Chapter 679

Highgarden.

The name of this castle is composed of two Common Tongue words, literally meaning “High Garden.”

At first glance, it seems straightforward, but in truth, it carries significant meaning, divided into two parts: "High" and "Garden."

The first part is self-explanatory—the castle is perched atop one of the highest hills in the central plains of the Reach, with an elevation exceeding a hundred meters. While such a height wouldn’t even qualify as a "mountain" in the modern geography of Earth, within the vast, flat lands surrounding Highgarden, it stands unchallenged. Surveying the Mander River valley, no hill higher than this stands by the river; no hill on the riverbanks surpasses its height; and any hill that meets both conditions—standing by the river and matching its elevation—fails to meet the crucial requirement of being deep within the Reach, surrounded and protected by vassals.

For generations, its rulers and builders have worked tirelessly to elevate the castle further. Today, anyone standing atop its highest tower can gaze upon nearly half of the Reach's heartlands.

When Garth Gardener I chose this location to settle and construct his fortress, it was likely because of its commanding view, defensibility, and proximity to water—secure from border conflicts yet well-supplied.

And what of the "Garden" in its name?

Highgarden, built of white marble, is widely regarded as the most beautiful castle in the Seven Kingdoms. This is common knowledge. But beyond its striking architecture, the true reason for its name lies in its very design—within its walls, a garden flourishes.

Encircled by three concentric, gleaming white walls—low, middle, and high—the lowest ring surrounds the base of the hill. Between this and the second wall on the slopes lies a meticulously arranged circular hedge maze. In wartime, this labyrinth can serve as a defensive obstacle, confounding invaders. In times of peace, it is a spectacle of leisure, where guests are entertained and nobles stroll for pleasure.

Within this ring, countless flowering plants bloom, carefully arranged in both number and variety. Their cycles of blossom have been meticulously calculated, ensuring that one species follows another without interruption, creating a seamless cascade of color. No matter the season—save the dead of winter—Highgarden remains a paradise of perpetual bloom.

Visit Highgarden at any time, in any season, and you will find yourself surrounded by verdant greenery, vibrant flowers, pavilions, statues, pools, fountains, and artificial waterfalls—a veritable paradise on earth.

...

But enough digression. Back to the matter at hand.

The "High" in Highgarden means that it can see far—and in turn, it can be seen from far away. Its brilliant white stonework reflects sunlight intensely, making it a beacon of unmistakable clarity.

Aegor had once overheard a Reach merchant boasting in King’s Landing: On a clear day, Highgarden can be seen from dozens of miles away.

Taking the square root, multiplying by 113…

Plugging the numbers into a rough mental calculation, Aegor realized that the claim was surprisingly accurate. If the world of Ice and Fire were similar in size and shape to Earth, and if Highgarden’s tallest tower stood around 200 meters high, accounting for the observer’s own height, then yes—it could indeed be spotted from 50 kilometers away.

Unfortunately, though he should now be within that range according to the maps, he could not yet see Highgarden on the horizon. Lowering his spyglass, he exhaled in mild frustration, only to realize that this was hardly surprising.

After all, theoretical calculations were one thing—human eyesight and the optical limits of medieval telescopes were another. Highgarden was likely already within his field of vision, but at this distance, it would appear no more than a tiny white speck.

Those familiar with the castle, those who had seen it before, would recognize that distant white dot for what it was. But for Aegor, who had never set foot in the Reach’s grand capital, identifying it would take patience and effort.

And right now, patience and effort were luxuries he could not afford.

He had a far more pressing task—leading the central force of the Queen’s Western Expeditionary Army in its relentless advance toward Highgarden.

Rolling advance. To the nobles of the Reach, this tactic was unheard of. It was new, unfamiliar, even unnatural. But at its core, it was nothing more than a complex system of coordinated movement. In his former life, back in the Celestial Empire, elite armies of the Sui and Tang dynasties—and even earlier—had already mastered formations and maneuvers far more sophisticated than this.

What made Aegor’s Western Expedition remarkable was not that they executed a rolling advance, but that they executed it continuously—repeatedly, without pause.

Yesterday, the Reach cavalry had initially hoped that, at some point during these maneuvers, the invaders would make a mistake—somewhere in the transitions, some flaw would emerge, some opening would appear. But to their mounting disbelief, the Queen’s army had rolled forward from dawn until nearly dusk, maintaining an impeccable half-circle formation, their trapezoidal phalanxes shifting seamlessly without a single gap. No mistakes. No openings.

What the Reach lords did not know was that this was not merely the product of well-trained coordination or Aegor’s battlefield brilliance. No—this perfection was achieved through something beyond their comprehension.

The gift of the skinchangers.

With their unique ability to perceive the battlefield from an aerial perspective, Aegor’s scouts provided a view no other commander in Westeros had access to. With their constant relays of information, he could make minute adjustments in real-time, ensuring that each transformed formation remained in peak defensive posture—leaving the enemy with no way in, no way to disrupt, no way to counter.

...

Yesterday’s clash had ended with the Reach forces in stunned disbelief and Aegor claiming the slightest of advantages.

Today, however, the real battle would begin.

After an early breakfast, with the morning’s cooking smoke still lingering in the air, the Western Expedition once more poured from their camp. The fortified encampments were more rudimentary than before, hastily assembled and even more hastily abandoned. The army fell into the same trapezoidal formations along the river, mirroring yesterday’s deployment to perfection.

As if bound by some unspoken ritual, the Reach cavalry appeared at the southern horizon, their presence a familiar but increasingly toothless threat.

The rolling advance resumed.

As the sun climbed toward its zenith, the army moved with the practiced ease of repetition. Mile by mile, they rolled forward—until, by noon, they had advanced another three miles toward Highgarden. The soldiers took their midday meal in peace.

For a moment, it seemed as though the campaign would conclude not with a grand battle, but with the Reach’s slow, unresisted retreat—an army that simply kept falling back, unable to muster the strength for a decisive stand.

But that stalemate came to an end in the afternoon.

A vast and colorful forest of banners and leveled weapons blocked the Western Expedition’s path. Red, orange, yellow, green, gold—every imaginable color fluttered in the wind, interspersed with glints of steel, an ocean of flashing metal.

From this distance, the specific sigils and coats of arms were indiscernible, but it required no great insight to guess their meaning—this was the full host of the Reach’s noble forces, all those who stood behind House Tyrell and King Aegon.

Through the eyes of his aerial scouts, Aegor saw what awaited him. This was not merely another hastily assembled vanguard. This time, the Reach had gathered their true main host. Their formation was tighter, their discipline higher, their numbers far greater.

But more troubling than their strength was their position.

A low, man-made ridge stretched from north to south, barring the path forward like a natural defensive wall. It was not high—only a few feet tall—but it was enough.

Enough to stop cannon fire.

Enough to shield the Reach’s army from direct bombardment.

Aegor’s stomach tightened.

They had built their wall.

The Reach had finally chosen where they would make their stand.

This battle—this true battle—would decide everything. Whether he would carve his name into history…

Or be condemned to the disgrace of failure.