For two weeks, Oldtown and my army watched one another without exchanging a single arrow.
The city remained closed behind its walls. Hightower banners flew from every gate and tower, while scorpion crews stood ready wherever Dravvaxx might approach. The great beacon burned each night above Battle Isle, visible from every camp surrounding the northern roads. Ormund wanted the light to remind his citizens that House Hightower still endured.
I allowed it to burn. Our earthworks deepened, patrol routes became fixed, and the camps slowly acquired the order of a siege intended to last. The Unsullied held the principal northern approach, while the Dread Legion watched the eastern roads and the crossings leading towards the Honeywine.
Lord Bulwer’s men guarded the western tracks, where local knowledge mattered more than numbers. Landrey’s cavalry moved beyond them all, intercepting messengers, searching wagons, and ensuring that no organised force reached the city by land.
Small groups still passed through.
Oldtown was too large, and the countryside too well known to its people, for nine thousand men to close every field path, culvert, orchard lane, and hidden crossing. A shepherd could enter beneath darkness if he knew where the walls of our patrols thinned. A merchant with a single mule might pass through a village and emerge beyond our lines before anyone realised he carried letters beneath sacks of flour.
Armies and supply trains could not do the same. Every main road remained closed. Wagons approaching from Hightower lands were turned back or purchased at fair value before they reached the gates.
Riders found beyond our cordon were questioned, their messages seized, and their horses held until their purpose became clear. None were harmed merely for travelling, though anyone carrying orders from Ormund was imprisoned.
The harbour remained beyond our control. Ships continued moving upon the Honeywine, though fewer arrived each day. Some belonged to merchants unwilling to abandon profitable routes. Others carried grain from the Arbor or smaller coastal holdings still sympathetic to Oldtown. Without a fleet, I could inconvenience the city but not starve it. That was not yet my purpose.
The first summons received no answer. A second was sent on the fifth day, repeating the terms and warning that the offer would not remain unchanged forever. The rider returned with the sealed parchment untouched. Hightower guards had allowed him to leave it beneath the walls, but no one came down to collect it while he waited.
Ormund preferred silence. He knew that negotiation would admit weakness, while refusal might force me to act. If I assaulted the walls, he gained the battle he needed. If I withdrew, he could claim Oldtown had defeated a dragon and an army merely by remaining closed. I gave him neither.
The camps settled into routine. Men drilled during the morning, worked upon the earthworks before midday, and spent the afternoon repairing equipment or resting. Patrols changed at fixed hours, though Landrey varied their routes enough that Hightower watchers could not predict every gap. The wounded who had marched from Honeyholt continued recovering, and several hundred returned to proper duty before the end of the second week.
Dravvaxx flew once each day when the weather allowed. His flights remained brief. He circled beyond scorpion range, watched the roads and river, then landed upon the ridge where his keepers examined the scar through his wing. Oldtown’s bells sounded whenever he rose. Men crowded the walls and turned their engines towards him, though no bolt could reach the height he maintained.
The display was enough. Dravvaxx did not need to breathe fire for the city to remember what had killed Sunfyre.
On the twelfth morning, Landrey reported a large force approaching from the north.
The first riders appeared along the Honeyholt road beneath green banners. They made no attempt to conceal themselves, and scouts rode ahead wearing the golden rose of House Tyrell. Behind them came infantry, mounted knights, baggage wagons, and a column long enough to cover the road in dust.
Highgarden had finally moved.
I watched their approach from the northern earthworks with Dick, Lord Bulwer, Black Rat, Jasper, and Landrey. The camp had already been alerted, though I ordered the soldiers to remain in position rather than gather along the road. Matthos Tyrell came as an ally, but three thousand armed men entering our lines still required order.
Lord Bulwer studied the banners through narrowed eyes. "The rose has chosen to bloom after the frost killed everything around it."
"Highgarden’s neutrality prevented Ormund from gathering the whole Reach," I said. "That decision helped us even when it did not satisfy us."
"It also allowed him to march upon Honeyholt with enough men to kill thousands."
"Both things are true."
Bulwer had earned the right to resent those who waited while his lands suffered. That did not make resentment a useful guide for receiving the Lord Paramount of the Reach.
Dick unfolded a short message delivered by the Tyrell outriders. "Lord Matthos requests entry into the siege lines with three thousand men and asks for a formal meeting before his host establishes camp. He states that he comes in the name of Queen Rhaenyra."
"He used the title?"
"He used it twice. Perhaps Highgarden wishes to compensate for its previous silence through repetition."
"Send word that he will be received outside the northern command pavilion. His men may camp beyond the existing Legion lines until Black Rat and Jasper assign them a permanent position."
Black Rat spoke in High Valyrian while watching the approaching host. "Three thousand fresh soldiers change the balance. They also create another command within the camp."
"Matthos will expect authority as Lord Paramount."
"He may expect it. Whether he receives it should depend upon why he waited."
"He will command his own men, but the siege remains under me. I asked for support, not replacement."
Black Rat inclined his head. "Then the boundary should be spoken before politeness makes it unclear."
The raven asking Highgarden for men had left Honeyholt shortly before our march south. I had not begged Matthos to choose a side. By then Aegon was dead, Ormund’s field host had collapsed, and every major Green foothold in the Stormlands had submitted.
I informed the Lord Paramount that Ser Jon Roxton had spent a month attacking loyal villages, with Bulwer territory suffering most severely, and that Oldtown continued sheltering the commanders responsible.
The message gave Matthos a choice. He could maintain neutrality while one Reach lord punished another for swearing to the lawful queen, or he could exercise the authority Highgarden claimed over the region. His answer now marched beneath the golden rose.
Matthos Tyrell arrived shortly after midday with an escort of fifty knights. He was not dressed for court. Dust covered the lower half of his green cloak, and his plate bore the marks of a week upon the road. The men around him looked rested compared with mine, though not untouched by the hurried march south.
He dismounted before the pavilion and approached without waiting for a servant to announce every title.
"Prince Othorion," he said, offering his arm rather than bending immediately. "Highgarden answers your raven, though later than you would have preferred."
I clasped his forearm. "You have brought three thousand men to Oldtown. I will judge the answer by what they do here rather than how quickly the raven received it."
His gaze moved briefly towards Lord Bulwer, who stood near the pavilion entrance. "I suspect some within your camp will judge differently."
"Lord Bulwer’s people suffered while Highgarden remained neutral. Courtesy does not require him to forget that."
Matthos accepted the rebuke without showing offence. "Nor should he. Ser Jon Roxton’s raids crossed a boundary I could no longer allow House Hightower to disguise as part of a succession dispute. He did not strike armies alone. He burned the holdings of Reachmen because their lord chose a queen Ormund disliked."
Bulwer stepped forward. His bow was correct, though not warm. "Roxton called it punishment for treason."
"Roxton was not Lord Paramount of the Reach," Matthos replied. "He had no authority to judge your house, much less condemn your smallfolk. Ormund allowed a landed knight to make private war upon my vassals while sheltering behind Oldtown’s walls. Whether he gave the order or merely approved the result, the insult belongs to House Hightower."
"He paid for it," Bulwer said.
"I heard of his execution before reaching the city. I also heard that his head arrived at Oldtown several days ago."
"It did," I said. "Ormund has not acknowledged the message."
Matthos glanced towards the distant walls. "He rarely acknowledges truths that reduce his choices."
We entered the pavilion before the conversation became a contest over who understood Ormund best. The campaign map had been expanded since our arrival, showing the city’s gates, surrounding villages, roads, river approaches, and the positions of our camps. Tyrell officers joined Matthos, while Black Rat, Jasper, Landrey, Dick, and Bulwer stood opposite them.
Matthos studied the map before speaking again. "You have enclosed the city by land, but the Honeywine remains open. Redwyne ships are bringing supplies from the Arbor."
"Not enough to make the siege comfortable, but enough to prevent starvation," I said. "I will not assault Oldtown merely because ships delay its surrender."
"My men saw no siege engines upon the northern road."
"We have begun none."
"Then you truly intend to wait."
"I intend to let Ormund explain to the people of Oldtown why they must endure a siege for a dead king when Daeron has already sworn to Rhaenyra. Every day without an assault makes his position more difficult to defend. If I attack the walls, he can call himself the city’s protector. While I remain outside, he is the man refusing terms that preserve the Citadel, the Faith, the city watch, and the lives of common soldiers."
Matthos placed one finger near the northern gate. "Time also allows him to strengthen his defences."
"He already has the labour and materials to strengthen them. Oldtown cannot be taken cheaply by ladders, whether we attack tomorrow or after another month. Waiting gives us opportunities that an assault destroys."
"You hope the city opens the gates from within."
"I hope Ormund understands that surrender leaves Oldtown intact. If he does not, others may understand it for him."
Matthos considered that without rushing to agreement. He had not marched three thousand men south merely to become another officer beneath my banner. As Lord Paramount, he needed to show that Highgarden’s declaration carried independent judgement rather than desperation.
"I have declared for Rhaenyra," he said at last. "Not because Aegon is dead, though that ends much of the argument his supporters raised. Not because your dragon lies outside Oldtown, though ignoring him would be foolish. I declared because Ormund’s conduct has made neutrality harmful to the Reach."
The men around the table remained silent while he continued.
"I believed Highgarden could prevent the region from tearing itself apart by refusing to gather every house beneath one claimant. Ormund interpreted restraint as permission. He besieged Honeyholt, brought Aegon and Sunfyre into the Reach, abandoned his surviving army, then sent Roxton to murder men whose only crime was living beneath the protection of a lord who changed allegiance. If Highgarden remained silent after that, the title Lord Paramount would become decoration rather than authority."
Lord Bulwer’s expression eased, though only slightly. "You could have reached that conclusion before my villages burned."
"Yes," Matthos said. "I could have. I judged that keeping the Tyrell strength out of the war would deny both factions the means to turn the Reach into a greater battlefield. I underestimated how far Ormund would go once his army was broken. That error belongs to me."
The admission mattered more than a polished defence would have.
Bulwer lowered his gaze briefly. "My people will remember that you came south."
"They should also remember that I did not come soon enough."
Matthos turned back towards me. "House Tyrell recognises Rhaenyra Targaryen as lawful queen. The declaration has been sent to King’s Landing, accompanied by the renewed oaths of those houses that marched with me. The three thousand men outside are placed at her service."
"That ends Highgarden’s neutrality," I said.
"It does. Ormund can no longer claim that he defends the Reach against outsiders while the Lord Paramount sits undecided. He now stands against Highgarden as well as the Crown."
Dick leaned over the map. "How many men remain available to you beyond those brought here?"
"Enough to defend Highgarden and the roads surrounding it, but I have not emptied my lands. Calling every levy would harm the harvest and create a host too large to feed without stripping the countryside. These three thousand are household troops, mounted retainers, and selected companies from houses willing to declare openly."
"Can they remain for a prolonged siege?"
"They carry provisions for three weeks. More will follow from Highgarden once the roads are secured."
Dick looked almost pleased, which in his case meant the logistical burden had not yet offended him personally. "Your supply wagons will remain separate until the counts are verified. After that, we can combine deliveries where it prevents duplication."
Matthos raised an eyebrow. "Do all your councils end with someone counting sacks?"
"Only the successful ones," Dick replied. "The unsuccessful councils usually end before anyone considers how the army will eat."
The tension in the pavilion eased.
We spent the next hour assigning the Tyrell force to the siege. Matthos’s infantry would hold the western and north-western approaches, extending the cordon towards the Honeywine without attempting to close the river itself.
His cavalry joined Landrey’s outer patrol network, though Tyrell officers remained responsible for their discipline. A reserve of eight hundred men would camp behind the northern centre, close enough to answer any sortie from the city.
Matthos retained command of his host. I retained command of the siege. The distinction was stated plainly enough that neither side could later claim surprise.
By evening, golden rose banners appeared beside Rhaenyra’s along the western lines. Oldtown’s walls responded quickly. Horns sounded from tower to tower as Hightower watchers counted the new campfires. Riders moved visibly between the gates and the inner city, carrying reports whose urgency could be judged even from a distance.
Ormund had expected Highgarden to remain neutral. Whatever confidence he drew from that expectation was gone.
The strength outside Oldtown now approached twelve thousand. More important than the number was what those three thousand represented. The Reach was no longer divided between Hightower defiance and Tyrell hesitation. Highgarden had chosen Rhaenyra, and every lesser lord still waiting for direction would receive it beneath the Lord Paramount’s seal.
Oldtown remained formidable.
Its walls had not grown lower because Matthos arrived. Its stores did not vanish. Redwyne ships still moved upon the Honeywine, and the city watch remained numerous enough to defend the gates. Aemond and Vhagar remained absent, which meant their arrival had to be considered every day.
Yet Ormund’s political position had narrowed until it scarcely extended beyond the city.
The Stormlands were lost to the Greens. Jason Lannister was dead, and the western army had retreated. Daeron had sworn to Rhaenyra. Aegon and Sunfyre lay dead. Bulwer banners stood outside Oldtown beside the army that defeated Ormund, while thousands of Redwyne soldiers remained imprisoned farther north. Now the golden rose flew against him.
There was no fighting that evening. The Tyrell men settled into their assigned ground, dug their first ditches, raised tents, and established cookfires. Supply wagons entered the camp under Dick’s supervision. Landrey briefed the new cavalry officers upon patrol boundaries, while Black Rat inspected the western extension to ensure no gap remained between Reach companies and the Unsullied centre.
Matthos joined me upon the ridge where Dravvaxx rested. The dragon raised his head when the Lord Paramount approached, smoke curling faintly from his nostrils. Matthos stopped beyond the reach of his jaws and regarded the scar through the right wing.
"He looks better than the reports suggested."
"The reports were written when the wound remained open. He can fly again, though he is not ready for another battle."
"Oldtown may not know the difference."
"I prefer that it does not."
Below us, the city stretched towards the Honeywine beneath the fading light. Bells sounded from the Starry Sept, carrying across the fields and over the camps gathered beyond the walls.
Matthos watched the towers for some time before speaking. "What happens if Ormund refuses every offer?"
"We continue tightening the roads, encourage surrender from within, and seek a way to restrict the river. An assault remains the final choice, not the first."
"You may wait months."
"I may."
"My vassals will ask why three thousand men came south merely to sit outside a wall."
"Tell them each day we sit here is a day Oldtown cannot send troops north, cannot punish another loyal house, and cannot pretend Ormund still commands the Reach. A siege does not become useless because no one is dying beneath ladders."
Matthos nodded slowly. "Ormund will try to provoke you."
"He already has. Roxton’s head was my answer."
"He may have another."
"Then we will judge it when it arrives."
The beacon above the Hightower brightened as darkness settled. Its light shone across the city, the river, and the fields now occupied by twelve thousand men.
For two weeks, Oldtown and my army had remained locked in a standoff. No arrows crossed the walls. No rams approached the gates. Ormund had refused to answer, believing time favoured a city supplied by sea.
The arrival of Highgarden changed the meaning of that silence.
We were no longer merely an army that had followed him south from Honeyholt. We were the queen’s host, joined by the Lord Paramount whose neutrality had once protected Oldtown from complete isolation.
Matthos Tyrell had declared for Rhaenyra. The Reach had chosen. Still, I ordered no assault. The camps expanded, the patrols tightened, and the golden rose took its place beneath the darkening sky.
Then we returned to waiting.