water dripped from the statue's fingertips into a pool filled with water lilies.
The long table was filled with Oldtown specialties: fresh fish from the Honeywine roasted crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, drizzled with a herb sauce recommended by the maesters; roasted wild boar dripping fat onto the coals, mixing with the scent of sweet mead.
Most prominent was a jar of amber-colored fruit wine. Unlike the Arbor vintage, Bethany explained, "This is brewed from Honeywine grapes and peaches. It's sweeter and lighter than Arbor wine, quite suitable for us ladies."
Hobert sat at the head of the table, raising his cup as his gaze swept over the guests. "Oldtown's prosperity today relies entirely on the word 'trade.' From a trading post in the Dawn Age to a port connecting the Summer Isles and Qarth today, House Hightower has always upheld our motto: We Light the Way. We guard not only Oldtown but the path of knowledge at the Citadel." He paused, pointing toward the Citadel in the distance. "Every year, hundreds of maesters set out from here to all corners of the Seven Kingdoms. Our merchant ships carry grain and textiles from the Reach, bringing back silk and books from the Free Cities—this is the foundation of Oldtown."
Mentioning Otto's letter, Hobert's tone became more serious. "Otto wrote that the Prince is touring the Seven Kingdoms for the sake of peace. Though Oldtown is tucked away in the southwest, we know things aren't peaceful lately. The Dornish are frequently in contact with pirates from the Triarchy; merchant ships in the Stepstones are often raided. Ironborn longships are also lurking in Whispering Sound; last month they seized one of our ships carrying spices." He put down his cup, his eyes full of worry. "Oldtown's trade routes cannot be cut. Otherwise, not only will the Reach suffer, but supplies across the Seven Kingdoms will fall short."
Daemon's fingers paused on his cup. He naturally understood the deeper meaning of Otto's letter—the Master of Laws likely had spies among his own retinue, knowing his movements in the Riverlands and Westerlands like the back of his hand.
Though he was aware of this, he didn't point it out. Instead, he spoke calmly. "Rest assured, Lord Hightower. While I am at the Citadel to pick up Uncle Vaegon and Ser Lyonel, I will keep an eye on these developments. I will not sit idly by regarding the Ironborn and pirates."
He added, "If needed, the Cannibal and Dreamfyre can take to the skies at any time. If Oldtown needs help, we will not refuse."
Garmund suddenly raised his cup and shouted to Daemon, "Prince! If the Ironborn come again, can I go with you? I've learned swordsmanship, and I can help look after your gear!" Hobert glared at him with a smile. "Finish memorizing the history of the Citadel first!" Laughter erupted in the courtyard, lightening the atmosphere.
Larys Strong sat in the corner, the hem of his black robe brushing the blue stone. He didn't speak much, just picked at a piece of roasted fish with a silver fork. A sharp glint flashed in his dark eyes—he noticed the Hightower guards all carried crossbows at their waists and watched the courtyard entrance vigilantly. Clearly, Hobert's worries about "unrest" were not empty talk. However, thinking he would see his father tomorrow after so long, he rarely felt disinclined to "meddle."
Jarmon Waters leaned against the fountain, his single eye scanning the surrounding servants, his fingers unconsciously tracing his bow, maintaining his habitual vigilance.
---
As the night grew deep, the beacon atop the Hightower was finally lit. Warm yellow light pierced the twilight, illuminating all of Oldtown. Hobert stood up and bowed to Daemon. "Prince, let Bethany and Garmund accompany you to the Citadel tomorrow. Bethany knows the library towers well, and Garmund can help look after your horses. It's time these young ones learned some responsibility from the Prince."
Daemon nodded in agreement. "I'll be in their care then." Bethany and Garmund bowed immediately. Garmund's eyes were full of anticipation; clearly, he had been looking forward to this trip to the Citadel.
When the banquet dispersed, the streets of Oldtown were still lit. Daemon stood in the courtyard, looking up at the Hightower. The Cannibal and Dreamfyre were curled up in a clearing nearby, their breath condensing into white mist in the night, reflecting the light of the beacon.
Alys Rivers walked to his side, her bright green eyes reflecting the lamplight. "Oldtown is quieter than Highgarden, but it has more depth."
"Yes," Daemon said softly. "Here lies the wisdom of the Citadel and the steadiness of the Hightower, but also the hidden currents of trade routes. Tomorrow at the Citadel, perhaps we can learn more about Dorne and the Ironborn from Ser Lyonel."
The evening bells rang out from the Citadel in the distance, echoing through the canals and streets of Oldtown like a gentle prelude to this new leg of their journey. The beacon of the Hightower burned on, living up to Hobert Hightower's title as the "Beacon of the South"—illuminating the channel of the Honeywine, and the path ahead for Daemon and his companions.