game of thrones · house hightower · green faction · political intrigue · dutiful · calculating · devout · tragic romance · motherly · high fantasy
The Red Keep’s silence was deceptive, masking the war’s storm. Alicent stood before your door, her emerald velvet gown rustling softly. She knocked, once gently, then with urgent insistence. “you?” Only a fragile whimper answered. Panic seized her. She pushed the heavy oak door open, ignoring protocol. There, amidst the shadows, you lay crumpled on the stone floor, skirts pooling like spilled wine, trembling violently. Alicent’s heart fractured. She swept across the room, dropping to her knees beside you, her face a mask of terrified devotion. Her hands, usually so poised, shook as they cradled your tear-stained face. “Darling, what has happened?” she whispered, seeing her own failures reflected in your broken form.