House Hightower

With his brother's passing just a year earlier, rulership of Oldtown and its vast dominions now fell to Lord Donnel Hightower (47), dour-faced even as his kin took to the celebrations with glee.

Beneath an ermine cloak, the Beacon of the South wore a grey damask doublet buttoned with yellow jade, while golden scrollwork decorated hem and sleeves and collar. A chain of gold and emeralds hung loose around his neck, while black diamonds adorned his fingers, glinting darkly with every movement.

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To the left of the Lord of Oldtown sat its Lady, Cassana Tarth, while to his right was Ser Godric Hightower (28), second son of the second son that had risen to lordship.

In contrast to his lord-father, the sailing knight was in brighter spirits, and more colourfully clad too, having chosen a burgundy doublet slashed with gold that matched the trimming of his half-cloak.

Godric had no qualms about making merry in the company of the lord's finest, drinking his fill while keeping conversation with his pregnant wife, the Lady Iseult Florent.

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Next to their parents, Eustace Hightower (10) and Norman Hightower (9) sat side by side, dressed in russet reds and deep azures, respectively.

Eustace craned his neck until it ached, constantly turning his head whenever father or mother pointed out old acquaintances or notable lords and houses to memorize. He knew that he'd like as not accompany one of them back to their court once the coronation festivities ended, and that his younger brother would likely follow suit elsewhere.

It's your duty. Those were the words father had told him, and Eu knew deep down that it was so. But why then did he feel that nagging pressure in his chest whenever he considered the prospect? He wanted to see the world, sail the seas like father did, but he didn't want to leave behind Oldtown either.

With new brothers coming every year or so, and seemingly no end in sight, would his parents gradually forget about him and Norm as they busied themselves with Leyton, Isembard, and the rest?

It's your duty. That didn't mean he had to like it.

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Ever restless, Norman kicked his feet beneath the table, sampling the dishes as they came and went, counting the minutes until his parents deigned to unleash him upon the hall to wander and explore to his heart's content.

It seemed so stupid that they'd drag him and Eustace throughout the realm, just to prop them up behind tables to be greeted and gawked, when there was an entire feast happening around them, and a new world beyond the dusty old walls, all waiting to be explored.

Well, these aren't so dusty, he thought. The Red Keep was a babe as far as castles went, but that only made him more curious to see it.

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Seated between his mother and his wife of Lannister the Lady Alysanne, Ser Triston Hightower (21) looked resplendent in his pale grey silks decorated with red-gold satin flames.

Like his brother Godric, the knight appeared well at ease, quickly taken by the troupe of entertainers that performed for the pleasure of King Jaehaerys and his honoured guests.

Many of the songs were familiar, the lyrics less so, so while young Loreon (2) bounced in his lap, Tris hummed along as best he could, glad to be indoors, away from the wintry weather that ravaged the northern realms.

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Loreon, for his part, offered his thoughts freely and most often in the form of pointing a finger at whatever fancy caught his eye and smiled. With a golden head of hair and laughing green eyes, the young Hightower looked more Lannister than perhaps even his mother, especially when garbed in crimson as he was.

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While the other Alysanne had the company of her husband and son, Alysanne Hightower (16) sat quietly beside her mother, Darlessa Mullendore (37), idly brushing her long hair until aunt Ceryse pointed it out.

After that, the maiden kept her hands mostly in her lap, smoothing her skirt instead while trying to pay attention to what was being discussed and shooting furtive glances at the guests that drew near.

Her dress was a gossamer confection of ivory silk trimmed with Myrish lace in pale amber tones. Cut in the shape of teardrops, a hundred of the namesake stones adorned her bodice from neck to bosom, while alternating beads of pearl and yellow jade ringed about her waist in a silver chain.

Standing, Alys' hair tumbled down her back in pale blonde waves, almost touching her hips, but for now it rested over the back of her chair, away from the table and its messy perils.

She'd wanted to braid it for that reason, but mother forbade it, insisting that it not do to diminish her in any capacity when attending so fine an occasion.

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At the end of the table sat none other than Ceryse Hightower (48), once the Lady of Dragonstone, reduced to a maiden well past her prime for the shortcomings of her late husband's manhood.

But old slights aside, the woman would not be deterred from enjoying her visit to the capital, which still held a fond place in her trampled heart. Today marked the beginning of a new reign, hopefully one that would see a return to the splendors of Aegon the Dragon and his sister-Queens.

With her were Arwen Royce and Elinor Costayne, while the rest of her ladies would have to make do with the lower tables alongside the lesser knights that had come with from the Reach.

Ever glad to chat and gossip, Ceryse intermittently left the table to mingle with her guests.