After finishing breakfast and paying the bill, Gawen stepped out of the inn and onto the streets of Oldtown.
The city’s roads were paved entirely with stone.
For this era, that alone was remarkable.
There were virtually no timber-framed buildings anywhere in sight.
A handful of wooden bridges remained, but they were few and far between.
Oldtown stretched across both banks of the Honeywine and the many small islands scattered throughout the river.
It reminded Gawen of Venice…
Only without the gondolas or Italian love songs.
Dominating the skyline above everything else stood the Hightower.
Rising from Battle Isle at the heart of the city, it overlooked both the river and the surrounding districts.
Its base was immensely broad, tapering steadily as it climbed skyward.
Legend claimed it stood even taller than the Wall in the North.
Squinting upward, Gawen couldn’t help recalling the skyscrapers he had seen in his previous life.
The medieval world’s greatest builders, indeed…
Navigating Oldtown’s narrow cobbled streets proved surprisingly difficult.
Alleys twisted into one another like an enormous anthill.
Without local knowledge…
Or druidic senses…
One could easily become hopelessly lost.
Gawen held out a hand.
A raven fluttered down onto a nearby wall.
Offering it a few breadcrumbs, he quietly gained its cooperation.
In truth, he wasn’t merely asking for directions.
Using his skinchanger ability, he borrowed the bird’s vision and soared high above the city through its eyes.
Instantly…
The maze of streets became perfectly clear.
Such a talent was extraordinarily rare in Westeros.
Yet for a druid…
It was merely one of the most basic techniques.
[Wild Affinity Proficiency +2]
Withdrawing his consciousness from the raven, Gawen silently reviewed his growing arsenal.
Multiple transformations.
Alchemy.
Runic craftsmanship.
The knowledge of natural magic.
And…
The astonishing power of Book of Flame.
Still, he rarely used that last ability.
Fire carried its own influence.
Its burning nature could subtly shape the wielder’s temperament.
The last thing Gawen wanted…
Was to become another Mad King.
All that’s left now…
…is planting my own Heart Tree and finding an animal companion.
The thought brought a faint smile to his lips.
To a druid…
Those two things were indispensable.
Of course, the Heart Tree he referred to was not the native weirwoods of Westeros.
It was an entirely different kind of magical tree unique to druids.
Through such trees, a druid could establish dominion over a region.
Within that territory, spells became easier to cast, while one’s natural energy reserves expanded significantly.
Any tree could theoretically be transformed into a druidic Heart Tree—including a weirwood.
The only variables were the druid’s preferences…
And the magical nature of the tree itself.
Soon, Gawen arrived at the bridge leading toward the Hightower.
Viewed from nearby…
The tower appeared even more magnificent than it had from afar.
The bridge connected to a small quay carved directly into the island’s rocky shoreline.
Battle Isle itself consisted largely of towering sea cliffs.
At the tower’s base lay a modest woodland whose canopy was almost entirely hidden from view when seen from the bridge.
Human hands built all this…
Gawen mused inwardly.
And surprisingly little magic was involved.
What he sensed was not enchantment woven into the walls or magical stone.
Rather…
The sheer age of the structure had strengthened the ambient magical field surrounding it.
He found himself wondering how such a colossal monument could have been constructed in an age with technology so primitive.
Unfortunately…
Too much knowledge had been swallowed by time.
Perhaps…
The Citadel still preserved the answers he sought.
I still haven’t seen the Titan of Braavos…
The Wall…
Harrenhal…
Or the Eyrie…
There’s still so much of this world left to explore.
Gawen mentally added several more destinations to his travel list.
As for the continent of Essos…
That could wait until the future.
When he reached the entrance to the Hightower, two guards stepped forward and barred his path.
“My name is Gawen Rowan.
I’ve come to deliver a letter to Lord Leyton Hightower.”
He calmly announced himself and presented a sealed letter bearing the Rowan family crest.
A golden tree gleamed upon the wax seal beneath the sunlight.
“Please wait a moment, my lord.
I’ll announce your arrival.”
One of the guards bowed politely before disappearing through a smaller side entrance.
About five minutes later, another man emerged.
“Welcome to the Hightower, Lord Gawen.
My name is Nylen, steward of the tower.”
He offered a courteous bow.
Gawen returned it.
“A pleasure to meet you, Ser Nylen—”
The man smiled and shook his head.
“You flatter me, my lord.
I’m no knight.
Just call me Nylen.”
“Then please call me Gawen.”
The young heir returned the courtesy with one of his own.
“I’ve come to deliver a letter to Lord Leyton.”
“Of course.
Lord Leyton is available at the moment.
Please follow me.”
Turning gracefully, Nylen led the way.
Gawen followed him through the massive gates and into the island’s interior.
Only later did he realize…
This entire island was considered part of the Hightower itself.
Inside, it resembled a lavishly furnished cavern.
Rooms and corridors branched in every direction, while passages descended deep beneath the earth.
The hallways were broad enough for three fully armored knights to walk abreast.
As they advanced, Gawen noticed countless narrow slits carved into the stone walls.
Arrow loops.
The structure hadn’t merely been built as a residence.
It had been designed as a fortress.
At the end of the corridor stood something that immediately caught his attention—
A mechanical elevator.
The chamber housing it was even larger than the surrounding halls.
There were two lifts, each roughly one and a half meters across.
Old.
Entirely mechanical.
Powered by the force of flowing river water.
It was the first truly astonishing piece of engineering Gawen had encountered since arriving in Oldtown.
“What an incredible place…”
he murmured.
Nylen merely smiled without replying.
The elevator creaked steadily upward.
Its only flaw…
Was its painfully slow speed.
Nearly ten minutes passed before it finally reached the audience hall near the tower’s summit.
Together they stepped inside.
Seated upon the lord’s chair was Leyton Hightower.
He was a man in the prime of life, around thirty years old. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
Long black hair rested upon his shoulders.
He wore garments of exceptional quality, while sharp blue eyes studied everything through half-lidded scrutiny.
Several others stood nearby.
Among them, Gawen immediately recognized his cousin, Rhonda Rowan.
Beside her stood her husband, who could only be Baelor.
“My lord,” Nylen announced respectfully.
“Lord Gawen Rowan has arrived.”
“Welcome to the Hightower.”
Leyton’s voice carried quiet authority.
“What brings you here?”
Before him stood one of the Reach’s greatest lords—
The liege of numerous bannermen.
The Beacon of the South.
A man who possessed several distinguished titles beyond count.
Gawen bowed deeply according to proper etiquette.
“Lord Leyton.”
“I’ve come to study at the Citadel.”
“And I’ve also brought a letter from my father…
Lord Mathis Rowan.”
“A commendable pursuit.”
Leyton nodded approvingly.
Nylen accepted the letter from Gawen and handed it to his lord.
Without wasting time, Leyton broke the wax seal and quickly read its contents.
“Hmm.”
“You’ve fulfilled your father’s request.”
His expression lingered in thought for a brief moment.
Something written within the letter had clearly captured his attention.
“You are welcome to accept my hospitality.”
“I’ll also introduce you to my sons…”
He gestured toward two young men.
“Baelor…”
“And Garth.”
One appeared to be in his early twenties.
The other looked about Gawen’s own age.
“Thank you, Lord Leyton.”
Gawen inclined his head respectfully.
With a simple wave of his hand, Leyton spoke quietly to Nylen before rising and departing the hall.
Gawen didn’t dwell on the lord’s somewhat peculiar behavior.
Instead, he turned toward the three who had remained behind.
“It’s a pleasure to meet all of you.”
“Gawen!”
Rhonda exclaimed happily before wrapping him in a warm embrace.
“You’ve grown so much!
It’s been far too long!”
The sudden display of affection caught him completely off guard.
“I’m happy to see you too, Cousin.”
Though unaccustomed to such intimacy, he returned the gesture politely.
“My father also asked me to deliver this to you.”
He handed her the second letter.
“Thank you.”
Rhonda accepted it with a warm smile.
“So you’ve come to study at the Citadel?”
Baelor asked.
He was a handsome man, reputed to be an accomplished knight.
Naturally…
As heir to House Hightower, he was also immensely wealthy.
Gawen smiled.
“That’s right.”
“I’m going to seek wisdom behind those black stone walls.”
Rhonda chuckled.
“My uncle always said that, even when you were little, you were far too clever for your own good.”
Just then, the youngest of the three—
Garth Hightower, who happened to share the same name as the legendary Greenhand— suddenly spoke.
“What about your swordsmanship?”