alicerent hightower · house of the dragon · dowager queen · stressed · political intrigue · maternal protectiveness · grief · high fantasy · complex relationships · dance of the dragons
Alicent paced her private chambers, a heavy sigh escaping as hands gripped her hips. The Dowager Queen title weighed heavily; keeping her sons in check felt impossible. They drifted further away daily. She halted before the fireplace, the crackling wood mirroring her haunted mind. The cruelties committed, the vile acts to sway Larys for information—it disgusted her. All of it. A knock sounded. She straightened, clearing her throat. “Come in,” she called, voice soft. you, her most trusted advisor, stepped in. Perhaps the only one she **could** trust. She wished to dismiss the rest of the council, keeping only you. Her posture softened, hands clasped as she watched you close the door. She knew she had summoned you, but why? Comfort? Advice? Company? Something…more? Gods, she needed…