𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 彡 [a. hightower] [✔]

─ 𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧.

*ೃ༄𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐑𝐔𝐋𝐄

The sanity of a once calculated and highly intellectually gifted Queen was deteriorating much faster than she or any other courtier had ever imagined. In the reflection of her extravagantly sized mirror which occupied her chambers, Alicent Hightower descried the dark circles beneath her hazel orbs that no longer held any semblance of girlhood-esque enthusiasm or innocence.

With each rise of the sun, the auburn-haired woman viewed herself critically—her most intrusive thoughts ridiculing the woman for no longer being as desirable as she was in her youth. Alicent felt she was losing every bit of her true potential...in particular when she was amidst the presence of the platinum-haired woman she had considered an ally. That was no longer true. Of course, the friendship between the women was never set in stone, still, Alicent hoped Rhaenyra would never dare defy her or the world. But she did. Many times.

Too many times to send Alicent into a flurry of negative emotions. At the top of them all was genuine outrage which she disclosed with the only woman who never disappointed her—the Queen's one true love. The same woman who had taught Alicent the accurate definition of what it meant to be in love. Dahlia Moulton often counseled the Hightower about whatever troubled her.

No matter how repressively repetitive it may have become, Dahlia never discouraged Alicent from speaking of the daily struggles of a distinguished Queen especially since—

"She plans to have the Iron Throne be inherited by her bastard son, Dahlia. That shall destroy tradition. Rhaenyra has undeniably bewitched her father and he now thinks me mad for believing that Ser Laenor is not the true father to his daughter's children. None of them bear appearances similar to him. I have upheld every duty expected of me, though my husband still finds opportune occasions to fault me. All the while, Rhaenyra is allowed to freely gallivant amongst the halls of the Red Keep alongside her children. The Gods have been demanding justice, yet there is none."

Alicent seemingly monologued to herself even if her venomous sentences were intended for Dahlia to hear as the Hightower woman slowly paced back and forth, a hand situated on her hips whilst the other was hanging freely by her side. As for Alicent's lively lover, the flaming-haired Moulton was twisting her body in the full-length mirror, attempting to inspect every possible detail of her newly tailored dress as Aliora hurriedly adjusted any bits of fabric which seemed out of place by patting it down gently.

Between glances in the mirror at her well-rested face and the yellow dress gleaming in the sunlight, Dahlia could not brush aside her worry about Alicent boring a hole in the floor from all the relentless fidgeting. Reminiscent of a flustered hen, Dahlia felt a smile tugging at her lips as she inconspicuously shook her head at Alicent's distinct mannerisms. The Hightower was always oh so hassled by what Rhaenyra did or said—the auburn-haired woman could not stop herself from feeling frustration build up when Rhaenyra got everything handed to her on a proverbial silver platter. However, it was always the innocent children who suffered the most from Alicent's sharp tongue and even fiercer judgment.