The morning sun was just beginning to rise, casting soft golden light over the shores near the Dragonpit. The salty tang of the ocean breeze mingled with the faint scent of dew-dampened grass as waves gently lapped at the sand. It was peaceful—an hour too early for curious onlookers or courtly gossip to disturb the serenity.

Near the water's edge, two imposing dragons stood side by side. Gazaro, a massive creature of onyx scales , tilted his head toward Silva, his mother, the striking white dragon with a faint iridescent shimmer that made her look as though she had been carved from moonlight. Despite their size, both dragons had an air of anticipation about them, their movements betraying a youthful energy as they stretched their wings in preparation for flight.

Vensalia brushed a hand along Silva’s neck, her fingers tracing the ridges of her scales. "You’re ready for this, aren’t you?" she murmured softly. Silva responded with a low rumble, her large, luminous eyes fixed on her rider with something like affection.

Aemond, on the other hand, was murmuring Valyrian commands to Gazaro, who huffed impatiently, eager to take to the skies. Aemond’s bond with his dragon was evident in the way Gazaro shifted, waiting only for his signal. Though Aemond’s face bore the stoic expression he often wore, a faint light of excitement shone in his blue eyes.

"Are we racing today?" Vensalia teased, a playful smile curling her lips as she glanced at Aemond. Her white hair, with its striking red streaks, caught the early morning sun, giving her an almost ethereal glow.

Aemond smirked, his pride immediately rising to the challenge. "If you think you can keep up," he replied, his tone confident. He climbed onto Gazaro's back with practiced ease, gripping the ridge of his dragon’s neck.

Vensalia laughed softly, the sound light and unguarded as she climbed onto Silva’s back. She didn’t bother with reins, trusting Silva’s intelligence and their bond to guide them. "We’ll see about that, Targaryen prince."

With that, the air filled with the sound of mighty wings beating against the wind as both dragons launched themselves into the sky. The ground fell away beneath them, and the ocean’s roar was replaced by the exhilarating rush of air as they climbed higher and higher.

The two dragons soared effortlessly, their massive forms cutting through the morning mist as they ascended. Silva’s lighter frame made her faster in sharp bursts, darting ahead playfully before slowing to allow Gazaro to catch up. Gazaro, with his immense size and strength, glided with a commanding presence, his wings slicing through the air with power and precision.

Aemond leaned forward slightly, pressing closer to Gazaro’s body as the wind whipped past him. The thrill of flight never ceased to amaze him—the sheer freedom of being untethered from the earth, the world beneath reduced to a patchwork of blue and green. Yet today, his gaze kept drifting to Vensalia. She moved with such ease on Silva’s back, as if she and her dragon were one entity. Her laughter, carried by the wind, reached his ears and made him smile despite himself.

"Is that the best you can do?" Vensalia called out, her voice teasing as Silva spiraled upward, performing a graceful loop.

Aemond narrowed his eye, determination flaring. "Hardly," he shot back, urging Gazaro to match the maneuver. The larger dragon’s size made the loop slower but no less impressive, his wings spreading wide to catch the light as he completed the arc.

For a moment, the two dragons flew side by side, their movements almost synchronized. Aemond glanced at Vensalia, catching the joy in her expression. It was rare to see her so unguarded, so free from the quiet calculation she often carried.

"Admit it," he said, his tone smug but not unkind. "You’re impressed."

Vensalia raised an eyebrow, feigning indifference. "By Silva, perhaps," she quipped, though the gleam in her pink eyes betrayed her amusement.

Their playful banter soon turned into a game of one-upmanship as they urged their dragons into increasingly daring maneuvers. Silva darted between the clouds, her large yet lean size making her more agile. She twisted and turned with an elegance that seemed almost deliberate, her white form a blur against the blue sky.

Gazaro, not to be outdone, showcased his brute strength and stamina. He climbed higher than Silva dared, his wings beating steadily as he rose above the clouds. From his vantage point, Aemond looked down, the world below obscured by a sea of white. The sight took his breath away.

"You’ll never catch me up here," he called out, his voice carrying over the wind.

Vensalia smirked, her confidence unwavering. "We’ll see about that." Silva responded to her unspoken command, ascending rapidly. The two dragons raced toward the heavens, their movements creating trails in the clouds that twisted and intertwined like a dance.

Despite the competition, there was no malice—only the pure joy of flight and the bond they shared with their dragons. It was a rare moment of simplicity, a reprieve from the complexities of court life and the secrets they both carried.

As the sun climbed higher, the golden light bathed the dragons in warmth, illuminating their scales. Silva’s white form shimmered like frost under sunlight, while Gazaro’s dark figure seemed to absorb the light, giving him an imposing silhouette.

Vensalia slowed Silva’s pace, allowing her dragon to glide lazily alongside Gazaro. She looked over at Aemond, her expression softening. "This... feels like a dream," she admitted, her voice quieter now.

Aemond turned to her, his usual guarded demeanor giving way to something more vulnerable. "It’s the only place where I feel truly free," he confessed. "Up here, it doesn’t matter who we are down there."

Vensalia nodded, understanding the weight behind his words. She, too, felt the burden of expectations and secrets, the constant pressure to maintain a facade. But up here, none of it mattered. It was just them, their dragons, and the endless sky.

The two shared a rare moment of quiet, their dragons gliding side by side in perfect harmony. The wind carried away the need for words, leaving only a sense of connection that transcended the boundaries of their world.

Their brief pause didn’t last long. The youthful energy they both carried soon reignited, and their dragons resumed their playful antics. Silva, feeling mischievous, dived suddenly, her wings folding briefly before she spread them wide to catch the air. Gazaro, ever watchful, followed suit, his larger form creating a rush of wind as he descended.

The dragons played together like children, darting and weaving around each other with surprising grace. At one point, Silva nipped playfully at Gazaro’s tail, eliciting a low growl that sounded more amused than annoyed.

Aemond and Vensalia laughed, the sound echoing across the sky. It was a rare sight to see Aemond so unrestrained, his usual seriousness replaced by a boyish enthusiasm. Vensalia, too, felt a sense of lightness she hadn’t experienced in what felt like an eternity.

As the morning stretched on, the two dragons soared higher and farther, the coastline below becoming a distant blur. The horizon seemed endless, a vast expanse of blue that promised adventure and freedom. Neither Aemond nor Vensalia wanted the moment to end.

For a while, they forgot about the world waiting for them below—the whispers, the suspicions, the expectations. Up here, they were simply two children riding dragons, reveling in the joy of the skies.

It wasn’t until the sun began to climb toward its zenith that they reluctantly turned their dragons back toward King’s Landing. Even then, they didn’t land immediately, prolonging their time in the air as much as possible.

For Aemond and Vensalia, the morning had been a reminder of what it felt like to be free—if only for a little while.

---

The night after Aemond’s nameday celebration, Queen Alicent Hightower stood alone by the large arched window of her chambers, her fingers tightly gripping the edge of the sill. The moonlight painted her face with a silvery glow, highlighting the sharp lines of her jaw and the tightness around her mouth. Her thoughts churned, as restless as the waves breaking against the shores of Blackwater Bay.

The image of Vensalia dancing, captivating the court, replayed endlessly in her mind. Alicent had never felt so powerless. Vensalia was a storm that had swept into King’s Landing, and worse, she had completely enraptured Aemond. His lovesick gaze, the way he followed Vensalia with absolute devotion, was more than Alicent could bear.

She thought of her son—her sharp, dutiful boy who never allowed himself the luxury of distraction. But now, Vensalia had cast a spell over him, and for all her resolve, Alicent could find no means to break it. She despised the woman’s confident demeanor, her air of mystery, and the way she carried herself as if she belonged among Targaryen royalty.

A soft rustle of robes broke through her thoughts. Alicent turned to find Otto Hightower standing by the door, his face a mask of calculation. He had observed her in silence for some time, knowing full well the storm brewing within her.

“She’s a threat,” Alicent said quietly, her voice like steel wrapped in silk.

Otto stepped closer, his hands clasped behind his back. “Indeed, she is. A danger not only to Aemond but to the stability of this realm.”

Alicent’s lips thinned. “I can’t have her undoing all that we’ve worked for, Father. Aemond is... distracted. He listens to her when he won’t even heed my advice. And the court...” She trailed off, unable to voice the sting of humiliation she had felt during the celebration.

Otto nodded, his gaze piercing. “The court was enchanted, but enchantment can quickly turn to suspicion. These nobles may gossip and fawn over her now, but they are fickle. The right rumor, the right accusation, could turn them against her.”

Alicent narrowed her eyes. “You have a plan.”

Otto stepped closer, lowering his voice. “It will be risky, but effective if executed properly. Vensalia’s mysteriousness is her strength, but it is also her weakness. The court knows nothing of her lineage, her past, or her intentions. That ignorance can be weaponized.”

Alicent tilted her head, her eyes gleaming with interest. “Go on.”

Otto took a measured breath. “We plant seeds of doubt among the nobles. Questions of her loyalties, her true purpose here, and whether she is a sorceress who has bewitched Aemond. We must suggest that her arrival is no coincidence—that she poses a danger to the Targaryen line. If we are fortunate, the whispers will grow loud enough to reach the king’s ear.”

Alicent’s expression hardened. “Viserys will resist. He’s blind to anything that doesn’t fit his idealized vision of peace and prophecy. He would see Vensalia as an intriguing guest rather than a threat.”

“Viserys is a fool,” Otto said bluntly, his tone laced with disdain. “But he is also predictable. He does not act unless the threat is undeniable. That is where we must guide him.”

“And if that fails?” Alicent asked, her voice low but edged with resolve.

Otto’s eyes darkened. “If whispers and doubt are not enough, we can orchestrate a more direct method. An incident, perhaps, where her true nature can be revealed—or fabricated. A foreigner with no allies is easy to scapegoat.”

Alicent hesitated, the weight of the plan settling heavily on her shoulders. It was one thing to dislike Vensalia; it was another to actively destroy her. But when she thought of Aemond, of the way he seemed utterly enthralled, she knew she had no choice. Aemond’s future was too important to gamble on an unknown woman.

“She’s clever,” Alicent said finally. “She’ll see through any overt attempts to undermine her. If we make one misstep, she’ll turn it against us.”

Otto nodded, acknowledging the challenge. “Then we must be subtle. She has already drawn too much attention to herself. It is only a matter of time before someone questions her intentions. We will simply nudge them in the right direction.”

Alicent’s gaze returned to the window, her grip on the sill loosening slightly. The plan was risky, as Otto had said, but it was also necessary. Vensalia’s presence was a danger to everything she had worked to secure for her children.

“I’ll need your full support,” Alicent said firmly, turning back to Otto.

“You’ll have it,” he assured her. “But be cautious. Vensalia is not a simple courtier to be dismissed. She carries herself like a queen, and that kind of confidence is not easily broken.”

Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line. “Then we will have to break it piece by piece.”

The next morning, the whispers began. Alicent, under the guise of polite conversation, spoke with key members of the court. Her words were subtle, carefully crafted to plant the first seeds of doubt.

“An intriguing woman, isn’t she?” Alicent said to Lady Redwyne over breakfast. “But so mysterious. I’ve heard she has no family in Westeros. One wonders where she comes from—and why she’s here.”

Lady Redwyne, always eager for gossip, leaned in. “Indeed, Your Grace. Such a striking appearance, but one must question her origins. Aemond seems quite taken with her, doesn’t he?”

Alicent gave a soft, calculated sigh. “He is young and impressionable. I only hope she has his best interests at heart.”

Similar conversations played out throughout the day. Otto, too, worked in the shadows, speaking with trusted allies to stoke the flames of suspicion. The narrative began to take shape: Vensalia was a stranger with no ties, no clear purpose, and an uncanny ability to captivate.

By the end of the week, the court was abuzz with speculation. Was Vensalia truly a noblewoman, or was she something else entirely? A sorceress? A spy? Even those who had been charmed by her began to look at her with wary eyes.

Unaware of the storm brewing around her, Vensalia remained her composed self, though she couldn’t ignore the subtle shift in the atmosphere. Nobles who had once approached her with curiosity now kept their distance, their gazes sharp with suspicion.

Aemond, however, remained steadfast in his admiration. He defended her at every turn, silencing anyone who dared to question her presence.

“She has done nothing but show grace and intelligence,” Aemond said sharply to one of the young lord who dared to comment. “Perhaps you should look to your own shortcomings before casting stones.”

But Aemond’s fierce loyalty only fueled the whispers. Some said he was bewitched, that Vensalia had used dark magic to ensnare him. Others speculated that she was a political operative sent to destabilize the realm.

Watching the whispers grow, Alicent felt a grim sense of satisfaction. The court was turning against Vensalia, just as Otto had predicted. But it wasn’t enough. She knew Vensalia’s downfall would require more than whispers; it would require a definitive act, something that would force even Viserys to see her as a threat.

As Alicent sat in her chambers that evening, she stared at her reflection in the mirror. The weight of her decisions bore down on her, but she reminded herself of her purpose. She was fighting for her children, for their future. And if Vensalia stood in the way of that, then she had to be removed.

Otto’s voice echoed in her mind: “A foreigner with no allies is easy to scapegoat.”

The path forward was clear, but Alicent knew it would not be easy. Vensalia was not a woman who would go quietly.

But Alicent was determined. She would not lose.

---

The dim light of a single brazier illuminated King Viserys’ chambers, casting flickering shadows across the ornate tapestries and the clutter of scrolls on his desk. The once-vibrant king sat slumped in his chair, his pale face etched with lines of pain and exhaustion. His labored breathing filled the silence as he reached for a goblet of watered wine, his hands trembling slightly. Alone, as he so often found himself these days, Viserys mulled over the kingdom’s endless troubles and the burdens of his own failing body.

The shadows in the room deepened unnaturally, pooling in a far corner like ink. At first, Viserys thought it was his weary eyes playing tricks on him, but then he saw the movement—slow, deliberate. A chill crept over his skin as the shadows seemed to coalesce into a figure, one that stepped forward with unnerving grace.

Vensalia emerged from the darkness, her white hair with its fiery streak glinting faintly in the brazier’s light. Her pink eyes gleamed with a mixture of calm and intent, her expression unreadable.

Viserys stiffened, his heart pounding. His first instinct was to call for the guards, but his voice faltered as Vensalia raised her hand, her movements slow and non-threatening. “Your Grace,” she said, her voice soft but carrying a strange authority, “I mean no harm.”

“Then why,” Viserys began, his voice hoarse and laced with suspicion, “are you in my chambers unbidden? Speak plainly, or I’ll summon the guards.”

Vensalia inclined her head, her gaze steady. “I came because you are suffering, and I can help you. Your sickness has left you weak, but it does not have to be this way.”

Viserys narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening on the armrest of his chair. “Why would a stranger offer me such aid? What is it you want in return?”

Her lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Only your trust, Your Grace. Nothing more.”

His skepticism deepened. Viserys was not a fool, despite his ailments. He had been king long enough to know that nothing came without a price. “Trust is not easily given, especially to those who appear out of shadows like specters. Why should I believe you?”

Vensalia stepped closer, her movements deliberate yet unthreatening. The shadows around her seemed to ripple, their presence disconcerting but strangely captivating. “Because I can prove my words,” she said. “Allow me to heal you, and you will see that my intentions are not malevolent. Afterward, I will ask for nothing but the chance to show you something that may shape your understanding of the future.”

The mention of the future struck a chord. Viserys had always been haunted by prophecies, by the weight of dreams and portents. His curiosity warred with his caution. Finally, he leaned back, his body aching even with the small movement. “If this is some trick, you will regret it,” he warned.

Vensalia nodded solemnly. “I understand. Let me begin.”

She lifted her hands, and the room seemed to grow colder, the brazier’s flames dimming slightly. Shadows coiled around her like living things, their movements graceful and hypnotic. Viserys flinched as tendrils of darkness extended toward him, instinctively bracing for pain. But instead, he felt a soothing warmth seep into his body, radiating outward from the points where the shadows touched his skin.

The change was immediate. The constant ache in his joints melted away, replaced by a lightness he hadn’t felt in years. His ragged breaths steadied, and the ever-present fog of fatigue lifted. He flexed his fingers, marveling at the strength returning to them. For a moment, he felt as though he were a younger man, unburdened by the relentless decay of time.

Viserys stared at Vensalia in astonishment, his suspicion momentarily eclipsed by disbelief. “What… what have you done?”

“I’ve simply given your body the strength it once had,” she replied, her tone calm. “The sickness still lingers, but it will no longer drain you as it did before. You have time now—time to rule, to act, to think clearly.”

He rose from his chair, testing his legs. They held firm, no longer shaking under his weight. “This… this is remarkable,” he murmured, his voice filled with awe. But then his eyes sharpened, and the suspicion returned. “What is this future you speak of? What do you wish to show me?”

Vensalia’s expression turned serious, her pink eyes glinting with a mix of determination and caution. “I will show you, but only when you are ready. For now, know that what I have done is not out of malice. You will see the truth in time.”

Viserys frowned, torn between gratitude and lingering mistrust. “You tread a dangerous path, Vensalia. The court will not take kindly to such displays of power. Alicent already whispers of witches and conspiracies. If she knew of this…”

Vensalia tilted her head, her smile returning. “Your Queen’s fears do not concern me. I came to help you, not to harm your family. But tread carefully, Your Grace. Not everyone who offers you advice does so with your best interests at heart.”

The implication was clear, though Viserys chose not to address it. He sat back down, his mind racing. “Go now,” he said, his voice firm but lacking the harshness it might have carried before. “I need time to think.”

Vensalia inclined her head respectfully. “As you wish.” With that, she stepped back into the shadows, her form dissolving into darkness until the room was still and silent once more.

Viserys sat in his chair, his hand resting on his chest where he could still feel the lingering warmth of her power. For the first time in years, he felt truly alive. But with that vitality came a renewed awareness of the precariousness of his position. Alicent’s paranoia, Otto’s scheming, and now Vensalia’s enigmatic presence—all of it swirled in his mind like a storm.

He couldn’t ignore the questions racing through his thoughts. Who was Vensalia truly? What were her motives? And what would this newfound strength mean for the fragile balance of power in his court?

For now, he could only wait and watch, knowing that his next decisions would shape not only his own fate but that of the realm.