We Light the Way

Even the grandest feast had to come to an end.

The night had grown deep. Ser Baelor saw off the last guest, then dragged his weary body to Count Leyton's room.

"Father."

Count Leyton stood by the window, staring blankly at the sea reflecting starlight and firelight.

The "Old Man of Oldtown" had none of the gentleness and friendliness he showed outsiders. He looked burdened with worries.

Yet Baelor was not surprised. He had known since childhood that his father wore a smiling mask, one he only put on before outsiders.

Gradually, Baelor had learned the skill as well.

Unfortunately, he had not mastered its essence. Compared to his father's effortless poise, his own manner came across as somewhat forced.

The nickname "Smiling Baelor" seemed more like a mockery of him.

"Is something the matter?" Count Leyton asked casually as he returned to the table and sat down.

Baelor stepped forward and poured his father a cup of wine, then poured one for himself as well. "Jenny came to see me just now..."

Before he could finish, the old count gave a soft snort. "She wants to marry Renly?"

Baelor nodded, unsurprised that his father had guessed.

After all, his daughter had directly claimed the first dance at the feast—a dance that should have belonged to Lady Margaery. Everyone had long seen her fondness for Duke Renly.

"No!" Count Leyton refused without hesitation.

"Father, are you worried that Duke Renly may not be willing to marry Jenny? But House Hightower is still one of the great noble houses of Westeros. You could sound out the duke's attitude."

Count Leyton shook his head. "Regardless of Renly's attitude, I will not agree."

Baelor paused, then hesitantly asked, "Father, are you concerned about those rumors regarding Duke Renly and his squire?"

"No. Whether Renly prefers men or women, I will not allow Jenny to marry him."

Now Baelor truly did not understand. "Why?"

Count Leyton took a sip of wine and countered, "Why do you think Renly came to Oldtown? Do you really think he simply wished to see the Hightower?"

Baelor rubbed his wine cup, lost in thought.

Seeing this, Count Leyton offered another reminder. "And your sister—why did she suddenly think to return and visit me at this particular time?"

Baelor frowned. "You mean my sister and Duke Renly appearing at the Hightower at the same time was no coincidence?"

Count Leyton refilled his cup. "I never believe in coincidences."

After thinking for a moment, Baelor suddenly remembered something. "During the feast, Duke Renly abruptly said he wanted to paint a portrait of Lady Margaery. Could that be why? Is he planning to propose to House Tyrell?"

"If he wanted to propose, why would they come to me? They could go straight to Highgarden."

Baelor choked at those words.

Looking at his slow-witted son, Count Leyton could not hide his disappointment, but he still explained patiently, "Whatever they are plotting, we must not involve ourselves. And we must not become too deeply entangled with Renly. Tell Jenny that I will find her an excellent husband, but it cannot be Renly."

Still unwilling to accept it, Baelor took a drink and tried again. "Father, aren't you being overly suspicious? Perhaps it truly is just a coincidence. I think Duke Renly is the most outstanding figure among the younger generation of the Seven Kingdoms. If Jenny could marry him, then for our house..."

"What are our house words?" Count Leyton abruptly cut him off.

"Huh?" Baelor had not expected such a question.

Count Leyton patiently repeated himself. "What are the words of House Hightower?"

Baelor came back to himself and blurted out, "We Light the Way."

"Yes, we light the way." Count Leyton's tone shifted. "But that does not mean you should lead from the front."

"Huh?" Baelor was having trouble following the old count's thinking.

Count Leyton sighed again and explained, "We light the way so that others may lead from the front, while we simply follow behind. The road ahead is difficult. Those who walk at the front may enjoy boundless glory, but they may also die horribly. Yet those who bear the lamp from behind remain quite safe.

"The first time I saw Renly Baratheon, I saw endless ambition in his eyes. He is a man determined to charge to the very front. We must stay far away from him, lest his blood splatter upon us someday."

Baelor said nothing for a long while after hearing this.

It seemed to be the first time he had realized that his house words could be understood in such a way.

Yet when he recalled the "glorious deeds" of House Hightower throughout history, he had to admit sadly that perhaps this was the true meaning of those words.

Seeing this, Count Leyton did not comfort him. He simply drank by himself, patiently waiting for his son to absorb House Hightower's political wisdom.

This was the true secret that had allowed this ancient house to endure to the present day.

After a long while, Baelor finally recovered. His expression was especially complicated as he took a great gulp of wine and asked, "When you would not let me marry Princess Elia of Dorne, was that for the same reason?"

"That's right." Count Leyton nodded. "Looking back at Elia's fate now, aren't you glad for your father's decision?"

Baelor argued stubbornly, "But if Elia had married me, she would not have died so miserably in King's Landing!"

Leyton shook his head, his voice heavy with the weariness of age. "You still do not understand. Some things have long been carved by the gods upon the tablets of fate. They are destined, and cannot be escaped. The only thing we mortals can do is try our utmost to discern, from those faint whispers at our ears, who the pitiful wretches named upon the tablets of fate might be, and then stay away from them.

"Of course, mortal wisdom is ultimately limited. We cannot be sure of guessing correctly every time, so we can only stay away from all those who might become leaders. We may light their way, but we must remember to keep ourselves hidden in the darkness."

Baelor sighed, as though he had finally understood many things from the past. "When Duke Tywin proposed a match with his second son, you refused outright for the same reason?"

"That's right."

"What about my sister Alerie, then? Didn't you marry her to Duke Mace?"

At this, Count Leyton showed undisguised scorn. "Do you think that 'Inflatable Fish' looks like a leader?"

Baelor coughed awkwardly several times, but still protested, "But Duke Tywin's second son Tyrion is only a dwarf. Surely Duke Mace is better than him?"

Count Leyton chuckled. "So what if he is a dwarf? Peremore Hightower, founder of the Citadel, was also a twisted cripple. Changing the world does not necessarily require a strong body; a clever mind can do the same. And that dwarf of Casterly Rock is the only one of Tywin's three children who truly inherited the spirit of the lion. Son, remember this: some people are far greater than they appear."

Baelor no longer wished to argue with his father. He set down his wine cup, wished him good night, and prepared to leave.

Just as he rose, he heard his father speak again.

"And that Samwell Caesar. We may conduct ordinary trade with him, but do not grow too close to him."

Baelor froze for a moment before asking in disbelief, "You don't think Samwell Caesar could become a leader too, do you?"

Count Leyton countered, "Give you two hundred soldiers and half a year. Could you establish a foothold in the Red Mountains and make more than ten thousand Wildlings submit?"

Baelor was immediately left speechless. Only after a long moment did he sigh and turn toward the door.

But upon reaching it, he turned back again, his face unwilling. "But Father, if we keep hiding in the darkness, aren't you afraid we'll be forgotten?"

Count Leyton gave a soft snort. "Do you remember your uncle Gerold? He was a Hightower unwilling to be forgotten, so he went to King's Landing. You surely know what happened after that. Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, the strongest shield before the king, one of the finest knights in the history of the Seven Kingdoms—Gerold 'White Bull'!

"Heh, what great fame!

"I never thought Hightower blood could produce a knight whose name shook the Seven Kingdoms.

"But what was the result?

"Didn't he still die at the Tower of Joy?"

Count Leyton leaned back against his chair, allowing his face to vanish into the darkness. His voice became weary and profound.

"Being forgotten is better than being destroyed."