Chapter 548 – The Tax Collector

Beneath the veil of night, amidst a sky illuminated by fire, a dragon soared, encircling the great Hightower, unleashing its flames upon it.

The Hightower, nearly 800 feet tall, pierced the heavens. Even before this monument, the dragon seemed somewhat diminutive.

Yet, as Lord Leyton Hightower had once boasted, the tower stood unyielding. The dragon's fire might not crumble its bricks, but those inside were not spared. They would be roasted alive, a torment arguably worse than being burned outright.

The war had come to its conclusion.

Lord Leyton Hightower and his eldest daughter, the 'Mad Maid' Malora Hightower, met their end atop the Hightower. When their charred remains were later found, they were still tightly embraced.

As for the other Hightower kin, some escaped by sea to the Shield Islands, while others fled to distant continents.

On the battlefield, 'Grey Iron' Garth Hightower, who commanded the troops, fell to the spears of the Dornish, fighting valiantly till his last breath.

With their commander gone, the will of the Hightower forces was shattered.

"Flee!" "Run!" "Help!"

Discarding their arms, they scattered. Some sought refuge among the common folk, while others, shedding armor, plunged into the chilling river, hoping to swim their way out of Oldtown.

Oldtown, once Westeros' grandest city, had become a living hell, with the Dornish and Dothraki rampaging freely.

"This is the scar war leaves on humanity. Yet, mankind can't seem to prevent it," a familiar voice murmured.

Viserys Targaryen, who was supposedly recuperating in Highgarden, now stood on a hill outside Oldtown, atop a white steed, gazing upon the city in flames. A few loyal Dothraki bloodriders, in their traditional armor, were by his side, ever-watchful.

Perhaps one day, people might understand one another, exercise restraint, and prevent such conflicts. But not today. For now, unification seems the best way to end the internal strife," Viserys mused aloud.

Willas Tyrell, the new Lord of Highgarden, stood beside him, a complex expression on his face.

"If Highgarden and Oldtown had made the same choices, would they share this fate?" he wondered. After all, Lord Leyton was his grandfather. His mother, Alerie Hightower, was Leyton's second daughter. Amidst his relief, Willas couldn't help but feel sorrow.

"Your Grace speaks true. But these are age-old ailments of Westeros. The notions of family and power are deeply ingrained. People fail to unite and understand one another," said Willas, pulling the reins to calm his restless steed.

Although Viserys had declined Lady Olenna's offer to take Margaery as a consort, he hadn't completely ostracized the Tyrells. Willas Tyrell had expressed a desire to serve in King's Landing, in any capacity.

Recognizing Willas's potential, Viserys appointed him as a tax collector under the Master of Coin, responsible for a particular region.

Viserys had seen through Willas's intentions. Despite the challenges of his position, especially for a man with a disability like Willas, he had accepted wholeheartedly.

Viserys had brought Willas with him when he moved from Highgarden to Oldtown. Once Oldtown was conquered, they would head north to King's Landing.

"Does Your Grace intend to utilize the Dothraki to deal with the Citadel and the Faith?" Willas inquired.

Viserys responded, "If you've lived in fear of being killed by a king from the age of eight, you'd understand the need for caution. The world I envision isn't built by those loyal to the present order."

He continued, "The Citadel, Westeros's pinnacle of knowledge, shouldn't be centralized. Nor should it be distant from the capital. I'll disperse it across the world, from Winterfell to Dorne, from Lannisport to Pentos."