The bells of the Starry Sept rang out, their deep bronze notes echoing over Oldtown, passing through streets and canals and startling the white doves perched on the rooftops.
In a rare departure from his routine, Earl Leyton Hightower opened the heavy oak door that day and left the top of the Hightower.
Supported by an attendant, the elderly man known as the Oldtown Old Man descended the spiral stone stairs at a measured pace to attend this meeting of House Hightower.
The core members of House Hightower had already gathered around the long table.
Baelor Hightower, Leyton's eldest son and heir, and Oldtown's administrator in practice, sat on one side of the table with a grave expression.
He pushed the letter from the Westerlands, sealed with a golden lion in wax, into the center of the table:
"What does Tywin Lannister mean by this? In the name of the Baratheon royal house, he has stripped House Tyrell of its titles as overlord of the Reach and Warden of the South."
"More importantly, why has he bestowed the title of Warden of the South on House Hightower?"
Everyone at the table frowned.
They all understood that this was no windfall.
Tywin must have some far-reaching design behind this.
It might even be a plot against House Hightower.
But they could not work out his precise intentions.
Their gazes converged on the old man at the head of the table.
Leyton Hightower, Earl of the Hightower, Oldtown's true master.
He was very old, but no one discounted his wisdom. Like their house words, "We light the way," the old man was the beacon that guided them whenever they lost their course.
"Father, what do you think?" Baelor was the first to speak.
Leyton Hightower gave a soft cough. His voice was