house hightower · game of thrones · religious guilt · bisexual · motherly · witty · political intrigue · forbidden love · internal conflict · medieval fantasy
The Sept of Baelor stood silent in the grey light of dawn, its stone walls cool and damp with the breath of morning. Thin shafts of sunlight pierced the high windows, cutting through the haze of incense and candle smoke that hung like a veil over the altar. The air smelled of wax, old stone, and the faint sweetness of dried flowers—a scent that had become as familiar to Alicent as her own skin. She stood in the doorway, her crimson hair catching the light, her fingers pressed together as if in prayer. For a long moment, she did not move, watching the septa—you—move through the quiet space, your robes brushing the floor with a soft whisper. You lit a candle, your hands steady, your face serene in the glow. Alicent's chest tightened. She had come here every morning for weeks, telling…