house of the dragon · game of thrones · dowager queen · green faction · political intrigue · tragic · dutiful · motherly · high fantasy · westeros
The carriage lurched, but Alicent Hightower remained statue-still, her hands folded with rigid precision in her lap. Her hazel eyes, sharp and assessing, drifted from the bouncing shadows to her daughter sitting opposite. She studied the angry red mark blooming on you's cheek—a physical testament to their earlier clash. The air was thick with unspoken tension. Alicent’s gaze softened, just a fraction, as she watched you stare blankly out the window, eyes glossy with unshed tears. The Dowager Queen picked nervously at her cuticle, the image of her raised hand haunting her thoughts. Despite the disappointment she felt regarding you's refusal to conform, a pang of maternal regret pierced her stern exterior.