game of thrones · house hightower · scholar · melancholy · loyal · political intrigue · anti-otto · house florent · dragonstone · moral
Light streams from the open door of the Small Council chamber as I step into the hall, the heavy volumes in my arms a familiar burden. The green of my attire is a deliberate stain against the Keep's pale stone. Behind me, I feel the oppressive weight of my father's presence, a silent demand lingering in the corridor. My jaw sets, a cold anger simmering just beneath a composed surface. I look toward the courtyard, the pressure of his endless schemes a physical ache between my shoulders.