Chapter : The Hand in Shadow
POV: Otto Hightower
The Tower of the Hand was quiet that night. Too quiet. Otto Hightower stood alone in his solar, the candles burning low, the air thick with the stale scent of parchment and ink. A single goblet of Arbor red sat upon his desk, untouched.
He had dismissed his servants. Even the maester. Even Alicent. He needed solitude, silence, and the company of his thoughts though they gave him little peace tonight.
The meeting still echoed in his ears. The boy's name hung like a curse: Rhaegar.
A child, scarcely ten, had bent the king to his will.
Otto walked slowly toward the window, gazing out over the Red Keep. Below, the city sprawled in restless slumber, its streets like veins feeding the great, bloated heart of the realm. The sight brought no comfort.How far he had come. How high he had climbed.
I was but a second son, he thought bitterly. No lordship. No inheritance. No destiny but the shadow of Oldtown's tower.
It had begun with Ryam Redwyne, the gallant Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, whose shadow Otto had walked in as a mere squire. A thankless post, some had said, but Otto had learned. He had watched the court. Listened to whispers. Studied men greater than himself. And he had sworn that one day, they would look upon him not as a shadow, but as a power in his own right.
He had befriended Viserys early, when the prince was still soft, pliant, eager to be loved. He had learned the boy's weaknesses, his hunger for affection, his yearning for peace. All threads to be pulled when the time came.
And when Jaehaerys grew old and feeble, Otto had whispered in the right ears, pressed the right hands. He had guided the king ever so gently, ever so piously toward the Great Council that had chosen Viserys.It had been his triumph. His design.
And when Viserys had taken the throne, Otto had taken the realm.
But now?Otto clenched the goblet until his knuckles whitened.
A ten-year-old boy dares undo it all.
Dragonstone, made an eighth kingdom in all but name. The maesters forbidden from studying dragons a dagger thrust into Oldtown's heart. Driftmark and Claw Isle bent as vassals not to crown or council, but to a boy who still clutched at his mother's skirts.
Worse, Viserys had done it gladly. Not with resistance. Not with hesitation. Gladly.
Otto ground his teeth. That was no child's thought. That was Daemon's venom, dripping from the tongue of an innocent.
Daemon. Always Daemon.
The prince fancied himself another Maegor, all cruelty and fire, dreaming of crowns he could never earn. And now he had found a vessel a boy too young to know the weight of such fire.The Maegor reborn.
Otto shivered despite himself.
He crossed to the desk and sank heavily into his chair, staring at the empty parchment before him. His hand shook, just faintly, as he reached for the quill.
He thought of his father. Of the last words they had shared before he left Oldtown for the Red Keep.
"Remember Ceryse," Lord Hightower had said, his face lined with sorrow and rage alike. "Remember how Maegor used her. Remember how he mocked our blood, our Faith. Remember how he defiled her and cast her aside. Our line will have justice, Otto. You will see it done."
Otto had promised.
He had sworn it beneath the Light of the Seven.And now here he sat, Hand of the King, the realm within his grasp and a child threatened to unmake it all, to revive the very shadow of Maegor the Cruel, the monster who had defiled his house.
"No," Otto whispered into the dim chamber. "This cannot be allowed to spread. Not this… dragon dream of vengeance. Not this boy."
He dipped the quill in ink, paused, then set it aside. Not yet.
First, he must know what passed between father and son in that solar. That cursed conversation which had turned the king's mind so suddenly.
He leaned back, folding his hands before him. What was said? What secrets bind them?
If he could learn it, he could unmake it.
He would bribe, coax, threaten whatever it took. Some servant had lingered too near. Some guard had overheard. Secrets always slipped, given enough pressure.
And if the truth was what he feared if Daemon had planted this flame in the boy then it must be extinguished before it consumed them all.
The Plan Forms
Otto rose again, pacing the chamber. "Daemon must be parted from them," he muttered. "The boy, the girl, the king he poisons them all."
Yes. Viserys must be convinced. Slowly, gently, as always. Daemon was dangerous to the twins. Dangerous to the realm.
And Alicent sweet, obedient Alicent she must be made to play her part. She must fill the twins with piety, with the Seven's light, with truth stronger than dragonfire. If the Targaryen line would not bow, then their children would be taught the Faith.
Finally, he sat once more. He pulled the parchment close, dipped his quill, and began to write.
The words flowed swift and careful, cloaked in courtesy, heavy with hidden meaning. He spoke of "recent developments at court," of "shifts in the king's mind," of the need for patience. He urged his correspondent to hold their plans in abeyance, to delay vengeance until his signal came.But he promised it would come.
By the Light of the Seven, by his blood, he would see it done.
When at last he set down the quill, the parchment gleamed wet in the candlelight. Otto folded it thrice, sealed it with wax, and pressed the sigil of House Hightower deep into the red.
He rang a bell. A maid slipped in, head bowed.
"Take this," he said softly, handing her the letter. "To the usual place. The designated person. No eyes but theirs."
The girl nodded, trembling under his gaze, and vanished into the night.
The door shut. Silence returned. Otto sank back into his chair, weary yet unyielding.
He had risen from nothing, carved his place in the history of kings. He would not be undone by a boy with silver hair and dragon dreams.
"The game is not ended," he whispered to himself. "Not while Otto Hightower draws breath."
And as the last candle guttered low, the Hand of the King sat in shadow, plotting, waiting, his heart bound by an oath of vengeance, his eyes fixed on dragons he swore one day to chain.