Chapter 475: Burning the High Tower

Halfway through his journey, Ormund observed the night view of Oldtown and muttered to himself, "Otto must be kept away. Our house cannot be dragged down by him and Alicent."

The heir prince's blade hung over Hightower's head, and potential dangers had to be hidden. As he pondered this, the towering High Tower came into view. Ormund crossed the stone arch bridge and returned to his family's territory.

...

Back at Weeping Dock, the small boat that had sailed away not long ago returned to its original position. On the pier, in the empty night, a dozen black-robed figures stood in a row. Otto put his hood back on and stepped onto the wet dock, saying in a low voice, "Follow me."

The black-robed men followed him silently, like marionettes. The moon was bright, and a cool breeze blew. The hoods of the black robes fluttered, revealing several numb faces with yellowish skin and emaciated bodies. Some were blind in one eye, others had scars all over their faces.

They were criminals from the dungeons of King's Landing, part of the intelligence network left by Mysaria, the White Worm. Otto now controlled these puppets.

...

The night grew deeper, and dark clouds obscured the moonlight.

In the High Tower, a secret passage.

Click-click

A black-robed man crept out, emerging into the cellar where grain was stored.

"Hurry up and don't cause any unnecessarytrouble," Otto ordered, his eyes cold as he located an oil barrel that had been prepared in advance.

The black-robed men carried the oil cans and immediately began their work, avoiding the guards on night watch as they poured oil in the cellar, kitchen, stables, and other strategiclocations.

One of the black-robed men tried to pour oil on the main gate, but his companion punched him in the face and grabbed the oil can. "Get out of here. Don't be so clever," he said.

Otto, watching from the shadows, nodded imperceptibly. He wanted to set the High Tower on fire but not to block the escape routes.

Isn't the heir prince going to do something? Otto thought. Then I will strike first, set the High Tower ablaze, and escape any false accusations. No one would suspect him of starting the fire; they would think the heir prince had done it.

Taking one last look at the familiar towering structure, Otto turned and disappeared into the secret passage. "Light the fire," he ordered.

The men in black took out torches and ignited the oil-soaked areas. Suddenly, the fire spreadthroughout the High Tower.

By the time the guards and servants realized a fire had broken out, Otto had already left with his men.

"Come quickly, put out the fire!"

"The kitchen is on fire! Get some water!"

"There's a fire..."

Servants ran around in a panic, and the entire tower descended into chaos.

At that moment, another group of masked men sneaked out of the High Tower and quickly fled the scene in a boat on the lake.

Boom!

A fire erupted at the entrance to the High Tower, blocking the guards from reaching the water to extinguish the flames.

"Damn it, the fire is blocking the door!"

The fire raged, preventing anyone from getting close.

Suddenly, someone exclaimed, "There's the smell of oil! Hurry and save Lord Ormund!"

Guards shouted and rushed inside with blankets soaked in river water.

Meanwhile, in the Lord's bedroom, Ormund lay on a soft bed, wearing silk pajamas and fast asleep.

Zilala...

A fire broke out in the hallway outside, and pungent smoke seeped into the bedroom through the tiny crack in the door.

Ormund stirred, smelling the smoke. The sound of fire engines resounding through the tower woke him from his dream.

As soon as Ormund opened his eyes, the dim room was filled with thick black smoke, and the temperature was as high as an oven.

"Damn it, what's going on?" Ormund cursed, instantly wide awake, and tried to escape.

Bang!

He kicked the door, but it didn't budge. Horrified, he pounded on the door. "Damn it, who sealed the door shut!"

The fire spread throughout the corridor, burning along the walls to the ceiling. The pine wood beams of the decor became the best fuel, and the pine oil crackled and sizzled.

With every breath, Ormund inhaled thick, choking smoke. The shouts and crackling sounds he heard were like the whispering of a stranger.

The smoke grew thicker, and the fire reached thedoor.

"Cough, cough, cough..."

Ormund's strength waned as he pounded on the door, struggling to breathe. His coughing was so violent it felt like he might cough his lungs out.

"Someone... Help, help me..."

Ormund's eyes filled with deep despair, his throat hoarse like a broken fan, and his limbs gradually became weak and powerless.

With a thud, he fell to the ground. His eyes fixedon the door, just a wooden barrier, but it became the gap between life and death.

Boom!

The fire spread to the bedroom ceiling, and the beams could no longer hold, burning and collapsing.

Ormund's breathing almost stopped, his eyes nearly popped out of their sockets as he watchedthe beam fall on him.

In the last moment of his life, Ormund's eyes rolled back in his head as he screamed in terror.

"No!"

...

Weeping Dock.

Otto, who had just boarded the ship again,suddenly looked back, drawn by the sound of crackling flames. His eyes fixed on the towering High Tower, now surrounded by billowing smoke.The High Tower, standing 800 feet high, dominated the flat landscape of Oldtown, and the fire was particularly visible in the darkness.

Flames rose from the base of the High Tower, and smoke occasionally billowed from the upper floors, spewing fire through the windows.

Otto's eyes flickered with confusion. "How did the fire get so much bigger?" he muttered. He stirredthe water with his hand, gauging the strength of the night wind. The breeze was gentle, not strong enough to fuel the fire to such an extent.

Otto frowned and concluded, "No matter what, we cannot stay in Oldtown for long."

He had already decided to sacrifice his brother and his family to protect his daughter, the queen, and the future of the house. Sentimentality had no place in his plans.

Turning back, he stepped onto the deck of the small boat and urged the sailors to speed up thevoyage.

Splash! Splash!

The sailors rowed hard, and the waves grew stronger and stronger. Otto joined the crew, and the boat soon disappeared into the night.

Half an hour later.

The boat left the harbor and entered the mouth of Whispering Sound. Otto was distracted, hiseyes unfocused on the distance.

Suddenly, a ship appeared on the horizon. The sailors panicked, stretching their necks to seewhat was happening. Otto, drawn by the commotion, squinted to follow their line of sight.

The two ships grew closer, and the haze gradually lifted, revealing a small, agile warship. Otto's heart skipped a beat, and his eyelids fluttered.

As the ships converged, Otto looked up and saw the figures on the deck of the warship and the long sail hanging from it. A sword and a shooting star intersected on the light purple canvas.

"House Dayne," Otto whispered, stunned and unable to believe his eyes.

At the same time, the figures on the warship were looking down at him, sneering. With a wave of his hand, one of the soldiers ordered, "Release the arrows!"

Arrows flew through the air, aimed at the sailors and the black-robed men on Otto's ship.

...

Starry Sept.

Rhaenyra was still awake, standing in front of the window in the inner hall in a long beige nightgown, gazing out.

"Ooh~" Aemon, in his baby clothes, lay in his mother's arms, humming and grunting. Rhaenyra held his little bottom with one hand and his back with the other, leaning back slightly to ensure the child didn't fall and injure his spine.

Crack!

The door opened quietly from the outside, and Rhaegar entered. He looked up to see Rhaenyracooing to the baby in the moonlight.

Rhaegar hesitated for a moment before asking softly, "Is Baelon asleep?"

Rhaenyra turned her head and replied withresignation, "He's been asleep for a long time, except for this little rascal who won't settle down."

"Baelon is the eldest son. He knows how to makehis parents feel at ease," Rhaegar smiled, walking over to take little Aemon, who was clapping his hands. The little one's purple eyes shone with excitement, and he smacked his lips as if wanting to argue with his father.

Rhaenyra snorted, rocking the cradle beside her, and looked tenderly at the sleeping baby. "Older children are usually more reassuring and take better care of their younger siblings."

Her eyes moved to Rhaegar's handsome, almost devilish face, and she smiled slightly. What a handsome young man, she thought, reflecting on how she had taken care of him.

Rhaegar laughed, nodding in approval. "That's right. Who wouldn't want a gentle and considerate sister?"

"Wow~" Little Aemon, feeling neglected, yelled in a hoarse voice and hit Rhaegar's chest with his small hand. The little one was soft and squishy, and the impact caused a bit of a rebound, with some saliva coming out.

The parents laughed and teased the poor baby.

"Rhaegar!" Rhaenyra suddenly spoke up, breaking the warm and cozy atmosphere.

Rhaegar "mm"ed, casting a concerned glance.

Rhaenyra leaned against the window and looked out at the towering flames of the High Tower. She asked bluntly, "Did you start the fire?"

"You're so observant," Rhaegar smirked, biting Aemon's cheek. "Otto set the fire. I helped fan the flames."

"Really?" Rhaenyra's eyes narrowed slightly.

"It's the truth," Rhaegar replied, wearing a face that said, "I'm the most honest person around."

Rhaenyra rolled her eyes, worry creeping in. "House Hightower is a powerfull House and the house of Alicent. You must not do anything rash."

Westeros had laws protecting nobility. No matter the crime, as long as it wasn't a rebellion of the entire house, the king couldn't destroy a family name at will.

Since Rhaegar became heir prince, he had cut off two long-standing noble families: Bracken of the Riverlands and Uller of Dorne. Although both had committed great crimes, it was understandable to wipe out the entire family. But such moves irritated the nobles of Westeros and added to Rhaegar's reputation for cruelty.

Rhaenyra thought for a moment and suggested, "The High Tower was destroyed by fire, and House Hightower has suffered enough. Let's leave for King's Landing tomorrow."

The rebellion in Dorne had not yet ended, and theHightowers were still needed on the battlefield.With Queen Alicent stripped of her rights and Otto in control of the Small Council, House Hightower was not to be feared. In Rhaenyra's eyes, the most important thing was to raise the children with Rhaegar and stay by her father'sside.

Rhaegar raised his eyelids slightly, considered the direction of things, and made a judgment. "Well, tomorrow is when we will see the outcome."

House Hightower had deep roots and would not disappear easily. He had made several preparations, which should be enough.

...

The next morning.

The island in the middle of the lake where the High Tower stood had turned into scorched earth.The once white tower was now blackened by thefire that had burned overnight.

Rhaegar and Rhaenyra arrived on their dragons just in time to see guards sweeping the tower's entrance and carrying out charred bodies onstretchers.

"Roar..."

A shrill neighing sound drew the attention of those present as Sunfyre and the Sheepstealer arrived, carrying the two Targaryen boys whorushed over.

Aegon was completely dumbfounded, lookingaround at the stone tower not far from the ruined walls. He had spent the night with Aemond in a brothel, and now his mother's family was burnt down.

Aemond was even more confused. The one-eyed boy climbed down from the dragon's back andran toward the tower.

"Aemond, don't be rash!" Rhaegar, standing in front of the tower, reached out to stop him.

At that moment, two armored Knights of the Kingsguard, their faces marked with sadness,slowly walked out carrying a stretcher. A white cloth covered the stretcher, and a charred arm hung limply down.

Rhaegar pulled Aemond back, watching the stretcher pass by them. A lump of solidified goldhung from the thumb of the arm, encasing a green gemstone. The brothers recognized itinstantly.

It was the emerald bangle that Ormund Hightower always wore.

"Brother," Aemond said in a daze.

"Yes?" Rhaegar replied, standing nearby.

 "Nevermind." Aemond slumped his shoulders and shook his head, trying to process what had happened.

"Father, oh, oh..." A panicked cry, the cry of a child, pierced the air. A young boy, not yet old enough to be a knight, was crying as he left the tower.

It was Ormund's only son, Lyonel Hightower.

(Word count: 2,140)