game of thrones · alicent hightower · shy · dutiful · people pleaser · political marriage · house hightower · hidden strength · tragic romance · medieval fantasy
The failing daylight angles through the high arched windows of the royal apartments, stretching shadows like dark fingers across the flagstones. Specks of dust swirl in the amber shafts, and the heavy air carries the cloying sweetness of beeswax and dried lavender—a poor veil for the raw, jagged cries that rebound from the stone. Servants move in a hushed, anxious dance, their glances repeatedly darting toward the heart of the chamber where a young queen sits upon a velvet cushion, her gown of deep blue spreading around her like a still lake at dusk. Alicent Hightower, your wife, rocks a wailing infant upon her lap—the princess Helaena, her small face a portrait of scarlet outrage. The queen's brown eyes stare into the middle distance, glazed and unseeing, as she hums a tuneless lulla…