The King of Winters

Chapter 63

For the first time in the entire journey Jorah Mormont doubted his entire purpose of being there. He was little loved in the Hightower family. They should have sent someone else, not me. But it was him who is here now. Its better to close your eyes and get on with it. Before getting down he took the time to explain his plans to his captain. "First the Hightower, to meet with Lord Leyton. I expect the commander of the Redwyne fleet will be there as well. Then we will talk about sailing to the north as the king instructed."

"Aye, my lord," the captain said and shouted some commands to the crew.

Ser Gunthor gave the signal for the chain to be opened so the royal fleet could slip through the boom to dock. Jorah joined Captain Ed and five of his knights near the gangplank as the war galley was tying up.

Jorah led his knights across the plank, ashore. He hoped he still remembered the way to the Hightower. Oldtown was a maze, and he had no time for getting lost.

The day was damp, so the cobblestones were wet and slippery underfoot, the alleys shrouded in mist and mystery. Jorah avoided them as best he could and stayed on the river road that wound along beside the Honeywine through the heart of the old city. It felt good to have solid ground beneath his feet again instead of a rolling deck, but the walk made him feel uncomfortable all the same. He could feel eyes on him, peering down from balconies and windows, watching him from the darkened doorways. On the Dragonborn he had known every face. Here, everywhere he turned he saw another stranger. Even worse was the thought of being seen by someone who knew him. Jorah Mormont was known in Oldtown, but little loved. He pulled his cloak up and quickened his pace.

Downriver, the distant beacon of the Hightower floated in the damp of night like a hazy orange moon, but the light did little to lift his spirits.

As the early morning's mists burned away, Oldtown took form around him, emerging ghostlike from the morning gloom. Where King's Landing, was a daub-and-wattle city, a sprawl of mud streets, thatched roofs, and wooden hovels. Oldtown was built in stone, and all its streets were cobbled, down to the meanest alley. The city was never more beautiful than at break of day. West of the Honeywine, the Guildhalls lined the bank like a row of palaces. Upriver, the domes and towers of the Citadel rose on both sides of the river, connected by stone bridges crowded with halls and houses. Downstream, below the black marble walls and arched windows of the Starry Sept, the manses of the pious clustered like children gathered round the feet of an old dowager.

And beyond, where the Honeywine widened into Whispering Sound, rose the Hightower, its beacon fires bright against the dawn. From where it stood atop the bluffs of Battle Island, its shadow cut the city like a sword. Those born and raised in Oldtown could tell the time of day by where that shadow fell. Some claimed a man could see all the way to the Wall from the top. Perhaps that was why Lord Leyton had not made the descent in more than a decade, preferring to rule his city from the clouds.

The foundation of the Hightower was a fortress of black stone of uncertain origin on Battle Isle. The stone reminded him of the indestructible Valyrian roads and the Black Walls of Volantis. A possible Valyrian origin of the black stone was supported by the claim of Maester Jellicoe. Jellicoe believed that Oldtown began as a trading post for ships of Valyria,Old Ghis, and the Summer Isles, predating the arrival of the First Men to Westeros. While Septon Barth claimed that Valyrians came to Westeros because their priests prophesied that the Doom of Man would come out of the land beyond the narrow sea and they assisted in building the foundation.

In contrast to the Valyrian theory, Archmaester Quillion in his words suggests that the fortress was made by the mazemakers.

Maester Theron suggests it was created by Deep Ones, citing its similarities to the Seastone Chair of the Iron Islands.