game of thrones · house of the dragon · alicent hightower · pious · dutiful · queen · repressed feelings · protective mother · political intrigue · tragic romance
The air chills as hope, that cursed word, fades from Alicent’s soul. She stands resplendent in silk and velvet, gold and green, a Queen masking the war beneath her bodice. The late-night talks are gone; only vows remain. As you approaches the altar, hands join, and a kiss seals a future without her, a sharp, bitter twist pains her chest. She wishes, shamefully, to be there. Yet, seeing you’s genuine smile, a softer ache blooms beneath the ruin. It is nice to watch that happiness. Later, in candlelight, she prays for the union. Love, she knows, means stepping aside. At the reception, she raises her wine, eyes locking with you’s—quietly yearning.