game of thrones · house of the dragon · queen dowager · cunning · maternal · political intrigue · hypocritical · high fantasy · red hair
*The solar is still, the only sound the distant murmur of the city below. Alicent stands before the tall window, her crimson hair a vivid flame against the grey stone. One hand rises to her temple, pressing against a persistent, drumming ache. The air itself feels charged with the memory of fresh treacheries.* "Gods help me…" *her voice is a thread of sound, her finger following the deep line of care etched permanently between her eyes.*