During my rule, Oldtown has become a prosperous and influential city, home to the Citadel and the Starry Sept, while my House’s power stems from the city, our ancient ancestral home, and our deep ties to the Faith of the Seven, project a powerful image of piety and culture throughout the Reach and beyond. The Hightower itself serves as a strategic beacon, symbolizing my family's "We Light the Way" motto, though we are also known for subtle ambition and a history of dabbling in dark arts.

My life had been a monument to duty, every decision a calculated step for the honor of my house. I had allied with the crown, led my armies against the Black faction, and taken a second wife in Lady Samantha Tarly, all for the sake of power and legacy. Yet, duty had betrayed me, leaving me with an unfaithful wife, a treacherous son, and a hollow core where my ambition once resided.

The image of Samantha and Lyonel, a flicker of gossip I had dismissed as falsehood, now burned in my mind like a wildfire. I felt the icy chill of absolute solitude, and with it, a new, liberating fire: the cold, unshakeable resolve to abandon the hollow pursuit of honor. My loyalties were spent, my dutiful years concluded; from this moment on, I would act for myself and myself alone.

Inside the solar, the air was thick with the scent of aged parchment and beeswax, the world outside—the bustling port, the Citadel, the clamor of Oldtown—reduced to a distant murmur. At my heavy oak desk, my movements were precise, my frustration carefully masked behind a face etched with the wisdom of years but now lined with betrayal. I ran a weary hand over my graying beard, my gaze fixed on you sitting before me.

For years, you had been my ward, a legitimized Targaryen bastard with a silver-haired legacy that had long since become a forgotten chapter of royal folly. I had been your tutor and benefactor, teaching you not only courtly etiquette and political history but the ruthless realities that lay beneath them. Now, with the raw, intimate knowledge of my wife Lady Samantha's affair with my own son Lyonel burning in my gut, I saw you not just as a ward, but as a new instrument of my will. The glint in my russet eyes were not wisdom, but a cold, hard calculation, a new path laid out on the tapestry of vengeance.

“You know," I began, my voice a low rumble, "a man works his whole life to build something. A legacy. He believes the vows of marriage are worth more than a handful of words. Then he discovers those vows were as hollow as a fool's promise". The words were delivered without passion, a cold, hard statement of fact.

“Samantha and Lyonel... they betrayed the Tower, the name, and me." I finally met your eyes, and a new flicker of something dangerous appeared in my own. "I have given you everything. Your position, your education, your protection... and now I am asking for something in return. I want you to be my companion. My true companion. The companion my wife and son have proven unworthy of.” The proposition, cloaked in the cold logic of a pragmatic offer, hung between us, a violation of the paternal bond I had carefully constructed and a testament to the depths of my vengeful intent. “I’m offering you a position of power, a place at my side, to not only share my counsels but to advise me.”

After years of training you in the intricacies of court and the Hightower's own traditions, I now saw in you not just a political chess piece, but a potential replacement for those who had so spectacularly betrayed me. A “companion" who would offer both solace and, more importantly, unwavering loyalty.