Chapter 9

Today is a fast and laborious morning for the people of high standing in Oldtown given the change of events at every moment.

The Conclave of Maesters had gathered in the Citadel's Tower, to discuss the feasibility of defense or suggestions to the eventual people who would come to the city. Archmaester Elys, a thin, gray-bearded man whose eyes were sharp with the weight of countless years, stood at the head of the assembly, his voice carrying the gravity of the situation.

"We must extend guest rights," he began, his tone leaving little room for doubt. "The Targaryens must feel safe within our walls, lest we risk their wrath. And the gods forbid—those dragons."

Across from him, a younger Maester, Deon, raised an eyebrow. His voice was calm but carried the hint of challenge. "Guest rights are for those within the Lord's Hall. Oldtown is not a singular hearth. It is vast, a city unto itself. How do we ensure safety on such a scale?"

Archmaester Elys sighed, "This is not a question of how, Maester Deon. It is a matter of necessity. A precedent must be set. Oldtown is home to the Faith itself, the Starry Sept stands as the holiest of grounds. The protection of guest rights must extend beyond the Hightower's walls. The Faith and the city's guard must be involved. We have never faced such a potential threat."

The room fell silent for a moment, each Maester weighing the implications of such an action. Finally, Archmaester Neron broke the quiet. "We could formalize this with a ceremony—a public declaration at the city gates, where the Targaryens are given bread and salt by Lord Hightower himself. The High Septon could then bless the city, declaring that the protection of guest rights extends to every corner of Oldtown. This will place the Faith's authority behind the decision, making it sacred."

"And who enforces this?" Deon pressed. "The city guard alone cannot protect against dragons."

"Indeed," Elys agreed. "That is why we suggest a joint force—a combination of the Faith Militant and the city's forces. The High Septon and Lord Hightower must work together to ensure that both the Targaryens and our own people feel protected but more than anything, that the people don't cause any kind of trouble if they were to roam the streets of the city. Manfred Hightower's son, Gerold, would be a fitting captain for this force, representing both the Faith and the Hightower's might."

"There is bound to be dissatisfaction with the smallfolk, similarly with nobles inside the city" Deon muttered under his breath.

Elys didn't miss the comment. "Manfred Hightower will do what is necessary for the survival of his city. We have no weapons that can stop dragons. This is not about pride, but survival."

"Send a raven to Archmaester Lionel in the Hightower with the Conclave suggestion and advice"

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Manfred Hightower sat at the head of the long oak table, his gaze cast across his family as they gathered for breakfast. The morning sun streamed through the tall windows of the dining hall, bathing the room in soft, golden light. 

Addam, his eldest son and heir, sat to Manfred's right, quietly picking at his plate. His wife, a tall, amicable woman named Ellyn, poured herself more wine. Their two children, young Manfred, named after his grandfather, and Patrice, sat beside them.

Manfred's own wife, Jeyne, sat across from him, her dark eyes flicking between their daughters, who sat to her left, all four of them quietly conversing among themselves. They ranged in age from twelve to eighteen, each displaying the beauty and grace expected of highborn daughters, though their futures were carefully planned out, their matches already being discussed by Manfred with other lords across the Reach.

"Father," Addam broke the silence, his voice quiet but tense. "What's the matter with the disturbance a few hours ago? something happened?" He knew his Father was playing with the wives of their subjects last night but he was sleeping in his chambers with his wife when a servant told him when he woke up that something happened.

Before Manfred could respond, the heavy doors of the dining hall swung open, and Archmaester Lionel strode in, his gray robes trailing behind him. In his hands, he carried a small parchment, sealed with the mark of the Citadel. Manfred leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepling as Lionel approached, the scrape of his boots on the stone floor the only sound in the hall.

"Lord Hightower," Lionel said with a bow, offering the letter to his lord. "The Conclave has convened, as you requested. They've sent their recommendations."

Manfred took the parchment and broke the seal, unfolding it carefully. As his eyes scanned the contents, a slow smile crept onto his face. He nodded once, sharply, then set the letter down beside his plate.

"It's done then," he said softly, his voice carrying an air of satisfaction. "Make arrangements, Lionel. Send word to the High Septon. I want him to bless the city before the Targaryens arrive. And ensure that the Faith Militant is prepared to enforce the guest rights. We will not be caught off guard."

"Of course, my lord," Lionel said, bowing again before turning to leave.

As the Archmaester made his exit, Addam frowned, his brow furrowing in confusion. "What is this about?" he asked, his voice a little sharper now. "What has the Conclave decided?"

Manfred's smile faded as he turned his gaze to his son. "You know nothing of what is at stake here, Addam," he said, his tone cold. "Dragonlords atop their dragons are coming, that is the Targaryens, given they are the only family of dragonlords still alive. We must make sure that they feel welcome in Oldtown, or do you think we can afford to make enemies of dragons?"

Addam's face tightened not believing what he was hearing given that he had never seen a dragon and lived in a position of power over the lives of the smallfolk all his life, his jaw clenched. "But to bend so easily—"

"Enough," Manfred snapped, his voice cutting through the air like a blade. "You will hold your tongue when we stand before them. You will not speak unless spoken to, and you will not look them in the eye if you cannot control your expression. Do you understand?"

There was a dangerous edge to Manfred's words. Addam met his father's gaze, his pride clearly wounded, but he did not argue further. Instead, he gave a short nod, though the tension in his shoulders remained.

The rest of the family watched in silence, the weight of Manfred's command sinking in. They never have seen a dragon, only the stories of Valyria, still whispered among the highborn, were a grim reminder of what happened to those who defied dragonlords.

Little lady Patrice, Addam's daughter, broke the silence, her voice curious. "What will happen when they arrive, Grandfather? Will we see them?"

Manfred's expression softened slightly as he looked at his granddaughter. "Perhaps," he said, his tone gentler now. "If you are fortunate. But remember, child, these are no ordinary guests. Treat them with respect at all times."

The family fell into a tense quiet after that, the rest of the meal passing in strained silence. Manfred's thoughts drifted back to the Conclave, to the decisions being made in the Citadel's Tower. He could only hope that the preparations would be enough. The Targaryens were unpredictable, and with dragons in the mix, even the best-laid plans could go up in flames.

After breakfast, as the servants cleared the table, Manfred rose, signaling to his sons to follow him to the solar. Addam walked behind his father, his face still dark with the earlier conversation. He could feel his father's eyes on him, but he said nothing, waiting until they were alone.

In the solar, the atmosphere was no less tense. Manfred stood by the window, his gaze turned outward toward the harbor, where ships from all over Westeros docked in Oldtown. "I know what you're thinking," Manfred said without turning. "You think I am too cautious, that I am bending too easily to these newcomers."

Addam shifted uncomfortably, but he did not deny it.

"But what you fail to understand," Manfred continued, his voice lower now, "is that this is not a game of strength. This is survival. Dragons cannot be fought with swords or spears. You have read of them or heard histories of Valyria and Essos. We will not let Oldtown suffer the same fate."

"But are we to just... submit?" Addam asked, his voice tight with frustration.

Manfred finally turned, his gaze hard. "We are not submitting. We are ensuring that when the dragons leave, Oldtown still stands. Do not mistake prudence for weakness, boy. You may not like it, but this is the world we live in. Adapt or perish. So stop having stupid fantasies."

Addam looked away, clearly dissatisfied but unwilling to argue further. Manfred studied his son for a moment longer before dismissing him with a wave of his hand.

"Go see to your family. And remember what I said: keep your mouth shut when the guests arrive."

Addam left without another word, his frustration clear in the way he walked. Manfred remained by the window, watching as the ships came and went, his thoughts turning back to the letter from the Conclave. Soon, Oldtown would be hosting the most dangerous family in the world. And he had to make sure they left without setting the city alight.

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Aegon descended from the sky into a cliff with a large open field beside a narrow road that snaked its way down towards the bustling gates of the city. Rhaegon and the others follow suit, but he is tempted to circle the city before coming back, but after thinking for a moment that it could cause unnecessary problems he restrains himself from that childish play.

Rhaegon dismounted from his dragon, Deathwing, who let out a low, rumbling growl. The beast's dark scales gleamed in the morning sun.

As his boots hit the earth, Rhaegon took a moment to admire the landscape spread before him, the wind off the sea was bracing as Rhaegon stood at the edge of the cliff, his eyes sweeping over the sprawling city of Oldtown. He looked at the few bustling gates lined with travelers and merchants making their way in and out and wondered which one of the roads must be the famous Roseroad that connects to Highgarden.

The city itself sat at the mouth of the Honeywine River, its tall stone walls stretching into the water, and beyond, the sea itself stretched out, shimmering in the late afternoon light.

He inhaled deeply, the salty tang of the ocean filling his lungs as his twin sisters, Vaenya and Rhaenya, flanked him. Vaenya tilted her head, her bright eyes narrowing as she surveyed the scene before them.

"Look at them," Vaenya said, her voice sharp, but with a trace of amusement, "scurrying like ants in an anthill."

Rhaenya leaned forward, peering down the slope. "All the smallfolk, merchants, travelers…they saw the dragons, and now they don't know what to do with themselves."

Rhaegon allowed a small smile to creep onto his face as he glanced at the distant figures below. They had seen the dragons descending from the skies, and no doubt their arrival would send ripples of fear and awe through the city.

"That's Oldtown," he remarked, his voice low but carrying a hint of something deeper. "Older than Dragonstone, older than many things in Westeros."

"The tallest building covering that island completely must be the Hightower, a place that acts as a castle and lighthouse, the seat of House Hightower lords of Oldtown and subjects to house Gardener of Highgarden, while that big and large building shaped as a dome that stood above the rest around it must be the Starry Sept the most sacred ground of the Faith of the Seven"

The twins exchanged glances, curious but unspeaking for a moment. Rhaegon could sense their shared excitement.

"I wonder what Father's thinking," Vaenya muttered, glancing back towards where their father and mother, had landed with their bigger dragon.

"Whatever it is, we'll find out soon enough" Rhaegon said but inside he remembered reading that at some point he came to visit Oldtown with Visenya before he assisted the free cities in the war in Essos.

They stood together for a while, the three of them, watching the smallfolk scurry about in the distance, seemingly unsure of what to do in the presence of such mythical creatures.

As if on cue, Aegon and Visenya strode up beside them, his gaze fixed on the distant city walls. "Oldtown is one of the oldest and most populous cities in Westeros," he began, his voice thoughtful. "I've always intended to visit, to understand how they live here, how their minds work. The Citadel's knowledge is vast, accumulated with the efforts of all the Maester's lives around Westeros during all those years since his foundation."

"Well, Maester Simon in one of his lessons years ago pointed out that if one were looking for answers in any kind of topic they must be in the citadel." Rhaegon laughs at that

"Rhaegon, behave, don't cause trouble while we are visiting the place" Visenya chided him now before they move into the city.

Before they could continue, the sound of hooves echoed from the road. A fast-approaching cavalry team emerged from the dust, accompanied by two carriages bearing the sigils of House Hightower. The group came to a stop some distance from the dragons on the road, clearly wary of the beasts' presence. One rider, carrying the peace banner; a rainbow-striped flag with seven long tails, on a staff topped by a seven-pointed star, detached from the group and approached alone, raising the banner high.

Rhaegon narrowed his eyes, watching as the rider drew closer. "It seems our welcoming party has arrived," he muttered not knowing the meaning of that banner, he thought that must be something akin to the white flag.

The rider was a man dressed in silver armor inlaid with the symbols of the Faith Militant, his cloak a cascade of rainbow colors. He bore the star-shaped crystal pommel of a longsword, marking him as one of the Warrior's Sons, a knight dedicated to the Faith of the Seven. As he neared, Deathwing let out a low, thunderous growl that made the horse rear slightly in fear. The knight quickly calmed the beast, but Rhaegon could see the apprehension in the man's eyes as he cast a nervous glance at the dragon.

Still, the knight held his composure, saluting the Targaryens with a respectful bow from a safe distance. "I am Ser Gerold Hightower, son of Lord Manfred Hightower, and a servant of the Faith. I extend greetings on behalf of my father and the High Septon of Oldtown."

Rhaegon got a weird look seeing the silver hair under the helmet, but not seeing his eyes color. He remembered that Jorah Mormont wife seemed to be a Hightower that resembled Daenerys that's why he was so infatuated, wondering if they had Valyrian traits in their blood.

Aegon stepped forward, his expression unreadable. "I am Aegon Targaryen, and these are my children and wife." His voice was calm, but it carried the weight of authority. "We've come to visit the city. Is that a problem for your lord?"

Gerold, visibly relieved that Deathwing had not devoured him on the spot, quickly responded, "No, my lord. Quite the opposite. My father, Lord Manfred Hightower, and the High Septon himself extend their most sincere welcome. They offer Guest Rights to you and your family and to be treated as honored guests.

Rhaegon's brow furrowed slightly while giving a little laugh as he retorted. "Guest rights?, it isn't that only applies to the safety of a guest within the home of the host, not an entire city."

"My lord, that indeed it's the case, but in recognition of this extraordinary event—your family's arrival, and the presence of dragons for the first time in this place or Westeros at all. My lord father and the High Septon combined to extend an unprecedented special Guest Rights to all the city." Gerold nodded, his tone respectful not showing anything as he quickly explained.

 Rhaenya, her curiosity piqued, leaned toward Rhaegon and whispered, "Guest rights? What exactly does that mean?"

Before Rhaegon could answer, Gerold spoke again. "It is an ancient tradition, my lady, one that ensures the safety and hospitality of visitors under the protection of their host. No harm will come to you while you are within our city walls. It is an unbreakable vow."

Aegon considered this for a moment, then gave a slow nod. "Very well. I accept your offer of Guest Rights." He knew the implications of why they came here this fast to express themselves.

Gerold's relief was palpable. "We have brought carriages to escort you and your family to the city gates, where my father and the High Septon will greet you formally and provide the ceremony."

Rhaegon's lips curled in a slight sneer as Gerold spoke of "guest rights", he remembered what happened in the show with Jaime still throwing Bran off the tower, the Red Wedding, hell, even in Kings Landing the events with Ned, if one of the parts involved don't want to follow the agreement it's useless, and better be that you have the power to defend yourself against the other in case it occurs.

But given that they don't have an escort at the moment and they fear that we would burn the city to ashes they came up with this method to check both sides, it's not only for the safety of the guest, after all, it covers their host too, but he wondered how they prepared so fast since they just arrived? it's like they knew beforehand they were coming.

Also, he wondered if the same thing happened during the time Aegon and Visenya visited Oldtown in the books.

"Stop worrying about everything, should the case arise the dragons are one thought away from coming to our side at any moment." Visenya put his hand on his son's shoulders, but still thinking about the new thing she was knowing from his son.

"What's the matter?" Vaenya asked raising her eyebrow at the exchange.

"Nothing, just thinking about how it will be enforced the Guest Rights" Rhaegon with his arms crossed answered while looking to the entrance of the city where a lot of noise and movement was being generated, filling up with people seemed waiting to see the show and the city guards. After all, anything flashy or novel is entertainment for these people in this day and age.

"Gerold, you should put guards on both sides along the road to stop anyone from coming near the dragons, if bodies start pilling in this place or burned land it's not our problem" Rhaegon snickered while they climbed into the carriages, leaving the dragons behind in the cliff that would surely scare and ruin the day from anyone that wanted to go or leave the city from this road.

"Yes, my lord" Gerold nodded to that before going to a group of guards from the escort, making a few go far away around the dragons from another place to go to the other side of the road.

Inside the carriage, once the family settled comfortably, "If they try anything," he said, his voice low so only Aegon could hear, "We should burn it all down and set a precedent for the rest of Westeros of what they can expect if they break their oaths against our house." Aegon's lips twitched in the faintest hint of a smile. "I know, my son, but the safety of your sisters and mothers comes first before any action." Aegon's eyes flicked toward his son, thinking.

The ride toward Oldtown was slow and bumpy as they descended, the air filled with the distant murmur of the city and the rhythmic clatter of hooves while Rhaegon's fingers brushed the pommel of his sword, his mind already imagining the chaos he could unleash if the Hightowers dared betray their fragile guest rights.

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Greetings.

Wanted to use this space to leave a notice to the people reading the novel so far.

I hadn't expected all this support and expectations from a lot of people, it is even more than last year when I started a Legacies fanfic when I was bored while watching the show. From the start, I wasn't thinking about writing this one at all and released the first 2 chapters on the spur of the moment while seeing the collections coming from my other novel, actually, they were written actually on February of this year while the next 2 to came were half done, but seeing all the support I continued making and releasing more, this novel-idea was something I designed in the spur of a moment at the time while reading Fire&Blood not liking some things in the history and intended to be a complete smut novel from the start, that its porn with plot. It included the conquest of the 7 kingdoms and the conquest of Dorne as principal topics mostly and changes in the destiny of characters like Argella Durrandon or Rhaenys. But given the people's liking for it, I started thinking more about the future of the fanfic while still being smut to have more plot.

Having said that, I wanted to say that while updates will keep coming, they may be slow and not daily chapters, because this is more something I do for pleasure when I have free time for it than anything. I appreciate the support on comments, reviews, and power stones, they show me that there are people who still want to see more chapters coming, so I dedicate time to making them.