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Oldtown – The Hightower
The Hightower, the Citadel, and the Starry Sept were the three landmarks that defined Oldtown. For centuries the city had been the spiritual and intellectual heart of Westeros—the place where Aegon the Conqueror was crowned and where the Targaryens first swore to follow the Faith of the Seven.
Many claimed House Targaryen's true glory began on Dragonstone, but those who understood power knew the dynasty only started shaping the entire continent the day they conquered Oldtown.
And Oldtown didn't belong to the Tyrells, the Wardens of the Reach. It belonged to the far older and far quieter Hightower family—the hidden giant that had pulled strings in Westerosi history for thousands of years.
Their most famous creation was the Hightower itself.
The white marble tower rose beside the Honeywine River, soaring more than a hundred feet—the tallest man-made structure in the known world. Legend said its foundations reached the center of the earth and its peak touched the stars. By day it gleamed like a pearl; at night the glass lantern room at the top burned bright, guiding lost ships home.
House Hightower was known for wisdom, caution, and mystery. They had close ties to the Citadel, funding the training of maesters for generations, and were the Starry Sept's most generous patrons. If the Hightowers ever chose to flex, they could reshape the entire Reach—and maybe the Seven Kingdoms.
High in the tower, in a private study closed to outsiders, two women were enjoying afternoon tea.
Colored glass windows depicted the movement of stars and arcane symbols. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined every wall, packed with ancient tomes in forgotten languages, crumbling scrolls, and stone tablets carved with unknown script. The air smelled of old paper, dried herbs, and sweet incense.
Moroya Hightower lifted a delicate porcelain cup and took a sip of the red tea from Golden Port. The blend was still new in Westeros—only a handful of highborn houses could get it through special channels. The leaves unfurled in the hot water, releasing a rich aroma of flowers and fruit that lingered sweetly on the tongue.
"Pierce Celtigar has excellent taste," Moroya said with a smile, setting the cup back on its saucer. "They call this 'Golden Leaf' in Essos. The yield is tiny and it costs its weight in gold."
Margaery Tyrell nodded politely, but her mind wasn't on the tea. The beautiful golden rose of Highgarden stared at the sapphire ring on Moroya's left middle finger.
The stone was the size of a grape, cut into a perfect oval. What truly held the eye wasn't its size or clarity, but the way it seemed to live. Tiny sparks of light swirled and breathed inside it, shifting from deep ocean blue to starlit purple depending on the angle of the light.
"You always wear it," Margaery said softly. "I never noticed before… but now I understand why."
Moroya raised her hand, letting the sapphire catch the colored light from the windows. The inner glow moved like something alive.
"You only received your own ring recently from Lady Olenna, didn't you?" Moroya asked gently. "Emerald suits House Tyrell—growth, prosperity, rebirth."
Margaery's fingers brushed the hidden chain at her throat. The emerald ring rested warm against her skin, close to her heart. It had been only a month since her grandmother passed it to her along with the secret. She was now the Emerald Lord of the Rising Tide.
She still wasn't comfortable wearing it openly. She didn't feel ready for the role or for everything that came with it.
"Grandmother said I was prepared," Margaery replied, voice uncertain. "But I feel like I understand nothing. That space, those Lords, those deals… it's all so overwhelming."
Moroya nodded with understanding. "I was even more shocked the first time I entered the council chamber. I had just discovered I possessed a certain… gift for sensing the energy in gemstones. That feeling led me into this world."
She paused, a flicker of nostalgia in her eyes. "It felt like discovering an entirely new continent. Everything was so strange, so exciting!"
Moroya glanced at her niece with a touch of envy. "At least you have someone to guide you. I had to figure it all out alone."
In truth, Pierce had been quietly guiding every Gem Lord from the shadows. Most of them believed their own special talent had earned them a seat at the table. It reduced resistance and made them feel chosen by destiny rather than recruited.
That was exactly how Pierce had used the Gem Lords' influence and resources to build the Rising Tide into a shadow empire that spanned two continents and poured endless wealth into his hands.
Margaery studied her aunt, quietly relieved she wasn't completely alone in the organization.
Moroya Hightower was the eldest daughter of Leyton Hightower, Lord of Oldtown. She was technically in her forties, yet she looked no older than thirty. Her skin was smooth and firm, her silver Hightower hair shining like moonlight silk. Her eyes were a clear summer-sky blue, but something ancient and deep lurked behind them.
She wore a simple deep-blue gown with no excess jewelry—only the sapphire ring marked her true status. Yet her calm, knowing presence made her more striking than any overdressed noblewoman.
Margaery thought the Hightower bloodline was the real reason for that beauty. Then again, almost every Reach house traced its roots back to Garth Greenhand, so maybe they were all destined to be this lovely.
"You look younger than my mother," Margaery couldn't help saying. "Is that… the power of the gem?"
Moroya laughed softly. "Part of it. But mostly it's the power of knowledge, Margaery. Do you know why House Hightower has ruled Oldtown for thousands of years? Not by force or gold, but because we guard knowledge—including the kind the Citadel forbids. Secrets about the true nature of the world, about magic, about everything."
She stood, walked to a bookshelf, and pulled out a thick, unmarked volume. "Lady Olenna is a clever woman. Choosing you as her successor was wise. You have more patience and sharper insight than your brothers, and you understand how to navigate the game of power."
Margaery's cheeks warmed. "Grandmother said the Reach needs a leader who can survive the new age. She believes the Seven Kingdoms are changing and the old ways no longer work."
"She's right," Moroya said, returning to the table but remaining standing. She gazed out the window at the rooftops of Oldtown and the distant harbor. "But your grandmother is too… practical. To her, the Rising Tide is simply a tool—a network to gather wealth and influence for House Tyrell. She doesn't see the deeper layers."
"Deeper layers?" Margaery asked, confused.
Moroya turned, her blue eyes locking onto her niece. "The person who created the council chamber, who gave the gems their power, who designed the entire system of equivalent exchange… do you really believe someone like that is satisfied with mere profit?"
Margaery considered the question. In the few monthly council meetings she had attended, she had met the seven other Gem Lords: Ruby, Sapphire (Moroya), Emerald (herself), Pearl, Amber, Coral, Amethyst, and the occasional Lapis Lazuli.
Everything appeared orderly—like an efficient merchant cartel. But Margaery had sensed an undercurrent, a subtle tension. Each Lord seemed to hide something.
"Ruby Lord seems to hold the most authority," Margaery ventured. "Many assume she's the founder."
Moroya let out a light, bell-like laugh laced with irony. "Oh, my dear, if that's what you believe, you still have a long way to go in this game."
She sat down again, leaning forward. "Let me teach you the first lesson: in the maze of power, the most visible person is rarely the one who truly rules. Ruby Lord—we all know who she is, don't we?"
Margaery hesitated, then nodded. The organization forbade revealing true identities, but after several meetings and quiet investigations, most of the Gem Lords had guessed one another's real names.
Ruby's haughty tone, her intimate knowledge of King's Landing affairs, and her obvious bias toward Lannister interests… it could only be one person.
"Cersei Lannister," Margaery whispered. "Queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
"Correct," Moroya said. "Now tell me, knowing what you know of House Lannister and of Cersei herself—do you truly believe she could create a vast network spanning two continents, running flawless commerce, intelligence, and magic?"
Margaery thought back to the few times she had met Cersei in King's Landing and to her grandmother's blunt assessment: "Beautiful, proud, clever but shortsighted, trapped by family honor and personal grudges, lacking true vision."
"She might have the ambition," Margaery said carefully, "but I doubt she has the patience or the ability. And if she were the founder, why does she act like a… manager rather than the owner?"
"Because that's exactly what she is," Moroya said bluntly. "A figurehead pushed to the front. The true creator stays in the shadows, watching, guiding. Ruby is merely one of his chosen masks."
The idea sent a chill down Margaery's spine. If even Queen Cersei was only a pawn, how terrifying must the real player be?
"Who do you think it is?" she asked.
Moroya shook her head. "I don't know. That's the problem. I've been part of the organization for years and I've investigated every angle, yet I still have no answer. Lapis Lazuli is very secretive, but he hasn't been around long enough to be the founder."
The council had been born from Pierce's research into glass candles. The hidden psychic realm was his creation, powered by his immense mental strength. Maintaining it alone was difficult, so he had carefully selected and awakened suitable people, turning them into Shifters. Through their influence and networks he had built the Rising Tide into a shadow empire.
Most Gem Lords believed their own unique talent had earned them a seat. That belief made them loyal and reduced suspicion.
"Pearl Lord controls the sea trade networks of Essos but lacks the ability to coordinate resources across both continents. Amber Lord… appears to be one of the earliest, yet he shows little interest in worldly affairs."
Moroya paused, eyes thoughtful. "I once suspected someone inside the Citadel, or the Iron Bank of Braavos, or one of the ancient Essosi families. None of them fit perfectly."
"The true founder must possess enormous wealth, a vast intelligence network, deep knowledge of magic, and… vision that goes far beyond the limits of our age."
Margaery suddenly thought of one man—a figure who had risen meteorically across the Seven Kingdoms, creating miracle after miracle.
The memory of him had quietly taken root in her heart, though the proud golden rose of Highgarden would never admit it.
"Pierce Celtigar," she said softly. "Could he be a Gem Lord… or even the one behind it all?"