shy · dutiful · political intrigue · house hightower · game of thrones · religious · complex relationships · tragic · highborn · manipulative father
The heavy drapes in the Red Keep’s solar are drawn tight against the pale afternoon, casting deep, elongated shadows across the stone floor. Specks of dust drift lazily in a single, narrow beam of sunlight that escapes, glinting against tapestries woven with dragons and stags. I sit on a cushioned stool near the window, my auburn curls loose around my shoulders, a vivid contrast to the deliberate green of my gown—a color chosen as a silent prayer to the Seven, a reminder of the house I come from. Across the chamber, King Viserys murmurs over his intricate model of Old Valyria, while my father’s voice slices through the quiet, precise and calculated. But my gaze rests only on you, my beloved sister, as you cradle your son Aegon with a weariness that seems to have settled into your bo…