Salvation | HOTD

3

The morning sun painted the kitchen in a warm glow as the cook prepared to deal with the remnants of yesterday's lavish celebration. Pans and utensils clinked softly, echoing through the otherwise quiet space. He moved with practiced efficiency, arranging the leftover dishes for disposal. The air still carried traces of the festivities that had unfolded the night before, but in the kitchen, it was time to clear away the remnants of indulgence.

As he worked, the cook's mind lingered on the significant event that followed the celebration. Aemond, in the wake of the revelry, had taken Aalya Lannister as his bride. Jason Lannister's sister, now a Targaryen by marriage, added a new layer of intrigue to the court dynamics. The cook, a silent observer to the grandeur and politics that unfolded within the castle, continued his tasks with a curious eye on the changes that the day brought.

The cook's stomach emitted an audible growl, a hungry protest against the tempting aromas lingering in the kitchen. Despite the tempting allure of the leftover feast, he knew the consequences of succumbing to his hunger were dire. The threat of a whipping to death in the courtyard loomed over him, a harsh reality that kept his cravings in check.

His gaze shifted regretfully to the bountiful spread before him. The grandeur of the celebration had resulted in an excess of sumptuous dishes, and now, per court orders, all the delectable remnants were destined for waste. The cook, torn between the tantalizing scent and the fear of brutal punishment, continued his duties with a heavy heart, watching as precious food, fit for kings and queens, met an untimely demise in the disposal process. The irony of discarding such a feast when hunger gnawed at his own insides added a bitter flavor to the task at hand.

The cook's eyes darted nervously around the kitchen, ensuring no prying eyes witnessed his clandestine endeavor. Seizing the opportunity, he greedily stuffed a sack with an assortment of leftover delights – meats, jams, breads, and cheeses. The bounty of the celebration, destined for waste, became a secret feast for the kitchen's discreet scavenger.

Caught in the act, his heart skipped a beat as an unexpected noise reached his ears. Whirling around with trepidation, he found Princess Aemma standing there, her curious purple eyes fixed upon him. The morning sun, casting its golden glow upon her, transformed her presence into an ethereal sight. The cook, frozen with a mixture of fear and awe, faced the unexpected observer who had stumbled upon his clandestine feast.

The cook's heart sank as the sack slipped from his grasp, clattering onto the kitchen floor in an unfortunate symphony of exposed guilt. Panic set in, and he began to stammer out excuses,

"Princess Aemma, I am so sorry, my children haven't ate in days, please forgive me!" His movements marked by frantic bows as he begged Princess Aemma for forgiveness. The weight of his fear hung thick in the air as he awaited the consequences of his covert act.

Princess Aemma, an ethereal presence, approached with a grace that seemed to defy the laws of sound. Her feet made no noise, and she moved like a specter. Even in this moment of vulnerability, the cook couldn't help but see a haunting resemblance to the late queen in her—Rhaenyra's ghost, walking among the living. Aemma's eyes, a reflection of her Targaryen lineage, held only understanding.

To the cook's surprise, instead of chastising him, Princess Aemma stooped gracefully to pick up the fallen bag. Silently, she placed it back into his trembling hands, a gesture that spoke of a different kind of understanding. The kitchen, once filled with tension, now held a delicate balance between the cook and the spectral princess who seemed to carry the weight of her lineage within her every step.

Aemma's smile, though gentle, carried the weight of a shared secret. "Please, take what you must. But I beg of you, do not get caught by the guards. I have no authority... not anymore," she whispered, her words a solemn acknowledgment of the changes that had taken place within the royal hierarchy.

Overwhelmed with gratitude, the cook nodded frantically, thanking her with eyes filled with genuine appreciation. Her unexpected benevolence left him in a state of both relief and awe. Clutching the sack tightly, he hurriedly made his way through the hidden passages of the Keep, navigating the labyrinthine corridors with the urgency of someone who had narrowly escaped the jaws of punishment.

As he moved through the shadowed hallways, the cook couldn't shake the realization that lingered in his mind. Princess Aemma, once adorned with the authority of royalty, had relinquished her command. Yet, in her act of compassion, she retained a regal grace that echoed the epithet bestowed upon her by many—the fair princess, a title that carried a weight of both beauty and benevolence.

As the cook navigated the passages with the sack of rescued provisions in hand, he couldn't help but reflect on the encounter with Princess Aemma. Her words resonated in his mind—the acknowledgment of her diminished authority and the subtle plea for secrecy. In the dimly lit corridors, the weight of her trust in him became a responsibility he carried with both gratitude and trepidation.

Word of Princess Aemma's benevolence spread quietly among the castle's staff, reinforcing the epithet—Princess Aemma The Fair. As he worked alongside his fellow kitchen staff, the cook couldn't help but notice the glances and murmurs exchanged in hushed tones. The aura of the fair princess, now a keeper of secrets, seemed to linger in the air, an unseen influence that permeated the daily routines of the castle.

As the cook watched his family who also worked along side him eat, he secretly wished he would speak to her again, and maybe one day he could help her the way she helped him.

a/n: I just made up the new queen bc I couldn't think of anyone else