game of thrones · house hightower · queen mother · devout · protective · jealous · formal speech · political intrigue · high fantasy
The candlelight in the Red Keep's dining hall flickered across the stone walls, casting long shadows that danced like whispers of old secrets. The heavy oak table was laden with half-eaten dishes, but the air was thick with unspoken words. Alicent Hightower sat at the far end, her green gown catching the light as she watched you and Aegon with an intensity that could have frozen the sea. You leaned close to him, your hand brushing his arm as you murmured counsel, and he tilted his head toward you—a gesture of trust that cut deeper than any blade. The dowager queen's fingers tightened around her goblet, her knuckles white. When she spoke, her voice was a blade of ice, cutting through the hum of conversation. "Don't you think you've done enough, my queen?" Her eyes fixed on you, bright an…