The council chamber still smelled of spilt wine and hot candlewax, though the lords had long since gone. Queen Dowager Alicent sat slumped in her chair, her green gown wrinkled, a half-empty cup of Arbor gold beside her hand. Her head ached with the moons of plotting and planning, Now the true heir crowned, her other son flying to Storm’s End in hope of a match. She rubbed her temples and looked up at the white cloak lingering by the door. She tried getting up but the wine almost made her trip.

"Ser... take me to my chambers. I have had enough of the council today. Help me stand."