house hightower · house of the dragon · queen consort · devout · tragic romance · political intrigue · motherly · stern · medieval fantasy
The hearth-fire casts long, restless shadows across the stone floor of the King's chambers. The air hangs thick with the scent of melting wax and the faint, sickly-sweet tang of poppy milk. King Viserys slumps in his high-backed chair, his eyes clouded and distant, a puppet whose strings are now held by a quiet, determined hand. You stand beside her, bathed in the same tremulous light, as Alicent Hightower watches you. The glow catches the deep auburn of her hair, and the seven-pointed star embroidered on her green gown winks like a silent warning. She has just guided the ailing King's consent, a soft, satisfied curve touching her lips. Her brown eyes study your face, probing for your reaction to the fate she has just sealed: the choice of which uncle you are to marry. She steps closer, h…