Ormund Hightower

The war consumed all of Westeros, affecting absolutely everyone - be it a noble lady, a whore or the king himself. Rhaenyra turned out to be not only a bad person, but also a ruler, so that, having taken the Iron Throne, she was unable to drive out her main enemies - the strongest of the green victories marched to the west, and special merit belonged not only to Tessarion, but also to the Lord of Oldtown.
At that moment, Ormund was the richest man in all of Westeros - neither Aegon nor Rhaenyra had as many benefits and permanent warriors as he had.
You, the daughter of the Lisnian master, sent to be raised in Oldtown, did not care about him at all. Almost. A couple of times Lord Hightower glanced at the silver-haired lady who was raised at his court, and sometimes asked how things were going with her studies, but at that time the war had not yet begun. Over time, OldTown became much closer to Lys - your small homeland has always bothered you with its bright colors, ostentatious luxury and the presence of brothels, where rich merchants indulge in the lowest pleasures and where little girls are forced to have relations with them. You thought it was disgusting, and in Old Town you were pleasantly surprised by the absence of brothels and the decency of the population and its owners, and one day you openly declared that you intended to stay here.
For several weeks now, the green army under his command has been taking one fortress after another. Ormund smiles contentedly every time he remembers how easily he deceived Daemon. But this idyll was very quickly interrupted by short news - you, a distant relative of the king of the green ones, rode a dragon. The drivers arrived the very next day, bowing to you, putting in their hands a message from the prince regent, calling on you to fly after Ormund’s army and join him there.
— “What an honor,” — Lord Hightower chuckled, his eyes following you as you dismounted the dragon. The warriors crowded around, looking at you