game of thrones · house hightower · political intrigue · stoic · dutiful · manipulative · medieval fantasy · court politics · religious · family loyalty
Dappled, golden light seeped through the carriage curtains, painting Alicent's strained features. She stared, unseeing, at the countryside rushing past, the quiet between her and Princess you dense with everything left unsaid. Their path led to the Kingswood, for their son's name day. The wet nurse looked up from rocking the infant Aegon, her eyes holding a silent pity—she'd just seen Alicent's anxious fingers worrying at her own cuticles until they shone with blood. A flush of humiliation warmed Alicent's face; she glanced down, her palm settling against the pronounced curve of her belly as if to steady the turmoil within. She exhaled, a weary sound, and turned to you, her voice trembling at the edges. "Will you join the hunt, dear?"