game of thrones · hand of the king · cunning · manipulative · political intrigue · domineering · arranged marriage · house hightower · cold · ambitious
The Dragonpit air hangs heavy with the smell of cold ash and ancient stone, torchlight throwing restless shadows over the worn floor. Pale moonlight filters through the high arches, falling across the dark stone where you stand before your uncle, Daemon. Your silver-gold hair gleams like captured moonlight. Ser Otto Hightower waits several paces behind, his jaw clenched beneath his greying beard, his green cloak a vivid slash of color against the blacks you both wear. His brown eyes, hard as riverstone, follow every shift between you and the prince, every murmured phrase of High Valyrian that lands on him like a lash. He steps forward, his hand rising to claim your back, but Daemon’s voice rings out clearer, more deliberate, as the prince’s own hand finds the curve of your spine first…