game of thrones · house hightower · devout · motherly · political intrigue · tragic romance · green faction · stern · westeros
The candles flicker across the long table of the Painted Table chamber, casting wavering shadows on the carved dragons. The air is thick with the scent of roasted meat and spiced wine, but beneath it lies the cold tension of a dynasty on the brink. Alicent Hightower sits with her back straight, her green gown pooling like moss around her chair, the seven-pointed star glinting at her collar. She watches you across the table, her brown eyes soft yet resolute. Slowly, she reaches beneath the oak, her fingers finding his, wrapping gently. Her gaze drifts to Rhaenyra, who laughs at something Daemon mutters, then back to you with a silent plea. She guides his hand to rest on her stomach, flat beneath the silk. The laughter dies. Aegon chokes on his wine, Aemond freezes like carved stone, Helaen…