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[gael-hightower]

MODERN AU

Closed starter for @opheliafowler Location: The pool area of the school, which has been turned into a "Beach Party".

He remembered her from their school days. They never were classmates, with him being a couple of years above her class. He didn't remember if he'd ever had an actual conversation with her beyond those casual, polite things when running into a hallway at the academy. Gael had been a quieter kid then, but he'd always been observant, taking note of people's faces and names. So yes, he remembered her face and her name.

“You don't dance, Ophelia?” he asked with a half-smile as he stood by her side, getting himself something to drink from the open bar table. Gael glanced sideways, seeing if there was any hint of recognition in her eyes, or if she had no clue whatsoever of who he was. It was a shame she was here alone, not dancing and having fun already. But then again, it was a fortunate scenario for him. “It's been a long time. I'm Gael, I don't know if you—” Remember me? Know who I am? He chuckled. It didn't matter, really. “Got to appreciate these things, bringing so many of us back to this place”.

[gael-hightower]

Modern AU — Gael Hightower

GENERAL INFORMATION

NAME: Gael Hightower

AGE: Twenty-eight (Born September 2nd, 1996)

BORN IN: Padua, Italy

CURRENT RESIDENCE: London, England

OCCUPATION: Poet and playwright

ETHNICITY: White (English on his father's side and Italian/Turkish on his mother's side)

BACKGROUND

Born as the third son, Gael never had a particularly close relationship with his stern, demanding father and his self-absorbed mother. He was under the shadow of his eldest brother but that served as a safe space for Gael to not be minded too much, and begin to nurture his interest in the literary arts.

At school, he didn't like having too much attention on him. He was quiet and reserved, but kind.

In his last year of school, there was a bit of a shift in his demeanor, as he became a bit more outspoken and more openly defiant in his family. This was the time he discovered his father had a daughter from the woman he cheated on his mother with, and also had a clash with his eldest brother. Gael cut off connections with his family then, not wanting to be a part of that hypocritical, toxic environment.

He earned a full scholarship at Oxford for Language and Literature, and continued to get on on his own, with support from his cousin Lucrezia, Omer Florent and his good friend, Conall Blackbar.

Nowadays, he's recognized as one of the most promising voices in English literature, rising as a critically acclaimed poet and playwright who has already earned awards for his work.

He earned worldwide recognition when his most recent play was adapted for a film two years ago, with Gael working on the screenplay himself. He was nominated for an Academy Award, a BAFTA, and a Golden Globe for Best Screenplay, winning the first two awards.

RELATIONSHIP HISTORY

Currently single.

He dated Aenogaia Qoherys little after finishing school. They ended up going their different ways and had an amicable breakup.

He had a passionate fling with Zialla Antaryon when he met her at an industry party in Hollywood. They ended up breaking up on a sour note, with their careers and expectations going in different directions.

[gael-hightower]

The gods had chosen to burden him —curse him in some ways— with the family he had. They had also seen fit to bless him with stronger ties than those of blood by bringing people like Conall, like Omer into his life. Both men were more brothers to him than the cunt who'd gotten himself killed by his mistrust and his arrogance. Because of all that poisoned his family ties, Gael found himself grappling with two opposing ideas. On the one hand, he disdained his own house so, and scoffed at the fact that he now happened to be its head, for he'd not wanted to have much to do with it since Gilbert sent him to war to die. And on the other hand, he wished to use his new position to erase all that House Hightower had been, let it burn like a parchment on fire, and start anew, direct what remained of the once great house in a better path than Garland did.

The Master of the Arts smirked at his friend's words and raised a hand, giving a pat on Conall's back. The Blackbar lord always seemed to have much more faith and confidence in him than the Gael had in himself. Much like he did in Conall, really. Perhaps that was one of the most important components of a good friendship. Let others rise you up when you bring yourself down. “Let me stay modest, Con. We know what happens to Hightowers that get too arrogant,” he replied derisively, though still light-hearted in his tone.

“I don't have a clue, frankly. We're to be surprised, my friend,” he said with an easy grin, excited to have no prior knowledge about what they were to witness on the stage. Gael had purposely not looked into what was to be performed, eager to take in everything without any preconceived notions. “Should I have checked if it will be a tragedy? Tell you beforehand to bring a handkerchief?” he said in jest, even though the poet was more likely to be moved to tears than Conall was.

their friendship was a strange thing. an unexpected blessing, to be sure, but given the tensions between the blackbars and the hightowers, perhaps one that should not have come to be. but gael was not his brother, nor was he his father. even the hightowers themselves seemed to have agreed on that. even now, when it would have been so easy for him to take the title of from a mere child, he did not, and conall did not think, if the roles were reversed, the same could be said of the hightower men that now rested in the ground. but gael was better than that. upon the men that con admired, he sat on a pedestal next to his brother, to ronan bracken, to omer florent. to family. "no need to hope, my friend. we know the truth of it."

"then don't entertain it. i'll for both of us." his words were decisive. perhaps it was because conall was no artist, lacking the eye to see nuance in poetry or on the stage, and was bias towards the talents of his friend, but in his mind, there were few who could match gael in that regard. "you're too modest by far, gael." the sun would rise and set without all of them, and all they could hope for was to leave a small mark upon the world, a trace that they had once walked in its light. "what are we watching, then? comedy, tragedy? a great epic?"

[gael-hightower]

Gael nodded absentmindedly as the lady replied, his palm still pressed to the cover of his notebook. Perhaps he'd caused some offense, he thought, covering his thoughts so quickly. If only she'd known it was not something he did because it was specifically her talking to him, but an action he would have taken around anyone, even the king himself.

“Ah. So you've got an interest in architecture?” the poet asked, admittedly curious to know what drew others to the same things that caught his attention. It was endlessly interesting to find which lenses others wore to admire beauty in the world. “I've only read a thing or two, I can't say I'm well-versed in the legends of these lands,” Gael said, raising a hand, giving a bit of a disclaimer. “I was intrigued by the legend of Children of the Forest living beneath this hill, and that they have some form of gateway to a magical realm”. The lord's words ended with a chuckle and his lips tugged into a half-smile, evidently not believing the tale, but such a legend did make for a good story.

Gael's fingers tapped softly against his notebook, the living and tangible incarnation of the process the Tyrell lady mentioned. He knew very little of Cedric Tyrell's cousin, in truth, and he was pleasantly surprised to find she seemed similarly interested in arts like the king was. “The legends were what drew me in,” the Hightower lord said, for it was what made him come to begin with, “But I'm finding I simply enjoy the location, its atmosphere. It does invite some introspection”. It was a peculiar mix of elements in his case, considering the downward trajectory of House Hightower, his family ties —as poisoned and broken as they were— while also considering tales of magical beings and alternative worlds. What was, what could be. “What do you think about in a place like this, my lady?” Gael asked out of sheer curiosity.

she felt taken aback at the sudden action, but she would not judge him for probably feeling as if she may be prying on something personal. perhaps he were not writing something he intended to publish, and she felt a wave of foolishness for her remark. it were as if she had pulled him off of the trail of his very thoughts with her question. matilda always wondered what that kind of feeling was like. for while she was well-versed in word and charm, she had little other talent in the arts and for that she was always quite disappointed.

"i'll admit, not really. just some bits and pieces, here and there." she replied, her voice still upholding that of it's usual, steady tone. "i came to see structure's." she gestured to the weathered stone, that stood so tall one would be blinded by the sun to glimpse the top of it. "what are the legends?"

tilly nodded, a tight lipped smile as she took a breath. "that's interesting, the process, i mean." she stated. of course she knew how a story began, the process of placing ink upon parchment, but it were interested to dive into the mind of an artist, to understand their unique process. she would not press too much, now, though, only if to gauge it by the very setting they've found themselves in. "was it the legends that inspired you, this place itself, or both?"

[gael-hightower]

Gael was not a naturally cruel man, but he had to admit he'd not spared cruel thoughts when it came to his father. Conall's words made him laugh much too merrily for the topic that was being discussed. “I hope you're right. If the gods can grant me something in life, I dearly wish it is to ensure you're right about that, my friend,” he replied flippantly. Conall knew in more detail than most just how sour his relationship had been with Gilbert Hightower, and he feared not to speak ill of the dead. Not when he'd already used his quill several times to deride and discredit his father when Gilbert was still alive to read such work.

The Master of the Arts made a face, scrunching his nose and shaking his head. He was quick to dismiss the idea of comparison, or even considering his work would be superior. As a lover of the arts, of literary work, he wished to attend a play to expose himself to different perspectives rather than feed his ego. “I will not even entertain the idea,” he chuckled, “The world had its literary and dramatic tradition before I was born and will continue to have it long after I'm gone,” he mused, not considering his contributions to be that relevant. He hoped they might be, but like every artist, he lived with a sense of equal pride and doubt in anything he'd ever penned.

a small chuckle escaped conall's lips. there were few people in his life that he found it difficult to remain dour around, but gael could firmly count himself amongst the exclusive number. and he would not have it any other way. he viewed their friendship as a raft in an endless ocean, a sign that there were those outside the clover folk who would remain at his side in the most trying of times. after all, what could be a darker stain than the accusations he had already lived with?

he easily fell into step besides gael, another huff of air serving as laughter. "i'd put money on the fact your old man has barely stopped spinning since you put him in the ground." the words were not a slight on gael, as much as they were an observation - house hightower had certainly seen better days. "so we may as well enjoy ourself while he dances." he spent his life chasing the forgiveness of ghosts, and would not see gael do the same. it appeared, though, that his protectiveness was wasted, for gael had no intention of doing so. "i could go for some theatre," he was surprised that the idea actually sounded quite pleasant. "come on, then. let's see if the westermen's scripts can live up to anything you've written."

[gael-hightower]

Gael the Guest, Conall called him in friendly jest, for the young Hightower lord had a penchant for being everywhere but his home. Even now that Gilbert and Garland were gone, it was hard to view Oldtown as home. The Master of Arts had spent many a day in Bandallon since his friendship with Conall began and yet, he had never befriended the ruling lord of House Blackbar. Kieran was more a friendly acquaintance, a man Gael respected for having been a most gracious host and an individual who carried himself as noble and a benevolent lord. He didn't detect the egocentrism that his late father and brother possessed, which made Gael despise those who seemed to be similar men.

“Cheers, my lord,” Gael responded in kind, a content and easy smile crossing his features as he raised his goblet. The gesture froze in place somewhat at the mention of his wife. The Hightower lord let out a chuckle and a sigh at the same time. “She did. She was not quite enjoying herself, I'm afraid,” he replied without surrendering further information. Talia had made it a habit thus far to retire early, but the curl of her lip was more pronounced today, following what happened yesterday during the celebration for Lann's Day. “I gladly welcome your company, Lord Blackbar. Many a time I've toasted with your brother but not with you,” he added, a grin once more making its way to his lips as he gestured to the seat next to him so Kieran Blackbar could join him for a moment.

setting: the westerlands, during one of the larger gatherings in the halls of casterly rock ; starter for @gael-hightower

despite what he observed to be a closer friendship between the younger lord of the hightower and his own brother, kieran held an air of skepticism towards the master of the arts. perhaps it were his own bias towards the hightower's, though that in itself piqued his interest greatly. with the eldest gone, the younger could so simply slip into his place as ruling lord - casting aside the infant daughter of garland hightower as a bastard, the daughter of a fire worshipper. kieran did not think it would take much to get the backing, and yet, no movements were made.

and so now he were ever more curious about what was to happen from here on. he knew the child were to be in the arbor, under the watch of the lady redwyne. that left this lord to cast his gaze over the hightower and oldtown on his own. the lord of bandallon did not know why the matter was of great interest to him, but perhaps it were the unique matter of regency, legitimacy, inheritance, law, that garnered his attention.

and so he approached the young lord of oldtown with a classical grin, raising his goblet to the man. "cheers." he stated before taking a long drink. he let out a heavy sigh, as if he were drawing the lords attention even more before he spoke. "the night is still young, did your wife retire early?"

[gael-hightower]

His notebook was quickly shut, more out of instinct than anything else. Gael was irrationally protective of his half-formed thoughts and drafts. It was a tendency born of being a writer, he supposed, for few things could embarrass him more than having any unfinished work read before he felt ready to share. Matilda Tyrell, from where she stood, could not have even glimpsed a single word, though. It was a bit odd to have someone so unfamiliar to him catch mid-writing too, finding in him that trance-like state of murmured words, hand gestures that somehow aided in properly articulating ideas into words, and changing expressions tied to the stream of thoughts crossing his mind.

“I'd heard stories,” Gael began, quickly regaining his composure and adopting the demeanor of a Master of Arts at court. “I wished to see it for myself, see what inspired the legends. Have you heard them?” he inquired, wondering if she'd chosen to come for the architecture, for the folklore, or simply to get fresh air as so many others did.

When the Tyrell lady asked if he was working on his newest piece, Gael smiled and shook his head. “Not quite,” he glanced down at the notebook in his hand. “I was just gathering first impressions, first ideas. But then again, that's how all stories start”. Perhaps what he'd scribbled on the pages so far could indeed become his next work.

for as curious as matilda was about all the things the westerlands had to offer, she was particularly interested in learning more about the lion's tor. the origin of a certain place was fascinating to her, and while the group that she had traveled with seemed to be more intrigued by the spectacle of it all, matilda found herself more drawn to it's history and legend. she would not pretend to be the most informed in the room, but she certainly briefed herself enough to understand where she was going.

and so they descended from the horse-drawn carriage, a cool breeze causing the silk of her deep blue skirts to flutter in the wind as she managed to tuck strands of her behind her ears until they sought shelter. the group began to walk towards the tower to observe it's structure, they she heard more gossip about the other courtiers than comments about the place in which they stood. all matilda could do was laugh and play along, but green hues scanned over the landscape, fascinated by it.

and in her searching she spotted the youngest hightower, gael. matilda was not the largest fan of the hightower's, particularly do to garland's treatment of her best friend, but she fond gael to be kind enough, and she enjoyed his works. as she approached him more directly he seemed a bit startled, but she held up a hand to make clear it were no issue. "that's quite alright, it's very beautiful here. i can understand why you are inspired." she gestured to the notebook he held. "working on your newest piece?"

[gael-hightower]

Gael sometimes feared that Conall had chained himself too tightly to the tragedy that was thrust upon him. It had been a most traumatic experience, and for that, the Hightower lord knew he had no authority of any kind to tell his friend what to do or not with his grief. There was so much more to the Blackbar lord than what had happened to him, however, and for that reason Gael attempted to pull him away from the chasm whenever he could.

“Well, we might as well make it a good death, in that case,” the Master of the Arts replied in a more chipper tone than his friend used. He patted Conall in the arm, urging him to start moving and to follow. Gael had no set destination in mind, and he did not need one. “Fine. No sparring. I'll grow rusty in my skill and have my father turn in his grave for it,” he laughed, his words irrevocably caustic. How much Gilbert Hightower had wanted a mighty warrior for a son. For a time, that had been Garland, of course. The greatest displeasure of his late father must have been to see his golden son crippled and have his youngest son —whom he'd considered useless cannon fodder— become the one Hightower who wielded sword and shield in the name of their house. “Do you fancy going to the Cliffside Theatre? I'm curious to see a Westerlander play”. It was part of the ongoing study of his craft, after all.

"what, indeed," conall grumbled, but his sour expression lightened as he turned to face gael. it was a question he had asked himself many times. why was he still holding on to his grief so tightly, why could he not seem to shake the guilt and the sadness, why could he not rejoin the land of the living? it would be one thing if things with his wife had been going well - but all knew that they had not. so why did he shroud himself in misery?

now was not the time for such questions though. they would be examined later, when he was deep in his cups with nobody around to distract him, and gael hightower was a welcome distraction. there was a time where he was one in a sea of conall blackbar's friends, and now he was one of a mere handful. a dramatic fall from grace, but one that made him only more grateful for those who remained to him. for gael.

"go on, then." he even managed a smile as he said it, painting creases into the corner of his eyes. it could be cathartic, he supposed, to see the world the way gael does for a little while. "you'll be the death of me, gael hightower, but i'm yours for the afternoon. no sparring, though. it would be embarrassing for me if you showed me up." a lie. he was simply too hungover to cope with it.

[gael-hightower]

The lady stood out brightly amongst the sea of silken dresses, wearing an attire that clearly indicated her origin. He didn't think he'd intentionally singled her out in the crowd of dancers because she was Dornish, he'd only focused on her because of the vibrant energy she radiated, her graceful motions, and yes, because of how beautiful she looked. Perhaps something unconscious in his mind would remain inevitably drawn to what never was meant to intersect with him and his house.

Gael couldn't deny there was a certain allure to wearing masks, to the questions and the mysteries. And at least for now, the shedding of duty and concerns that existed for the unmasked version of him. He was no actor or performer, but as a playwright, he certainly understood the power of adopting a character. Tonight he was willing to play with those blurring lines and forget the wife who appeared to despise him so.

“I may not be as accomplished a dancer as you are, my lady,” the lord said, easily giving away that he had been observing her move before, “but I do know these dances very well”. It was part of court life in this region and the Reach, and for once, he was grateful he'd been pushed to learn the steps by the tutors employed by his mother and father. And so Gael Hightower held out his hand, a smile and a subtle tilt of his head inviting her to take it. “Worry not, you will outshine us all,” he murmured as she held his hand, and the Master of the Arts led the Dornish beauty to the dancefloor.

the court seer of dorne took to traveling only when it seemed like it contained opportunity, or perhaps it was asked of her by those within sunspear, who no doubt perhaps would like to have some insight as to what this next gathering would bring. zahra did not believe she need read the stars to believe that the west would not bring much great opportunities for their homeland, but she respected the efforts to make this travel and form whatever alliances they could. she were not entirely privy to the intricacies of the political sphere, but she knew enough to know that an ally to the north was likely being sought, for having partnerships only across the sea would not always do them good.

tonight, however, she indulged in the masquerade, picking out one of her finest lehengas, purchasing the most colorful mask she could find, zahra felt entirely in her element this evening. it were a show, an act, and she put it on very well. despite not often dancing as the westerosi did traditionally, she knew enough of the steps to take to the dance floor on more than one occasion, the ringing her her anklets liking causing some surprise to whatever partner she happened upon.

the music ended and she gave a nod of her head to her most recent companion, before turning to pluck a drink from one of the serving trays. it were then she had spotted a young lord she had seen earlier, as well. she need not remove his mask to believe he was handsome, and zahra had always enjoyed an air of mystery.

"my lord," she responded, head tilting slightly as she grinned. "you certainly may, if you are a good lead. i'm afraid i am not always familiar with these songs." her accent rang, giving way to some of her identity behind the mask.

[gael-hightower]

Closed starter for @dancingshores Setting: Lannisport, The Westerland's. The celebration of Lann's Day is in full swing, with music, dancing, and competitions.

It was a day of celebration and yet he couldn't celebrate anything with the person he'd attended Lann's Day with. He'd asked if Talia wished to dance, and she'd rejected his proposal. He'd asked if she wished to listen to some of the stories being performed, and she'd said she was in no mood for it. Perhaps it was a form of protest from his wife's side, who no doubt saw her marriage as a prison in which both Harlon and him were to blame for her oh-so-horrible fate. She was not the first woman to endure an arranged marriage nor would she be the last. And for gods' sake, she was a Lady of Oldtown now. There were far worse fates to be had in this world.

“Well, I do want to dance, my dear,” Gael stated in a polite tone, a forced smile crossing his lips —no effort going into making the gesture anything else other than what it was: fake. He ought to be more patient, he knew, but at least for the day he'd grown tired of his wife's antics and wished to enjoy something. And so the Hightower lord left Talia in the company of her guards and ladies, disappearing into the crowd.

The Master of the Arts readjusted his mask and headed for the area where lively music was playing. He got himself a drink, feeling some of the tension he'd felt minutes ago begin to dissipate gradually. There was something exciting about seeing masks all around, no uncovered faces. It was a theater performance, almost. Individuals giving themselves permission to let go of certain inhibitions, the chance to feel somewhat freer, all because no one knew who they were. He could relate to that desire today.

Gael took a long sip of his drink, finishing the contents and marched to the dance floor as a song ended and partners were changing. “May I have the next dance?” he asked as he stood before a young lady. He'd spotted her earlier, his gaze inevitably drawn to her for the way she danced.

[gael-hightower]

Closed starter for @omerflorent Setting: Casterly Rock, the Westerlands. The next day after the celebration for Lann's Day.

Gael found Omer breaking fast in one of the great dining halls of the keep. Many nobles from the other regions were in the room as well, enjoying their meals. He placed a hand on the lord's shoulder as he sat down, offering a smile to him. “How did you find the celebration?” he asked, reaching over to get a piece of bread and some fruit to his plate.

Lannisport had been a most awe-inspiring sight. The Master of the Arts had greatly enjoyed the displays from the dancers and storytellers, admiring the ways in which the people of the West expressed themselves creatively. “I had to leave somewhat early, unfortunately,” he added then, letting out a low sigh. Much to his dismay, his wife had insisted on retiring early, and Gael had opted not to send her away while he remained there to avoid causing a scene. “I would have liked to stay longer, take part in the unmaskings. That sounded like a fun experience”.

[gael-hightower]

Closed starter for @conallblackbar Setting: Casterly Rock, the Westerlands.

“What is it with you and the perpetual frown, my friend?” the Hightower lord stated in a light-hearted manner as he spotted Conall. For a man who had just buried his lady mother and oldest brother not long ago, grief suited the young lord well. Too well, some might criticize. It was hard to mourn those who had done so little for him in life, really. Conall wore his grief and his secrets differently, a most heavy cloak that had been weighing him down since the unfortunate passing of his lady wife.

At a time the younger Blackbar lost many friends and was shunned, the bond of friendship that existed between the two young lords had the opposite outcome. To this day Gael recalled vividly the moment he asked directly if Conall had caused his lady's death, and the lord gave his answer. Gael had chosen to trust the other man and honor the sincerity of that moment. Their friendship only strengthened, and Gael gained another person in his life he felt closer to than his own blood.

“Come now. We're in a beautiful place, Con,” Gael stated, for he was a man with a keen eye for beauty all around him; be it places or people, allowing himself to be carried by his sensations. “Let us go for a walk around town. Let us go for a ride, or do some sparring,” he suggested, eager to get his friend out of his taciturn state.

[gael-hightower]

♛ → THE REACH presents GAEL HIGHTOWER, LORD OF THE HIGHTOWER & OLDTOWN. when the dragons danced in the sky he thought the GREENS would still fly, but in the blink of an eye, they would all die. The TWENTY-EIGHT year old MALE who was ARTISTIC & PERSEVERING before he saw the first of the flames, is now RESENTFUL & SECRETIVE after seeing the last. He's often associated with melodic stanzas echoed throughout the realm, the rotten dynamics of a distant family, and the acts of war committed in his family's name. ( Damian Hardung )

I. BASICS:

FULL NAME: Gael Hightower

DATE OF BIRTH: September 2nd, 116 AC (Twenty-eight years old)

HOMELAND: The Reach

STATUS: Lord and warden of Oldtown, Master of Arts

RELIGION: Faith of the Seven

GENDER IDENTITY: Cisgender male

LANGUAGE: The Common tongue

MARITAL STATUS: Married to Lady Talia Tarly

BIOGRAPHY:

117 AC: Gael was born as the third trueborn son of Lord Gilbert Hightower, but the fourth child altogether, considering the Hightower lord sired a bastard daughter some years prior (Florence, who was eventually legitimized a Hightower and became King Cedric's first wife until her betrayal and following execution).

117 AC - 113 AC: With some years between him and his older brothers, Gael never had a chance to become too close to them. In his firstborn, Gilbert Hightower had his heir and a son set for knighthood, and in his second son a child bound for the sept, with Gael being a spare in every sense of the word.

From childhood, Gael found an affinity with the arts. He was particularly drawn to writing and sculpture, beginning to try his hand at both despite the disapproving frown of his father. Initially, he endeavored to practice those crafts secretly, but in his teenage years, he found a brazen nature in the act of creating art. It became both an exploration of his thoughts and emotions as well as a way to challenge his lord father and his eldest brothers' attitudes.

129 AC - 133 AC: When the Dance of the Dragons started, Gael was only a boy of twelve and didn't play any role in the war, remaining in Oldtown. His brother Garland was the one to lead the Hightower forces for a few years until that eventual accident which left him crippled. During those initial years of the war, Gael had begun publishing some sonnets under a pseudonym (Hadrian Dunn), enabling their distribution to both nobles and literate common folk. In those poems, he explored his own emotional vulnerability while making clever use of historical and religious symbols in the works, every now and then wielding his pen to criticize the ongoing war. He was still rather young, so it wasn't suspected that Gael was the author. That was until he made a subtle reference to Otto Hightower, harshly criticizing his role in instigating the war. Subtle as it was, the subtext was clear to Gilbert Hightower and he was able to put two and two together, severely chastising his son for "standing against the family".

132 - 140 AC: Gael was sixteen and his father put a sword and a shield in his hands, sending him to battle to be of use, or to die honorably, which in Gilbert's mind, would be the best use for Gael. Rather than folding, Gael doubled down, openly beginning to write under his true name and distributing his writings in any battle camp he was in. Not once did he paint a favorable picture of his father, and some say that this might have been the start of the negative perception that surrounded Gilbert Hightower in later years.

Much to Gilbert's dismay, Gael did not die. In fact, the years of war forged him as a fairly decent soldier, and ironically, he ended up becoming the only of Gilbert's sons who could be summoned to battle when the need presented itself.

141 - 142 AC: After cutting ties with his father, Gael did not speak to him for years. He did not even attend his funeral when Gilbert Hightower was executed as a traitor along with other lords of "the old guard" by order of King Cedric Tyrell.

After the Dance, Gael also was involved in the war that eradicated the Ironborn, the civil war in the Reach, and the crusade in Alaym, further establishing his position as a skilled soldier under the command of Lord Omer Florent, or his cousin, Lady Lucrezia Redwyne, when warfare has taken them to sea.

He was appointed Master of the Arts by King Cedric Tyrell, a new position within the council of the Reach to continue to further the arts in the realm. Since gaining that title, Gael became a much more prolific writer. He has written a number of plays, participated in artistic exhibitions, and began working to develop of school of the arts set in Brightwater Keep.

142 - 144 AC: In the last two years, Gael separated noticeably from his lady mother, who never did much to be a present or loving parent, and from his eldest brother. Being away from Oldtown, he divided his time between Highgarden, performing his duties as Master of the Arts after Kind Cedric appointed him, and in the Arbor, having been Lucrezia's heir until the birth of her first child.

Gael and Garland's relationship remained very tense and distant until the eldest son's death, for Gael saw much of what his brother did as repetitions of Gilbert's behavior. To this day, he only maintains a good relationship with his other brother, the second-born Hightower.

To bring some stability back to his family after Garland's and his mother's murder, Gael wed one of Harlon Tarly's sisters, Lady Talia. It was an arranged marriage and there is little in common the lord has with his new wife, with both of them rarely spending more time together than is necessary.

CONNECTIONS:

House Hightower: Gael had a very strained relationship with his family, particularly his father, and his eldest brother, Garland. He had a civil relationship with his mother, though he resented that she never did much to parent him with any care or appreciation. Nowadays, Gael's only remaining immediate family is his other brother, who is a septon, and with whom he began building a closer relationship in recent years.

Omer Florent: Gael has admired the Florent lord deeply and has considered him one of his dearest friends since he was a teenager. Omer was the first person to encourage his writing and that is something Gael has never forgotten. He sees Omer as a bit of an older brother figure.

Lucrezia Redwyne: His cousin on his mother's side. Gael has always respected her and loved her dearly. His relationship with her became closer after Gael began distancing himself from his family, and he even resided in the Arbor for a long period of time in the last year.

Ophelia Fowler: A Dornish lady that Gael met when the peace accords took place in the principality of Dorne. Gael befriended her and later became infatuated with her. Ultimately, a relationship between them could not work and they ended up distancing themselves from the other.

Harlon Tarly: A painter that Gael has admired greatly for many years. Gael considers Harlon one of the most talented artists he knows and sees him as a bit of a mentor when it comes to the artistic world. As a mutually beneficial act for both houses, Gael recently married Harlon's younger sister, Talia.

Conall Blackbar: The of them became friends through Omer. When Conall's wife died under such suspicious circumstances, Gael asked him point blank if he'd killed her. Conall said "No" and the Hightower lord has honored that moment of sincerity ever since. They actually became closer after that, and Gael has stood by Conall when so many others had shunned or judged him for the incident. As Gael does, often gaining inspiration from those he knows, he even wrote a poem inspired by his friend and his circumstances. The individual in the poem is presented as Gael sees his friend, not as others do. What's sad is that Conall didn't recognize himself as the source of inspiration for that piece.

Give me all the connections, please and thank you!

[gael-hightower]

Closed starter for @cfthornsandroses Setting: Casterly Rock, the Westerlands.

Several of the courtiers of the Reach had arranged to visit the Lion's Tor that day, getting into their carriages to make the journey to the revered location. Gael was particularly intrigued by the place, having heard a fair share of mythical tales. It was a rare thing within the Westerlands, a region that was so tightly structured by their staunch faith in the religion, to keep embracing that bit of magical folklore.

His wife had chosen not to go, finding a better way to occupy her time elsewhere in Casterly Rock, as she'd put it. It was a recurrence for them, it seemed, to continue to find how different their interests were. He'd welcomed her choice, content not to have the distraction of trying to be attentive, and instead be able to admire the scenery and take note of what inspired him. He scribbled down a few lines of poetry in his notebook, half-formed stanzas beginning to take shape in his mind, and he murmured them under his breath, looking for the correct rhyme.

Gael was certain that he was alone, having seen out of the corner of his eye the other Reach courtiers some meters away. But somewhere in the space of looking down to the page and glancing back up, he found that Cedric's cousin was there. “My lady,” he got up from where he'd been sitting, taking a quick, respectful bow of his head. “I did not see you”.

[gael-hightower]

Perhaps he had failed the Hightowers before him— Otto, Alicent, his father, Garland. Maybe he failed them in not sharing the high ambitions they did. But gods, when had ambition become linked to incompetence? He brushed his temple, his mind racing. He could barely let himself feel rage or sadness over what had happened, already too concerned about what it all entailed in his house's recent history, and what it would bring for the future.

His king believed him, and that was all he could ask for now. That his credibility hadn't sunk down along with his brother's. Gael simply nodded, feeling the subtle trembling of his hands settling gradually. He wanted to leave this land as soon as possible and was grateful to hear Cedric was granting him leave to do so. So much awaited him in Oldtown. He had to bury the corpses of his mother and brother, and had to begin turning stones. Alicent had to be found and brought to justice, and Gael needed to begin tracking down just how deeply Garland's rotten work had infected the inner workings of Oldtown. “I will depart as soon as I finish packing my things,” he answered, feeling more numb. It was too much to process at present, so Gael was simply not processing. That would come later. “I will keep you informed of everything, your grace”.

The Hightowers lord glanced at the King of Thorns and Roses, his expression almost blank— a bit of ache, a bit of contained rage. “I cannot do that,” he simply murmured. There was no deeply-rotted notion of goodness that prevented Gael from agreeing to twist matters in his favor, and in Cedric's favor, possibly. No, it wasn't that. Gael didn't think of himself above the schemes of politics. His mother and brother had just been murdered because of lies, because of secrets, because of the hidden strings to control things and people. He couldn't respond to that by creating a new lie right now. “I'm sorry, I can't,” he added, for he didn't know if he was potentially failing his king by denying to set Garland and Zialla's marriage as illegitimate. “I can be a warden of Oldtown, by I won't be its ruling lord. Not like that”. He had to be better. Otherwise, he'd only follow in his brother's footsteps.

There was some relief at least in finding the king's support in what he'd asked. If the Antaryon woman wanted her child, all ties to Oldtown would be forfeit. If she wanted Rosaria to rise as Lady Hightower, then Zialla had no place around the girl. “Thank you, your grace,” he spoke in a murmur, feeling so fully drained of energy. But this gave him comfort in a way. Oldtown would remain within the hold of the Reach, not of some foreigner. “I would accept it,” he added then, for he agreed it made sense Rosaria's regent to be someone of Hightower blood. “If you deem me worthy to make things right for my house and my home, to steer the girl in a direction you see fit for the future ruler of Oldtown, I would welcome the responsibility of being her regent”.

♠

gael hightower truly stood as the last of something mighty; a lineage that was reputed in both sainthood and sin, but incompetence was something that none should ever be able to call the line of the hightower; and yet the events that had unfolded was solid proof that constant piles of work did not mean anything in the very end.

"then i take your word on this matter, lord hightower." cedric responded, his tone less harsh now; a moment of breath being held, cedric was not known for having a flying temper, though he was known to be willing to resort to the distasteful. the rumours, the thorns.

or, he could simply uproot it all from their hands; consider this a final straw and extended tyrell lands by making oldtown another extension of highgarden's influence. the option was truly tempting, a large part of his mind knowing it would make the most sense as well as serve as a visible consequence. "you'll go ahead of the court, who will follow you the morning after next." because gael had two funerals to organise, and a search party to overlook. cedric himself would need to write to multiple rulers in the realm and inform them of a missing criminal of the reach. the last thing they needed was her slipping into the lands of the dragon king.

the hightowers had grown increasingly unpopular at court and among the smallfolk, and in such circumstances, people demanded to see visible consequences. not conversations had in hallways, or warnings, but actual consequences. cedric tyrell did not need to listen to the words of people to navigate his policy in the way he went about such important matters of state; gael was not his brother. gael would need to wipe clear the actions of his brother.

"you could have a claim to oldtown." cedric spoke, his tone quiet enough to ensure none overheard the discussion between the two of them in this hallway. truthfully, he may have preferred to hear that gael did intend to try and push forward his claim: instead, they would need to deal with establishing a regency of an infant all without the involvement of the mother, and her powerful family.

"an invalid marriage would yield any fruit from it as illegitimate." all whispered of her being a fire worshipper. cedric himself did not care then, nor did he now; but he would use it to his advantage. he would rather deal with gael as lord rather than the girl, and if the girl was made lady of the hightower, she would be marrying one of his future sons to secure her place and her allegiance. he had one, and if he were thinking optimistically, he would have more. "it is for you to think of. but think on it."

he watched as the man's expression changed and hardened, became more serious; a look that was unusual upon the third son of the hightower. "if zialla wishes for her child to be with her, then that is all the baby will be. a child, with no claim to anything." he spoke of the woman, all had heard of the mighty animosity that festered between her and multiple members of her new married family. "i can assure you, any regent of the girl must be of our own. it makes the most sense for it to be you, with lucrezia and omer raising her until she can be in her own household." ten, would be fine.

"any regency would start now, though she will not even be in oldtown until she has seen ten years. it is bustling with trade for a port city, and should the sealord side with his niece, she cannot be accessed."

[gael-hightower]

The queen's missive surprised him. It was a great honor to take part in such an event, to be involved in a project that was to showcase the arts upon one of the highest stages of the world. The bad blood between his family and that of Queen Lenora made him doubt at first, though. Was there something more to it? A hidden agenda of some sort? He read and reread the parchment and found nothing that indicated ill intent, and so the Master of the Arts replied that he would be honored to aid in the exhibition, so long he could have Lord Harlon Tarly elevated to the same level as him: as equal organizer and as one worthy of the same recognition for the work.

“Your grace,” the Hightower lord greeted Lenora, bowing his head politely. “It's been an honor. I am the one who should keep thanking you,” he added, both humbled for the opportunity given but feeling proud in knowing himself as skillful and prepared enough to highlight the arts in more than just his realm. Harlon's aid had been essential, of course, and perhaps collaborating with someone he saw as a bit of mentor, helped Gael trust in his own standing as someone worthy of being known as something of an authority in the art world.

“Harlon is the most talented man I know,” Gael stated without hesitation. Their avenues for creation and artistic expression were different, and perhaps that was one of the reasons he admired the painter so. Gael knew words could remain somewhat abstract in poetry, he could wander through many thoughts and feelings, but images in paintings could not be —or should not be— so hard to interpret. “It does take a special skill to capture something so concisely, to commit to a single form, a single idea,” he added.

“I did not know you were so interested in the arts before this project came up. It was a pleasant surprise, your grace,” the lord added, a subtle smile crossing his lips. “But then again, we did not get an opportunity to converse much before it all... Well,” he scoffed softly, the smile returning to his lips afterward. “I know what happened between our houses will not soon be entirely forgotten, but I welcome the opportunity to create connections beyond what my brother chooses to break or maintain”.

closed starter: @gael-hightower setting: before the official opening of the art exhibition, queen lenora meets with lord gael hightower in the hall where the art is being set up.

when she had originally planned the exhibition, lenora had wanted to be involved in every detail, but the new queen had to face that there was just not enough time between her duties to be as involved as she wished. it was one of the reasons why she had written to gael to ask if he wished to collaborate with her. the other reason was that she felt like she needed to mend the bonds between herself and house hightower. it had been no secret that she detested garland for what he did to calla. while she had never behaved badly in public, she had definitely said some unkind things about ser garland. words that might have travelled to oldtown. lenora had not changed her mind on the matter of the divorce and who was to blame, but she wished to make peace, to show that she as queen had no problems with house hightower. however, she still refused to contact garland, but she could find it within herself to write to his brother.

after getting an opportunity to slip away from a lunch spent sitting by the side of her husband, she headed straight for the hall where the exhibition was being prepped for opening the next day. "lord hightower," she greeted politely as she entered the space. "thank you for helping me with the exhibition. i would have been far behind with the preparations without you."

lenora looked at the art that had already been put on display and while she gave a few orders to move some of the paintings elsewhere, she generally liked the arrangements that had already been set up. she smiled as she spotted paintings that she recognised. "oh, i am so pleased you persuaded lord tarly to display his art." the fair-haired queen walked closer to inspect the paintings soon to be displayed among the other works of art. "i have always been jealous of all the art that can be found in the reach. it seems to be a kingdom meant for artists."

[gael-hightower]

THE UNION OF HIGHTOWER & TARLY

Following the murder of Lord Garland Hightower, Lord Gael Hightower was named Warden of Oldtown by the King of the Reach. In the aftermath of such an event and the secrets that were unveiled, Lord Gael began work to attempt to stabilize his house and bring order back to Oldtown. Enhancing security in his city and his keep became the first step to take, and the second was to ally himself more closely with friends within the Reach. Gael Hightower and Harlon Tarly entered conversations to potentially arrange a marriage between the young lord and Lady Talia, one of Harlon's sisters. A timely solution, for the Tarly lord had also been seeking to bring order within his family after his sister's attempt to elope with a Merryweather bastard. Understanding the benefits as well as the reasons they both were in need of such an arrangement, Lord Gael has married Lady Talia a little after the return to the Reach and his brother's funeral.

Mention @visxionaries & @harlonvflowers