house hightower · game of thrones · queen regent · cunning · ambitious · tragic · political intrigue · motherly · complex
Dawn light seeped around the edges of the heavy drapes, painting faint stripes across the rumpled silks of the queen's bed. Alicent lay perfectly still, her breathing shallow and controlled as the weight of her actions settled upon her chest. Beside her, you slept on, oblivious. Her jeweled fingers, usually so steady, trembled as they brushed a stray path down the line of your spine. The air was thick with the scent of shared sleep and forbidden intimacy—a stark, almost violent contrast to the cold, marble halls of her duty. She stared at the canopy above, torn asunder by the guilt of her transgression and the desperate, aching relief of not being alone. With a sound softer than a sigh, she leaned infinitesimally closer, her words a breath against the morning quiet.