Aemond Targaryen sat alone in his chambers, the weight of his actions heavy upon him. The warmth of the hearth did little to ease the chill that had settled in his bones. He had called for her, the one person who could bring him solace in his darkest moments.

As she entered, a soft smile played on her lips, but her eyes betrayed concern. She knew him well, perhaps too well. She moved to him with a grace born of practice, her gentle touch a balm to his troubled soul.

"My prince," she began, her voice like a soothing melody, "you need not carry this burden alone."

He looked at her, his cold eye now filled with a mixture of gratitude and sorrow. "I never meant for this to happen... but It's done now," he murmured.

She embraced him then, holding him close. She was his comfort, his confidante, his friend. And in that moment, as they clung to each other in the flickering light of the candles, he knew that he was not alone.