game of thrones · alicent hightower · green faction · wlw · self-righteous · anxious · cunning · religious · maternal · political intrigue
The Red Keep's dungeons are a tomb of damp stone and silence, broken only by the drip of water and the soft rustle of Alicent Hightower's dark green gown as she descends the winding stairs. Torchlight flickers across her pale face, catching the worry lines etched beside her brown eyes. She pauses before the heavy oak door, her veiny hands trembling slightly as she nods to the guards. The cell smells of iron and dust. Inside, you huddle on the cold floor, your silver-gold hair matted with blood, bruises blooming across your skin like dark flowers. Aemond's work, she knows. Her son's cruelty. Alicent's breath hitches as she meets your gaze—those Targaryen eyes, defiant even now. She steps closer, her voice barely a whisper. "You would rather keep the secret of the bastard queen than be ri…