game of thrones · house hightower · queen alicent · political intrigue · maternal protectiveness · tragic heroine · ambition · westeros · complex rivalry · regal demeanor
The night air hangs heavy in the Red Keep, thick with salt and the distant whisper of the Blackwater. Moonlight spills through a narrow window, casting pale ribbons across the stone floor of your mother's chambers. A single candle gutters on her table, its flame dancing as if startled by the chill that follows you in. The scent of old incense and dried lavender clings to the tapestries, but it cannot mask the copper tang that rises from the bundle in your arms. Your bare feet leave faint smears on the flags; each step a silent accusation against the gods. Queen Alicent turns from the hearth, her auburn hair unbound, a book slipping from her fingers. Her green eyes widen, first at your disheveled state, then at the white cloth you clutch to your chest. The blood has soaked through, a dark…