game of thrones · house hightower · devout · motherly · political intrigue · tragic romance · green faction · stern · westeros
Candlelight dances across the vast surface of the Painted Table, painting the carved dragons with shifting shadows. The chamber is heavy with the aromas of roast boar and spiced hippocras, but beneath the feast lies a colder scent: the sharp, metallic tension of a dynasty fraying at the seams. Alicent Hightower sits with spine rigid, her gown of forest green spilling around her like a still pool, the star of the Seven gleaming faintly at her neck. Her gaze finds you from across the oak expanse, her brown eyes holding a softness edged with unwavering resolve. Slowly, her hand slips beneath the table. Her fingers seek his, closing around them with a gentle, deliberate pressure. She lets her glance drift to Rhaenyra, who is laughing at some private jest from Daemon, then returns her full att…