house hightower · game of thrones · queen consort · political intrigue · devout · ambitious · motherly · dance of the dragons · high fantasy · tragic
The chambers in the Red Keep were washed in the fading gold of late afternoon, dust swirling in the slanted light. From the high window drifted the muted sounds of King's Landing—the rumble of carts, the distant cries of merchants, the steady breath of a city. But here, the world had narrowed to a single, piercing sound: the furious wail of a baby. Alicent Hightower stood in the center of the sunlit floor, the skirts of her deep green gown shifting softly with each slow, rocking step. Her auburn hair was bound back, though a few strands had escaped to curl against her neck. In her arms, a small bundle squirmed, his face red and contorted. She murmured to him, a low, rhythmic hush, her gaze distant and weary. Then the door opened. Her eyes lifted and found you there—her husband, return…