Chapter Text
Baelor could hardly say he had been content to die in the mud, skull crushed in by his own brother in a horrible accident brought on by his nephew’s bruised ego. However, in the moment that he crashed into Ser Duncan’s arms, life already gone, he had thought that he was leaving the realm in good hands. Either one of his sons would become heir, both kind and capable boys, or one of his younger brothers, depending on what his father decided. Sure, none of his brothers were particularly eager to be king after their father, but he was sure either Aerys or Maekar would do the job well. Rhaegel less so, but it seemed rather unlikely things would get bad enough that Rhaegel was the best option.
Baelor thought it likely Ser Duncan would be taken in as part of their guard, and he felt reassured that the strong and honorable man would help protect his family, and hopefully help his youngest nephew to follow a different path then his older brothers.
He had his regrets, of course. He assuredly had not wanted to die for a few decades more, at least, and had been struck down before his time. His sons were hardly little children, but they were still young, and his was full of sorrow to have to leave his poor boys as orphans. He could only find comfort in the fact that Valarr and Matarys still had one another.
He was sad to leave his entire family. He knew his mother and youngest brother would take his death harder than anyone but his sons. Mother treated all her sons well and with love, but it was clear she held a particular place in her heart for her firstborn. And Maekar… poor Maekar. He had been toddling after Baelor since he learned to walk, and had never stopped following him. Baelor and Maekar of course loved their other brothers, but the way they loved each other… well, it was different. Deeper. First Dyanna, and now Maekar had to lose Baelor too? The gods truly were unkind to his brother. Thankfully Naïa was there to comfort Maekar through it.
So yes, he wasn’t happy to have died, but overall, he was satisfied that the realm and his family would do well enough without him. That time seemed to stretch, his mind frozen in the moment of his death for what felt like an eternity, leaving him only with his thoughts.
Eventually, he had been pulled out of it, and brought somewhere new. It was a tower he found himself in, but he was unsure where the tower was. Searching revealed to him he seemed to be in Old Valyria. A look out the window showed towering structures he’d only ever heard about, and only seen in drawings. His ancestral home. He could not see anyone outside, and couldn’t hear anything around either. Was the afterlife empty?
He searched the tower, and upon finding nothing to indicate the presence of others, he left for the rest of the castle he seemed to be in. He seemed to walk through indistinguishable halls of red and black for years, time growing fuzzy and his mind wandering as he simply walked and walked. Yet he never felt an ache in his legs. He didn’t feel anything. He didn’t feel hunger, or thirst, or exhaustion. All he felt was an insistent pang in his chest that he needed to find other people, and a dull throb in the back of his head.
After an immeasurable amount of time, he caught a glimpse of silver and turned down a different hall, taking a sharp right. A woman dressed in purple silk stumbled at his approach in startlement, but when she turned and gazed at him with her purple eyes, she didn’t seem surprised to see him, even though they ought to be unrecognizable to each other. She only smiled at him, kind and sympathetic.
“Oh, hello Baelor. I’m gladdened to finally meet you. I had a dream about you once, you know. Yes, quite the life you lived.” A sadness crept into her eyes, yet she kept her smile. “It is only a shame it had to end so quickly. No parent should outlive their child.” She held her arm out then, a clear invitation. Mind still foggy, he reached out and stumbled over, arm interlocking with hers.
“...Who?” He managed to ask, gaining some of his wits back, even if the question was vague. Thankfully for his still heavy tongue, she seemed to understand, face flushing in embarressment.
“Oh, my apologies. I’m Daenys Targaryen. The dreamer, they called me.” She giggled, a short, awkward thing, using her free hand to toy with a loose strand of silver hair. “I do not usually greet new arrivals.” She offered as way of explanation.
Baelor thought his clearing mind could mostly understand what was happening, despite the absurdity of it all. This was indeed the afterlife, and, as a Targaryen, he ended up in the birthplace of his ancestors after his death. The Targaryens who came before him were here as well, and he was now meeting Daenys the Dreamer. With no more dragons in the world, magic seemed a harder thing to believe in, but this was certainly enough to have Baelor believing in it. She rights him when he stumbles a bit, clearly not perturbed by his disorientation.
“Yes, that's rather common. Getting here puts everyone into a bit of a daze. It should clear itself up soon enough, don’t you worry, grandson.” Her explanation did comfort him, but he raised an eyebrow at the address, a silent question. She smiles, bright and almost dopey. “Oh, I refer to all my descendants as my grandchildren. It would be much too complicated to tack on every last ‘great’ don’t you think?” He nodded, still silent but slowly getting his senses back. His walk is more steady now, and faster, letting Daenys stop going slow for his benefit.
The farther they walked, the more lived in the castle seemed. Paintings weren’t blurred to his eyes anymore, instead revealing realistic depictions of his ancestors, some he recognized, many he didn’t. Decorations of various styles litter the halls as well, when before they were barren, save the sparse addition of a vase here, or an indistinguishable banner there. Daenys seemed to mislike quiet, and she spoke in her musical voice nigh constantly, pointing out small things, or giving little reassurances, as if she was his beloved grandmother who had always done such things.
“It can be daunting, meeting our ancestors. I myself nearly fainted when I met my great aunt Saenya.” She confided. “I’d heard a great many stories about her from my grandmother, her little sister, and I was just entirely overwhelmed to meet her.” She chattered on, a small flush of embarrassment painting her cheeks pink. Baelor couldn’t help but think the few portraits that still existed of her on Dragonstone failed entirely to capture her beauty.
“But… it wasn’t that bad?” Despite his lack of thirst, his voice was still a bit hoarse as he spoke. Daenys’ turned to him, a pleased smile on her face before her gaze flitted back to the halls in front of them, guiding him to take a sudden left turn.
“No. Not at all. You won’t get it for some time yet, but at a certain point after we get here, we can peer down to the living world.” Baelor’s eyes widened, shocked and a bit disquieted by the revelation. It was… odd, to consider his ancestors had watched his life, as if it were some sort of play. “And, eventually at least, we all tend to relax when we get here. There is nowhere else to go. Nothing else to do. It’s just peace.”
He looked at her then, seeing just that on her face. A relaxed nature to her face, even though all known records of her life portrayed her as a rather tense person. He looked forward again, swallowing to wet his throat.
“That sounds nice.”
“Yes. Come along, grandson. We’re almost there.”
He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, his Jena was standing before him. Yes. This was peace.
The afterlife was odd, Baelor could say rather confidently, having been there a good while by now. True enough, meeting his ancestors was not so bad, and even rather enjoyable in some cases. Reuniting with Jena had been a shock. He had expected only Targaryens to be there, but Jena had explained that as his wife, she was a Targaryen in the eyes of the gods. Enough of one to have their afterlife, at the very least.
The castle they resided in seemed to defy reality. It had endless hallways that could take you to any number of places. Normally, you simply had to imagine where you wanted to go, and the hallways would take you. But if you wandered aimlessly, you could wander through hallways till the end of time, Baelor imagined. So, the impossibly large castle gave plenty of room, thankfully. There were common places people would gather and visit one another, but infinite halls let everyone have their own spaces.
It was beyond odd, suddenly knowing his ancestors. Surely, he knew people's legacies could hardly capture their true selves, but it surprised him at times how different some of his ancestors were to how they were portrayed in history. Good Queen Alysanne is wonderful as the stories told, at the very least. She still held her women's courts, in a way. There were no issues to address, here in the afterlife, but apparently a gathering of all women could be rather nice regardless.
She took turns between doting on and ignoring her husband, sometimes treating him as if they were newlyweds, and sometimes treating him as she would later in life, when their marriage had soured. There was also hardly ever a time you could find her without at least one of her children on her heels. She seemed especially attached to Daenerys, Saera, Daella, and Gael. Though she had a great love for all her children, she seemed to feel a special connection to the daughters she felt she had failed the most.
On the inverse, Maegor the Cruel was one who was a surprise. The afterlife had seemed to mellow him out, as Daenys promised it did to everyone. Yet, Baelor was sure a large part of how happy Maegor seemed to be was the fact that he was with his deceased loved ones. He always seemed to be trailing after his mother or brother. Baelor always felt a pang in his heart at that, reminded of Maekar trailing behind him their whole lives. Maegor was certainly prickly, and Baelor was hardly going to try to befriend the man, but it seemed he was not antagonistic to anyone. A relief, certainly, as Baelor had wondered how coexisting with such a man would work.
Family who lived at the same time often flocked together, but plenty of people only met in the afterlife and yet latched onto one another. For one example, Daenys seemed to be fascinated with Rhaenyra, for whatever reason. The two women were around each other often, seemingly having formed a deep bond after Rhaenyra’s death. In another instance, Rhaena the black queen, and, of all people, Aegon the unhappy, had somehow formed a deep bond. Though, examining it a little closer, it was perhaps not so surprising. Surely, the two shared a reputation as being rather miserable after losing much.
As well, the afterlife seemed to dissolve tensions between some. Some who fought in life had found peace in death. Sometimes, relationships were not repaired, but much of the tension was gone regardless. Such as with Jaehaerys and Saera. While Saera seemed to have no issue forgiving and loving her mother in the afterlife, her relationship with her father was frosty at best. Some of his children had good opinions on him, while others did not.
Oddest were some of the relationships that death mended. Aenys spent much time with his wife and children, and, as consequence, Maegor spent much time with them as well. Somehow, in the years since their deaths, they had managed to forgive Maegor. To varying degrees, at least. Rhaena and Alyssa seemed most distant, but still seemed to have some care for him. Oddly enough, Viserys and Alysanne seemed to be closest to Maegor. After Aenys, of course. The others all fell somewhere in the middle.
Apparently, Alysanne found her uncle a comforting presence. Baelor wasn’t sure how, but to each their own. As for Viserys, he’d grown some sort of attachment to his uncle as his squire, and now often clung to the men, even in spite of his death being at Maegor’s orders.
Their family was… messy, to be sure. It was interesting, and even a bit overwhelming, trying to sort through the tangles of the relationships his ancestors held with one another. He could only be grateful the generations further back gave the newly deceased time to settle in before introducing themselves.
While he hadn’t been happy to die, and he of course missed the family he left behind, he found he was rather happy here. He had Jena, his beloved wife, taken from him far too soon, and plenty of ancestors to either avoid or try to bond with. And one day, hopefully in many years, he would have the rest of his family as well. And before then, well, Daenys said he was getting close to being settled enough to be able to peek in at how his living family was doing. It would be good to see them. He felt rather confident they would be managing well without him.
Then, guided along by the caring arms of Alysanne, his sons were brought to him, barely older than he left them, and he felt a horrible rending pain in his chest. He had his sons, yes, but at so terrible a cost it did not seem worth it. But, as the boys had crashed into his and Jena’s loving arms, he could concede that it could’ve been much worse.
He could’ve died and been given nothing afterwards but cold, inky darkness, as some theorized. He could only thank the fourteen flames for this afterlife of bliss.