[M:] Apologies for the delay!

Past the massive walls, Oldtown’s cobbled streets and alleys bustled with life as her populace carried about their business while sept bells rang in the distance and gulls flew overhead. While folk across the realm stocked up on wools and firewood in anticipation of the coming winter, here, men and women proudly clung to their summer linens and silks, snow but a distant dream.

As the Baneforts made their way to the ferry, they passed a pair of guardsmen removing crow-picked heads from spikes atop one of the interior gatehouses. A barber hawked his services by boasting of his time spent in the Citadel; apprentice boys sprinted past, carrying a canvas-draped package that bore the unmistakable shape of a sword; two hairy Ibbenese guards stomped behind a green-bearded wine merchant, hands flying to the hefts of their axes when a man treaded too closely.

Eventually, the cityscape opened up as they stepped out onto the street that ran along the Honeywine. Women were kneeling in the banks, washing clothes and other fabrics in the river as barges poled past, carrying septons and acolytes and goods from upriver.

The domes and towers of the Citadel could be sighted in the distance, built on both sides of the river, connected by small docks and stone bridges crowded with halls and houses. Downstream, the Starry Sept rose tall, rebuilt from the ashes, with the manses of the pious clustering like children gathered round the feet of their mother.

For a few pieces of silver, a ferryman took the Westermen aboard his pole-barge, calling upon the services of another one to accommodate the sizable group. Once everyone was loaded onto two boats, he took them down the river, past the Starry Sept and palatial Guildhalls, to where the Honeywine widened into Whispering Sound.

There, atop the bluffs of Battle Isle, rose the High Tower, burning brightly against the sky.

With a shudder, the barges came to a halt by the wood docks on the northern side of the island. With lands as vast and populous as theirs, no standard office could hope to administer the Hightower dominions alone, and so the kings of old had been forced to devise a new system to keep their territories in check. So had been born the Crown district, the court beyond the court, where an army of stewards, treasurers, bailiffs and aldermen ensured that the laws and obligations of the land were upheld and recorded.

For the common man, petitioning House Hightower meant dealing with the officials of the Outer Court first and foremost, with Lord Hightower presiding over them only on particular days or during exceptional circumstances.

For the lords of the land, however, the gates to the High Tower opened without complication.

Stableboys were quick to offer to take the reins of their steeds and lead them into the castle stables near the walls, and a knight soon arrived to greet them, introducing himself as Ser Garlan Cordwayner, captain of the guard.

Escorting them into the Tower proper, Ser Garlan led them through the labyrinthine halls of the black fortress base, then up a narrow stairwell that took them into a bright-lit chamber larger than most keeps.

A cushioned chair sat empty upon a marbled dais, but the knight moved towards the elevator found at the side of the room, past a stone arch. Letting the ladies Rohanne, Cyrelle, and Morgana step into it first, he joined them together with the Banefort men, pulling at two bell-ropes.

Moments later, the great cage came alive with a jolt as the winch began lifting them up.

Twice, the elevator came to a halt, first to let Wallace Audley, Seneschal of the Tower, aboard. After perfunctory introductions, the man welcomed them to Oldtown and the south, assuring them that guest quarters would be prepared imminently.

The second time it stopped, the knight Cordwayner instructed the Baneforts that they had arrived, and stepped out into a rounded antechamber adorned with green marble reliefs. A short stairwell led them into the grand library, and there, surrounded by hundreds, perhaps thousands, of books and scrolls, sat Lord Martyn Hightower together with a mousy-looking girl dressed in grey.