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Aeron complied, stuffing his arms with various shapes and sizes of lances, some of them a spotty red with flecked paint, others a bright metal, hot to the touch from the sun. He pushed his way, limbs still tired from his spar with Ser Duncan, through the masses, finally settling upon a strip of grass near a collective of brightly colored tents, their flaps gently swaying in the breeze. There he carefully laid out each of the armaments, before sitting himself down in the grass, studying the commotion of contestants around the tents.

Aeron wandered through the dusty fighting areas, his eyes scanning for the all-too-familiar face of his brother. Finally he spotted the boy, hacking away at a sword connected to the arm of none other than Knight of Flowers, Ser Loras Tyrell. Baelor, despite being formally trained in combat, was obviously no match for the young Ser's skill, and Aeron watched with a smug expression as the Loras batted around his brother's blade like swatting at a fly. In his backwards movement, due to Loras' brisk advance, his foot was caught on a stray rock, sending him flying onto his back, armor clanking about on his defeated body. Aeron gave a quick laugh, being careful not to attract his conquered sibling's attention, and returned to Ser Duncan. "You have nothing to fear, good Ser," Aeron reported with great pretension, "As my brother is nothing more than a oaf with a weapon."

Aeron grunted as his body hit the ground, his unprotected spine rattling in his skin as if he had fallen on a thousand small rocks. "You have bested me once again, Ser Duncan..." he said weakly, attempting to catch his breath before even considering the possibility of lifting himself off the ground. His blade lay at his side, and he realized then that the deafening clatter of its metal spiking the ground had caused his ears to ring slightly. He grunted again, lifting himself to a sitting position, and resting his hands on his knees, puffing air to get his lungs filled again. "With your permission... Ser... I would like to go see... if I can find my brother. I will survey his actions so you can be ready to defeat him in the games." he requested.

Aeron and his mentor had arrived at the tourney, which was now gathering people robed in all sorts of attire, many of them lavish with wealth, making them natural allies of the King. They made their way to the training grounds, where many of the to-be competitors had gathered. The clashes of swords swarmed around them, garnished with masculine grunts and the stiff stench of sweat. Ser Duncan led the two of them to a small open area, the grass underneath stripped away by boots and a haze of dust floating just above the surface. "Now, boy, ready your sword. You have been training, have you not?" Ser Duncan commanded. Aeron looked at him astounded, his hand gripping the pommel of his blade. "Without my armor, Ser?" he asked. "Of course boy. If you do not wish to be harmed, you will parry my movements. You must be ready to protect the King at a moment's notice." Aeron drew his sword from the sheath at his hip, admiring the swish of the metal against the crafted leather. He readied it in front of him, his knees bending slightly and his feet shuffling in the dirt. Before he was fully prepared, Ser Duncan thrust his sword, slowly for a knight, at Aeron, which was pushed away by the opposing blade. As Aeron pushed away the lunge, Ser Duncan quickly brought the blade over Aeron's head and sliced at his flank. Aeron, now moving his sword across his front, once again shoved off the attack. As he looked in front of him, he saw a few possible routes: he could take the small distraction of his parry to lunge at Ser Duncan's breastplate; however, this would not be a very effective attack, as the sheer white metal couldn't be easily punctured; he could also throw himself across Ser Duncan's view, perhaps allotting enough time for him to aim his blow at the neck. He decided on the latter, stepping to his right, one leg crossing over the other, and with a heavy grunt pushed his sword upwards towards the back of Ser Duncan's head.

"I have not seen him compete in years, but unfortunately, he's not exactly an amateur..." Aeron replied, "But you will defeat him, won't you, Ser Duncan?"

"Oh, no, Ser. I was just leaving," Baelor stated, pushing past Aeron and continuing down the hall, "I look forward to knocking you off your horse in the tourney." he said, not turning his head back, though his cheeks visibly moving into that of a smirk. "He's a brutish fool, Ser Duncan," Aeron replied as Baelor strolled just out of earshot, I hope a competitor cuts off his fingers, so he can't wrestle around with those spoiled handmaidens." Aeron once again leaned his back against the wall, his face illuminated by a lantern burning across the narrow corridor. "I, for one, hope you may have the honor of personally maiming him."

Aeron rested a short ways down the hall from Ser Duncan's post, and was picking at loose threads on his tunic when he heard a familiar voice. Strolling down the hall was his elder brother, Baelor, with two of the queen's maidens under his arms. He was smiling brightly, treating them to his subtly rough-mannered humor, while they laughed gaily and admired his grand looks. Aeron frowned, dropped his garments from his grip, and cleared his throat quite loudly. "Has Father finally come down from the tower and thrown you out of town?" Aeron sneered, snorting. "Quite hardly, dear brother," Baelor replied, his eyes quickly directing down the dress of one of the young girls under his arm, "Lord Tyrell has chosen me to accompany his sons to the King's tourney. I will of course be proving my mettle in the games as well." He spat next to Aeron's foot. "I see they have set you up as a practice target for the competitors." "I am here to assist Ser Duncan Tulgrad, Knight of the Kingsguard, in his noble duty to protect our King Robert Baratheon, King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm!" Aeron shouted at his brother, his cheeks now visibly turning a bright scarlet colour.

"Yes, Ser." Aeron speedily replied, rushing off through the narrow curves of the White Sword Tower. He returned in a number of minutes once again out of breath, carrying a rather heavy hammer and suit of brilliant white armour. Aeron lifted his mentor's arm, wrapping around it a gorgeous white gauntlet, tying its sides together to fasten it tightly. He did the same for the other arm, then fastened the vambraces. After finishing the arms, he shifted his attention to the leg armor. Grunting slightly, he lifted the breastplate, nearly squinting from the light reflected from the open window off of the amazing white-finished metal. Aeron, practiced in suiting up the knight, finished this act in very good time, handing Ser Duncan the helmet, and lifting the hammer from its position resting on the wall.

"Ser Duncan!" Aeron cried, tramping down a darkened hall, scroll clutched tightly in his left hand. "Ser Duncan! An invitation, from the King!" Aeron swiftly pushed open the door to Duncan's room, uncovering his mentor mid-dress, his tunic barely buttoned and flapping gently from the wind through the window.

House Name: Hightower House Ranking: Major House House Ruler: Lord Leyton Hightower Liege of house: Lord Paramount Mace Tyrell (The Reach) House Holdings: Hightower, obviously, and Oldtown House Members: Aeron Hightower - second son of Leyton Hightower (changing the canon a bit to stick him in front of Garth). Sent as a squire under Duncan Tulgrad, and looks up to his great-uncle Gerold, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard under King Aerys II. House sigil: House words:We Light The Way House History: http://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/House_Hightower

Obligatory +1 Literally the only reason I came on here this week (Tool is too experienced with RP not to get a borgy whitelist, c'mon guys)