A pillar of military strength

Gerold Hightower.

Strictly speaking, he was not actually part of the main branch of House Hightower.

In practice, however, no one would regard him as they would a collateral relative like Clayson Hightower.

As one of those who actually controlled House Hightower's troops, he had almost entirely stripped Ser Moryn Tyrell, the current commander of Oldtown's garrison, of his authority.

It was not hard to understand. How could the Old Man of Oldtown possibly entrust House Hightower's safety to an outsider?

Gerold Hightower shared his father's name.

That was largely because the name Gerold Hightower had carried considerable weight when the Targaryen Dynasty still ruled.

He had been the Lord Commander of the last Targaryen king's Kingsguard, nicknamed the "White Bull."

He had personally draped the white cloak over Barristan Selmy "the Bold," and led Arthur Dayne, the "Sword of the Morning," in the campaign against the Kingswood Brotherhood.

Throughout the Seven Kingdoms, he had been acknowledged as a mighty warrior.

Yet when the War of the Usurper broke out, bringing disaster upon all of Westeros, even the mightiest warrior could not ultimately defy fate.

And so, in the battle against Eddard Stark and the others at the Tower of Joy, he had fought with sword in hand alongside his fellow Kingsguard, Arthur Dayne, the "Sword of the Morning," until his blood ran dry.

"That was the White Bull. He gave his all to the very last moment. A far better man than me, as everyone knows."

That was how Jaime Lannister, who still had some conscience despite becoming a traitor, had described the brave Kingsguard.

And so Gerold Hightower, who had grown up bearing his father's name, took up his father's sword.

Earl Leyton personally handed him his own sword, Vigilance.

It was House Hightower's ancestral blade, a Valyrian steel sword passed down through the ages.

Darean remembered what he had once told him:

"I bear my father's name, but I will no longer fight for an absurd king. Beneath the glory of the tower, my sword will protect House Hightower."

Darean truly had not expected the man who served as House Hightower's actual pillar of military strength to come this time.

Support on this scale really left him feeling rather overwhelmed by the favor.

He immediately rode out to meet him, calling out while still some distance away:

"Uncle Jeylo, why did you come?"

The stern Gerold Hightower, whose face was square in every sense of the word, managed a rare, barely perceptible smile.

Of the family head's five children, his favorite was Darean, who had loved tumbling about on the training grounds since childhood.

"What, am I not welcome?"

Gerold Hightower looked Darean up and down, finding not a trace of aristocratic airs about him, and nodded in satisfaction as he asked with a smile.

Darean laughed heartily, turned his horse aside, and rode alongside Gerold Hightower.

"Uncle Jeylo, I really didn't expect Baelor to send you."

He left his next thought unspoken. Baelor really was willing to spare him.

The reason Baelor could remain unshakable despite Garth's constant attacks during House Hightower's meetings was that this "great general" stood firmly behind him.

To his surprise, Gerold Hightower snorted and tilted his head to glance at him.

"You think I take orders from Baelor?"

Oh... true enough. Although Baelor would most likely become the next master of the Hightower, he was still a generation below Gerold Hightower.

Darean shrugged and wisely said nothing.

"Uncle Jeylo, how many men did you bring this time?"

Glancing back at the orderly ranks, he could not help asking curiously.

"Three hundred infantry. Not many, but enough for now."

"You have no use for cavalry here anyway. Sending them would only add to your burden."

Darean breathed a sigh of relief. He really would have struggled to support a large contingent of cavalry.

They were simply too expensive.

Cavalry was an offensive arm, whereas New Land Town, whose outer walls were currently under construction, was meant for defense.

Establishing a foothold here and making it an accomplished fact would count as a victory.

After all, warhorses could not fly across the Redwyne Straits.

"All right, follow me, then. You'll have to put up with tents for a few days. We're working overtime to build the barracks."

Darean said helplessly:

"There's no helping it. This place had next to nothing to begin with. Hosman, the previous lord, left me a burned-out village with barely anyone still alive."

"Once I knew you were coming, just managing to gather the manpower and get started at such short notice was good enough!"

Gerold Hightower did not argue.

In fact, he had received no advance word of House Hightower's sudden move either.

But the lord who had not descended from the Hightower in decades still stood high above, coldly looking down upon the land at his feet.

No one could defy his will.

This time, he had happened to tire of being dried out by the sea wind in the lifeless Hightower, so he had volunteered to bring the troops himself.

He had directly replaced the commander Baelor had originally appointed.

The heir to the Hightower had been left with no room to protest.

"Will Father really be all right with only Moryn Tyrell there, when drinking is all he knows?"

Darean asked.

Rubbing his stubbled chin, Gerold Hightower gave a contemptuous smile and said coldly:

"Let me tell you, even ten more fools like Morlin wouldn't be worth Lord Leyton lifting a finger."

"He's stood atop that tower for decades. He's long since learned every shape the tides of this world can take."

"Everyone who thought House Hightower was weak and easy prey has been sunk beneath the waters near Battle Island."

"Don't worry, Darean."

"Just focus on your work."

The Hightower.

Baelor Hightower lifted his head from a great heap of disorganized records and rubbed his aching brow.

House Hightower's everyday affairs had already been more than enough.

Now he also had to give his full support to the policy of planting a foothold in the Redwyne Straits.

For a while, he could barely stand it.

For instance, quite a few people had already noticed House Hightower's movements.

After all, there was no hiding the wagonloads of supplies heading southeast.

House Redwyne, House Tyrell, House Tarly, and House Rowan had all sent letters by raven, asking what House Hightower intended.

They had all used beautiful calligraphy to write the most courteous words.

But Baelor did not want to read a single one.

He knew what they wanted to ask with his eyes closed.

Yet courtesy between nobles forced him to grit his teeth and write line after line of nonsense he did not believe himself.

I've replied, anyway. Believe it or not, that's up to you.

Taking hold of his glass, Baelor gulped down some sweet wine and let out a long breath.

This was only the beginning. There would be plenty more trouble to come.

He had just been about to relax when a knock sounded against the closed oak door.

"My lord, your father asks you to come."

The maid's soft voice reached Baelor's ears.

His brow furrowed slightly.

The old man had not seen him in months.

What had happened?