The fire in Daemon and Laena’s chambers cast long shadows across the room, the flickering light dancing over the polished wood and dark tapestries. The space was warm, suffused with the faint scent of burning cedar, yet the atmosphere between them was heavy with unspoken tension. Laena sat in a cushioned chair near the window, the book The Conquest of Aegon I opened on her lap. The golden glow of the fire mixed with the pale moonlight streaming through the window, highlighting her serene features.

Daemon, in contrast, was restless. He stalked back and forth like a caged animal, his silver hair catching the light with every turn. His usual composure was replaced by a visible frustration, his hands often twitching as though reaching for the hilt of Dark Sister. The events of the evening had unsettled him, and though Laena sat calmly nearby, he felt like a storm was brewing within him.

Finally, he stopped pacing and turned to face her. “Laena,” he said, his voice tight.

She looked up from her book, her violet eyes meeting his. “What is it, Daemon?”

“Do you trust her?” he asked abruptly.

Laena tilted her head, her brow furrowing slightly in confusion. “Trust who?”

“You know who,” he said sharply. “Vensalia.”

Laena paused, setting the book aside on a nearby table. She clasped her hands in her lap and regarded him carefully. “Trust is a strong word,” she began slowly. “But no, not fully.”

Daemon raised a brow, his frustration evident. “And yet you defend her?” he pressed. “You speak of her as though she’s some savior, some harbinger of hope, when we know next to nothing about her. She’s a stranger. She wrapped Aemond around her little finger and caused chaos in the court. How can you not see the danger she poses?”

Laena sighed softly, leaning back in her chair. “I never said I didn’t see the danger,” she replied. “But I also don’t believe she’s here to harm us.”

Daemon crossed his arms over his chest, his expression skeptical. “And what makes you so certain of that?”

Laena hesitated, her gaze dropping to her hands. “Because of what she showed me,” she said quietly.

Daemon’s brows knit together. “What are you talking about?”

Laena glanced up at him, her expression steady but tinged with a shadow of unease. “During Helaena’s nameday celebration,” she said, her voice was careful, “Vensalia approached me. She told me she had something to show me… something I needed to see.”

Daemon’s eyes narrowed. “What did she show you?”

Laena’s hands tightened slightly in her lap, her nails pressing into her skin. She took a deep breath before speaking. “The future,” she said simply.

For a moment, Daemon was silent, his expression a mix of confusion and skepticism. “The future?” he repeated, his tone laced with doubt.

“Yes,” Laena said firmly, meeting his gaze. “She showed me what would have happened if she hadn’t intervened.”

Daemon frowned, his mind racing. “And what exactly did you see?”

Laena looked away, her expression darkening. “I saw my own death,” she said softly.

The words hung in the air like a heavy cloud. Daemon’s breath caught, his body tensing. He moved closer to her, his voice lower but no less intense. “What do you mean, your death?”

Laena’s voice was steady but filled with a quiet sorrow. “I was in labor,” she explained. “The pain was unbearable. The maesters couldn’t save me, and I… I ordered Vhagar to burn me alive. I couldn’t take it anymore.”

Daemon’s hands clenched into fists, his knuckles whitening. The thought of Laena dying, consumed by fire at her own command, sent a wave of anger and despair coursing through him.

“And the child?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Laena’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. “Vaelor wasn’t meant to survive,” she said. “But Vensalia… she saved us both.”

Daemon turned away, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process her words. The image of Laena’s death was seared into his mind, a nightmare he couldn’t shake. “Why would she show you this?” he asked, his voice laced with frustration.

“To warn me,” Laena said simply. “To prepare me for what might have been. She didn’t have to save me, Daemon. But she did. And that’s why I can’t see her as an enemy.”

Daemon let out a heavy sigh, his shoulders slumping. “And you believe her?” he asked, still wary.

“Yes,” Laena said without hesitation. “Because it wasn’t just my death she showed me. She showed me the Dance of the Dragons—the war that will tear this realm apart. I saw Aemond and Lucerys, their feud escalating into bloodshed. I saw dragons fighting dragons, families destroyed, the realm consumed by fire and ash.”

Daemon turned to face her, his expression unreadable. “And yet you don’t fully trust her?”

“No,” Laena admitted. “Because trust must be earned, not given. But I can’t ignore what she’s done. She saved my life, Daemon. She saved Vaelor’s life. That counts for something.”

Daemon was silent, his mind racing with conflicting thoughts. He wanted to protect his family, to shield them from any potential threat, but he couldn’t deny the truth in Laena’s words.

“You’re asking me to believe in a stranger,” he said finally.

“I’m asking you to keep an open mind,” Laena corrected gently. “For the sake of our family, and for the realm.”

Daemon stared at her for a long moment, his expression softening. He reached out and took her hand, his grip firm but filled with unspoken emotion. “I’ll try,” he said quietly.

Laena smiled faintly, her fingers tightening around his. “That’s all I ask.”

The faint cries of dragons echoed in the distance, their haunting melody filling the night air. Daemon and Laena turned their gazes toward the window, the glow of dragonfire visible against the dark sky.

“What will happen to us, Laena?” Daemon asked softly, his voice filled with both hope and fear.

Laena’s eyes remained fixed on the horizon, her expression thoughtful. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “But whatever comes, we’ll face it together. As a family.”

Daemon nodded, his grip on her hand unwavering. Whatever the future held, he knew one thing with certainty: he would protect Laena and their children at all costs.

The dragons’ songs grew louder, their cries a mix of power and sorrow. As husband and wife stood side by side, they prepared themselves for whatever trials the future might bring. Together, they would endure.

---

Helaena remained by the window, her fingers absentmindedly tracing the edges of her book, though her thoughts were far from the text she had been reading. The night air that drifted through the window was cool, and she closed her eyes for a moment, listening to the far-off cries of the dragons. It was strange how the sound of them had become so familiar, almost comforting, as if they were part of her own heart now. Silva and Gazaro were still flying, still dancing in the sky together, their songs blending in a way that only they could. It was a sound that spoke of a bond between dragon and rider—a bond that, for some reason, seemed to echo deeply within Helaena's soul.

Her peaceful solitude was shattered when the door to the library creaked open, and Aegon stumbled in, a tipsy grin plastered across his face. The smell of wine wafted into the room before he even spoke.

“Helaena,” Aegon slurred, clearly having enjoyed more wine than was good for him. “You’re still here?”

She didn’t look up from her book. “I am.”

Aegon’s voice was louder now, more insistent, as he took a few unsteady steps toward her. “Why do you always retreat to this dark corner?” he teased, slumping into a chair. His eyes were half-lidded, but they were still sharp enough to notice the subtle tension in her posture. “You’re always so quiet, so mysterious. What are you hiding in that book?”

Helaena barely glanced at him, her eyes flickering briefly over the words in front of her. She had no desire to indulge him tonight. “Nothing that concerns you, Aegon.”

Aegon chuckled, a sound that was part drunkenness, part bitterness. “Maybe I want to know what concerns you.” He let out a sigh, sitting back in the chair and staring at the ceiling for a moment before his attention shifted back to her. “Have you heard the dragons tonight?”

Helaena’s heart skipped a beat. She nodded, though her voice remained neutral. “I hear them.”

Aegon’s grin widened. “Of course you do. They’re not exactly quiet, are they? But I’m not talking about just any dragons. Did you hear the ones flying together tonight?” His voice dropped lower as he leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of curiosity and something else she couldn’t quite name.

Helaena was silent for a long moment, but the soft sound of the dragons’ song drifted through the air, almost as if they were calling to her. Silva and Gazaro, she thought. They were still soaring through the night sky, as free as they could be, untouched by the burdens of the world below. Aemond and Vensalia—together in the skies—were far removed from the games of power and politics that everyone else played.

“They’re just flying,” Helaena finally replied, her voice steady but not betraying the feeling that stirred inside her.

Aegon scoffed. “You’re not fooling me, Helaena. You know exactly who’s up there.” He leaned forward, lowering his voice. “Aemond and some strange woman, huh? Who is she?”

Helaena’s hand clenched around the edge of her book. She knew exactly who Aegon was referring to, but she wasn’t going to give him any satisfaction. Not yet. “I don’t know who she is,” she said simply, her tone flat and nonchalant.

Aegon narrowed his eyes. “Don’t lie. You know more than you’re letting on. What’s her name?” His gaze was calculating now, and Helaena could feel his curiosity pressing down on her like a weight.

She froze, her fingers suddenly stiff around the pages of the book, her heartbeat quickening. She hadn’t meant to slip. She hadn’t meant to give anything away. But the name had slipped out before she could stop it. She cursed herself internally as Aegon’s eyes brightened with recognition.

“Vensalia?” Aegon repeated the name slowly, as if savoring it. “So, you do know her.”

Helaena’s heart pounded in her chest. She hadn’t wanted to reveal anything—not to Aegon, not to anyone. Vensalia was a secret. One she had vowed to keep to herself, a part of her that didn’t belong to the world of politics and power struggles. She wasn’t a mere lady; she was something more—someone who saw the future, someone who had a bond with dragons unlike anything Helaena had ever known.

“She’s not important,” Helaena said quickly, her voice wavering just a little. She felt a sharp pang of regret for letting her emotions show, even for just a moment. “Forget her.”

But Aegon wasn’t easily dismissed. “Why are you so protective of her?” he asked, leaning forward as he fixed his gaze on her. “What is it about her that makes you so… invested?”

“I’m not protecting anyone,” Helaena replied, though she felt the lie in her own words. She wasn’t just protecting Vensalia—she was protecting something much more precious, something only she truly understood.

Aegon, however, wasn’t convinced. “There’s something about her, isn’t there?” he pressed, his voice dropping lower, more persistent. “You know more than you’re saying. She knows something, doesn’t she? Something that could help us all.”

Helaena shook her head sharply. “No. You’re wrong. There’s nothing about her that you need to worry about.” She was trying to keep the warning out of her voice, but Aegon didn’t seem to notice the subtle shift in her tone. He was too focused on his own curiosity.

“What if she’s dangerous?” Aegon asked, his voice a little too casual for her liking. “What if she’s using Aemond for something?”

Helaena’s heart clenched at the thought. She wanted to tell Aegon that Vensalia wasn’t like that—she wasn’t dangerous—but something stopped her. Maybe it was the truth in Aegon’s words that gnawed at her. Vensalia was a mystery, and mysteries often brought danger with them. But she wasn’t that kind of danger. She was... something else.

“She’s not dangerous,” Helaena said firmly, but there was a slight tremor in her voice. She could feel the words leaving her mouth, but the truth behind them felt elusive.

Aegon’s eyes narrowed, sensing her uncertainty. “I don’t believe you, Helaena.” He stared at her, searching her face as if trying to read the truth behind her eyes. For a moment, he seemed to understand something she didn’t want him to. But then, just as quickly, his gaze turned cold.

“I’ll find out on my own, then,” he muttered. “If you won’t tell me, I’ll get the answers myself.”

With that, he stood up, knocking the chair back with a loud scrape as he staggered toward the door. Helaena’s breath caught in her throat, and she looked up at him, her heart racing in her chest. She opened her mouth to say something—to warn him—but no words came out.

Aegon turned back just before the door closed. “Just remember, Helaena,” he said, his tone a little quieter now, “nothing stays hidden for long in this family. Especially not secrets.”

And with that, he was gone.

Helaena was left alone again, but the silence that followed his departure was nothing like the peace she had known before. The weight of his words hung in the air like a cloud, and for the first time in a long time, she felt as if she were standing on the edge of something she couldn’t control.

She looked back out the window toward the skies, where Silva and Gazaro still danced, their dragon songs filling the night. Aemond and Vensalia were out there, beyond the castle walls, untouchable and free.

But the secrets they shared were no longer theirs alone.

---

Aemond and Vensalia had finally returned from their exhilarating flight, their dragons descending gracefully through the night skies. Gazaro’s silver eyes glimmered in the dim moonlight as his wings beat steadily, slowing their descent. Silva, majestic and commanding, followed close behind, her alabaster scales shimmering faintly as they caught the soft glow of the stars. The outskirts of King’s Landing stretched below them, quiet and still, a stark contrast to the lively celebrations that had taken place earlier.

As the two dragons touched down, their massive forms stirring the cool night air, Aemond slid off Gazaro with practiced ease. His boots crunched softly against the earth as he turned to watch Vensalia dismount Silva with the same elegance that seemed to define her every move. She landed lightly, her red-streaked white hair catching the faint light, her unnatural pink eyes scanning their surroundings with practiced precision.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, the silence of the night wrapping around them like a cloak. Then Vensalia tilted her head slightly, her sharp hearing picking up faint traces of life from the city in the distance—the faint hum of voices, the occasional burst of drunken laughter, and the dull thrum of music carried by the wind.

“It’s over,” she murmured, more to herself than to Aemond. Her tone was calm, but there was a hint of weariness beneath the surface.

Aemond stepped closer, his expression unreadable as he glanced in the direction of the Red Keep. “The feast may have ended, but the nobles will wake early tomorrow, eager to continue their festivities,” he said, his voice steady but edged with disdain. “Their love for excess knows no bounds.”

Vensalia let out a quiet sigh, folding her arms as she turned to face him fully. “Why do they celebrate for so many days?” she asked, her voice tinged with exasperation. “Feasts, dances, endless displays of wealth and power... It all feels so pointless.”

Aemond’s gaze softened as he regarded her, noting the faint tension in her shoulders. “Pointless to those who see through the illusion,” he said quietly. “But to them, it’s everything—a way to solidify alliances, flaunt their influence, and mask their insecurities.”

Vensalia met his gaze, her expression thoughtful. “It’s exhausting,” she admitted. “But I suppose I’ll have to endure it tomorrow. I can feel the weight of their stares even now, their questions... their suspicions.”

Aemond’s eye darkened slightly at her words, a flicker of protectiveness flashing across his face. “Let them stare,” he said, his tone firm. “Let them wonder and whisper. None of it matters. I’ll be by your side.”

His words caught Vensalia off guard, and for a moment, she simply looked at him, her pink eyes searching his face for sincerity. She found it there—in the quiet determination etched into his features, in the steady way he held her gaze.

“Thank you,” she said softly, her voice almost a whisper.

The silence between them was heavy but not uncomfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. Finally, Vensalia took a step back, glancing toward Silva, who had begun to settle into a resting position nearby.

“I should go,” she said, her tone practical. “There’s much to prepare for tomorrow.”

Aemond frowned slightly, his eyes narrowing. “You don’t need to leave now,” he said. “I could escort you—”

“No,” she interrupted gently, shaking her head. “I have my own ways of getting where I need to be.”

Before he could protest further, she extended a hand toward him, her expression softening. “But I’ll see you back to your chambers first,” she offered.

Aemond hesitated for only a moment before nodding, stepping closer to her. He had grown accustomed to the peculiar sensation of her umbrakinesis, the way the shadows seemed to come alive around her, moving with a will of their own. As the darkness enveloped them, he felt the familiar chill of the void, weightless and surreal, before the world reassembled itself around them.

---

The dimly lit interior of Aemond’s chambers greeted them as the shadows released their hold. The flickering glow of a single candle casts long shadows across the walls, and the faint scent of parchment and leather lingered in the air.

Vensalia stepped away from him, her movements fluid and deliberate. “You should rest,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact. “Tomorrow will be another long day.”

Aemond regarded her for a moment, his expression unreadable. “And what about you?” he asked quietly. “Will you rest?”

Her lips curved into a faint smile, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll rest when I can,” she replied cryptically.

He frowned but didn’t press her further. Instead, he watched as she turned toward the door, her steps light and purposeful.

“I’ll be here in the morning,” she added over her shoulder, her voice steady.

With that, she disappeared into the shadows once more, leaving Aemond alone in the quiet of his chambers.

---

Far from the Red Keep, Vensalia reappeared in the forest where Silva waited, her massive white dragon blending seamlessly into the moonlit landscape. Silva rumbled softly as Vensalia approached, her luminous eyes following her rider’s every move.

“Let’s go,” Vensalia murmured, placing a hand against Silva’s scales. “Somewhere farther, somewhere quieter.”

Silva shifted her weight, spreading her massive wings with a low growl of agreement. With a powerful leap, they ascended into the night sky, the cool wind rushing past them as they soared higher and farther from the city.

Vensalia kept her gaze on the horizon, her thoughts a swirling mixture of anticipation and unease. The events of the evening had left her more drained than she cared to admit, the weight of countless stares and whispered speculations pressing heavily on her mind.

After what felt like hours of flight, Silva began to slow, her keen eyes spotting a secluded cave nestled within a dense forest. The cave was large enough to accommodate her massive form, its entrance partially obscured by overgrown vines and foliage. It was perfect—hidden and secure.

Silva landed gracefully, her claws scraping softly against the rocky ground as she folded her wings. Vensalia dismounted with ease, her boots making a faint sound as they touched the stone floor.

“This will do,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Silva let out a low, contented rumble as she settled into the cave, curling her massive body protectively around Vensalia. The warmth radiating from her scales was comforting, and Vensalia leaned against her, allowing herself a rare moment of vulnerability.

As she closed her eyes, the memories of the night replayed in her mind—the stares, the whispers, the unspoken questions that lingered like shadows in the corners of the Red Keep. Tomorrow would bring more of the same, and she would need to face it all with the same calm facade.

But for now, in the quiet solitude of the cave with Silva by her side, she allowed herself to let go. The dragon’s steady breathing and the gentle rise and fall of her massive body lulled Vensalia into a deep, dreamless sleep. The shadows that always seemed to accompany her remained vigilant, standing guard until the first light of dawn began to creep through the trees.