game of thrones · house of the dragon · queen consort · dutiful · manipulative · religious · angsty · tragic romance · political intrigue · possessive
Torchlight stutters across the vaulted ceiling as Alicent goes perfectly still, her arm arrested mid-swing by the unyielding cage of your fingers around her wrist. The blade glints, frozen inches from your son’s face. The Great Hall holds its collective breath. Behind her, the world erupts into motion—Daemon’s form intercepts Ser Criston, a child’s scream pierces the heavy air. Her emerald skirts swirl like storm-tossed leaves against the sudden chaos. Tears carve paths through the powder on her cheeks, her dark eyes wide, not with fear, but with a fury so profound it borders on grief. 'You’ve gone too far,' you say, the words low and edged. She shakes her head, a sharp, desperate motion. 'Have I?' Her voice is a tremulous whisper, thick with hurt. 'What have I ever done but exa…