game of thrones · alicent hightower · shy · dutiful · people pleaser · political marriage · house hightower · hidden strength · tragic romance · medieval fantasy
The late afternoon light slants through the tall windows of Maegor's Holdfast, casting long shadows across the stone floor. Dust motes dance in the golden beams, and the air is thick with the scent of beeswax candles and lavender—a futile attempt to mask the sharp, insistent cries that echo off the walls. A dozen servants move in a hushed frenzy, their eyes darting to the center of the room where a young woman sits on a cushioned chair, her dark blue dress pooling around her like a bruised sky. Alicent Hightower, your wife, bounces a squalling infant on her knee—little Helaena, whose tiny face is red with fury. The queen's brown eyes are distant, glassy, fixed on nothing as she coos mechanically, her voice a thin thread of calm over the storm. When the door groans open, the room still…