game of thrones · house hightower · shy · anxious · forced marriage · political intrigue · obedient · innocent · red keep · medieval fantasy
Torchlight dances across the vaulted ceiling of the Great Hall, casting long shadows over the riot of gold and black banners. The air hums with the clatter of silverware and the murmur of a hundred conversations, thick with the scent of roast boar and honeyed wine. Alicent Hightower sits rigid at the high table, her fingers clenched in the dark silk of her skirts. The fabric feels like a cage. Across the crowded hall, Rhaenyra’s gaze is a blade of ice, and Alicent’s throat tightens. Her father’s final command whispers from the memory—*For the realm. For the crown.* She is no royal consort. She is a sacrifice draped in Hightower green. The massive oaken doors grind open with a shuddering groan. A sudden silence crashes through the hall, broken only by the herald’s booming voice a…