[ ♛ ] ° •  queen viserra graciously welcomes LADY VICTARIA of house HIGHTOWER of OLDTOWN ! those that speak highly of them say that they can be polished and determined, but whispers linger of how they are also superficial and cold. one day when the bards of the realm sing their songs, it will tell a tale of eyes catching on neck, hands, ears, glittering with gems; the wealth and beauty of oldtown in one, the stars themselves gathered where she offers worship; the ignominy of loss that refuses to be borne: she was named for victory. their loyalties, though publicly appear to be with THE WOMEN’S MOVEMENT, only they know that it lies with ██████████████████. beneath it all, rests what they dare not speak — that everything she believes in is for naught.
basics.
NAMEÂ victaria hightower. TITLESÂ a lady of house hightower. AGE seven and twenty. ALIGNMENT lawful neutral. MOTIVATIONS to avenge house hightower's losses, and recoup whatever possible; baring that, to bring about viserra's line's downfall, one way or the other.
visuals.
HEIGHTÂ 5'5. EYESÂ black. BUILD not too tall, yet somewhat willowy, thin and lithe, though with somewhat notable shoulders. NOTABLE FEATURES braids piled high atop her head; the gems that always adorn her person; a penchant for gold.
first child of a first child of a first child, victaria hightower was born in the year king viserys named princess viserra his heir; born as lord otto hightower, her grandsire’s brother, swore his fealty to the princess for their house. what did this change? nothing, after all—victaria is no more than two when the king has other children; her cousins, the prince and princess that would one day challenge viserra’s claim.
she is raised in luxury, in privilege beyond even the other houses of the reach. victaria is of the queen’s house, of the queen’s kin. she has everything in the world but the high tower; that is preserved for her brother, when he arrives. this is little to worry victaria yet: she is a girl of eight, nine, ten, with dancing masters and masters of the high harp; with a septa who speaks nothing but praise; eager companions in bess bulwer and dessy cuy. she is as near a princess as one can be: a princess of oldtown.
the first blow comes with her mother’s passing. for a minute, there are those who look at her and wonder if this girl ought not be named heir, as elsewhere a princess has been—but the contests for a prince, her cousin, are no less, and oldtown must be ruled by one capable, of course. her father takes another bride, and the question of heirs is settled once more. time passes; the energies and excesses of youth giving way to coy sharpness; an awareness of her power, of her beauty, of her position. she is the picture of grace in court, with a biting mind beneath. she has her own desires—she will be powerful, wherever she is lady, one day. she must be: she is a hightower.
but then war comes to the realm, desperate and so, so avoidable. why had not this princess, so content to pop out her bastards on dragonstone, simply accepted the way of things? who thought it wise to let daemon targaryen take the throne at her side? nobody, surely. the hightowers lead the war in the reach, and her cousins take to the skies on their dragons… and, one by one, fall. crushed; burnt; dead. house hightower, for years waxing more powerful than anybody could name, wane. and then all but one of her kin are dead, and princess viserra—queen viserra, now—sits atop the iron throne.
victaria wants nothing more than to see the targaryens fall, those that ruined her house and trampled over her kin. who might replace them she cannot say, does not care; it is only destruction she looks for, now; only vengeance for her house, which will not be so easily satisfied. the tyrells appease the crown for their own power; the other regions choose sides, then bend the knee—but victaria remembers. she smiles to see failure after failure coming from the crown, to see their reputation suffering. the new queen has made promises she cannot keep, bound herself to agreements that stretch her every way and satisfy no one. whispers of dissent from the ladies of the seven kingdoms intrigue victaria; here, finally, is a place she can whisper from too. what does it matter that she does not care for such things as a woman’s right to rule? if these women are to topple queen viserra— well. what delicious irony.
