CW: spoilers for House of the Dragon, Game of Thrones and brief references to sexual content.
House of the Dragon soared onto our screens back in August and thoroughly put to bed any fears of a Game of Thrones extended universe harboured by those (including myself) that had been left with a bad taste in their mouths after the final season of the show.
Set roughly 200 years before the events of the original series, House of the Dragon follows the Targaryen family at the pinnacle of their power in Westeros, as King Viserys makes the unprecedented decision to name his firstborn daughter, Rhaenyra, heir to the Iron Throne. Civil war starts to brew, however, when he later fathers a son.
The show has become notable for its swap of actors mid-season and drawn out time span – the first season, comprising ten episodes, covered almost two decades. Young Rhaenyra, played by Milly Alcock, was soon replaced by Emma D’Arcy. The young princess’s closest friend, Alicent Hightower, first played by Emily Carey, was replaced by Olivia Cooke. The change in actors not only served to symbolise the passing of time but the shift in the audience’s sympathies for the latter character.
Soon, Twitter’s reactions to each episode went from buzz surrounding the subtle sapphic affection between young Rhaenyra and Alicent to bitter vitriol towards the latter as her role within the show pivoted from confidant of the young crown princess to, uncomfortably enough, mother-in-law to the girl that was once her best friend.
In the world of George R.R. Martin’s A Song of Ice and Fire, there are no perfect characters. Westeros is littered with people who claw their way onto the ‘game of thrones’ by, quite literally, any means necessary. Seemingly, no act of violence, back-stabbing, moral bankruptcy or blackmail is off the cards and yet many of these characters still have a sizeable fan base – such as fan favourite, Arya.
Why, then, is Alicent faced with such fervent hatred?
In a world ruled by the patriarchy, Alicent is a mere teenager when she is forced, by her own father, into a political marriage with a man twice her age (and, again, the father of her best friend!). It is a role that places upon her a burden she was never prepared for and one that positions her in opposition to the only friend she is shown to have in the royal court.
From there, the hatred for her character snowballed.
But, surely, a woman who has been groomed to service men her entire life is deserving of more empathy when, at the heart of each of her actions, is ensuring the safety and survival of, first, herself and, once she becomes a parent, her family, during a cutthroat civil war?
Scenes in which she endures, rather than enjoys, moments of intimacy with her husband are heart-breaking to witness. While the internet had a field day with how her relationship with Larys Strong, her slippery advisor, develops, I took little delight in watching her sell her body for information.
Indeed, my defensiveness for Alicent increased, ironically, with every extra bit of hate she received from viewers and every, admittedly frustrating, action she took. Because the same leniency afforded to the men of the show is very rarely given to the women. Khal Drogo, despite his arranged marriage and sexual assault of Danaerys (who is roughly 17 in season 1 and 13 in the books), is still largely adored by fans of the show.
How could audiences not see then that this ‘villain’, Alicent, was, in fact, a brilliantly written tragic character, played with heart by Olivia Cooke, who humanises the impact of growing up in the rotten heart of Westeros’s royal court?
Hatred for Alicent began upon her becoming queen. Although not her plan, the position led to a fractured relationship not just between herself and Rhaenyra but also between Rhaenyra and her father. Furthermore, in doing her job as queen and providing the king with more heirs, Alicent destabilised Rhaenyra’s claim to the throne, inadvertently putting her in opposition to the rightful heir. Not only this, but Alicent does not what is right, but what she thinks is right – for her family and her needs. However, the consequences of her actions often directly impact Rhaenyra – for example, a throwaway comment to Larys results in the murder of Ser Harwin, Rhaenyra’s lover. As if this wasn’t enough, Alicent also demonstrates her own internalised misogyny in criticising Rhaenyra’s lack of true-born sons openly – to Rhaenyra, her husband, Laenor and her personal guard, Criston Cole (a particularly hypocritical move considering he, too, had an affair with young Rhaenyra).
These actions paint a portrait of a woman who is far from perfect. Alicent’s flaws speak to the nuances of her particular upbringing and the way she was shaped – often by men, often by force – into a woman who had to bend her own will in order to survive. Flaws are far from uncommon in the women of Game of Thrones: Rhaenys scorns young Rhaenyra’s headstrong belief in her right to the throne after being scorned herself; Rhaenyra stubbornly turns a blind eye to the illegitimacy of her sons, even when it involves lying to them, despite their evident struggles with their identity, and weds herself to her uncle. House of the Dragon, at its core, is the story of a civil war – of the fracture and downfall of the Targaryen dynasty and, though each character has a part to play in the war, Alicent – a Hightower, an outsider – is an easy target to vilify when audiences seek someone to blame.
However, this particular cross Alicent has to bear has been shared by many other female characters across TV, film and literature for decades. There is Scandal’s Mellie Grant, whose bitterness in the face of her husband’s affair with another woman, the show’s protagonist, audiences seemingly expected her to swallow silently and politely; Yennefer of Vengeburg from Netflix’s The Witcher was vilified for her thirst for power and beauty, and Guinevere Beck from season one of You caught flack for not being the shining image of a ‘perfect woman’ that serial killer and stalker, protagonist Joe Goldberg, built up in his mind’s eye (never mind the fact that she was killed for her ‘failings’). Another example taken to the extreme is the sheer onslaught of hatred that Brie Larson faced for her titular role in Captain Marvel – as the MCU’s first solo female superhero film, the character was held to an impossibly high standard that none of the male superheroes preceding her was. Iron Man’s casual sexism would be met with audience laughter and approval (as does his morally reprehensible career as an arms dealer), but, for her confidence in her otherworldly abilities when compared to her on-screen male counterparts, both Carol Danvers and Brie Larson were unfairly hated. The vitriol continues. While the recent video game adaptation, The Last of Us, has been receiving largely positive critical and audiences response, lead actor – Bella Ramsey (who plays Ellie, one half of the protagonist duo alongside Joel, played by Pedro Pascal) has been receiving online backlash for taking on the role, both for being not deemed ‘pretty’ or ‘tough’ enough to play the fourteen-year-old. While Pedro Pascal also initially faced backlash for not being caucasian (Joel in the games is), Bella Ramsey has persistently had to weather unfair criticism for their role, sharing that “It’s only recently that I’ve accepted I am Ellie, and I can do it, and I am a good actor, but this will last for a few weeks and then I’ll think I’m terrible again. That’s just the process.”
As I watched each new episode of House of the Dragon, I remembered that this wasn’t my first experience of feeling protective of and enamoured towards the female protagonists of Game of Thrones that find themselves at the centre of audience scorn. If I tell someone that my favourite character from the original show is Sansa Stark, I am met with incredulity, because Sansa is annoying, Sansa is whiny, Sansa, presumably, does not know her place.
But, once again, I struggle to understand how viewers can begrudge Sansa for her ignorance at thirteen-years-old during the first season of a show that spans seven years. By the end of it, after a world of suffering and heartbreak, Sansa emerges, triumphant, as a woman whose wisdom and shrewdness is hard won. While House of the Dragon may not be able to promise the same of Alicent, she nonetheless finds me in her corner.
In the blurb of an upcoming non-fiction book, Unlikeable Female Characters: The Women Pop Culture Wants You to Hate, author Anna Bogutskyaya writes that ‘female characters throughout history have been burdened by the moral trap that is likeability’, and, while the title will explore how society is finally ready to embrace the rise in such complex characters across pop culture, the hatred of Alicent and female characters like her shows there is still a long way to go.