-Aemon's POV-
I woke with a dull ache behind my eyes. My mind was slow to rouse, still wrapped in the haze of last night's memories—memories of whispered threats, of deals struck with death itself. I had sealed my fate, bargained my very lifespan for the power to change others'. I'd taken a step down a path that had no return.
As the maids bustled in to prepare my bath, I stared at my reflection. My violet eyes looked hollow, older. I tried to find the boy I used to be—the one who dreamed of changing the world without consequence...
Haah… I'm lost.
Now I realize—the gift was a trap.
My very existence lowers the chances of the Dance.
And if there is no Dance, then the millions who were meant to die in it… won't.
Which means…
I will die.
-Bathing chamber-
The steam curled around me like ghostly fingers, whispering across my skin, as if Death itself lingered at the edge of the tub, amused by my torment.
I sank deeper into the water, letting the heat soothe my body—but nothing could quiet my thoughts. Not now.
I made a deal with Death.
Not in metaphor. Not in dreams.
In flesh and blood. Bone and soul.
And now the clock is ticking in reverse.
I don't want to die.
Why me… What did I do to deserve this? My last life… this life…
It's like a curse. Are all people fated to die before me?
I couldn't stop the tears from falling.
I'm weak. I can't kill innocent people just to gain life—
But I have to… Please…
For this family, I have to take lives that weren't meant to end.
To live long enough to save them in this life.
But I can't prevent the deaths that are inevitable… Grandpa… Mother… Father…
I will build a life here—for my future children, and their children after them.
And if that means I have to kill thousands…
Then so be it.
To live long enough to save them in this life.
I don't want to become a monster. I don't want to kill. I don't want to wake with strangers' blood on my hands and pretend it was noble.
But I will.
I have to.
Because if I don't—if I try to play hero and let fate run its course—they die.
Rhaenyra, Gael, My Future Wife.. maybe even the children I haven't met yet. All of them, swallowed by fire and ambition.
The gods can call it evil. The septons can curse my name.
But I will not let the people I love die while I stand and do nothing.
I already spent one moon to save Gael. One month. Gone.
And all I got in return were suspicious glances and the stink of politics.
I should regret it.
But I don't.
Because when I saw her smile, I remembered what I'm fighting for.
Westeros is just a map. Names. Castles. Flags. It's not mine.
But they are.
They are mine to protect.
And to protect them… I need time.
Time is the real war. And I'll win it in blood.
For every heartbeat I need, I'll rip ten thousand from the undeserving. If the realm must drown in red so my family survives, so be it.
Let the realm burn.
Let me become the fire.
Let me become the storm.
Heroes kneel before ideals and die for them. I've read their stories. I've wept at their graves. And they all end the same—dead and forgotten.
But monsters?
Monsters are remembered.
Monsters change the world.
So I'll be the monster they whisper about in the dark.
And if the gods are watching, let them witness this:
"I vow to become what the world fears—so the people I love may never fear the world.
I will trade mercy for moons. I will weigh lives like coin.
And I will not stop—not until I've bought eternity with a million heartbeats."
I slid deeper beneath the water, the warmth clashing with the ice hardening in my chest.
This gift… this curse… it's not my punishment.
It's my weapon.
And I will wield it without pity.
Let the world bleed.
I'll still be standing.
I can't let the Dance happen, not if I can stop it. And if that's the price, then I must pay it.
Failing to prepare is preparing to fail, I reminded myself, letting the water carry away my fear, at least for now.
Once dressed, I stepped out for some air. The early morning dew clung to the grass beneath my boots. Birds chirped lazily in the trees. For a moment, the world was soft again.
I felt a hand gently ruffle my hair. Turning, I found Gael smiling at me—truly smiling, not just pretending.
"Thank you, Aemon," she said quietly. "For standing up for me. For flying to me that night. You showed me that I still matter… that I'm still loved. But your defiance drew eyes—dangerous eyes. The Small Council, the king… they'll be watching. Please, be careful."
"I don't go looking for trouble," I said with a smirk. "It usually finds me."
She chuckled, then nudged my shoulder playfully.
"Hey!" came a loud voice from behind us. Rhaenyra stomped up with her hands on her hips. "What's the joke? Why are you two smiling without me?"
"We were talking about how you're the shortest in the family," I teased.
She gasped. "I am not! I'm just… growing! And you're barely taller!"
Then she pinched me. "That's for being a mean big brother!"
"Alright, alright! Let me make it up to you," I said. "I'll cook something special—a new dish. Ever heard of a hamburger?"
"A ham… what?" Rhaenyra squinted. "Is that a joke I'm too noble to understand?"
"Nope! A real dish. Come on, you'll love it."
—
-Royal Kitchen-
"You actually know how to cook?" Gael asked skeptically. "Even I didn't learn until I ran off to live among commoners. It's not as easy as it looks."
"Oh, ye of little faith," I said, grinning. "We've got servants if we mess up."
In truth, I had once been an emergency line cook in my past life, flipping burgers during college. It wasn't glamorous, but it saved my rent. I never thought that knowledge would help in a palace kitchen centuries before its time.
We worked together, chopping onions, shaping patties from seasoned beef, toasting bread over flame. I guided the girls carefully, letting them do most of the hands-on work. They giggled through the process—especially when Rhaenyra got flour on her nose.
Halfway through, Mother walked in.
"So this is where you three vanished to," Aemma said, raising an eyebrow. "And you're cooking?"
"Yes, Mother," I said. "I had an idea and wanted to try it."
"My son, in the kitchen. What are you making?"
"It's a surprise. Why don't you join us?"
She smiled, amused, and rolled up her sleeves.
—
Soon, we took the cooking outside, where the air was crisp and the fire smoked sweetly. Viserys came by, curious.
"You're always up to something, Aemon. But cooking?"
"I have a daughter who acts like a knight and a son who acts like a bard," he teased. "What next, dragonriding bakers?"
"I am a lady, Kepa!" Rhaenyra huffed. "And you won't get a bite now!"
"See what I mean?" Viserys laughed, settling beside Aemma.
Then came Baelon, following the scent.
"What's this? A feast without your poor grandfather?"
"Grandpa!" Rhaenyra squealed, leaping into his arms. "We made hamb… hambug… hambur… something!"
"Hamburger," Gael corrected, chuckling.
We served the food. Six golden buns, lightly toasted, holding beef patties, onion, pickles, and melted cheese. The smell was rich, savory, warm.
Everyone took a bite.
Rhaenyra's eyes went wide. "By the Seven… this is amazing!"
Aemma blinked, stunned, then nodded slowly. "It's… strange. But good. Very good."
Viserys raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure if this is witchcraft or brilliance, but my mouth is happy."
Baelon gave a hearty laugh. "I've never tasted anything like this. You've got to make these every Moonturn, lad!"
Even Gael looked delighted, licking a smear of sauce from her fingers.
We sat under the sun, laughter echoing through the garden. No titles. No politics. Just family and food. For a fleeting moment, everything was as it should be.
But as I watched them, I felt it again—that weight in my chest.
They were smiling. Happy.
And I was the one marked by death.
No matter how warm the sun felt now, I knew the shadows would come for me eventually.
But until then… I would fight for moments like this.