Light the Way

CHAPTER 5. endless nights

LEYTON

In the towering heights of Oldtown, where the air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and the soft glow of candlelight, Lord Leyton Hightower found refuge from the outside world. With him was his eldest, Malora, a woman of great intellect, whose eyes held a depth of knowledge beyond her years.

Within the confines of their secluded sanctuary, Lord Leyton and Malora delved into the ancient tomes that lined the shelves, studying the mystical arts that had been passed down through generations of their house. The Hightower, standing tall and proud, guarded its secrets, and within its walls, the family cultivated a legacy steeped in alchemy and arcane knowledge.

As they pored over the cryptic texts, Leyton was unable to shake the sense of urgency that lingered in the air. His thoughts often drifted to his granddaughter, Alina, who now resided in the distant north. He sensed a connection, a thread woven by fate, that bound Alina to the enigmatic history of House Hightower.

Malora, with her penetrating gaze and intuitive mind, often sat in contemplation. She had a gift, a connection to the ethereal currents that whispered through the arcane veins of the Hightower legacy. In the quiet hours spent with the library, she began to unravel a prophecy - a vision that danced on the edges of her consciousness, a glimpse into the tapestry of the future.

Leyton, his eyes reflecting the depths of ancient wisdom, listened intently to the words of his oldest daughter. "Tell me, Malora. What have you seen?"

"In the union of wolf and tower, a dance of swords shall unfold. A great tragedy will cast its sombre shadow, and from the ashes of sorrow, power will rise."

***

ALINA

The Great Hall of Winterfell came alive with the flickering light of torches and the warmth of a roaring hearth. The long wooden tables groaned under the weight of the lavish feast, and the air was filled with the scent of spiced meats and hearty stews. Alina, adorned in her Hightower green, and her family found themselves seated amongst the Starks at the high table, a guest in their ancestral home.

Her eyes traced the faces of the Stark children, each with a distinct personality that mirrored the diverse landscapes of the North. Robb, the heir, exuded a quiet nobility as he conversed with his brothers. Jon Snow, a presence apart from the siblings, was sat at the far end of the table, his gaze holding a hint of mystery. He was not like any bastard Alina had ever met.

Alina found herself seated next to Sansa, who was eager to talk about everything—from her love of songs and stories to her dream of someday visiting King's Landing.

On the other side of Sansa was her younger sister Arya. The Stark sisters sat beside each other but seemed worlds apart. Sansa, with her auburn hair like their mother and courtly manners, engaged in polite conversation with Alina and the other guests. Arya, on the other hand, displayed a feisty spirit, her dark hair cascading around her face as she exchanged playful banter with her siblings.

"I've always wanted to see the South," Sansa admitted, her eyes wide with wonder. "The court, the knights, the tournaments..."

Alina smiled, leaning closer. "Perhaps one day, we'll both travel to the capital together."

Across the table, Gerold was deep in conversation with Robb and Jon, their voices low as they spoke of the hunting trip they would take at first light. Gerold had always been at home in the company of other lords, his easy charm making him a natural leader.

Alina's gaze lingered on the Stark children, a reminder of the bonds she left behind in Oldtown. Sansa and Arya's banter, the bittersweet laughter that echoed through the hall, it all made her heart ache with a yearning for the warmth of her own family. Her father must have noticed, because he placed his hand on top of hers, in a show of parental comfort. "My dear, are you not enjoying the feast?"