The moon hung high in the midnight sky, its pale glow casting a faint light over the city of King’s Landing. The wind carried a biting chill, the promise of winter on the horizon. Tomorrow, the city would wake to the first day of the harsh season, and the smallfolk of Flea Bottom would face a long, grueling fight to survive.

Aemond and Vensalia moved silently through the darkened streets, cloaked in thick woolen garments to protect them from the cold. Their hoods were pulled low over their faces, concealing their identities. The streets were mostly empty, save for a few wandering souls and the occasional Kingsguard stationed lazily at their posts. Many of the guards were dozing off, their heads nodding under the weight of their own fatigue. It was the perfect time to act.

Aemond carried Vensalia’s shadow pouch, the peculiar item that seemed far too small for the large quantities of supplies it contained. He had been fascinated by it when she first explained its properties, but now, his mind was focused entirely on their mission. They had come to Flea Bottom to distribute clothes, firewood, and other essentials for the winter. It was Vensalia’s plan, but Aemond had insisted on helping her. She had initially protested, concerned for his safety, but in the end, she had relented.

They slipped past a pair of guards stationed at the entrance to the narrow alleys of Flea Bottom. Aemond held his breath as they walked by, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of the dagger hidden beneath his cloak. The guards, however, paid them no mind. One of them was half-asleep, his head lolling against the wall, while the other stared blankly into the distance, his attention elsewhere.

Once they were safely out of sight, Aemond let out a quiet sigh of relief. Vensalia glanced back at him, a small smile playing on her lips. “You’re tense,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the wind.

“I’m cautious,” he replied, his tone serious. “This place isn’t safe, even at night.”

Vensalia nodded, her expression softening. “I know. But that’s why we’re here.”

They continued their journey, navigating the winding alleys of Flea Bottom with practiced ease. Vensalia had been here many times before, and Aemond trusted her to lead the way. She stopped occasionally to peer into the windows of ramshackle homes, counting the number of people inside. Her goal was to ensure that every family received enough supplies to last them through the harshest days of winter.

When they reached the first house, Vensalia motioned for Aemond to hand her the shadow pouch. He did so without question, watching as she reached inside and pulled out a bundle of warm clothes. It still amazed him how much the small pouch could hold. She placed the bundle carefully by the door, ensuring it would be the first thing the family saw when they woke in the morning.

“This should keep them warm,” Vensalia murmured, more to herself than to Aemond. She then pulled out a small stack of oak wood, placing it neatly beside the clothes. “And this will help them start a fire.”

They repeated the process at several other houses, moving swiftly and silently through the streets. Aemond found himself growing more and more impressed by Vensalia’s meticulousness. She took the time to count the number of people in each household, adjusting the amount of supplies accordingly. She even left small notes, written in elegant script, encouraging the families to stay strong and warm during the winter.

At one house, Aemond hesitated as he watched a small child sleeping by the window. The child was curled up in a thin blanket, their tiny frame shivering even in sleep. Aemond felt a pang of sadness and anger—sadness for the child’s plight and anger at the system that allowed such suffering to persist.

“We’ll leave them extra,” Vensalia said softly, sensing his emotions. She placed an additional bundle of clothes and a larger stack of wood by the door. Aemond nodded in agreement, his jaw tightening as he forced himself to focus on the task at hand.

As the night wore on, their work continued. The shadow pouch seemed bottomless, providing an endless supply of clothes, firewood, and even a few extra blankets. Aemond carried the pouch with care, marveling at its weightlessness despite the vast quantity of items it held.

When they reached the last house, Vensalia paused to double-check the contents of the pouch. She frowned slightly as she counted the remaining items, then nodded in satisfaction. “This is enough,” she said, pulling out the final bundle of clothes and placing it by the door. “Everyone should have what they need now.”

Aemond watched her closely, noting the determination in her eyes. She was tireless, even after hours of work, and he admired her dedication. “You’ve done more for them in one night than most nobles do in a lifetime,” he said quietly.

Vensalia looked at him, her expression thoughtful. “It’s not enough,” she replied. “It’ll never be enough. But it’s a start.”

Aemond reached out, gently taking her hand in his. “You’re remarkable, you know that?”

She blushed faintly, though the hood of her cloak concealed most of her face. “You’re too kind, Aemond.”

He shook his head, his grip on her hand firm. “I’m just being honest.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the weight of their actions settling over them. The streets of Flea Bottom were eerily quiet, the only sounds coming from the distant rustle of wind and the occasional creak of wooden beams. Aemond glanced around, ensuring that no one was watching, before turning back to Vensalia.

“Let’s go,” he said. “We’ve done what we can.”

Vensalia nodded, reaching for his hand once more. “Hold on tight,” she instructed.

Aemond obeyed, gripping her hand as she closed her eyes and focused. The air around them seemed to shimmer, the shadows growing darker and denser. A moment later, the world shifted, and they found themselves standing in Vensalia’s chambers within the Red Keep.

Aemond blinked, momentarily disoriented by the sudden change in scenery. He glanced around, taking in the familiar surroundings. The warmth of the room was a stark contrast to the biting cold of Flea Bottom, and he found himself relaxing for the first time all night.

Vensalia let out a soft sigh, her shoulders slumping slightly. She moved to sit on the edge of her bed, pulling off her cloak and setting it aside. Her silver-white hair, streaked with red, shimmered in the dim candlelight.

Aemond followed suit, removing his own cloak and placing it on a nearby chair. He sat beside her, his gaze fixed on her face. “You’re tired,” he observed.

“A little,” she admitted, though her tone was light. “But it was worth it.”

Aemond reached out, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. “You’re amazing, Vensalia. What you did tonight—it’s something they’ll remember for the rest of their lives.”

She smiled softly, her eyes meeting his. “I didn’t do it for recognition, Aemond. I did it because it was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he said. “That’s what makes it so extraordinary.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, the weight of the night’s work settling over them. Eventually, Vensalia leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder. Aemond wrapped an arm around her, holding her close.

“Thank you for helping me,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Always,” he replied, his tone filled with quiet conviction.

As the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, Aemond and Vensalia drifted off to sleep, their hearts content in the knowledge that they had made a difference—even if only for a single night. Vensalia wish to go in her chambers but sleeping besides Aemond felt so comforting.

---

The news spread like wildfire through the streets of King’s Landing, carrying with it whispers of wonder and gratitude. In Flea Bottom, where despair often outweighed hope, families awoke to bundles of warm clothes, sturdy firewood, and even hearty meals left discreetly outside their doors. Children squealed in delight at the sight of soft blankets, and parents cried tears of relief, knowing their families would survive the bitter winter.

The smallfolk began to speak of a “kind noble lady,” an enigmatic figure who had brought generosity and compassion to their lives. Some claimed to have caught fleeting glimpses of her, shrouded in a thick cloak, moving through the night like a shadow. Others swore they had seen nothing at all, only to wake to her gifts. Whoever she was, her actions had left a profound impact, and her name was now spoken with reverence.

But not everyone viewed this mysterious benefactor with the same admiration. Within the walls of the Red Keep, the small council was in turmoil.

King Viserys sat at the head of the council table, his brow furrowed and his eyes tired. The past few days had been relentless, with reports of this so-called "kind noble lady" dominating every meeting. On one hand, he was heartened to hear that the smallfolk were thriving, but on the other, the mystery surrounding this stranger troubled him deeply.

"This situation is unprecedented," Lord Lyonel Strong, the Hand of the King, began, his tone measured but firm. "While her actions appear benevolent, we cannot ignore the fact that an unknown individual has garnered the unwavering loyalty of the smallfolk. Such influence could prove dangerous."

Viserys rubbed his temples, his frustration evident. "Dangerous? She's giving them food and clothing, Lyonel. If anything, she's done what we should have done long ago. Our people are happy, for the first time in years."

"But at what cost, Your Grace?" Ser Harrold Westerling interjected. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard leaned forward, his expression grave. "Whoever this woman is, she operates in secret. She avoids detection, evades the Kingsguard, and moves through Flea Bottom with ease. That alone raises suspicion."

The council murmured in agreement, their unease palpable.

"Perhaps," Grand Maester Mellos suggested, his voice cautious, "she is a noblewoman dissatisfied with the crown's ability to care for its people. If that is the case, her actions could be seen as a challenge to your authority, Your Grace."

Viserys slammed his hand on the table, startling the council into silence. "Enough! I will not entertain this talk of rebellion. She has done no harm, only good. We should be grateful that our people are warm and fed."

Lyonel sighed, his expression one of careful concern. "Your Grace, I do not mean to alarm you, but the smallfolk’s loyalty to this stranger is growing. If left unchecked, it could lead to unrest. They no longer look to the crown for aid—they look to her."

The words hung heavily in the air, and for a moment, no one spoke.

Viserys leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant. He wanted to believe that this mysterious benefactor had no ulterior motives, but the weight of the crown demanded caution. "What do you suggest we do, Lyonel?"

"Increase the presence of the Kingsguard in Flea Bottom," Lyonel replied without hesitation. "Question the smallfolk. Find out what they know about this woman. We need answers, Your Grace, and we need them quickly."

Viserys nodded reluctantly. "Very well. But I want this handled delicately. The last thing we need is to alienate our people further."

As the council dispersed, the tension in the room lingered. Viserys remained seated, his thoughts swirling. He couldn't shake the feeling that this stranger's intentions were pure, but his advisors’ warnings gnawed at him. He needed clarity, and soon.

---

The Kingsguard descended upon Flea Bottom in greater numbers than ever before, their polished armor gleaming even in the dim light of the impoverished streets. They moved methodically, questioning anyone who might have information about the kind noble lady.

Despite their efforts, the smallfolk remained tight-lipped. Those who knew of her existence spoke only in hushed tones, their faces lighting up with admiration whenever her name was mentioned. For many, she was a savior, a symbol of hope in a city that had long forgotten them.

One elderly man, bundled in the warm clothes she had provided, scoffed at a Kingsguard who pressed him for details. "Why would I tell you anything?" he spat. "That lady’s done more for us in a few nights than you lot have done in years."

A young mother cradling her infant echoed the sentiment. "She’s kind and generous, whoever she is. If she wants to stay hidden, she has every right to."

The Kingsguard’s inquiries yielded little more than frustration, and as the hours passed, their presence only served to deepen the divide between the crown and the smallfolk.

---

In the Red Keep, Viserys paced his chambers, his hands clasped behind his back. The reports from Flea Bottom were troubling. The Kingsguard had found no trace of the woman, and the smallfolk's unwavering loyalty to her was evident in every account.

"How is it that one person can achieve what my entire court could not?" he muttered to himself.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts, and Lyonel entered, his expression grim.

"Your Grace," he began, "the Kingsguard's efforts have been... less than fruitful. The smallfolk are protective of this woman, and they refuse to cooperate. It’s clear they view her as a savior."

Viserys sighed heavily, sinking into a chair. "And yet we sit here, helpless. What am I to do, Lyonel? Punish her for her kindness? Alienate the smallfolk even further?"

Lyonel hesitated before speaking. "Perhaps there is another way, Your Grace. If we cannot find her, we may need to address the root of the problem—the conditions in Flea Bottom. If the crown takes a more active role in improving their lives, their loyalty to this woman may wane."

The suggestion gave Viserys pause. It was a daunting task, one that would require resources and effort the crown had long neglected. But it was also the right thing to do.

"You believe that will work?" he asked, his tone uncertain.

"I do," Lyonel replied. "But it will take time, and it will require your unwavering commitment."

Viserys nodded slowly, a spark of determination flickering in his tired eyes. "Then so be it. If this kind noble lady can inspire such loyalty, then perhaps it’s time the crown learned from her example."

---

In the depths of the Red Keep, Vensalia listened to the whispers that reached her ears. She knew the council was on edge, and she knew the Kingsguard were scouring Flea Bottom in search of her. Despite the risk, she felt no regret for her actions. The smallfolk deserved compassion, and she would not stop until they had what they needed.

As she prepared for the night, she smiled faintly to herself. The kind noble lady might remain a mystery to the court, but to the people of Flea Bottom, she was a beacon of hope. And for now, that was enough.

The efforts of the crown to aid the smallfolk in Flea Bottom had begun in earnest. Wagons of firewood, bundles of clothes, and crates of food were sent to the poorest parts of the city, their contents distributed by harried officials and a begrudging Kingsguard. King Viserys had made it clear that the smallfolk were to be cared for, and while the council worked tirelessly to fulfill his orders, it was a monumental task. The needs of the people were staggering, and the resources of the crown, though vast, were not limitless.

Despite their best efforts, whispers of the "kind noble lady" persisted. No matter how much the crown gave, the smallfolk continued to awaken to gifts left outside their doors in the dead of night. Warm clothes, freshly baked bread, and peculiar items they had never seen before—items that left them both puzzled and delighted.

One such item was a plain wooden box, no larger than a loaf of bread. When opened, it revealed a finely ground brown powder with a rich, earthy scent. Accompanying the box was a handwritten note, the instructions penned in a delicate, elegant script:

"Boil water. Mix two spoons of powder with water. Stir well. Add honey or sugar, if available. Drink while warm."

Curious but hesitant, the smallfolk followed the instructions. The first sip was met with wide eyes and gasps of surprise. The drink was unlike anything they had ever tasted—sweet, warm, and comforting. It was as if the cold that clung to their skin and seeped into their bones melted away with each sip.

The drink’s name was written on the note: Chocolate.

The smallfolk had heard of chocolate before, but only in the context of cakes and confections reserved for the nobility. A chocolate drink was unheard of, a luxury far beyond their reach. Yet here it was, provided by the mysterious kind noble lady.

The news of this extraordinary gift spread like wildfire. Families huddled together, savoring the warmth of the drink, while children begged for more. In the taverns and markets of Flea Bottom, people exchanged stories of their experiences, their voices filled with wonder.

Meanwhile, the Kingsguard had not been idle. They too had come across the mysterious brown powder during their patrols, and curiosity had gotten the better of them. Samples were confiscated and brought to the Red Keep, where they were presented to the council.

The box was placed before King Viserys during the meeting, its unassuming appearance betraying nothing of its contents.

"What is this?" Viserys asked, his tone weary but intrigued.

"It’s what the smallfolk are calling chocolate, Your Grace," Ser Harrold Westerling explained. "The kind noble lady has been distributing it along with her other gifts. The smallfolk seem to think it’s a miracle in a cup."

Viserys raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "And have any of you tried it?"

"We thought it best to bring it to you first," Lyonel Strong replied. "Given the circumstances, we should be cautious."

Viserys waved a hand dismissively. "Nonsense. If it’s good enough for the smallfolk, it’s good enough for me. Prepare it as the note instructs."

A servant was summoned, and soon the room was filled with the rich, enticing aroma of chocolate. When the cup was placed before him, Viserys hesitated for only a moment before taking a sip.

His eyes widened, and a rare smile broke across his face. "By the gods, this is delightful! Sweet, warm, and… comforting." He took another sip, savoring the flavor. "No wonder the smallfolk speak of her with such reverence."

The council members exchanged uneasy glances. While the king appeared thoroughly charmed by the drink, they could not ignore the implications of its origin.

"This drink," Grand Maester Mellos began cautiously, "is indeed remarkable. But its introduction raises questions. How is it that this woman, whoever she is, has access to such luxuries? Chocolate is a rare commodity, reserved for the nobility."

"And how does she manage to distribute it so widely?" Ser Harrold added. "Even we struggle to meet the needs of the smallfolk, yet she seems to have an endless supply."

Viserys sighed, setting down his cup. "You all worry too much. Whoever she is, she’s doing what we should have done long ago—caring for the people. Perhaps we should thank her, instead of trying to unmask her."

Lyonel leaned forward, his expression serious. "Your Grace, while her actions appear noble, we cannot ignore the influence she now holds. The smallfolk are loyal to her, not the crown. If this continues, it could undermine your authority."

Viserys frowned, his frustration mounting. "And what would you have me do, Lyonel? Punish her for her kindness? Confiscate her gifts?"

"Not at all," Lyonel replied evenly. "But we must understand who she is and what motivates her. If her intentions are pure, then perhaps she can be an ally. If not..." He let the words hang in the air.

Viserys rubbed his temples, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "Very well. Continue your investigation, but do so discreetly. The last thing we need is to alienate the smallfolk further."

---

In the streets of Flea Bottom, the kind noble lady's reputation grew with each passing day. Her gifts brought warmth and hope to a population that had long been neglected, and her name was now spoken with a mixture of reverence and curiosity.

Vensalia watched from the shadows, her heart heavy with both satisfaction and concern. She had not intended to create such a stir, but she could not stand idly by while the smallfolk suffered. Her actions were driven by compassion, not a desire for recognition, yet the attention she had garnered was impossible to ignore.

As she prepared another round of gifts, she whispered to herself, "Let them wonder. Let them praise the kind noble lady. As long as the people are cared for, nothing else matters."

But deep down, she knew her secret could not remain hidden forever. And when the truth came to light, she would face whatever consequences awaited her. For now, though, her mission was clear—to bring warmth and hope to those who needed it most, one cup of chocolate at a time.

---

The dim glow of moonlight spilled through the grand windows of the royal chambers, casting pale streaks across King Viserys’ sleeping form. The room was silent, save for the faint crackle of a dwindling fire in the hearth. Hidden within the folds of the shadows that danced along the walls, Vensalia Vakriyoma stood, cloaked in darkness.

Her pale pink eyes glimmered faintly as she regarded the sleeping king. She had no ill intent; this was not an act of malice but one of necessity. She could not risk her identity as the kind noble lady being discovered and weaponized against her or, worse, used to undermine the smallfolk who depended on her aid.

Drawing on her umbrakinetic power, the room darkened further, the shadows thickening and swirling around the bed like a living mist. Viserys stirred briefly but did not wake, his breaths deep and even. Vensalia raised her hands, her voice soft as she began to chant in an ancient tongue, her words laced with the power of her shadows.

The shadows enveloped the king’s sleeping mind, threading themselves into his consciousness and weaving a narrative that would settle into his memories as though they had always been there.

“When you wake, in your memories, you know I am the kind noble lady. I told you last week, and you promised me that you would not tell anyone. You will always convince the council with firm and honest words that the kind noble lady means no harm to your people.”

Her voice was steady, her resolve unshakable. She had no choice but to plant these fabricated memories. It was the only way to protect the smallfolk and ensure her work could continue unimpeded. The shadows obeyed her will, seeping into Viserys’ mind like ink on parchment.

When the chant was complete, Vensalia stepped back, the shadows retreating to their natural places in the room. She lingered for a moment, her gaze softening as she looked at the king. His intentions were not evil, but he was blind to the true struggles of his people, even with his newfound efforts to help them.

With a flick of her wrist, Vensalia disappeared into the shadows, leaving the sleeping king behind.

---

It was midnight, and the streets of King’s Landing were quiet save for the occasional murmur of Kingsguard patrols. Vensalia and Aemond moved silently through the shadows, their forms cloaked in a veil of invisibility crafted by her umbrakinesis. To any observer, even if they walked directly in front of them, they were nothing but faint whispers of air.

Aemond carried a large sack over his shoulder, filled with the chocolate powder that had already brought so much warmth and joy to the smallfolk. Vensalia carried a smaller box under her arm, its contents unfamiliar even to her partner in secrecy.

“What’s in there?” Aemond asked in a low voice, nodding toward the box.

“Marshmallows,” she replied with a faint smirk.

“Marsh… what?” Aemond’s brow furrowed.

“They’re small, soft sweets that melt in warm drinks. Trust me, they’ll love it,” Vensalia explained. She couldn’t help but chuckle softly at his confusion. “It’s not something you’d find in this world—at least, not yet.”

Aemond, though intrigued, didn’t press further. He had grown accustomed to Vensalia’s mysterious ways, her knowledge of things that seemed far beyond their time.

They moved swiftly through the alleys of Flea Bottom, bypassing the slumbering Kingsguard and the dozing sentries who had grown complacent in their late-night watch. Their invisibility allowed them to work unimpeded, and soon they reached their destination: the heart of Flea Bottom, where the smallfolk lived in their greatest numbers.

The pair worked quickly and efficiently, leaving sacks of chocolate powder, bundles of clothes, and boxes of marshmallows outside the doors of each dwelling. Vensalia took careful note of each household, counting the families to ensure no one was left out.

At one door, she paused, muttering to herself. “The chocolate, the marshmallows… ah, I forgot the show wear again!”

“The what?” Aemond asked, setting down a sack.

“Shoe wear..." Vensalia sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “How could I forget something so basic?”

Aemond chuckled softly. “Don’t be so hard on yourself. The smallfolk are clever. They’ll make do with what they have.”

Vensalia nodded, though her frustration lingered. She would have to find a way to remedy the oversight in future deliveries.

The final household had just received their gifts when Aemond and Vensalia stopped to catch their breath in a secluded corner. Aemond leaned against the wall, his violet eye glinting faintly in the dim light.

“Why do you do this, Vensalia?” he asked, his tone curious but gentle.

Vensalia glanced at him, her expression thoughtful. “Because I can,” she said simply. “Because I have the means to help, and it would be wrong not to.”

Aemond nodded, his admiration for her growing with each word she spoke. “You’re remarkable,” he said quietly. “You could have lived a life of comfort and luxury, yet here you are, risking everything for the sake of people who don’t even know your name.”

Vensalia smiled faintly, her cheeks warming at his praise. “I’m not as selfless as you think,” she admitted. “A part of me does this because… well, it feels good to make a difference, even if it’s in secret.”

Aemond stepped closer, his gaze earnest. “No one deserves their titles more than you, Vensalia. You truly are a noble lady—not just by birth, but by heart.”

Her breath hitched at his words, and for a moment, the cold of the night seemed to vanish. She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face, and found only sincerity.

“Thank you, Aemond,” she said softly.

Their work complete, Vensalia and Aemond slipped away into the night, their forms once again concealed by her shadows. By the time the first rays of dawn touched the rooftops of Flea Bottom, they were back in their respective chambers, exhausted but content.

When the smallfolk awoke that morning, they were greeted by the sight of sacks, boxes, and bundles again waiting at their doors. The confusion at the sight of the marshmallows was quickly replaced by delight as they followed the instructions the kind noble lady had included, dropping the soft confections into their warm cups of chocolate and watching them melt into sweet, frothy goodness.

The praises of the kind noble lady grew louder and more fervent, her gifts bringing warmth not just to their bodies but to their spirits. In the Red Keep, however, the council grew more restless, their skepticism of the mysterious benefactor deepening with each passing day.

Vensalia knew the time would come when her secret would be revealed. But for now, she was content to remain a shadow in the night, bringing light and warmth to those who needed it most.

---

The air inside Helaena’s chambers was warm, a stark contrast to the biting chill of winter creeping through the Red Keep’s stone walls. A soft glow from the fire in the hearth illuminated the room, casting flickering shadows over the cozy space. Helaena was seated on a cushioned chair near the fire, her cheeks pink from the warmth, her usual shyness giving way to quiet excitement.

Across from her sat Aemond, his expression unreadable but his curiosity evident as he watched Vensalia. She knelt beside a low table, carefully pouring a steaming, rich chocolate liquid into three delicate cups. Beside her, a box of soft white marshmallows sat open, their pillowy texture a curiosity even to her companions.

“This drink,” Aemond began, his voice steady but laced with intrigue, “is what you’ve been giving the smallfolk, isn’t it?”

Vensalia glanced at him and gave a small nod, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Yes, though I never thought you’d be so eager to try it yourself.”

Helaena leaned forward slightly, her large, expressive eyes fixed on the cup Vensalia placed before her. “It smells… sweet,” she murmured, her voice soft and uncertain.

“It is,” Vensalia assured her, placing a cup in front of Aemond before taking the third for herself. She dropped a few marshmallows into each cup, watching as they floated and slowly melted into the drink. “We call this chocolate drink. In my family, we use it to warm ourselves during winter.”

The lie slipped easily from her lips, one of necessity rather than deception. She couldn’t risk explaining its true origins, not when it could raise more questions than answers.

Aemond studied her carefully, his sharp gaze lingering on her for a moment before dropping to his cup. He lifted it cautiously, the warmth of the ceramic comforting against his hands. Across from him, Helaena did the same, though her movements were more hesitant, as if she feared ruining something so delicate.

The first sip brought a simultaneous reaction from the two Targaryens. Helaena let out a soft, delighted sigh, her lips curving into a rare, genuine smile. Aemond’s violet eye widened slightly, his usual stoicism melting away as he savored the sweetness that coated his tongue and spread warmth through his chest.

“This,” Aemond said after a moment, his voice quieter than usual, “is incredible.”

Helaena nodded fervently, her shyness momentarily forgotten. “It’s… like happiness in a cup,” she murmured, her cheeks flushing deeper. “May I… have more?”

Vensalia chuckled softly, her expression gentle as she refilled Helaena’s cup. “Of course. Drink as much as you like.”

Aemond remained silent, but when Vensalia glanced at him, she caught the subtle, almost boyish look in his eyes. He wasn’t one to voice his desires openly, but the unspoken request was clear as day.

“You too, Aemond?” she teased lightly, a warm smile breaking across her face.

He nodded once, his usual composure faltering just enough to show his eagerness. “If there’s more to spare.”

Vensalia laughed softly, refilling his cup as well. She found it endearing how even Aemond, with all his sharp edges and restrained demeanor, could be softened by something as simple as a warm drink.

Helaena cradled her cup in both hands, gazing down at the steaming liquid. “The smallfolk must love this,” she said softly, a wistful note in her voice. “It’s so… comforting.”

“They do,” Vensalia confirmed. “It’s a small thing, but sometimes small things can make a big difference.”

Aemond glanced at her, his gaze contemplative. “And yet you don’t take credit for it,” he said quietly. “You remain in the shadows, letting them believe in a kind noble lady who helps them anonymously.”

Vensalia met his gaze, her expression unreadable. “The smallfolk don’t need a name or a face to give their gratitude to,” she said softly. “They just need hope, something to brighten their lives in the darkest times.”

Helaena looked up at her, her blue eyes wide with admiration. “You’re wonderful, Vensalia,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Vensalia’s cheeks flushed faintly, and she busied herself with tidying the table to hide her embarrassment. “I’m just doing what I can,” she said modestly.

---

The evening continued in a warm, quiet companionship. Helaena sipped her chocolate with a contented smile, occasionally humming softly to herself as she gazed into the fire. Aemond, meanwhile, seemed to relax in a way Vensalia rarely saw, his usual tension easing as he enjoyed the simple comfort of the moment.

“Will you teach me how to make this?” Helaena asked suddenly, her voice tinged with hopeful curiosity.

Vensalia hesitated, caught off guard by the request. She glanced at Aemond, who was watching her with mild amusement, as if daring her to explain the seemingly mysterious origins of the drink.

“It’s… a family recipe,” Vensalia said finally, offering Helaena an apologetic smile. “But I can prepare more for you whenever you like.”

Helaena’s disappointment was fleeting, replaced quickly by her usual gentle cheer. “I would like that very much,” she said earnestly.

“And me?” Aemond asked, arching a brow.

Vensalia smirked. “You, my prince, will have to earn it.”

He chuckled softly, a rare sound that warmed her heart. “Then I’ll consider this my first lesson,” he said, raising his cup in a mock toast.

Vensalia raised hers in return, her smile genuine and bright. “To small things that make a big difference.”

By the time the cups were empty and the fire in the hearth began to die down, the room was filled with a comfortable silence. Helaena had drifted off in her chair, her head resting against the cushions, a soft smile lingering on her lips even in sleep.

Aemond stood, taking the empty cups to the small table by the door. When he turned back, he found Vensalia watching him, her expression thoughtful.

“Thank you,” he said quietly, his tone sincere.

“For what?”

“For this,” he said, gesturing to the room. “For showing me something I wouldn’t have experienced otherwise. For letting me help you.”

Vensalia smiled softly, her gaze warm. “You’ve done more than you realize, Aemond,” she said. “And I’m grateful to have you by my side.”

He stepped closer, his eyes meeting hers. For a moment, the world outside the chambers seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of them in the soft glow of the dying fire.

“You’ll always have me,” Aemond said, his voice steady.

Vensalia’s heart swelled at his words, and she reached out, placing a hand lightly on his arm. “And you’ll always have me,” she replied, her voice just as firm.

As the embers of the fire flickered and faded, the bond between them felt stronger than ever, forged in the quiet moments of shared kindness and trust.

---

The halls of the Red Keep, usually filled with muted conversation and measured steps, erupted into chaos. Alicent Hightower, her once carefully composed demeanor utterly shattered, stormed through the corridors with wild eyes and a broken shard of ceramic clutched in her hand. The servants who crossed her path froze in terror, gasping at the sight of the disheveled former queen, her hair tangled and her green gown torn at the hem.

“Out of my way!” she screamed, shoving a stunned maid aside as she pressed onward. Her mind was a whirlwind of hatred and desperation, her singular focus on the young girl she had come to loathe. Vensalia Vakriyoma.

Behind her, shouts echoed as the Kingsguard gave chase. “Stop her! Don’t let her harm anyone!” one of them barked, his armor clanking as he sprinted after her.

Another group of guards peeled off, rushing toward the throne room to inform King Viserys and Prince Aemond of the disturbance. The tension was palpable, the servants exchanging horrified glances as the former queen’s cries echoed down the halls.

Vensalia sat quietly in a sunlit alcove, a thick book balanced on her lap. Her pale silver, red streaks hair cascaded over her shoulders as she turned the page, her face serene. But beneath her calm exterior, her mind was anything but tranquil.

The chaos in the keep had reached her ears, the frantic footsteps and panicked murmurs growing louder by the second. She knew what was coming. And she was ready.

Closing the book with deliberate slowness, she set it aside and rose to her feet. Her face shifted into a mask of innocent confusion as she stepped out into the corridor.

It didn’t take long for the madness to find her.

Alicent rounded the corner, her eyes wild with fury, the shard of ceramic gleaming in her hand. Her gaze locked onto Vensalia, and a twisted smile spread across her face.

“There you are,” Alicent hissed, her voice low and venomous.

Vensalia widened her eyes, feigning fear as she stepped back. “Queen Alicent? What are you—”

But before she could finish, Alicent lunged.

The older woman’s movements were erratic, her grip on the shard tight as she swung it toward Vensalia. The younger girl raised her hand instinctively, the sharp edge slicing into her palm. Blood welled up instantly, dripping onto the stone floor as Vensalia let out a piercing scream.

“Stop pretending, you little witch!” Alicent snarled, her voice cracking with madness.

Vensalia fell backward, clutching her injured hand to her chest. Tears streamed down her face as she gasped in pain, her expression a perfect mix of fear and shock. “Why are you doing this?” she cried, her voice trembling.

Alicent didn’t answer. She climbed atop the girl, her movements frantic as she raised the shard again. Vensalia raised her injured hand once more, her bloodied fingers trembling as she tried to shield herself. The shard came down again, slicing into her forearm this time.

Screams erupted from nearby servants who had gathered at the scene, their faces pale with horror. “Someone help her!” one of them shouted, their voice breaking.

The Kingsguard arrived moments later, pulling Alicent off the bleeding girl. She thrashed in their grip, her once regal voice reduced to incoherent screams. “Let me go! She’s a monster! A demon! She’s fooled all of you!”

Vensalia lay on the cold stone floor, her blood pooling around her as she trembled in the arms of a loyal maid. Her wide pink eyes flicked up to Alicent, a glint of triumph flashing briefly in their depths before she masked it with fear.

“She tried to kill me,” Vensalia whimpered, her voice barely audible. “I—I didn’t do anything to her.”

The maid holding her sobbed quietly, pressing a cloth to the girl’s wounds. “Stay with us, my lady. Help is coming.”

---

The throne room was in an uproar by the time King Viserys and Prince Aemond arrived. Alicent was held firmly between two Kingsguard, her face red with exertion as she continued to hurl accusations and curses at Vensalia.

“She’s bewitched you all!” Alicent shouted, her voice ragged. “She’s a liar! A harlot! She’s—”

“Enough!” Viserys’s voice boomed, silencing the room. His face was pale, his hands trembling slightly as he took in the scene before him.

His gaze landed on Vensalia, who sat slumped against the wall, her bloodied hand cradled to her chest. Aemond was already at her side, his face a mask of fury as he knelt beside her.

“Are you hurt?” he asked, his voice low and urgent.

Vensalia looked up at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I tried to stop her,” she said softly, her voice quivering. “I didn’t want to hurt her. I—I don’t understand why she hates me so much.”

Aemond clenched his jaw, his blue eyes blazing with anger as he turned to his mother. “How could you do this?” he demanded, his voice cold. “She’s just a girl. My betrothed.”

Alicent laughed bitterly, her head thrown back as tears streamed down her face. “You’re all blind,” she spat. “She’s bewitched you, Aemond. She’s not what she seems!”

Viserys stepped forward, his face contorted with a mix of anger and sorrow. “Alicent,” he said, his voice trembling. “You’ve gone too far. You attacked a child. A noble of the realm.”

“She’s a witch!” Alicent screamed, struggling against the guards. “She’ll destroy us all!”

“No,” Viserys said firmly. “You’ve destroyed yourself.”

He turned to the gathered court, his voice rising. “Let it be known that Alicent Hightower has committed a grievous crime against Lady Vensalia Vakriyoma, the betrothed of my son, Prince Aemond. For this, she shall be confined to her quarters until further notice, stripped of all privileges. Any who aid her will face the same punishment.”

The court erupted into murmurs as Alicent was dragged away, her screams echoing through the halls.

---

Later that evening, Vensalia lay in her chambers, her injured hand freshly bandaged. Aemond sat beside her, his hand gently resting on hers as he studied her face.

“You didn’t deserve any of this,” he said quietly, his voice filled with conviction.

Vensalia looked at him, her pink eyes soft and watery. “Thank you for believing in me,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Aemond leaned forward, his gaze intense. “Always.”

As he held her gaze, Vensalia allowed herself a small, secret smile. Everything was falling into place.

---

The Great Hall of the Red Keep was packed with spectators. Lords, ladies, and courtiers filled the space, their hushed murmurs echoing against the cold stone walls. At the center of it all stood Alicent Hightower, disheveled and pale, her once regal appearance marred by dark circles under her eyes and the wild desperation etched across her face. The former queen was flanked by guards, her wrists bound loosely with a chain to keep her from lunging at anyone.

King Viserys sat atop the Iron Throne, his frail form slumped against the cold metal, his face lined with weariness. Despite his physical decline, his voice remained steady as he presided over the trial, his words carrying the weight of finality. Beside him stood his Hand, Lord Lyonel Strong, his expression grim but impartial.

On the opposite side of the hall, Aemond Targaryen stood tall and protective, his arm encircled around the slender figure of Vensalia Vakriyoma. She clung to him, her head resting lightly against his shoulder, her pale face framed by her white hair streaked with red. Her pink eyes glistened with what appeared to be unshed tears, and her bandaged hand trembled faintly. To the court, she appeared a picture of innocence and fragility, the victim of a cruel and unwarranted attack.

Alicent, however, was anything but composed.

“She’s a witch!” Alicent screamed, her voice hoarse from days of pleading her case. Her green gown, once the emblem of her house’s pride, now hung limp and wrinkled. “She’s bewitched all of you! Can’t you see? She’s a harlot, a deceiver! That girl—she’ll ruin everything!”

The onlookers recoiled at the venom in her tone. Murmurs rippled through the crowd, some whispering in sympathy for the girl who stood clutching Prince Aemond, while others exchanged uneasy glances at Alicent’s outburst.

Vensalia, for her part, played her role to perfection. She buried her face into Aemond’s chest, letting out a small, trembling sob as if Alicent’s words had deeply wounded her. Inside, however, she was smiling, her heart dancing with satisfaction.

Aemond tightened his grip on her, his face darkening with anger as he glared at his mother. “Enough, Mother,” he said coldly. “Your words only disgrace you further.”

Alicent’s eyes darted to her son, her desperation mounting. “Aemond, my sweet boy, you must see it! She’s manipulating you, all of you! She’s poisoned your mind!”

Aemond’s expression didn’t waver. “You attacked an innocent girl,” he said icily. “You tried to kill my betrothed. That is what I see.”

Alicent’s face contorted in anguish. “I was trying to protect you!” she cried. “She’s dangerous, Aemond! Can’t you see how she—”

“Enough.”

Viserys’s voice cut through the air like a blade, silencing the hall. The king’s once warm eyes were cold as they fixed on Alicent. “You have shamed your house, Alicent Hightower,” he said, his voice heavy with disappointment. “Your actions cannot be excused.”

“But she’s—” Alicent began, but Viserys raised a hand to silence her.

“The council has deliberated,” Viserys continued, his tone brooking no argument. “And I have made my decision. Alicent Hightower, you are hereby stripped of your titles, including that of queen. Our marriage is annulled, and you are to be removed from the Red Keep immediately.”

Gasps and whispers erupted throughout the hall. The once-proud Alicent staggered, her face draining of color.

“No… no, you can’t do this,” she said, her voice trembling. “Viserys, please! I’ve been your wife for years! I bore your children!”

“You have betrayed my trust and the crown’s honor,” Viserys said, his tone firm despite the sorrow in his eyes. “There is no place for you here.”

As the guards moved to take her away, Alicent thrashed against them, her voice rising in hysteria. “No! Aegon! Helaena! Aemond! Daeron! Help me!”

Her cries echoed through the hall, but her children didn’t move. Aegon looked down at his hands, his expression blank, while Helaena sat quietly, her face pale and unreadable. Aemond stood tall, his arm still protectively around Vensalia, his gaze fixed forward. Daeron, clutching Vensalia's gown, refused to even glance her way.

Even Gwayne Hightower, her brother and Daeron’s bodyguard, looked away in disappointment, his face a mask of shame.

“No! Don’t turn your backs on me!” Alicent screamed, her voice breaking. “You’re my children! My family!”

The guards began dragging her from the hall, her cries growing louder and more frantic. “You’ll regret this! All of you! That witch will destroy you all!”

The court watched in stunned silence, many cringing at the sight of the once-dignified queen reduced to a thrashing, screaming figure. The Hightower family, seated near the back, hung their heads in shame, their faces pale as whispers of disgrace circulated around them.

As Alicent was dragged out of sight, her curses echoing faintly in the distance, Viserys leaned back in his throne, his face drawn and weary. “Let it be known,” he said, his voice heavy with finality, “that the actions of Alicent Hightower do not reflect the honor of the crown. Justice has been served.”

The hall remained silent for a moment before the courtiers began to murmur once more, the trial’s shocking conclusion already becoming the talk of the court.

In the aftermath of the trial, Vensalia and Aemond retreated to a quieter corner of the keep. Vensalia leaned against the wall, her bandaged hand resting lightly on her chest as she gazed up at Aemond with wide, innocent eyes.

“Are you all right?” Aemond asked, his voice soft as he stepped closer to her.

She nodded, letting out a small, shaky breath. “It was… overwhelming,” she said, her voice trembling slightly. “But I’m glad it’s over.”

Aemond reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair from her face. “You were brave,” he said, his gaze steady. “No one will hurt you again, not while I’m here.”

Vensalia looked up at him, her lips curving into a small, grateful smile. “Thank you, Aemond,” she said softly, leaning into his touch.

As he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her into a protective embrace, Vensalia’s smile deepened, her face hidden against his chest. Inside, her mind buzzed with satisfaction. Everything had gone exactly as she’d planned.