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A powerful gust of wind blew through the air as the city of Kings Landing filled with its usual commotion. Such noise was not strange to the young Lord Hightower as he walked silently towards the steps towards the Red Keep. The raven which had arrived in Oldtown did not direct him here, but rather to a splendid site near Blackwater Rush which was not far from the great metropolis. While the capitol of Westeros paled in refinement to the fabled Oldtown the city had its own beauty to it. The eye-catching seven towers which sprawled from its fearsome walls, Lord Jorgon wondered if all seven of them stacked on top of each other would even compare to the Hightower. He stepped carefully forward, as a commoner clad in rags nearly knocked him over. He narrowed his brows at the man then shook his head as his gaze returned back towards the glorious Red Keep before him. A smile slipped onto his lips as he imagined the throne room, all of the ancient blades the great Aegon the Conquerer had gathered to form his throne. A thousand blades taken from beaten, vanquished souls at the hands of the proud first dragon-king. Burnt in the flames of the legendary Balerion the Black Dread. The throne which would one day be his. Far above the wretched, wear Tyrells and the other 'great' houses.

Whilst the headstrong young lord had no fearsome dragon to tame the land he would wear a crown like the Conqueror did. Perhaps he would craft one of his own, to signify his own significance. A crown befitting one with the blood of the dragon and the blood of the proudest house in the Reach. A unity between Westeros' grandest cities and a sign the entire realm would gaze upon with awe. The Reach lord turned from the Keep as he gingerly moved through the never-ending crowds in bustling streets of the city. He stepped to the side with another longing gaze as the Great Sept of Baelor was in his view. Jorgon stared at it with a power lust, perhaps it would be where he was crowned. With the Father's blessing as the High Septon placed the breathtaking diadem on his head, the smallfolk would be even more awestruck. Then perhaps his first issue a ruler would be to send Alesander Tyrell to the wall, a proper place for the twisted Knight of the Golden Rose to freeze. But that was not how a proper king ruled, not through retribution. Still the thought brought a smile to his face. He was the furthest person Jorgon could think should be the 

He had no doubt he'd encounter the conceited knight at this tournament, fate had a strange way of connecting rivals like that. Jorgon would have to keep his witts about himself as the most powerful lords and ladies from across the realm would be in attendance. The lord of Oldtown also didn't doubt the half-witted Tyrell's sister wouldn't be far. Beautiful Elinor. One day Jorgon would rid her from his thoughts, she was below his ambitions. He hadn't seen her since their betrothal was shattered by her craven brother. The Hightower lord took a deep breath to calm his being as he'd felt that familiar anger seethe underneath his handsome exterior. The Tyrells weren't worth occupying his mind in such a way. He'd shut his eyes momentarily as he could practically see the crown placed upon his head, the fanciful raucous cheers of all the lords and ladies filling his ears. Then the ambitious lord was pulled from his vision as words were spoken to him.

"M'lord, are you alright? The festival is going to begin soon." A familiar voice inquired, as Jorgon rolled his eyes before turning to reply. 

"Of course I am, Ser Landor. I haven't been here since I was a young boy. Its barely changed." The young lord stated as he glanced at the master-at-arms of Oldtown, Ser Landor Beesbury. The middle aged knight was one of the most veteran swordsman in the Reach and had served in his current position under Jorgon's father as long as the lord could remember. Even as his hair and beard had grayed his sword was still quick. 

"I like Oldtown more, m'lord. Smells a lot less like shit." Landor replied which drew an honest smirk from Jorgon. 

"Where's Markas?" The Hightower lord asked as he glanced around at the passing crowds near them, two young women in it making flirtatious eye contact with Jorgon before smirking at each other and continuing along in the crowds. The handsome lord had honestly grown accustom to such things.

"He's around here somewhere, I found him like you before. The young lord was talking to some street musicians. Had to make sure he didn't end up getting snatched off the streets." The elder knight said back as he crossed his arms, already sick of the sprawling metropolis of King's Landing.

"That's about where I'd expect him. No one's going to trouble him, none of these people know who you, him or I even are. We're just some fancy looking nobles to them." Jorgon stated back then walked past Ser Landor, the bulkier veteran swordsman following behind him. One day these smallfolk would know of him as their unquestioned ruler and practically worship his every step.

"Still m'lord, should have someone watching his back. You know how much crime there is here, isn't like Oldtown." Landor said as he walked alongside his lord. He looked more cautiously at the crowds around them but did not expect anyone to try anything so close the Red Keep. The Gold Cloaks were most concentrated here.

"I'm surprised he's not in the slums trying to help beggars. I think thats where are the gold in the Oldtown would go if I were to die and he become lord." Jorgon joked as the two men walked back towards where they were staying, an expensive inn not far from the Keep. Landor had several guards watching it their entire stay here. 

As they walked with the crowds the young lord felt strange, he rarely embedded himself like this with the smallfolk of Oldtown. While he did frequently wonder the grand city he didn't walk alongside them like he was some common tailor or blacksmith. He was the most powerful lord in the whole damn city. But Ser Landor was correct, here he was just another face in the crowd until some even grander lord acknowledged him publicly. This revelation annoyed him but it was for the best, he didn't want one of the filthy smallfolk to try anything. The hallowed Valyrian steel sword Vigilance did still sit in scabbard on his belt, offsetting his noble attire. As the duo returned to the inn Jorgon lead the way inside of the building then up the stairs towards their rooms. As he moved through the quaint inn the Hightower men inside stood proudly as their lord passed by them. Upon reaching Markas' room he knocked twice, then waited silently, Ser Landor behind him.

"Who is it?" A teenaged voice exclaimed from behind the wooden door.

"Your brother, and Ser Landor," Jorgon replied then before he could continue the door came open and his younger brother was there, a wide smile on his face. "Are you ready for today?" 

"It's all everyone's been talking about. I wonder if I'll see Willemina, you think she'll be there?" Markas asked hopefully, Jorgon well aware of the frequent correspondence between his brother and his elegant red haired cousin. Though the older Hightower's opinion of her was more subdued and complicated. Such as they frequently were between powerful lords and ladies of the Reach.

"She will be, so will be everyone else in the damn kingdom. The Tyrells, the Lannisters, Martells, everyone whose important will be there," Jorgon said back as he stepped inside of the room while Landor headed back downstairs. "I'm sure Willemina will be ecstatic to see you and all the lord and ladies will be so eager to meet you."

"I don't know how well I'll do there Jorgon. A lot of people to impress, I think I'd rather just read and watch the sea." Markas said reluctantly, far more nervous about the festival than his elder brother was.

"Nonsense. Don't even think of them as nobles, they're just like you and me. Just follow my lead." The lord of Oldtown said confidently, then patted Markas on the shoulder.

"What about when you get knocked off the horse? Am I going to have to get you out of the mud?" Markas asked jokingly drawing a genuine laugh from Jorgon. 

"That won't happen because I'm going to win the whole fucking tournament." The elder brother stated with a near certainty. He wouldn't end up in the dirt, it was not befitting of someone of his ability. Lord Jorgon Hightower was going to make a name for himself on this blessed day.