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I have heard he is among those with strange abilities here, the ones who were supposedly honored at a dinner not so long ago.

He seems more content to favor carousing and drinking over breaking peace. Though it may be for the best if our paths do not cross.

They are marvellous creatures, sister. You should speak with one, if you dare. They have so much to teach the world.

And that would be sensible for you both. He has no wish to meet with you.

Will you come?

Creatures? So it is true they are not like us?

Would you prefer this very moment?

Would you call something dead returned as another being a human still? Or do you take exception because of Jacaerys's own changes here?

[ it bears no malice, the question. the vampires hold themselves apart from the mortals, and they have a right to it. they claim to be monsters, at least by armand's or louis's words; so be it. ]

At your leisure, mandia. It's not like we have a grand other matters to see to.

Jacaerys is not the only one who was killed and returned changed. Yet he is still my son. I have no knowledge of the others. I only seek to understand them.

For now, that is true. Though I would expect some sort of party or feast hosted in short order. They seem to prefer doing so once we have been lulled into a sense of peace.

Are there changes to Daemon too, then?

[ if there were, then aemond hadn't noticed it. it's worrisome to think. ]

It is the lifeblood of any keep to entertain its residents, when idleness encourages conspiracy and gossip. More the former than the latter in these here parts, that said. The Balfours seem rather entangled.

Edited 2024-12-04 16:18 (UTC)

Who would be unchanged, after dying and then experiencing resurrection?

[ she doesn't name herself for a reason, but there are scars she has yet to allow anyone to see, from the autopsy. ]

And rather committed to entertainment at any cost. Though even they seemed surprised by the turn their last game took.

Mm. All four of you have died here, that is true.

[ how he feels about that is best left unsaid. ]

Surprised by the ferocity of everyone's attempts, certainly, but not the deaths themselves. Begs to wonder if these deathly games have always been part of their ways, and our conduct during these events that confounds them.

Some were willing to point fingers all too quickly, while others allowed evidence and logic to prevail over feeling. Better that it did not completely devolve into bloodshed, as I suspect may have been the intended outcome.

I will be there shortly.

There was a sacrificial nature to it, considering. Why not kill indiscriminately, given the power handed over? Why steer through the rules of the game; why be compelled to follow at all?

Welcome yourself in, the door is not locked.

[ aemond is- not relaxed, but certainly less guarded at present. he will meet his half-sister with his hair loose, not at all tied, in loose clothing that are nonetheless warm. he won't arm himself, either - for peace, however tenuous it runs. ]

[ Rhaenyra's arrival is marked with no fanfare at all — no one to announce her presence, no one to declare her, save the turning of the doorknob before she herself steps over the threshold.

There is little that would even indicate her status, her hair drawn up loosely with a few strands spilling free, her frame clothed in a soft sweater dress that successfully keeps out the rising winter chill. They have rarely seen such cold in Westeros, apart from the North, where winters are said to carry an even more bitter sting than they did in years past; these are the moments that drive her to dwell on Viserys' words, and the prophecy he once divulged to her, as well as Jace's recent insistence that they speak regarding future events.

But now, there is only Aemond, and Rhaenyra turns to regard him, chin lifting slightly, gaze watchful and silent for a brief span before she broaches the quiet. ]

You requested the tapestry, and it appeared?

Left on my floor in a paper box, as it were, but I imagine it was Ser Lestat who had asked it and a servant brought it here upon its arrival.

[ aemond steps level to rhaenyra and greets her with something of a nod; he is not fled of his manners yet, and she is his older sibling, no matter the hurts between them. moves to the light switches and turns on one of the recessed lights, shining warm yellow on one of the walls in the room, where the tapestry looms large over them. save for the youngest children between helaena's and rhaenyra's get, everyone is depicted much younger than they are now, including their father. ]

It is a beautiful thing, isn't it?

[ Rhaenyra nods once, absently; she's still growing accustomed to the strange happenings of the house, and she's heard enough talk about the library and its unconventional gifts to spark her own curiosity, even if requests aren't being fulfilled at the present moment. Something to inquire after further, perhaps, when her attention isn't otherwise occupied.

Her gaze roams across the space to find the tapestry, partially cast in shadow until Aemond illuminates that part of the room — and then she doesn't say anything at all, for a long while, even as she moves closer to the hanging as if her feet are moving independently of her. The likenesses that have been captured there are younger, when the passage of time or illness had not quite had their ravaging effects. Her father — their father, in particular, looking as hale as he ever did in his prime.

She moves to speak and finds that she cannot, at first, the words dying on her lips before she recovers her voice. ]

Yes... yes. [ Her eyes haven't left the tapestry once, flicking over it as if trying to commit every detail to memory. ] An impressive rendering.

[ he watches his half-sister look upon the likenesses of their family, and wonders if he had the same look when he unveiled the painted cloth for the first time. he had taken it upon himself to place it on the wall, requesting only the servants' aid in securing the hooks and the hanging rod. he'd done everything else, from arranging the recessed lights' aim to affixing the tapestry to a curated space. any less felt disrespectful.

and he had spent countless hours sitting in front of it, reclined against a high-backed seat, looking up to their forebears. he sees himself in the severeness of maegor's look, the coolness of visenya's gaze. and he sees his family's features spread across, too; helaena's softness shared with queen alysanne, aegon's boyish charm shared with prince baelon. his and rhaenyra's own mouths painted across several of their father's aunts and uncles, their kinship undeniable.

this is their family. it is their legacy they're fighting over, back home. ]

Is that how you remember our father?

[ It does speak of a strange magic — for who could know the faces of their forebears so intimately, be able to capture them so expertly through a weaving like this? But in the moment, Rhaenyra does not find herself plagued by too much questioning, and considers the futility of asking too many questions that Aemond may not even be able to answer. Would it not be better to appreciate the gift as it was offered, and make what inquiries she can later?

It is a deep, sobering reminder of what has preceded them, and what has been lost. Yet she considers, still, her father's words, and the importance of what she has been tasked with securing. She has laid it to rest here, bound within the walls of a house that has no real place in her fight, but they also cannot remain as guests indefinitely. ]

Sometimes. When I am recalling him with kind feeling. [ Other times, her recollections are not so generous to his memory. ]

[ kind feeling.

has aemond ever given their father's memory even an ounce of that? it's hard to remember viserys and not remember his loud claim that he could do nothing more for his maimed son. aemond had spent so many hours agonising over that one night, and eight years on he still cannot find the forgiveness most would afford a father.

viserys wasn't a terrible father, when accounted for — he needed to be a father first to be truly terrible at it. but his neglect was sharp in the face of their legacy, especially considering the loneliness aemond's mother had weathered and the foreignness of his affections the few times he'd given it to his younger children. was it truly too much to ask he spared some of himself for his other children? for the sons he desperately wanted enough to remarry for?

it had been difficult not to think that the failing had been in their blood at first, in their mother's own. but as the years yawned and aemond's desire for a father twisted itself into an anger at the one he has, it got easier to lay the blame at viserys's feet.

aemond's anger towards rhaenyra is a different beast, but that's a story for another time. ]

It's difficult to remember him as anything than he was in the last years.

He's handsome. I never imagined I would think it of him, but he is.

[ Even as she stands here now, Rhaenyra can consider a piece of the unspoken truth that lies between them — her memories of their father are of a distinctly different man, the king Viserys was when he was with his first wife, rather than his second. The king Viserys had been when he'd still yet hoped that Aemma would give him a son and expected heir. He had not been a terrible father then, but neither had he been a father who had entirely acknowledged her worth until he had been confronted with the truth: that she would be his only legitimate heir, at least until the possibility of other sons presented itself.

She also firmly believes that a part of her father had died the day her mother had, never to be recovered — not even by his Hand, who had sent his own daughter to the king with the intention of securing an enduring place for his House at the right hand of the Iron Throne. Could there have been any hope, beyond that marriage, that Viserys would have any deeper affection left to spare — not only for Alicent, who had dutifully borne him more heirs, and those children in turn, but also for Rhaenyra herself, a lasting reminder of the love he had lost?

She had seen her father at the end, and the effects of the infection that had ultimately claimed him, spreading too deep throughout his body for any of the maesters to successfully heal, but she had also been far removed to Dragonstone for many of those final years, rather than at King's Landing, as Aemond had. ]

I think... he would prefer to be thought of as such. [ Handsome, and young, though had Viserys ever been a man in his prime, or always much older than his years would indicate? Rhaenyra draws in a quiet breath, posture straightening as she remembers herself. ]

But the dead have no say in how we remember them.

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no pressure tagging back! sweats

too late!