Even the grandest banquet must eventually draw to a close. Late into the night, Ser Baelor saw off the last guest before finally heading to his father's room, feeling worn out.
"Father."
Lord Leyton Hightower stood by the window, gazing out over the sea, which reflected the starry sky and the flames from the Hightower. His usual friendly, welcoming demeanor was gone, replaced by a pensive, almost somber expression.
Baelor wasn't surprised by his father's change. From a young age, he had understood that his father wore a "mask of cheer" for strangers. Over time, Baelor had even learned to wear a similar mask—though he had never quite mastered the art, often appearing awkward or insincere.
The nickname "Baelor the Smiling" had become more mockery than admiration.
"What is it?" Lord Leyton finally returned to his desk, sitting down with a casual tone.
Baelor poured wine for his father and himself. "Just now, Jennie came to see me…"
Lord Leyton scoffed before Baelor could finish. "She wants to marry Renly?"
Baelor nodded, unsurprised that his father had guessed it. After all, Jennie's bold move at the banquet—stepping in to take the first dance with Renly instead of Lady Margaery—had shown her interest plainly.
"No." Lord Leyton's reply was firm and immediate.
"Father, are you worried that Lord Renly might refuse her? House Hightower is a well-respected family in Westeros. Surely, it's worth gauging his interest?"
"Even if Renly wants to marry her, I won't allow it."
Baelor was momentarily taken aback. "Why?"
After a sip of wine, Lord Leyton asked, "Do you truly believe Renly came to Oldtown simply to see the Hightower?"
Baelor fell silent, considering his father's question.
Lord Leyton continued, hinting, "And your sister's sudden urge to visit us at the same time?"
"You think it wasn't a coincidence that Margaery and Renly were both here?"
Leyton poured himself another glass, speaking quietly, "I've never believed in coincidences."
Baelor's mind churned, and finally, he remembered something from the banquet. "Father, during the banquet, Renly wanted to paint a portrait of Margaery. Do you think he intends to propose to House Tyrell?"
Leyton scoffed, "Then why wouldn't he go directly to Highgarden?"
Baelor went silent, his father's disapproval deepening as he continued, "No matter what they're plotting, we're staying out of it. Tell Jennie I'll find her a suitable husband, but Renly is out of the question."
Baelor took a deep drink, feeling reluctant to let go of what he saw as a promising opportunity. "Father, perhaps you're overthinking it? Renly Baratheon is an exceptional young lord. He could be valuable as an ally."
"What is our house's motto?" Lord Leyton asked suddenly.
The abrupt question threw Baelor off. "What?"
Lord Leyton patiently repeated, "What are the words of House Hightower?"
After a pause, Baelor responded, "We Light the Way."
"Yes," Lord Leyton replied, "we light the way, but that doesn't mean we lead it."
"Huh?" Baelor was baffled.
Sighing, Lord Leyton explained, "We light the way so others may tread it first. We remain behind, safely observing. The road ahead may be glorious, but it's also perilous. For those of us holding the light, there is safety in the shadows.
"I saw Renly's ambition the first time I met him. He's a man who will never settle for less than the front lines. We must keep our distance from him, lest his blood splatter on us someday."
Baelor was silent, stunned as he slowly processed his father's words. He felt as if he were uncovering, for the first time, the true meaning of their house motto.
But then, remembering House Hightower's extensive history, Baelor couldn't help but admit the grim wisdom in his father's words.
Leyton gave him time to process this "Hightower wisdom." When Baelor finally spoke, his tone was thoughtful, almost somber, as he recalled a memory. "Years ago, you refused to let me wed Princess Elia of Dorne. Was that for the same reason?"
"Indeed." Leyton nodded. "And considering her fate, aren't you glad I did?"
Baelor bristled. "But if she had married me, she wouldn't have perished in King's Landing!"
"You still don't understand." Lord Leyton's tone grew weary. "Some fates are etched in the stones of destiny by the gods themselves. They're inevitable, unavoidable. Our only defense as mere mortals is to listen carefully for the faintest of whispers, hinting at those unfortunate souls marked by fate, and to steer clear of them.
"Of course, since no one can truly foresee all things, the safest choice is to avoid anyone who looks eager to lead. Let them walk the path we light while we remain hidden in the shadows."
Baelor sighed, and as he considered his father's logic, he felt as though many past events suddenly made sense. "Years ago, Lord Tywin offered his second son as a match, but you refused him. Was it for the same reason?"
Leyton nodded. "Yes."
"And yet my sister Ellery was wed to Lord Mace Tyrell?"
Leyton chuckled, disdain plain in his voice. "Do you think 'the fat lord' has what it takes to lead?"
Baelor coughed to cover his discomfort, but he didn't yield. "But Tywin's second son is merely a dwarf. Surely Lord Mace is a better match?"
Leyton shook his head with a dry smile. "What of it? Peremore Hightower, founder of the Citadel, was a crippled hunchback. Changing the world isn't solely the privilege of the strong; a keen mind can be just as powerful. And Tywin's dwarf son? Of all his children, he's the only one who truly carries the lion's spirit. Remember, some men are much bigger than they appear."
Rather than argue further, Baelor set his cup down and bid his father goodnight. Just as he reached the door, Leyton's voice stopped him once more.
"One more thing, Baelor. Keep a professional distance from Samwell Caesar. Trading is fine, but don't get too close."
Baelor blinked, surprised. "Do you really think Samwell Caesar is a potential leader?"
"Let me ask you this: if I gave you two hundred soldiers and half a year, could you carve out a territory in the Red Mountains and make thousands of wildlings submit to you?"
Baelor had no response. After a moment, he could only sigh and leave.
Just as he reached the door, he turned back, eyes shadowed by frustration. "Father, if we keep to the shadows, don't you worry that someday we'll be forgotten?"
Lord Leyton's expression was unreadable as he replied, "Do you remember your uncle Gerold? He was a Hightower who refused to be forgotten, so he went to King's Landing, where he became the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. One of the Seven Kingdoms' greatest knights—the famed 'White Bull'—Gerold Hightower!"
A note of bitterness crept into his tone as he added, "He was known far and wide. I would never have imagined a Hightower's name to spread so boldly across the Seven Kingdoms.
"And yet—where did he die?"
Lord Leyton sank back into his chair, his face slipping into shadow, his voice weary and distant.
"To be forgotten is better than to be destroyed."
(End of Chapter)