Before Gawen realized it, an entire week had passed amid books, lectures, and endless hours of study.
He had almost forgotten his promise to visit House Hightower.
It wasn’t until one morning, when he stepped outside and caught sight of the towering Hightower rising above Oldtown, that the memory suddenly returned.
There was no reason not to go.
Forging a strong friendship with one of the richest and most influential houses in Westeros could prove invaluable in the years to come.
With that thought in mind, Gawen finished breakfast, wandered through the city for a while, taking a closer look at its winding streets and alleys, and shortly before noon made his way toward the Hightower.
The visit was far less formal this time.
His cousin Rhonda, her husband Baelor, and Baelor’s younger brother Garth were there to greet him almost immediately.
“Good day, Gawen,” Baelor said warmly, offering his hand.
“And don’t take my father’s absence personally.
Once he buries himself in a book, the rest of the world simply ceases to exist.”
His smile was sincere and disarmingly kind.
Lord Hightower truly hadn’t come to receive him.
Not out of arrogance, but because he had immersed himself completely in books on ancient mysteries, magic, and the hidden truths of the world.
“It’s quite all right,” Gawen replied with a chuckle.
“I suffer from the same affliction.”
He then greeted the others.
“Good to see you again, Rhonda.
Garth.”
He shook hands with the younger Hightower as well.
“How has life at the Citadel been?” Rhonda asked immediately.
“Any trouble settling in?”
“None at all,” Gawen answered.
“The classes are fascinating, and I’ve been enjoying the reading.”
“What about our spar?” Garth cut in, his eyes practically glowing with anticipation.
Why does everyone want to cross swords with me?
Then again…
The Citadel wasn’t exactly overflowing with capable sparring partners.
It wasn’t surprising.
Smiling helplessly, Gawen nodded his agreement.
“Then come with us,” Baelor said, taking the lead.
“We’ve got an entire floor dedicated to training.”
As they walked, conversation flowed naturally.
“What do you think of Oldtown so far?” Rhonda asked.
“The weather?
The city?”
“I love the architecture,” Gawen answered honestly.
“Stone buildings are both sturdy and beautiful.”
That earned approving smiles from the Hightower siblings.
“As for the weather…” he continued, “it’s a little warmer than the Northmarch.
And the sea breeze gives the air a freshness that’s surprisingly pleasant.”
The Reach enjoyed a mild climate year-round.
Even winter remained relatively warm.
Snow was rare, appearing only occasionally in the northern borderlands for a day or two before melting away.
Farther south, most people never saw snow at all.
They boarded the Hightower’s mechanical lift and ascended to the training hall.
The room wasn’t particularly large.
It was clearly intended as a private training space for the family’s heirs rather than a full barracks.
A raised platform occupied the center of the chamber, its wooden floor worn smooth by generations of practice.
Weapon racks lined the walls, filled with blunted practice swords, spears, shields, and other training gear.
A large barrel of cool water stood nearby.
Carved stone columns supported the ceiling, while decorative flower vases hung from the walls.
Against one side of the room were cushioned chairs and sofas, creating a small sitting area with a table overlooking both the city and the sea through broad windows.
“Training weapons?” young Garth asked.
“I don’t mind either way,” Gawen replied with a shrug.
“We’ll use practice weapons,” Garth decided after a moment’s thought.
“Safer that way.”
Gawen walked over to the weapon rack and selected the wooden training sword that felt most natural in his hand. Get faster updates on g.com.
The only real differences between the practice swords and their sharpened counterparts were the lack of an edge, their simpler maintenance, and their overall quality.
“I’ll be the referee,” Baelor said with an easy smile.
“A fair match.
No dirty tricks—just pure skill.”
“You’re making that sound rather pointed,” his younger brother replied with a grin as he picked up a matching hand-and-a-half training sword.
He looked at Gawen.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
Gawen gave a nod.
“Begin!”
Baelor announced enthusiastically.
Rhonda stood beside him, watching the match with equal interest.
Garth Hightower fought nothing like Oberyn Martell.
Where Oberyn was aggressive and unpredictable, Garth was calm, methodical, and disciplined.
Every movement reflected careful concentration.
His footwork was solid and deliberate, both hands firmly gripping the sword to maximize the power of each strike.
For Gawen, he was an ideal opponent.
His own style emphasized agility, speed, and rapid combinations, though he was more than capable of adapting to different situations.
For the first few minutes, they simply circled one another, studying every movement.
Then, almost simultaneously, they stepped forward.
The duel truly began.
Garth opened with a powerful overhead slash, committing his weight fully to the attack.
Gawen effortlessly deflected the blow.
The two immediately entered close quarters.
Garth was undeniably skilled.
He understood how to use momentum properly, maintaining both hands on the hilt and recovering his balance even after heavy swings.
Rather than overcommitting, he simply gritted his teeth and pressed the attack.
Gawen answered with a series of swift thrusts from changing angles.
Each one was blocked or deflected.
Neither fighter gave ground.
Instead, they met steel with steel, testing each other’s strength and timing.
The first exchange was less about victory than gathering information.
They disengaged, each silently analyzing what they had learned.
A classic heavy swordsman, Gawen concluded.
Fast enough to respond to attacks and surprisingly agile despite his build…
but explosive speed isn’t where his strengths lie.
Baelor and Rhonda watched without interrupting.
Baelor noticed that Gawen’s movements seemed slightly restrained.
At first, he assumed the young Rowan simply wasn’t accustomed to the practice weapon.
But appearances were deceiving.
Despite his lean build, Gawen possessed strength that rivaled his sturdily built brother-in-law.
Rhonda viewed the duel from a simpler perspective.
She was captivated by the flashing weapons, the swift footwork, and the grace with which the two young men moved.
More than anything…
She felt proud to have such a capable cousin.
Gawen had no intention of ending the match quickly.
Instead, he shifted into a defensive rhythm.
He blocked.
Redirected.
Dodged when necessary.
Occasionally feinted.
Parried again.
His attacks became noticeably less frequent as he focused almost entirely on defense.
The strategy was simple.
Every powerful swing Garth launched consumed stamina.
Gawen, meanwhile, expended very little effort, calmly turning each strike aside.
Not because he was vastly faster…
But because Garth’s attacks were straightforward.
Powerful, yes.
This direct style gave Gawen valuable insight into his opponent’s habits while steadily refining his own technique.
The spar continued for nearly twenty minutes.
Or perhaps…
It had gradually become a lesson.
Wooden blades collided again and again, slicing through the air with sharp cracks.
Each impact left fresh dents and splinters along the practice swords.
The two repeatedly closed the distance before separating once more, their eyes never leaving one another as each searched for the slightest opening.
Neither found one.
At last, Garth Hightower stood breathing heavily, sweat pouring down his face.
Gawen, by contrast, remained standing calmly, his breathing scarcely changed.
“I think that’s enough.”
Baelor finally broke the silence.
“You both fought exceptionally well.”
“You aren’t even out of breath?”
Garth exhaled loudly, staring at Gawen in disbelief.
“I’ve always had excellent stamina.”
Gawen shrugged as he casually switched the sword to his left hand.
“But you’re genuinely skilled.”
“I enjoyed this.”
He extended his hand.
“Hah…”
“Yeah…”
“So did I.”
Grinning despite his exhaustion, Garth clasped it firmly.
As Gawen glanced at his status panel, he noticed that his natural endurance was steadily translating into long-term advantages during combat.
The Druid specialization Rebirth Incarnation did more than increase his Natural Energy reserves.
It also dramatically accelerated his physical recovery.
Their activities didn’t end with the duel.
Garth excused himself to wash up before rejoining the group.
The rest of the day passed pleasantly.
Until well into the evening, Gawen remained with his new friends, chatting about everything from swordsmanship and history to life in Oldtown.
Baelor was far more than an accomplished knight.
He possessed natural charisma and a remarkably sharp mind.
His younger brother proved equally enjoyable company.
Rhonda rounded out every conversation perfectly, effortlessly keeping the atmosphere lively whenever it threatened to grow awkward.
The Hightowers even gave Gawen a tour of the Hightower itself.
They showed him the tranquil rooftop garden high above the city—a peaceful retreat that seemed capable of calming even the most restless soul.
They also took him into the family’s ancient crypts.
For any noble house, the family tombs were among its most private places.
But House Rowan and House Hightower were already bound by marriage.
Gawen had clearly been accepted into their inner circle.
Oddly enough…
The crypt became his favorite part of the tour.
He normally disliked enclosed underground spaces.
Yet these vaults possessed a quiet dignity unlike anything else.
The walls were adorned with beautifully carved reliefs, while recessed lamps had been integrated seamlessly into the stonework.
Each member of House Hightower rested within an elegant stone sarcophagus, accompanied by a sculpted likeness and an engraved nameplate.
The oldest statues had been worn smooth by centuries, their faces blurred by time until only faint outlines remained.
Even so, the crypts were impeccably maintained.
By the time Gawen left the Hightower, night had already fallen.
Walking along Oldtown’s stone streets, he quietly organized the days ahead in his mind.
He couldn’t neglect his studies at the Citadel.
His friendship with House Hightower needed to be nurtured.
The raven feed experiments at the rookery still required daily observation.
And on top of all that…
There were his daily sparring sessions with Oberyn.
His schedule was becoming busier with every passing day.
Send those stones my way—the more, the merrier.