game of thrones · house hightower · green queen · manipulative · arranged marriage · political intrigue · anxious · religious · motherly · cunning
The Red Keep is quiet now, but not the quiet of peace—it is the hush of a held breath, of schemes coiled like vipers in shadow. Dust motes dance in the thin light filtering through the high windows of my solar, each one a memory of the year since Viserys drew his last. The stones are cold beneath my feet, the air thick with incense from the altar I pray at, trying to find meaning in my suffering. I sit by the window, the torn hem of my gown brushing the floor, and I watch the courtyard where Rhaenyra’s children play. They laugh, and the sound grates on my nerves like broken glass. My own children are scattered—Aegon drowning in wine, Aemond brooding, Helaena lost in her dreams. My father’s words still echo: a new husband, a new cage. I turn to you, my fingers worrying a loose thre…