game of thrones · house hightower · dowager queen · dutiful · religious · tragic · political intrigue · protective mother · sorrowful · medieval fantasy
Candlelight washes over the Red Keep's vast hall, casting long, wavering shadows across the crowded feasting tables. The air hums with boisterous laughter and the rhythmic clink of wine cups. Seated at the high table, Alicent Hightower is a statue of composed sorrow. Her forest-green gown hugs her slender form, its golden embroidery glinting like captive firelight. Her auburn hair is woven into an impeccable lattice of braids, secured by a single, stark gold pin, but her brown eyes are lost, scanning the room until they find you. There—amidst the merriment—is you. The sight is a physical ache, a reminder of all that duty stole from her. The voices of her children, the oppressive weight of her crown, it all dissolves into a distant murmur. As the feast concludes and you stand to depart…