Rewriting Targaryen History

The white banner remained above the lesser gate throughout the morning.

No herald emerged beneath it. No Hightower officer approached our lines with polished terms or demands intended to disguise surrender as negotiation. The cloth simply hung above the stone while men upon the wall watched our camps, the Velaryon ships beyond the Honeywine, and the three dragons resting around the city.

Oldtown had reached the point where silence no longer protected Ormund.

The Redwyne convoy had been his final visible promise of relief. Its surviving ships now lay beneath Velaryon guard, their stores being unloaded into our own camps while smoke from the burned vessels drifted beyond the river mouth.

No supply fleet from the Arbor could reach the city without passing beneath Meleys and Seasmoke. No army could approach by land without confronting more than ten thousand soldiers spread across the roads and fields. Dravvaxx waited north of the walls, his scarred wing strong enough for flight once more.

Ormund had walls, men, and enough food to prolong suffering. He no longer had a path to victory.

The first delegation arrived shortly before midday. Six men came through the lesser gate beneath another white banner: two maesters, a senior septon from the Starry Sept, three merchants representing the principal guilds, and a captain of the city watch whose armour bore no Hightower badge.

Matthos Tyrell received them beside me outside the northern command pavilion. Rhaenys stood near the entrance, while Addam remained with Seasmoke upon the eastern ridge. Black Rat and a company of Unsullied formed a disciplined line behind us, present without crowding the men who had chosen to leave the city.

The watch captain removed his sword and offered it hilt-first. I did not take it.

"If the city watch intends to surrender, you may keep your blade until your men have laid down theirs in an orderly fashion," I said. "Oldtown will need guards after the gates open. I have no wish to leave its streets undefended while our terms are being enforced."

The captain’s hand remained extended for a moment before he lowered the weapon. "The watch has not surrendered to you yet, my prince. It has refused an order from Lord Ormund."

"What order?"

"To clear the guildhall by force, arrest the men calling for the gates to be opened, and place Hightower soldiers at every river quay. Lord Hobert demanded hostages from the Citadel and the Faith to ensure neither supported submission."

The septon’s mouth tightened at the words, but he allowed the watch captain to continue.

"The commanders of three city districts refused," the captain said. "Most of the men beneath them followed. Lord Ormund attempted to replace us with household retainers, but the guilds closed the streets around the barracks and the Citadel denied his messengers entry."

Oldtown had not risen in a great spontaneous rebellion. Its factions had merely stopped obeying at the same time.

For two months, the Citadel, Faith, guilds, harbour captains, and uncertain officers had corresponded with us while pretending they possessed no power to act. Each feared moving first.

The arrival of the Velaryon fleet removed their remaining excuse. The Redwyne defeat proved the river could not remain open, and the sight of three dragons beyond the walls made Ormund’s assurances of eventual rescue impossible to repeat convincingly.

"What has become of Ormund?" Matthos asked.

The senior merchant answered. "He withdrew towards the Hightower with Lord Hobert and Ser Gwayne. Several hundred household men remain loyal to them, but most city-watch companies control their own gates and districts. The garrison upon the northern walls has agreed not to fight if your army enters under terms."

"You are asking us to enter before the Hightowers are secured," I said.

"We are asking you to confirm the promises already made," the merchant replied. "The city will open its gates if the Citadel, septs, guild property, and homes of those who remain peaceful are protected. The watchmen who served upon the walls must receive pardons. There can be no looting, and no dragon may fly above the streets."

The conditions were the same ones I had offered repeatedly. Ormund had called them lies until the men around him decided to test them.

"You will have those protections," I said. "Common soldiers and watchmen will be pardoned for ordinary service. Men accused of murder, torture, or crimes committed outside lawful battle will be held for judgment. The Citadel and Faith will remain untouched, and every officer in my army has already been warned that looting will be punished."

The septon looked towards Dravvaxx’s ridge. "The dragons must remain outside."

"They will remain beyond the walls unless fighting makes their presence necessary. If Hightower loyalists attempt to burn the city or turn the streets into a battlefield, I will not bind myself while civilians die."

"We can prevent that," the watch captain said. "Lord Ormund’s retainers control the Hightower and several buildings upon Battle Isle. The bridges have been raised against them. They cannot cross into the city without the harbour watch lowering them."

Rhaenys had remained silent until then. "And the tower itself?"

"The household guard may resist."

"How many?"

"Perhaps three hundred fit men. More servants and wounded are within, but the greater garrison has abandoned Lord Ormund."

Three hundred men inside the Hightower could make a siege within the siege. The tower rose from Battle Isle above the city and river, its position strong enough to resist an ordinary assault. Yet Ormund would be trapped without the ability to threaten Oldtown directly so long as the bridges remained controlled.

I had no intention of losing hundreds storming it merely to satisfy the appearance of complete victory.

"The gates will open," I said. "Black Rat will enter first with one thousand Unsullied. They will secure the walls, gates, guildhall, Citadel approaches, and the roads leading towards Battle Isle. Tyrell soldiers will follow in organised companies. The rest of the army remains outside until order is confirmed."

Matthos gave a small nod. Entering the city beneath Highgarden’s banners would help prevent Oldtown’s surrender from appearing like conquest by foreign soldiers alone.

"No company approaches the Hightower without my command," I continued. "Ormund will be offered one final chance to surrender himself, Hobert, Gwayne, and the men accused of directing the rebellion. Anyone else inside who lays down arms may leave under guard."

The merchant representatives exchanged glances.

One finally asked, "What will happen to the Hightowers?"

"They will face trial in King’s Landing."

There would be no execution upon Battle Isle, no heads displayed from Oldtown’s gates, and no opportunity for Ormund to die defending a tower while his supporters turned the death into legend. Rhaenyra would judge him beside the others who had sustained Aegon’s claim.

That answer seemed to satisfy the delegation. The northern gate opened before sunset.

Its chains sounded across the fields long before the doors moved. Men throughout our camps stood in silence while the great timbers drew inward, revealing a road that had remained closed for more than three months. No arrows came from the towers. No hidden cavalry charged through the opening.

City watchmen lined the passage with their spears grounded. Black Rat marched through at the head of the Unsullied. I followed with Matthos, Rhaenys, Lord Bulwer, Dick, Jasper, Landrey, and two hundred Dread Legion veterans. The golden rose flew beside Rhaenyra’s three-headed dragon. My own purple banner, bearing the white sword within its crescent wreath, moved behind them.

The streets beyond were crowded but quiet.

Citizens watched from windows, doorways, roofs, and the edges of market squares. Some bowed. Others stared at the Unsullied with open fear. Most looked exhausted rather than relieved. The siege had not starved Oldtown, but shortages and uncertainty had tightened the city long before hunger became desperate.

No one cheered us. I preferred honesty.

The guildhall had become the centre of the surrender. Watch captains reported their districts one by one, identified Hightower retainers who might resist, and surrendered keys to the principal gates before receiving them back under Matthos’s authority.

Maesters carried messages between the Citadel and our command. Septons moved through the crowds, warning that violence against surrendered soldiers would be treated as a breach of the queen’s peace.

Our men maintained formation.

The first soldier caught taking a silver cup from an abandoned stall was arrested by his own serjeant before I heard of it. Dick later informed me with grim satisfaction that the punishment could be made public without delaying the occupation.

By nightfall, the city belonged to Rhaenyra in every place except Battle Isle. The Hightower beacon continued burning above us. Ormund sent no reply to the first demand for surrender. The second was carried across the raised bridge by a septon trusted by both sides. He returned with Hobert’s answer rather than Ormund’s.

The Hightowers would surrender if their household men received pardons, the tower remained unsearched by common soldiers, and the family was guaranteed trial rather than execution.

I accepted the first condition for men not accused of separate crimes. The second was modified: the tower would be searched by Unsullied officers and men appointed by Matthos, not looted by ordinary troops. The third repeated what I had already promised.

Ormund objected. According to the septon, he wanted a ship, safe conduct, and permission for the three Hightower leaders to leave Westeros. He argued that surrendering for judgement by Rhaenyra was no different from offering their necks.

Perhaps it was fear speaking. Perhaps it was the last attempt of a man accustomed to bargaining from strength he no longer possessed. The request was refused.

The bridges remained raised throughout the night. At dawn, Hightower household men began leaving Battle Isle.

They came in groups of twenty or thirty, placing swords and spears upon the riverbank before being taken into custody. Many were veterans of Honeyholt who had escaped beside Ormund. Their faces showed recognition when they saw Bulwer banners among the men receiving them.

Lord Bulwer did not speak to them. By midday, fewer than a hundred remained inside the tower. The beacon went dark shortly after. For the first time since we approached Oldtown, no flame burned above Battle Isle.

The bridge lowered. Ormund Hightower crossed first. He wore plate beneath a pale cloak, though he carried no sword. Defeat had not reduced him to a trembling prisoner. He walked with the same measured control he had shown while withdrawing from Honeyholt after Aegon fell.

His hair and beard had grown greyer through the campaign, and the exhaustion around his eyes was deep enough to make him appear older than the man who first surrounded the forest.

Hobert followed in robes and a heavy woollen mantle, his expression caught between anger and disbelief. Gwayne came last in armour, one hand repeatedly moving towards the empty space where his sword should have hung. Unsullied surrounded them without touching them. They were brought to the guildhall rather than made to kneel in the street.

I waited inside with Matthos, Rhaenys, Addam, Lord Bulwer, Black Rat, and the principal officers of the army. Orphan-Maker rested at my side. Ormund noticed it immediately.

His eyes remained upon the sword for several moments. "So Roxton is truly dead," he said.

"You received his head."

"I received a chest carrying what remained of a knight who served his lord until the end."

"He spent that service burning villages and murdering prisoners."

"He carried out the war after others lost the will."

Lord Bulwer’s restraint nearly failed. I saw it in the way his shoulders shifted, but he allowed me to answer.

"Roxton fought civilians because he could no longer defeat my army. You sent him north after abandoning the men who remained loyal to you in the forest. Do not confuse his cruelty with courage or your use of it with command."

Ormund’s face tightened, though he did not look towards Bulwer. "You came to Oldtown with dragons, slave spears, a fleet, and Reachmen persuaded to betray their neighbours. I defended my house and the king I recognised."

"The king you recognised is dead. Daeron has sworn to Rhaenyra. Highgarden, Storm’s End, Riverrun, and the houses whose men you left beneath the trees now stand against you. Oldtown opened its own gates because your defence had become a threat to the city."

Hobert stepped forward before an Unsullied guard stopped him with a spear shaft across the path. "You promised trial," he said. "We surrendered upon that promise."

"You will receive it."

"Trial before whom? Rhaenyra holds King’s Landing, her husband commands the army, and every judge will know the sentence expected of him."

"The trial will occur before the queen and her council. Evidence will be presented, witnesses heard, and each accused man allowed to answer the charges."

Ormund gave a bitter laugh. "You dress vengeance in law because it looks cleaner upon a throne."

"I could have executed you outside the tower and called it necessity. I did not."

"That does not make the outcome uncertain."

"No. Your choices made the outcome uncertain long before I entered Oldtown."

Ormund finally looked away from Orphan-Maker. "Who else will stand beside us?"

"Otto Hightower is already held in King’s Landing. Larys Strong will face judgement for his part in the coup, the murders tied to his service, and the crimes committed under Aegon’s authority. Ser Crakehall and Jasper Wylde will be tried for their roles in sustaining the rebellion. Others may join them as testimony and records are gathered."

The names changed the air in the hall. Otto had helped build the cause that crowned Aegon. Larys had survived by making secrets more valuable than loyalty. Crakehall and Wylde represented the military and political strength that allowed the rebellion to spread beyond the Red Keep.

Now Ormund, Hobert, and Gwayne would stand beside them. Not as lords negotiating peace. As prisoners facing judgement.

"What of Aemond?" Gwayne asked.

The question was too controlled to be casual. "Aemond remains at large."

"And Vhagar remains with him."

"Yes."

For the first time since entering, something close to confidence returned to Ormund’s face. "You speak as though the war has ended because Oldtown opened a gate. Aemond does not require a city to make war."

"No," I said. "He requires only enough anger to decide where Vhagar burns next."

"You cannot protect every place he may choose."

"I do not need to protect every place forever. I need to find him once."

Ormund studied me, perhaps searching for uncertainty. There was enough of it to find if he knew where to look. Dravvaxx had healed, but Vhagar remained larger, older, and capable of destroying armies without meeting another dragon. Jace and Daemon were separated from the Crownlands. Rhaegar remained at Driftmark. Rhaenyra and our younger children were in King’s Landing.

Aemond could choose among the people and places I could not defend at once. That did not change the position of the men before me.

I signalled to Black Rat. "Lord Ormund Hightower, Lord Hobert Hightower, and Ser Gwayne Hightower are to be confined separately under Unsullied and Dread Legion guard. They will be transported to King’s Landing when ships and escorts are prepared. They are to receive food, healers, and the treatment owed to highborn captives. They will send no letters without inspection and receive no visitors without my approval."

Ormund’s jaw tightened. Hobert began another objection, but Gwayne raised one hand and silenced him.

The gesture revealed that he remained the only reasonable one amongst them. "You have Oldtown," he said. "Do not mistake possessing it for understanding it."

"I do not. That is why Matthos Tyrell will oversee the city until Rhaenyra appoints its permanent settlement. The Citadel, Faith, guilds, and watch will retain their lawful functions. Hightower lands will not be distributed before judgement, and your household will be protected from private vengeance."

That answer seemed to trouble him more than threats might have. A city spared was a poor monument to the destruction he had predicted.

The guards led them away. Oldtown remained quiet after their capture. The banners of Aegon were lowered from the walls and replaced by Rhaenyra’s standard beside the golden rose. No great celebration followed. Markets reopened cautiously, watchmen returned to their posts, and ships within the river were ordered to submit manifests before sailing.

Meleys and Seasmoke remained beyond the city. Dravvaxx never crossed above its roofs. The siege ended without an assault.

Ormund’s army had been destroyed at Honeyholt, his raiders hunted, his allies stripped away, and his hope from the Arbor burned beyond the Honeywine. In the end, Oldtown’s garrison did not betray him because it loved Rhaenyra. It betrayed him because three dragons, a fleet, and more than ten thousand soldiers had transformed continued loyalty into a promise of ruin.

The Hightowers were captives. Soon they would stand in King’s Landing beside Otto, Larys Strong, Ser Crakehall, Jasper Wylde, and the other men accused of beginning or sustaining the rebellion.

Aegon was dead. Daeron had submitted. Ormund had fallen. Oldtown and the Stormlands recognised Rhaenyra. The western host had been defeated, and Driftmark remained loyal under Addam and Alyn.

The rebellion had narrowed to one man. Aemond Targaryen still rode Vhagar.

Until he was found, victory remained something the realm could lose in a single afternoon.