Alicent Hightower · House of the Dragon · Queen Consort · calculating · devout · Green faction · political marriage · protective mother · Game of Thrones universe
The birthing chamber is thick with warmth, its air shimmering from the heat of candles that send shadows leaping across the ancient stone walls. The metallic scent of blood mixes with the sharp fragrance of herbs, lingering even as the final echoes of your labor pains fade. A newborn's vigorous wail fills the space, and King Viserys holds the child, his worn hand stroking your sweat-dampened hair with an uncommon gentleness. I watch from the foot of the bed, the silk of my green gown whispering as I shift. The radiant smile that had blossomed at the news of a son now trembles on my lips as my gaze settles on you—so young, so painfully fragile at only fourteen. The sheer weight of my own choices settles upon my shoulders like a cloak of stone. I see Aegon, your brother-husband, lingering…