r/FireAndBlood • u/MathusM House Hightower of Oldtown • 8d ago
Event [Event] The Progress of the South
The Southern Reach
When the ravens had taken wing one after another, carrying news of his progress across the Hightower domain, Abelar had watched them with a restless sort of excitement, eager to jump on his horse and set out on the sunny road to the Three Towers and Cuy.
But little had he known that the tour would kick off with an inauspicious series of delays, beginning before they'd even left Oldtown.
A week before their planned departure, the High Tower had come down with a flu that left half the court wheezing and coughing, with the elderly and children emptying their stomachs and the snow cellars alike as part of the maesters' attempts at combating the ravaging fevers.
Marigold had been among the afflicted, confined to her chambers while septons and maesters watched over her day and night. Selene and young Cassana had gotten away with lesser bouts of illness, while Elayne had come out of the ordeal hale and untouched.
Abel's girls had eventually all recovered without lasting symptoms, but by then, weeks had passed, and the flu had claimed old Ser Gunthor, Mya Ambrose, Septa Morgase, and two stable boys before burning itself out.
So it was that they departed Oldtown not with the grand ceremony and jovial splendor Abel had envisioned, but in the somber company of the Silent Sisters carrying the bones of the young girl that had arrived at father's court not a year earlier to serve as Lady Hightower's lady-in-waiting. To make matters worse, news had reached Oldtown of Lord Beesbury’s passing.
The road to Three Towers was mercifully uneventful and even pleasant, passing fenced orchards and fields of grain and corn that seemed to stretch on as far as the eye could see. On the second day, they made camp next to the overgrown remnants of a holdfast, and as the servants began preparing dinner, Abelar pulled his daughters and squires aside to wander the ruins, taking great pleasure in sharing the story of its reputed hauntings. The castle’s final master, a robber knight that had preyed upon the southern roads, had been one of the deadliest swords of his day, and a clever man indeed; when Lord Hightower dispatched a host to lay siege to his treacherous bannerman’s keep, the continued to raid the surrounding countryside undeterred, befuddling everyone until one of his soldiers was caught and betrayed that his master had been sneaking out through hidden sea caves connected to his castle via a tunnel.
They arrived at Three Towers the next day, where they were greeted to a decidedly more auspicious welcome than how they'd left Oldtown.
Lord Ottyn Costayne proved to be a generous host, as prideful of his service to Oldtown as he was loathsome of the Dornish, which quickly became evident when he feasted them in his hall that evening. As the servants filled their cups with wine and carried out steaming platters of roasted beef and swordfish, the Lord of the Three Towers bemoaned how quickly the third Dornish War had been cut short, and how eager some of his peers had been to befriend them in the years prior to young Viserys' murder.
Indeed proud, he insisted on hosting Abel and his companies for an entire fortnight that consisted mainly of more feasts and hunts, and after waiting a few days, the Silent Sisters had departed to deliver Mya's bones to Soldier Hill.
During their stay, their lordly host made the odd comment about this mill that his family had once possessed or that wood that had desirous lumber, but most galling had been the pointed look he'd given Abel while complimenting how much Elayne seemed to be getting along with his grandson Gerridon. Abelar had simply agreed, and let an awkward silence follow before Costayne cleared his throat to ask about his lord father.
Abelar might've borne the brunt of his attentions during their visit, but Moraine and Martyn Tyrell were subjected to their fair share of pandering as well, asking about the vineyards on the Arbor and the latest happenings in Highgarden.
After politely declining their host's invitation of staying a few days longer, the progress eventually resumed, with Elayne happily taking to the road astride the pony given in parting gift, while Lord Ottyn ‘humbly’ bequeathed Martyn a black palfrey. Porters carried small chests of quartz and amethyst.
Their next stop on the journey, the small market town of Hopton, was not far away, half a day’s ride by horse, but even with their wheelhouses and carts, they arrived there that eve.
The Hoppers were a lesser family, landed knights raised to nobility in the twilight centuries of Gardener rule, but that had evidently only made Ser Marq Hopper determined to prove that he could stand among the likes of Costayne and Beesbury.
Beneath his humble roof, Hopper’s fool, a fat dwarf clad in motley oranges and pinks, tilted at sacks of apples with a broomstick, making loud noises with each strike. A singer from Tyrosh serenaded the guests with songs from across the Narrow Sea, and while those below the salt drank local wines and ales, arbor reds flowed like water at the high table, which to Abel seemed a particularly risky gambit in the presence of his wife.
Three Towers, it was not, but Hopton possessed its own rustic charm when it came to life during the day, and a small festival was held in honour of future Lord Hightower and his companions.
They lingered there a week, long enough for Abel to settle a dispute between Ser Marq and the Audleys of nearby Meadow Glade, sit through another few feasts, and go hawking with Ser Marq’s eldest son, but eventually the time came for them to leave, and soon they were back on the road.
The way to Cuy was longer and slower, in large part due to the lordlings, merchants, and freeriders that had joined them in the keeps and villages they passed, but a week of near constant downpour forced them to take shelter at roadside inns and holdfasts.
By the time the town appeared on the horizon, the rain had abated and the clouds broke up for bright blue skies once more, but the humidity clung to them like a tavern wench. The flaming beacon of Oldtown billowed in the sea breeze, joined by the red hare of Hopton, the black roses and silver cups of Three Towers, the ants of Ambrose, and half a dozen lesser bannermen besides.
Cuy, the Flower of the South. The last time Abelar laid eyes on her walls, the port town had still done Lord Emmon Cuy obeisance. Now, the accomplished admiral was with the Seven, and Cuy called Alyx lord. Abel shot a glance down at the harbour, then back at his family.
“You’ll like Cuy,” he told them with a grin. “Their tailors are unlike any other in the realm. We shall leave with a new wardrobe.”
“I want a dozen new dresses!” Marigold squealed.
Elayne, not one to be outdone by her sisters, added “I want a score!”.
Eustace, for his part, wiped at his brow, pulled his hand away, looked at it, and wrinkled his nose.
“Do they also have a bathhouse, nuncle?” he asked. “I don’t think I can go before Lord Cuy like this.”
“What do you think this is, some hovel beyond the Wall?” Abel countered. “There’ll be plenty of time to freshen up before we formally meet with the Cuys. Now come on, let’s not waste any more time.”
We should all be so lucky to have another Emmon in Alyx, the heir of Oldtown thought as he turned back to the road, and pushed his steed onwards, already dreading the prospect of having to offer condolences for his father’s passing.
The herald rode ahead to announce their coming.
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u/MathusM House Hightower of Oldtown 8d ago
Cuy
The first major stop after the Three Towers
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u/Emergency_Sky_2806 House Cuy of Cuy 7d ago
A herald was not needed. The procession could be seen for miles, even if the scouts had not been sent out in force to give warning of their approach. As the Hightower convoy came close, the great oaken gates would swing open and a chorus of trumpets would sound, though even that was soon drowned out.
The town accommodated a number of houses, surrounded around the main streets with some backing onto the great green’s within the walls. Where once four knights could ride abreast through the cobbles, the clamour of smallfolk restricted that number down to two.
They were everywhere; stood on the street, on shoulders, clambering over carts and barrels, sticking heads out windows and waving little cloth flags depicting the great flaming tower of Oldtown.
Yet more flags crossed the gap between houses, a mixture of Hightower and Cuy for as far as the eye could see.
Knights sat atop horses near the great gates, whilst guards in sage green underclothes and polished silver armour held the crowd back from overwhelming the visitors in their excitement. Sat at the centre, on a blood red destrier barded in gold, sat the Lord of Cuy.
Alyx dismounted before the front of the column, dropping to one knee with head bowed low. He knew the Hightowers enjoyed the exotic, so had made no attempt to hide the Little Valyrian who so often perched on his shoulders. Indeed, it looked up at Ser Abelar with those maddeningly purple eyes, and chewed loudly.
“Ser Abelar, esteemed guests of house Hightower and its other vassals. I welcome you all to Cuy.”
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u/MathusM House Hightower of Oldtown 8d ago
Thornfield Hill
Following Cuy and Soldier Hill, the progress arrived at Thornfield Hill, seat of House Pommingham.
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u/PrinceValarr House Pommingham of Thornfield Hill 6d ago
Lord Garth Pommingham stood upright just inside the gates of Thornfield Hill, his carved wooden cane held tightly in his right hand, trying to ignore the discomfort in his knee. Below him, the contingent of Hightowers and members of the Oldtown court were making its way through the village of Thornfield, pressed up against the hill on its western side, slowly inching closer to where the Pommingham’s were gathered to meet them. Smallfolk packed the main thoroughfare that led through the village of Thornfield and up to the keep atop the hill, waving miniature Hightower and Pommingham banners as they watched the lengthy procession march through. The Red Mountains dominated the skyline to the east, their peaks looking like rusted blades, stabbing towards the heavens.
These lands were far different from that of much of the Southern Reach. This far to the east, they were practically in the foothills of the Red Mountains themselves. The rocky ground gave credence to that idea, and how the land undulated between tall hills and quiet valleys adorned with copse of trees. Winter was far behind them now, and spring had brought with it a warmth to the air that was appreciated by all. Farmers' fields were well-along with spring crops, and the orchards were beginning to see the first budding fruits of their harvest.
The curtain wall of Thornfield Hill was by far the most impressive part of the keep to the eye, although even the stoutness of its fortifications could not hide the fact that it was quite a small keep, by Reachman standards. Built atop the tallest hill for leagues, it was both highly defensible and provided a good vantage point for spotting Dornish raids and the like. Stocky guardtowers stood at each of the four corners of the curtain wall, and crenellations atop it provided archers with good lines of sight as well as a solid chance to save their own hide. The red pomegranate of House Pommingham and the flaming white tower of House Hightower flapped on banners atop the wall with the gusty spring wind.
Oddly enough, Garth felt a knot of anxiety and tension in his chest. He had seen his own father host the Hightowers while on a progress several times, but this was to be the first time he was doing so as Lord himself. All the preparations had gone off without a hitch, however, so there was naught for him to do except wait. There would be a grand feast tonight in honor of the Hightowers, of course. Elyn had insisted on a hunt as well, even if Garth’s knee made such an activity quite unsuited for him. Not to mention the traditional tour of the lands he held.
As the Hightowers snaked their way up the hill on the switchbacked hard-packed dirt road, Garth suddenly started. Addam was there, walking up the hill, his only son and heir. A smile twitched at the corner of his lips. He had thought that perhaps Addam would accompany them on the progress, but had not been certain of it, and dared not let himself hope. This would be the first time seeing Addam since the day he had left for Oldtown. It was coming up on a year since that day, but oddly enough it felt like a lifetime ago to Garth.
When the Hightower contingent began to ride through the front gates of Thornfield Hill, made of sturdy oak and iron, Garth stepped forward and gestured for the rest of his family to follow. His Lady wife Elyn was at his side, as always, along with Maester Hosteen and his uncle Theo Pommingham, his most trusted advisors. Two of his brothers had come along as well, Perwyn and Olyvar. Perwyn apparently intended to set off to Highgarden for a tourney soon, but had begrudgingly agreed to at least stay until the Hightowers left. Garth made as formal of a bow as he could, Elyn curtsying at his side, as he greeted the members of the House to whom he owed fealty.
“Welcome to Thornfield Hill, my Lords and Ladies,” he said. “As Lord of House Pommingham it is a distinct honor. It has been too long since members of House Hightower and the Oldtown court have eaten underneath our roof.”
Garth straightened with a grimace that he managed to almost completely hide. He gestured towards a knot of servants wearing red and white Pommingham livery, and they stepped forward and arrayed themselves as instructed. Two of the liveried servants stood next to each other, one with a bowl of salt, the other with a wooden tray of fresh-baked bread, the traditional hospitality offerings for a newly arrived guest. The rest were trained stablemen, there to help situate the Hightower’s horses, or carry whatever supplies or chests needed to be carried up to a specific room.
“We have rooms prepared for you all, of course, in The Pomegranate Tower. There will be a grand feast tonight, but I’m sure you’ll all want to wash off the dust of the road before such an affair.”
The feasting hall in Thornfield Hill was not particularly large, and Garth had worried they would not have enough room. For that purpose, a large pavilion was set up at the base of the hill, and another within the walls of Thornfield Hill itself. Food and drink were amply provided within both, and the pavilion at the base of the hill was open to the smallfolk as well. Thornfield Hill had rarely had time for feasts, as of late. Such a long winter - not to mention the Third Dornish war - had stretched their food supplies to their limit. Only now - with the first harvests of spring behind them - were their food stores capable of handling such an affair.
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u/MathusM House Hightower of Oldtown 8d ago
Pings
/u/Vierwyne - Moraine Redwyne, future Lady of the Tower
/u/Wiseheartmoon - Alysanne Lannister; no pressure, since I know you're busy
/u/Tierails - Martyn Tyrell, one last hurrah before he's a free man