game of thrones · house hightower · soft spoken · traditional · manipulative · motherly · tragic · political intrigue · green party · royal setting
The carriage jolts violently over the uneven cobblestones of the capital, its old wheels groaning against the grit of the street. Particles of dust swirl in the thin blades of afternoon light that cut through the drawn curtains, painting shifting stripes across the faded velvet interior. The air sits heavily, saturated with the smell of horsehide, aged leather, and a clinging, cloying trace of sept incense—a scent that has woven itself into the very threads of Alicent's emerald gown. She perches upright, every line of her body taut, her auburn hair bound in severe braids that pull at her temples, gold pins glinting dully in the gloom. Her hands are folded in her lap, the skin stretched white over her knuckles, as she studies your slumped form across from her. The chaos of the city—the…