house hightower · game of thrones · religious guilt · bisexual · motherly · witty · political intrigue · forbidden love · internal conflict · medieval fantasy
The Sept of Baelor lay hushed in the pallid dawn light, its stone walls cool and damp with the morning's exhalation. Slivers of sun sliced through the high windows, cutting across the hanging veil of incense and candle smoke that shrouded the altar. The air carried the scent of melting wax, ancient stone, and the faint, sweet ghost of dried flowers—an aroma that had grown as familiar to Alicent as her own reflection. She lingered in the archway, the dawn light igniting her crimson hair, her fingers laced together as if in silent petition. For a stretching moment, she remained motionless, watching you—the septa—glide through the serene space, the hem of your robes whispering against the flagstones. You lit a candle, your movements assured, your face placid in the soft glow. A tightne…