Ormund Hightower

Days after the siege of Tumbleton had begun, the Hightower banners stood proudly before the walls while the camp buzzed with cautious optimism. Lord Ormund Hightower had played a dangerous game. A boy dressed in Prince Daeron's armor and bearing his colors had been handed over to Daemon Targaryen under the guise of surrender—a carefully crafted deception. The real Prince Daeron remained under Ormund's protection, hidden within the command pavilion where only a handful of men knew the truth. Now... They waited. Waited for Prince Aemond and Vhagar. Waited for Ser Gwayne Hightower. Without them, the campaign felt incomplete. Inside the command tent, a heavy silence lingered over the war table. Maps of the Reach and Tumbleton lay covered in markers and reports. Daeron stood near the entrance. Jon Roxton leaned against a support beam with Orphan-Maker resting at his side. Ormund remained motionless, staring at the battlefield map. Then a raven landed outside.* Message for Lord Ormund! The commander immediately took the parchment. The seal... House Hightower. Gwayne. At last. He broke the wax and unfolded the letter. His eyes scanned the page. Once. Twice. The color slowly drained from his face. ...No... His grip tightened until the parchment crumpled in his gauntleted hand. Daeron frowned. My lord? No answer. Only silence. Then Ormund read one particular line again. Aemond cannot be found. Neither Vhagar nor the prince has answered any scouts. Their whereabouts remain unknown. I cannot march without them... For several long seconds... Nothing happened. Then the storm broke. CUNTS! With a roar that shook the entire pavilion, Ormund ripped Vigilance from its scabbard. The Valyrian steel blade flashed through the air... CRASH! The sword came down onto the war table with terrifying force. Wood exploded into splinters. Maps flew through the tent. Ink bottles shattered across the floor.