House of the Dragon: Daemon’s Bastard Son Who Hatched a Dragon Chapter 140: Truly Alone

"Am I… guilty?"

The thought ca to Otto Hightower the instant his eyes opened.

Consciousness returned with unnatural clarity. His mind, ever sharp, cut through the haze with unsettling speed, each thought falling into place with cold precision.

Sothing was wrong.

He stood before the Great Sept of the Seven, its towering crystal windows casting fractured light over a restless sea of smallfolk. The crowd pressed in from all sides, their murmurs swelling like a distant storm. So watched him with curiosity, others with open hatred that needed no voice.

Otto did not look at them long.

His attention shifted inward.

Beneath the linen wound tightly about his chest, warmth spread. He could feel it distinctly now. Blood, seeping slowly through the cloth. Yet there was no weakness in his limbs. No trembling, no dizziness.

Instead, there was strength.

Too much of it.

His fingers curled slightly, testing the sensation. Power answered him at once, swift and unnatural, like fire coursing through his veins.

Otto frowned.

A man educated at the Citadel did not mistake such things. This was no natural state of the body.

A stimulant.

Forced upon him.

His gaze darkened, the conclusion forming as swiftly as it was unwelco.

"Grand Maester llos…" he murmured under his breath, his voice low and edged with quiet fury. "So you have chosen your side."

There were few in the Red Keep capable of such work. Fewer still with both the knowledge and the access.

As Hand of the King, Otto needed little ti to see the shape of it.

This was Baelon's design.

The realization settled over him, heavy as iron.

A calculated move.

Prince Baelon had not rely summoned llos. He had placed him deliberately, turning a maester of the Citadel into a blade aid at House Hightower itself.

Otto's jaw tightened.

All knew the truth of it. The Citadel and House Hightower were bound together by centuries of patronage and power. Oldtown had raised the Citadel, and in return, the Citadel had strengthened Oldtown. Their influence was intertwined, each sustaining the other.

To sever that bond was no small ambition.

And yet, it was precisely what Prince Baelon sought.

Otto's eyes lifted, sweeping once more across the gathered crowd, though he barely saw them now.

Dragonfire could reduce Oldtown to ash. Any Targaryen prince upon dragonback held that power.

But that was not the path chosen.

No, Prince Baelon was not so crude.

The Citadel must endure.

Its vaults of knowledge, its chains of learning, its order of maesters who carried wisdom to every corner of the realm. These were worth more than any city of stone.

Destroy them, and the Seven Kingdoms would be cast into darkness.

So instead of fire, Baelon had chosen sothing far more insidious.

Division.

Turn Oldtown against itself. Set the Citadel at odds with its oldest patrons. Let distrust take root where loyalty had once stood unchallenged.

A fracture from within would accomplish what dragonfla could not.

Otto exhaled slowly, steadying himself as the truth settled fully into place.

This trial was no re judgnt.

It was a weapon.

And Grand Maester llos was one of its sharpest edges.

No man sat upon the small council by chance.

Otto himself was proof enough of that. His learning, his discipline, his years of service had earned him his place.

Lord Lyman Beesbury brought mastery of coin and count.

n such as Jason Lannister and Lord Corlys Velaryon held their seats through the imnse strength of their houses. The gold of Casterly Rock flowed without end, while the Sea Snake's fleets had once outnumbered all others in Westeros combined.

Each man was there for a reason.

And so was llos.

His power did not lie in swords or ships, but in knowledge. In the Citadel. In the Conclave that ruled it, and the archmaesters who spoke with unquestioned authority.

Through them, llos was more than a single man.

He was a voice of the Citadel itself.

Otto's lips pressed into a thin line.

And that was precisely why Baelon had brought him here.

"? I did nothing!"

If Otto Hightower stood in cold realization, then Grand Maester llos stood in utter confusion.

The old man's voice trembled as he spoke, his hands half-raised as though to steady himself against a world that had suddenly turned against him. His chain of many tals glinted faintly in the fractured light of the sept, each link a symbol of knowledge now rendered useless before the tide rising around him.

He did not understand.

Not yet.

But Prince Baelon gave him no ti to find his footing.

The prince stepped forward.

The movent alone was enough to still the space around him. His presence pressed outward, sharp and commanding, as though the very air bent to his will. When he spoke, his voice cut cleanly through the chaos.

"Silence, Otto Hightower."

The roar of the crowd faltered, then broke, like waves striking stone.

Baelon's gaze did not waver. His violet eyes were fixed upon Otto, cold and unyielding.

"In accordance with the will of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First n, by decree of His Grace, King Viserys Targaryen, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm…"

He took another step forward, each word falling with asured weight.

"Before the eyes of gods, old and new, and all the people of King's Landing…"

A hush spread, slow but certain. Even the most restless among the smallfolk found themselves drawn into the gravity of the mont.

"I, Baelon Targaryen, Prince of Harrenhal, Lord of Crackclaw Point, and Warden of the Wall…"

He paused.

Not for effect alone, but for judgnt.

"Do hereby declare…"

His voice lowered, yet sohow carried farther than before.

"The trial of Otto Hightower begins now."

For a heartbeat, there was silence.

Then the city erupted.

Shouts surged like a storm unleashed. Cheers rang out, mingled with curses and raw fury. The sound filled the Great Sept, crashing against its marble pillars and echoing beneath its vaulted do.

They rembered.

The man before them had never walked their streets without guards at his back. Orders given in his na had torn hos from their foundations, driven families into filth and hunger.

Years of bitterness had festered in the shadows of King's Landing.

Now, at last, it found voice.

Baelon did not turn toward the crowd.

Instead, he extended a hand.

Mattheus stepped forward at once, placing a roll of parchnt into the prince's grasp. Their fingers brushed only briefly, but the exchange was practiced, seamless.

Baelon unfurled the parchnt and began to read.

"First charge. Corruption."

His tone was even, almost dispassionate. That calm only sharpened the weight of his words.

"During his tenure as Hand of the King, Otto Hightower accepted thirteen paynts, amounting to seven hundred gold dragons, from Captain Dick of the Dragon Gate and Captain Landler of the Mud Gate."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

Gold. Bribes. The words carried aning even the poorest could grasp.

Baelon did not pause.

"Second charge. Murder."

This ti, his voice hardened.

"An investigation conducted by the City Watch has determined that the forr captains of the Dragon Gate and the Iron Gate were slain by agents acting under Otto Hightower's command."

He lifted another parchnt, holding it high for all to see. The edges fluttered faintly in the air.

"The testimony was taken from his own servants."

The implication struck like a hamr.

Otto did not move.

Yet his stillness spoke louder than denial.

In truth, it had been politics. Quiet struggles fought in shadow, where knives replaced words and loyalty shifted like sand.

But the smallfolk did not see politics.

They saw only death.

And bla.

The crowd's anger swelled, thick and suffocating. Voices rose again, harsher now, sharpened by grief and long-held resentnt.

Those captains had not been tyrants. Under Princess Rhaenyra's influence, they had ruled their districts with a asure of restraint rare in King's Landing.

Not good n, perhaps.

But better than most.

And now they were gone.

At Otto Hightower's command.

Baelon's gaze swept once across the masses before returning to the parchnt in his hand.

"Third charge. Defiance of the Crown."

His voice rang clear, unwavering.

"Six years past, His Grace King Viserys appointed Otto Hightower as Overseer of King's Landing, charging him with restoring order to the city's sanitation."

A faint stir passed through the crowd. Many rembered those days all too well.

"But Otto Hightower abused that authority."

Now there was no softness left in Baelon's tone.

"He accepted bribes from wealthy rchants. He altered cleaning routes at his own discretion. And he embezzled the funds granted by the Crown... coin ant to compensate those displaced by his orders."

The words fell like judgnt.

It seed Personal.

Faces in the crowd tightened. So shouted again, their voices breaking with anger. Others stood silent, their hatred deeper, quieter, and far more dangerous.

At the center of it all stood Otto Hightower.

Still.

Silent.

And, for the first ti, truly alone.

---------

A/N: Advance chapters available on Patreon,

If you've enjoyed the story so far, this is the mont you don't want to miss.

patreon/Baelon