Chapter Text
Time was a fluid thing, in this place after death. To Baelor, he felt like he had been there for years already by the time his sons arrived. Years spent wandering the halls, and weeks more spent surrounded by his ancestors. Yet, they both died scarcely a year after him. A great sickness came sometime after Valarr returned to King’s Landing, and both he and Matarys had caught the foul thing.
“Forgive me,” Valarr had begged, tears in his eyes as he and his brother collapsed into Jena and Baelor’s arms. “I tried to be strong, father, you must believe me. But when they brought me news of Matarys’ passing… I couldn’t hold on any longer.”
Valarr had died only days after Matarys, apparently losing the last of his will with the loss of his last immediate family member. Matarys had been hit hardest of anyone, the sickness keeping him in a state of near death for weeks before he finally died. It was horrible to hear about, and Jena and Baelor had both joined in their sons tears as the family was reunited, apologies and forgiveness thrown about over and over.
While it was a great relief to have his boys with him, Baelor despaired at how unlucky they had been. Baelor had been older, and his death had been quick, compared to the weeks his sons languished in their illness. It was a complicated feeling, both the joy of having his wife and sons back in his arms, yet the horrible grief that they had all died too young. Matarys had been mere days from his ten and seventh nameday when he died. Barely out of his boyhood when life had been taken from him.
The weeks(?) after being reunited with his whole family were the most pleasant he had had in a long time, despite the tragedy. Catching up with and also simply spending time together was a bliss he had taken for granted before Jena’s death. Valarr was practically attached to his side, and Jena’s hands were always running through Matarys’ curls, the same ones he inherited from her. The four of them curled up together on a large couch and hardly moved.
After however much time of the four of them isolating together in Baelor and Jena’s wing of the neverending castle, Daenys had come knocking. Apparently, Baelor had finally settled enough to take a peek at the land of the living, should he wish. Considering how many people he left behind, he certainly did wish. The boys were not yet settled enough, and Jena had elected to stay back with them. She had taken many looks already, watching Baelor and their sons, and trusted him to bring back any pressing news.
So, Baelor linked arms with Daenys once more, and allowed his however many time great grandmother to guide him along. She seemed happy, and as they exited his wing of the castle, a girl who looked similar to Daenys was waiting for them. The biggest difference was probably her green eyes.
“This is my daughter, Elaena.” Daenys introduced, linking her other arm with the girl. “She’ll be coming to view with us.” Baelor exchanged a smile and polite nod with Elaena, who returned it, but seemed to not wish to speak. “She’s mute.” Daenys said then, as an explanation for her daughter’s silence. Baelor’s eyes widened at the revelation. It was true that Elaena had lived a long time ago, but he had heard no record of such a thing.
“Or, not quite.” Daenys amended, seeing the look on his face. “My daughter usually prefers not to speak.” He inclined his head and hummed in acknowledgement. Meeting people he’d only ever read about, things like this tended to happen often. Sometimes little, other times big things about them, that either weren’t known, no one had bothered to write down, or had been lost to time.
Baelor had learned many such things in his time in the afterlife. Like the fact that Aerea and Rhaella had indeed swapped places, yet it had not been at the direction of their mother, as the most prevalent theory suggested. They had schemed to trade places, and had acted as the other until Rhaena and the new Aerea left Oldtown, and she revealed the plot to her mother. It was satisfying to get direct accounts from his ancestors, when much found in history books had to be taken with a grain of salt.
He’d learned lots of innocuous small things as well, like how Daena the Defiant liked her tea, or how Baelon the Brave had a puzzle hobby. Just tiny details that brought a new level of depth to these people he’d only ever read about. It was odd, getting to know these long dead people, but not bad. There was a level of comfort and familiarity to everyone there, as if death not only brought peace but also stronger family bonds.
The walk was silent, and Baelor spent it wondering what he would see when they got there. Now that Valarr and Matarys were dead, one of his younger brothers would have to be heir, Aerys, most like. He winced internally for his brother, who he knew had no desire for the throne, and would likely find it a dull and annoying way to live. But he supposed he would see one way or another, soon enough.
Jena had explained to him before the boys had died that seeing into the living world was rather simple. You thought of where or who you wanted to see, and you would go there, as some sort of ghost, was how best it could be explained. Your spirit was there, and it was as if you were really in the situation, but you could not change or interact with anything. An unseen bystander. You could do it from anywhere, and at any time, and could even watch past events, though not future events. However, there was a common tea room where people would gather often to go witness events together, so doing it by yourself wasn’t often necessary unless you really wanted to see something in specific. Someone, usually Daenys, would get a far off look in their eye as the gods let them know what was happening at the moment, and the group chose from there.
“You ready, grandson?” Daenys asked as the door to the tea room became visible at the end of the hall they turned into. He wasn't quite sure that he was, but he nodded anyways.
“I’m ready.” He affirmed, getting a sympathetic look from both women with him, but they said nothing.
Walking into the room revealed about a half dozen people already there. Aegon the Uncrowned was sitting at a small table with Septa Rhaella, the father and daughter chatting softly as they drank tea. Helaena and Daena the Defiant were talking about something in the window seat farther away. What they had to talk about, Baelor didn’t know. But he’d found in death that many people you wouldn’t expect had become friendly. The dragon twins and Jacaerys Velaryon were sat together eating some cakes and talking on a couch. Well, Rhaena was talking, telling a story it seemed, as the other two listened.
It seemed they had all been waiting on Daenys, as the conversations all wrapped up within a couple minutes of their arrival. Everyone stood and gathered toward the center of the room, Elaena drifting over to Rhaella and linking arms with her, leaning over and seemingly whispering something in her ear, making the Septa giggle. That was interesting, Baelor thought, looking away to Daenys.
True to what Jena said, Daenys got a far away look in her eyes, one that reminded him of how his nephew Daeron looked when he recounted his dreams. Though, he got a similar look when he was very drunk. After a minute or so, her eyes cleared, and her brows furrowed. Not really in concern, just a vague confusion.
“Huh,” She began, looking like she was considering something. “Well, I suppose I’ve missed something lately.” She shook her head, face softening into a smile. “Very interesting! Daeron, Aerion, and Aegon are all in the same place at the moment! Let us focus in on them.” Baelor misliked something about her tone, but he did as he was bid. Baelor closed his eyes, everyone else joining him. When he opened them a few minutes later, it was to a scene he could never have predicted, for he never thought the gods so devious and cruel.
Baelor was standing behind his youngest nephew, Egg, as he was called by some. The boy was steadfastly averting his eyes from the scene in front of him, and Baelor could guess why. Standing beneath the weirwood in Summerhall, Ser Duncan and his nephew Aerion were, apparently, in the midst of getting married. Lips pressed together in a violent kiss that Baelor did not feel happy to be witness to, and certainly felt too impure for so holy a place, blood dripped from their chins, and the blood smearing on Duncan’s cheek from Aerion’s hand, it was clear the ritual was being finished.
He heard a short laugh to his right, quickly stifled, and met the embarrassed and apologetic gaze of Septa Rhaella to his right. An odd sense of humor, she seemed to have, especially for a woman of the seven. Vaguely, Baelor wondered how death had affected her beliefs. He would have to ask later. It was certainly not his most pressing thought at the moment.
Turning again, he took in the scene fully. Daeron and an old Septon whose name escaped Baelor’s mind stood near the side of the weirwood. Daeron’s face was tilted skyward, and he was puffing out his cheeks and then blowing out the air over and over, as if he was bored of the whole affair. The septon, an old, hunched over man, looked as if he would rather be anywhere else in the world. Baelor felt he could relate, in a way. He was simply baffled how this even happened. He turned to Daenys, the woman stood right to his left.
“And this is happening…?” He asked, thoughts a jumble, reminding him unpleasantly of his time being newly dead. She smiled, an awkward thing, sucking on her teeth in sympathy.
“Um, it’s been just about three years in the land of the living since you died.” His gaze drifted back to Egg, and sure enough that seemed to match up well enough for his growth since last Baelor saw him, moments before his death.
He just couldn’t understand how Duncan and Aerion had gone from nearly killing each other to, well… his gaze drifted back to the two, blood streaking their faces as they kissed. Well, perhaps they were still attempting it, just in a different way. And by the Seven, this kiss was lasting so long Baelor wasn’t sure how they were still breathing. Daeron seemed to think it was going on too long as well, as he suddenly looked to the two men, still locked together.
“Aerioooonn,” He drew out his little brother’s name. “Can you stop eating Ser Duncan’s face now? I’m not nearly drunk enough for this late in the night.” Aerion did pull back, but only briefly, to turn and glare harshly at his brother, blood covered face reminding Baelor of the trial. After taking a moment to glare, he pulled Duncan back down into a kiss, and Baelor felt a twinge of sympathy for Duncan’s poor back. But only so much sympathy. He had fought on Duncan’s side against Aerion, and died for it. How had things ended up like this? Had Ser Duncan taken a blow to the head nearly as bad as Baelor’s? He could think of no better explanation.
“That’s fucking crazy…” Someone said quietly, but not quietly enough. Baelor turned to see Helaena scolding an unbothered, amused Daena. “I’ve never seen two people get so freaked out just kissing… I think I didn’t live as wildly as I could've.” Baelor was starting to dislike the woman, even more than he inherently did in the past for birthing Daemon Blackfyre.
“Okay, well I’m leaving.” Daeron informed them, turning and leaving, no doubt in search of drink. The skittish septon said some small, muttered blessing for the union, and turned on his heel, scurrying after Daeron. Egg seemed to want to do the same, briefly glancing at Duncan and Aerion, sighing when he saw they weren’t done. The boy rocked on his heels, looking to the side as if the shrubs there were particularly interesting. Finally, Aerion began to drag Duncan away, barely taking his lips off him long enough to guide him out of the godswood, to his chambers, no doubt. Daena followed behind, a huge smile on her face, tongue between her teeth. Helaena shrugged, and followed as well. Apparently, death made you forget about giving people privacy at all, as everyone followed along behind them, even Septa Rhaella.
All but Daenys, who stayed with him. She seemed to be there to comfort him, but didn’t seem to know how to go about that, just watching Egg leave in a completely different direction, the boy eager to leave.
“So,” She began, looking like she was already regretting talking. “I haven’t been paying much attention to the living recently, so I didn’t really notice this was happening, if I had, I would’ve told you, promise.” She said the last part in a bit of a rush, nervously playing with a silver curl that had fallen from her braid.
Baelor did not reply. He only stared at the spot Duncan and Aerion had just left, befuddled. Three years, Daenys had said earlier. In three years, they had gone from battling against one another in a trial of the seven to getting married. Not even just legally, but the Targaryen way, binding themselves together before the gods as tightly as they could.
“I think I need to watch some things from the past.” He said blankly, ignoring Daenys’ sympathetic wince. Seven hells. Baelor’s head hurt.