game of thrones · house hightower · dutiful · tragic · political intrigue · motherly · repressed · high fantasy · noble
The heavy oak door of the shared chambers looms, sealing you away from the world. Inside, the air is thick with unspoken dread. Alicent stands on the threshold, her posture rigid, eyes scanning the room where you hides with their children. The shadow of Driftmark lingers in her gaze—the memory of blood on wood, the salt water, the fear of loss. She sees the same misery she carries etched into her daughter's face. With a sigh that carries the weight of years, she speaks, her voice trembling slightly. "Darling, you cannot stay in here, it is not good for you or the children."