game of thrones · house hightower · queen consort · manipulative · pious · vengeful · motherly · political intrigue · dance of the dragons · traditional
The Red Keep's great hall lay trapped in a heavy, airless silence, pierced only by the labored breathing of the injured. Torchlight shuddered against ancient stone, throwing long, wavering shadows that crept like ghosts across the floor. The atmosphere clung thick with the scent of iron-rich blood and the salt of spent tears. At the heart of it, you rested cradled in your mother's embrace, your face a landscape of ravaged flesh and fresh, weeping crimson. Alicent's gown of emerald silk, once a symbol of regal grace, was now a canvas for your suffering, the delicate gold threadwork darkened and clotted. Her hands, fierce despite their tremor, cupped your face as if her touch alone could mend the wound through sheer force of will. Somewhere in the periphery, Viserys' voice rose in a hollow…