Chapter Text
Baelor, for the most part, was patient. Board meetings came at the high price of a lot of their time and energy, and rarely any topic was closed in just a few hours. Not to mention that there would always be some debate that would ensue between two or three board members. Or even within multiple small groups simultaneously. Most of the time it was just for testing the patience of a member or battling to have the largest prick in the room. He almost never let himself be caught in the middle of these; the one and only time was trying to get in the middle of an argument and getting chewed out by then member Runceford Tyrell. His father turning a blind eye served as an important lesson to his young self then.
The work culture was one that Daeron let thrive in an attempt to garner support, or at the least civility, from the families of the people that surrounded him now, during a time when support was scarce. The method paid off, but–and gods forbid Baelor disgrace his father’s name–at the expense of him having to listen to such needless squabbles.
“The money for the gala is different from the money earned from it!”
“It’s the principle. What happens when people talk and the tabloids find out?”
He inhaled a quick breath and let it out slowly, hoping it would strengthen his tolerance for all that was happening to his right. It did not. Beneath the table, he twisted the ring on his right hand with his left in an attempt to settle his mood.
But it wasn’t with his father, or their strong-headed CFO, Tybolt Lannister, or the well-intentioned Beron Stark, he had qualms with. Not in that specific moment at least. It was with the board’s Chair, who despite Baelor’s multiple advisements to end the spat, was too entertained by it to do so. There was nothing to debate over anymore either, as most agreed or at least didn’t contest to the gala’s budget reduction. Only Tybolt took issue enough to complain and the only one to historically be able to shut him up was the sitting Chair, who was also Baelor’s Uncle Brynden.
“Not this again with the damn tabloids,” the CFO all but moaned.
“Oh, yes, Sir, the tabloids,” the Stark boy snapped.
A snort from Baelor’s left. He shot Brynden a sharp look. The younger man had the diffidence to put on a more somber face. On the other side of the room, Beron continued, “They will inevitably find out and it would’ve been completely avoidable.” Ironically speaking, there was a fire to him reminiscent of his late Father. A fire that no Lannister who sat as the board’s CFO enjoyed.
Tybolt scoffed. “And you believe some thousand stags is better than several? They wouldn’t be able to know the difference.” Now he’s done it, Baelor thought and cast his gaze on Brynden again, lips pursed and brows lifted nearly to his hairline. Beron already had his mouth open when Brynden slammed his palm thrice on the table like a judge in his courtroom.
“Enough, gentlemen. You’ve made valuable points, so I believe we can proceed to our motions if there are any,” his voice boomed in the small room. None objected and the two debaters have quieted down. He turned to Baelor. “Yes?”
Baelor stopped twisting his ring and nodded.
The meeting adjourned with a new agenda for their next gathering. It included Tybolt’s presentation of the adjustment to the gala’s budget, to nobody’s suprise. Beron did not preen at this success, in fact he probably didn’t see it as one, merely as a decision made for the company’s interest. By the end of it, Tybolt was red-faced and irked but accepted the handshake Beron offered him at the door.
“Exactly like his father, that one,” Brynden told him as they walked to the elevator. Beron replaced his father as Financial Advisor after the old Stark passed from heart complications. Baelor always believed the Starks' and Lannisters' presumed positions on the board to be a match made in all seven hells.
“Yes. You’re new plaything too, I assume.”
“Oh, come now, nephew. There aren’t much amusing things about my work these days.” He said the last words with a knowing look that Baelor decided to ignore, effectively damning the subject to a later date. Brynden was displeased but only blew out a loud sigh.
As usual, they were the first ones given leave to use the elevator. The rest of the board doesn’t step in with them and wait dutifully on the floor’s lobby. Once the doors closed, music began playing from the small speaker above the buttons and Baelor saw Brynden wrinkle his nose in his reflection.
“What the fuck is this?”
Some irritation left over from the meeting bubbled up within him, so he watched his tone. “It sounds nice.” He had suggested it in a passing comment when maintenance fixed a stuck button a few weeks ago and had heard nothing but good things about the new feature. His Uncle Brynden was the last person he wanted to hear complaints from, seeing as he used the lift significantly less than every member of the organization.
“It sounds like we’re living in Rhaenyra’s time,” Brynden fussed. To be fair, the song was composed around that era.
“Aunt Shiera would appreciate it,” Baelor said because it was true and as a way to ask, “Why wasn’t she at the meeting?”
“Fret not, Bee.” Baelor grimaced at the nickname. “She’s just off in the Summer Isles on an urgent business trip.”
That made sense. Shiera wasn’t keen on business meetings no more than Brynden was but dutifully attended them as Vice-Chair. Rarely was she not present and only for good reason. Baelor often wasn’t privy to said reason until after the affair was settled. They justified their secrecy by saying he had enough to worry about with running the family’s companies as it was. Sure, Daeron left the corporation in relative harmony but even after years of leading as CEO, Baelor had much work left to fully stabilize their networks. “You can thank your grandfather for that,” Shiera had all but sneered, not at him, but at the mere memory of her father.
“I wish you told me before we sequestered ourselves for ten hours,” he said anyway. Shiera had been ignoring his messages for the past several days and though this was the status quo when she was dealing with “outside” issues, he still worried.
Brynden shrugged. “This stays between her, you, and I,” he said, void of his usual snark. “In fact, I’m off to pick her up from the airport later. Check your emails tonight.” Then, as the doors slid shut, “And next time, you consult me before installing some antique nonsense in an elevator I also happen to use.”
Baelor shortened the already short walk to his office by taking big strides. Right outside his office was his personal assistant, Hansry, who was bent over his computer typing furiously and luckily didn’t take notice of him. At the threshold of Baelor’s office, the fatigue took hold of him and shattered some of the composure he fought hard to maintain. He was loosening his tie to take off but stopped upon realizing he had company. On either side of the long table situated in front of the large window overlooking the city stood Maekar and Kiera, hunched over a spread of documents, brown envelopes, and a colorful array of stationery. He straightened his jacket and tie again, and walked in.
“Hi, Dad,” Kiera greeted without looking away from what she was reading.
“Are the chairs not to your liking?” He asked. On his own desk was a pile of folders and stapled sheets with tabs sticking out the sides. He eyed the overstretched plastic folder at the bottom with resignation.
“Shut up, it’s easier to see this way,” Maekar grumbled.
Kiera raised an eyebrow. “You know, if you wear your glasses-”
“Quiet.”
Baelor sat down at his desk and began arranging the documents by priority. He struggled for about five minutes before putting his glasses on. In the corner of his eye, Kiera gesticulated in his direction with a rolled-up sheet. There was a muttered “fuck off” and her throwing her hands up in defeat.
Half the pile later, he came upon a formal letter from a company named New Barrel. It introduced itself as a new subsidiary of the liquor company, Cider Hall, their corporation’s first ally in the food sector. He read one highlighted passage with an annotation in Maekar’s familiar cursive: good ventures. i wonder if his cousin would throw a hissy fit or punch you in the face if we take it up. Ah, right.
Cider Hall was run by the Fossoways and formally led by the eldest son, Steffon. He and his younger cousin, Raymun, had an infamous falling-out that came to a head at a conference. Baelor and his group were three tables over when the yelling began and witnessed Steffon throwing the first punch to Raymun’s face, his head snapping back hard. Raymun responded by pushing him roughly into a beverage table and landing several hits of his own. Maekar heckled at them like it was a wrestling match. Kick him in the face, he had yelled and he, Kiera, Shiera, and Brynden all whooped when Raymun broke his cousin’s nose with a well-timed knee. Baelor would have done something to silence them had the rest of the room not been treating the fight with similar glee. He instead focused on eating from the complimentary bread bowl at the center of their table and finishing his glass of nice Arbor wine. In Raymun’s defense, Steffon had it a long time coming.
It’s been three years since the incident and the young Fossoway has apparently done well enough to head a company of his own. That said, Steffon wasn’t a man of subtlety and publicity for him was good no matter the cause. Baelor slid the letter into the bottom half of his organized stack, nearing the middle.
The next document in need of his attention was an unusual, welcome reprieve. It was an enrollment form for after-school art classes in the Reach. The information section was already answered with Aegon’s messy cursive and at the very bottom was Maekar’s signature in the space reserved for a parent or guardian’s authorization. Baelor waved it around to catch Maekar’s attention. When he lifted his gaze, Baelor pointed to the paper with a raised brow.
Maekar sighed. “Please convince me that that would be a horrible idea.”
“It’s a wonderful idea,” Kiera countered, half paying attention, half-focused on scribbling notes on a margin. In front of her, Maekar grimaced so hard his pale brows might tangle themselves into a knot.
“Silence, child! You,” he whirled toward Baelor. “Tell me it’s a bad idea.”
“Why in the world would that be?” Baelor asked instead. “Aegon has a hobby, a good one at that. And were you not complaining about him running about gods know where this past year? This may curb some of his restlessness.”
“That’s exactly what I told him!” Kiera remarked with a glare at her uncle. He returned it but with significantly less ferocity.
“The boy could barely get through basic geometry, and suddenly, he wants to take up painting? This is a tactic to get away from his tutor,” Maekar spat. Said tutor was the boy’s older brother, Aemon, but that was a topic for another evening and preferably not at work.
Whatever reprieve Baelor felt shifted into the familiar exasperation of being at the mercy of a brother’s antics. “Then why, pray tell, have you signed it?”
The two watched as Maekar fell into a stumped silence, throwing outraged looks at both of them. He eventually went back to work with a very sharp and defeated, “Fuck both of you.” Kiera paused her writing to raise a triumphant fist while Baelor pinched the bridge of his nose.
For the next two hours, the room filled with sounds of pens scratching against paper, the rustle of turning pages, and the occasional tonk of their mugs against a surface after having a drink. Their interactions were limited to passing objects over to one another and communicating via facial expressions, a routine forged from years of working together in Baelor’s office. The familiarity was a great comfort and kept much of his exhaustion at bay.
A muffled ringtone broke the ambiance. “Must be the nanny,” Kiera mumbled and answered the call as she began stuffing her bag with envelopes and pens. Maekar waved her hand away from a neon pink highlighter he was still using. “Hello-Yes-That’s wonderful, thank you-Alright-Okay. Have a good night, Elys.” She ended the call and swung her filled bag over her shoulder. She went behind Baelor’s desk and squeezed him in a one-armed hug since the other clutched her thick personal binder. “Bye, Dad. I’ll see you at home. Bye, Uncle!”
“Oi, you haven’t signed this yet!” Maekar held up the single folder left on her side of the table.
“I think that may need checking again, see you tomorrow, love you both, bye!” She responded in a single breath and rushed out the door, heels clacking comically fast.
“That fucking-”
“Calm yourself,” Baelor admonished. He narrowly evaded the fountain pen thrown at his head.
The day, despite having followed every single expectation and event Baelor had in his schedule, weighed heavier on him than most days had for the past month. He chalked it up to the upcoming foundation gala and Brynden’s mysterious message that was yet to appear in his inbox. But perhaps, it was also the distinct pounding behind his ear that disrupted his every train of thought in the last half hour.
“You look like your head’s about to explode.”
Maekar was still sat on his side of the long table with all the documents brushed aside and his laptop lighting up his face. He took to doing overtime in Baelor’s office for the efficiency, since much of his work as CLO involved his approval or opinion anyway. The unspoken reason was whispered to Baelor by his niece, Daella, after a particularly heated conversation between the two men during a family dinner. According to her, for all of Maekar’s grouchiness and insolence towards him, her father actually appreciated his company. The warmth he felt at that, however, did not mean Baelor was fond of said grouchiness and insolence.
“I’m fine.” He spoke through clenched teeth. He was ready to go back to checking his correspondence when Maekar huffed.
“You need to look in the fucking mirror then. You’re paler than me.”
“I said I’m fine.” An onslaught of pain not unlike a drill burrowed into his skull, making him flinch. Maekar watched him over the rim of his now-worn glasses, unmoved.
“Just go home, you bullheaded oaf.”
Baelor opened his mouth then promptly shut it when he couldn’t recall when he last checked the time. He looked at the wall clock beside his bookshelf and was surprised to see it was three hours past midnight. Maekar followed his gaze and frowned. “The fuck? I could’ve sworn it was just eleven.” He checked his wrist watch as if it would indicate differently.
“I believe that means we can both go home now.” Baelor heaved himself out his chair and heard a loud pop followed by a tenderness around his tailbone. “Seven hells.”
“Yes, well-” Maekar stood with a similar crack and groan. “-seven fucks-I have backlogs to attend to, unlike you. So, go home before you lose consciousness because I will not be carrying your heavy arse to the elevator.”
“Or you could have one of your people help your poor brother?” Baelor suggested wryly and instantly regretted it. When experiencing headaches, it wasn’t just his head that suffered, but also his filter.
Maekar held up his forefinger, a gesture he picked up from their father when he was about to deliver an earful. Baelor had the sudden urge to smack him upside the head. “Your detail’s not here because you let them go home for whatever fucking reason. You made your bed, lie in it.” That I will, Baelor thought snidely as he tucked his glasses into his jacket and pulled his bag over his shoulder.
As he rounded his desk, Maekar slid the folder Kiera left across the table. “Here. Tell her to sign that off and that I’ve checked it three times over.” Baelor took it and made for the door.
“Rest soon,” he called over his shoulder. Maekar shooed him away with a wave of his hand.
On the lift, Baelor grinded his teeth as the throbbing got worse. He fought to keep his pace measured as he walked into the lobby and greeted Maekar’s security team with a nod. He tapped his ID on the scanner at the front desk and took the stairs to the parking lot.
He settled into the driver’s seat with a long sigh, like he could pour all the frustrations and complications of the day out of his system. Unfortunately, the heat that accumulated in his car served to make the headache sharper and louder than his musings.
With some agitated fumbling, he turned the keys in the ignition and cranked the air conditioning to its maximum setting. A fleeting thought passed in his mind to lie his seat back and shut his eyes for at least five minutes. He did exactly that, but foolishly forgot to set an alarm and open any window in his haste.
Knock-knock-knock.
“Mr. Baelor, Sir?”
Knock-knock-knock-knock-knock.
“Sir? Are you alright in there? Sir? Sir!”
Baelor woke with a start. He blinked away the fogginess of his vision and forced himself up onto his forearms. The absence of pressure against his skull made the back of his head pulsate with a vengeance.
“Gods be good,” he hissed as he pressed a knuckle harshly at what he believed was the epicenter of the pain. He got startled again when another series of knocks came down his window, these much heavier than the last. Each hard thump made him feel as if his heart had crawled up from his chest and made an ill-fitted home beside his brain. He sat up gingerly and dragged a hand over his hair to look a little less disheveled. On the other side of the window, a very troubled young man was trying to make out his form through the dark tint. Baelor thought him a stranger until his eyes trailed down the man’s chest and landed on the metal pin of the Targaryen coat-of-arms on his lapel. He took a deep breath and rolled down the pane.
The bite of crisp early morning air and the faint scent of an earthy cologne overwhelmed his sluggish senses. The man’s expression changed from borderline fearful to delighted once he saw Baelor. His reddish-brown hair was slicked back with a few strands hanging over his forehead because of the awkward angle he was slouched in.
“Morning, Sir!” said the young man in a friendly voice that sounded too cheerful so early – or in Baelor’s case, late – in the day. When he met his blue eyes, the man smiled at him.
Far too cheerful.
Nevertheless, Baelor regarded him politely. “Good morning, Sir. I don’t believe we’ve met,” he stated evenly.
“Pennytree, Sir. Duncan Pennytree.” Duncan spoke in a rehearsed and overly professional tone, accompanied by a solemn furrow between his brows. Baelor found it endearing, oddly enough. “I’m part of the security team currently assigned to your brother, Mr. Maekar.” His thoughts strayed to a past luncheon. Maekar mentioned getting new hires for his detail after two of his older members decided to retire. His brother had been so utterly bitter about the whole ordeal.
For decades, Adrian and Dorren had served in Maekar’s family loyally and not without injury. Maekar knew that was the reason they stepped away from the profession, and so gave the two his sincerest well wishes. Some glasses of wine later, he confided that he felt strangely wronged and abandoned. Baelor felt for his brother and was inadvertently grateful for the distance he always kept with his own family’s guard.
Retaliation against Targaryens wasn’t an uncommon thing, especially with enemies so committed to their hate for the family. Whatever business Shiera had in the Summer Isles was the most recent proof of that. He had half the mind to check his phone for Brynden’s message when he remembered Duncan was still standing outside his car and looking at him with wide, patient eyes.
Baelor nodded and offered a small smile, hoping to ease whatever nerves he might have caused. “Pleased to meet you, Pennytree. I’m afraid you caught me unawares.”
“Aye, I have to apologize for that.” After some awkward small talk about Duncan’s shift and Baelor’s short-lived nap, the agent explained how he didn’t see Baelor’s car drive past the front of the building, as all vehicles did when leaving the parking garage. He had gone down half an hour after Baelor left the lobby to make sure nothing went awry. Baelor listened intently and realized he felt too tired to dwell on the grave mistake of letting his guard down.
“Your concern is greatly appreciated, Pennytree. I can assure you that all is well and I will proceed home in a moment,” he replied and thought that was the end of it. But Duncan didn’t move from his spot and was chewing his lip. Baelor waited.
“That’s another thing, Sir. I also noticed, uh, you don’t look too well and so I wanted to offer to drive you home myself.” Had he been another man, he would’ve taken it as an insult. He can definitely see Maekar responding brusquely but alas, it was not his younger brother who was so careless as to fall sleep in a closed car or send home his detail and sacrifice his own protection for a few moments of solitude. “But better be safe than sorry, Sir,” Duncan continued when he didn’t respond.
“No need to explain yourself, I understand perfectly.” Baelor refrained from dragging his hands down his face and gave Duncan a steady look. He noticed the way the man’s back straightened, even in his bent stance. “I ought not take you away from your duties to my brother.”
“You won’t, Sir. I’ve told Willem and he told Mr. Maekar, who gave permission. I would’ve asked one assigned to you but they’ve all gone home last I heard.” He said the last part a bit flippantly. Pink dusted his cheeks when he seemed to realize. “Not that I judge – Or that I - I’d be pleased to be of service, Sir,” he finished hastily. Baelor again just smiled and transferred his bag from the passenger seat to the back. Duncan shuffled away as Baelor climbed out.
“Do you know my address, Pennytree?” he asked. All members of the family’s security knew where each of them lived but he just wanted to make sure. He turned to look at the young agent, then paused for a second when his line-of-sight landed on the man’s throat. He dragged his eyes up to where Duncan was looking down at him and speaking.
“It’s the condo building beside the ‘Red Keep’ museum, Sir. The one called ‘The Holdfast’, if memory serves right.” He was nearly a whole head taller than Baelor, who wasn’t of short stature himself.
“That’s correct,” he replied and went to the other side of his car. He sat in the passenger’s side and watched Duncan’s towering form squeeze into the driver’s seat. He pushed it back to fit his legs beneath the steering wheel. Heat crept up the back of Baelor’s neck. He quietly stared at the dashboard as Duncan said something into his radio, then seconds passed where he doesn’t start the car.
“Ehm, Sir, your seatbelt.”
Whether or not Baelor’s growing indignance could be sensed, he’d rather not know. He buckled in and the engine rumbled to life.
He observed Duncan for a bit, who drove with one hand on the steering wheel and the other draped casually over the Autostick. He turned the wheel using the heel of his palm and didn’t speed down the road but was so careful and efficient that they glided smoothly over the asphalt. On his left wrist, a watch glinted beneath the passing street lights. Baelor couldn’t make out the brand but he could tell by the sheen that it was newly bought or polished. He wore no other jewelry or accessory, as per their handbook’s dress code.
The throbbing in Baelor’s head simmered down to an insistent buzz as he looked out the window. In spite of the late hour, King’s Landing laid bright and busy with citizens from all walks of life filling its streets and the numerous establishments that were open. Soon when the sun rose again, it would be like the changing of shifts, and these people would turn in and be replaced by those who had slept through their waking hours. He thought of Kiera, who would likely be fast asleep by the time he got home, and little Vaella who should be as well if her nightmares eluded her. She was nigh seven years old. The fact of it would have stolen his breath away if he did not think of it often. Almost a decade without his sons and father, and even longer without Jena. Maybe he could arrange a trip to visit them.
His mind was pulled back into the car when music began pouring from the radio. Only the audio was too clear to be from the device and it wasn’t even turned on. With one sidelong glance, he found it was Duncan who hummed a tune. The unfamiliar song was a pleasant one, befitting the man it came from. He listened to the melody, finding it a well enough balm for his traitorous head.
Minutes passed and, to his slight dismay, Duncan’s song faded away for him to say in a voice barely above a whisper, “Sir, can I speak freely?”
Baelor blinked his eyes open. He hadn’t noticed he shut them. “You may.”
“You look seconds away from vomiting. Hold on a second,” Duncan said and reached into his pocket. “Here.” He held out a piece of wrapped candy. “A friend of mine suffers bouts of puking on long trips. She says that helps with the nausea.”
Baelor stared down at the candy in his hand. Some voice in the back of his mind nagged at him to not accept it but couldn’t muster up a proper reason not to. Duncan’s seen him half-dead and dozing off like a log already. And Maekar wasn’t exactly known for being sloppy at screening the people who worked for him.
Finally, he thanked Duncan and popped the candy into his mouth. An intense burst of spice, salt, and sugar spread across his tongue and down his throat. The flavor was reminiscent of the hard candies his mother used to like. It did nothing to mask the pain but he appreciated the gesture nonetheless. They made a series of turns before Duncan spoke again.
“Your spice tolerance is better than I thought. I choked the first time I tried that.” He wasn’t looking at Baelor but he wore a small smile. He didn’t look as stiff as he did at the start of their drive.
Before he could think better of it, Baelor noted lightly, “Must be my Dornish side.”
“That would explain a lot.”
A damning spark of curiosity. “How do you mean by that?”
The car rolled to a stop at a red light. “Well,” then Duncan slouched as if he wanted to crumple into the seat. “Never mind me, Sir. It was a stupid thing to say.”
If Baelor were, again, a different man, he would agree. Yet seeing Duncan become stone-faced brought him no small amount of discomfort. “Pennytree, I ask you genuinely.”
Duncan’s eyes flickered to him momentarily before looking at the road again. “It’s just that, I was used to seeing Targaryens on the news and they were almost always with white hair, purple eyes, or both. Like Mr. Maekar or Mr. Aerys.” He glanced sideways to Baelor, gaze open and sincere. “I was surprised to see that the Baelor Targaryen had neither.”
Baelor didn’t think much of the emphasis on his name. “I hope I didn’t disappoint you,” he joked instead. The more poised part of his brain chastised him but the end more than justified the means. Duncan broke free of that stiffness that took hold of him and chuckled.
“Nah, you didn’t. If anything, it’s quite impressive you have two colors for eyes. I don’t get to see that every day.”
A small, genuine smile crept its way to Baelor’s face and he hadn’t the heart to snuff it out. Eventually, the light turned green and they fall into a comfortable silence. Baelor wondered when he would hear Duncan sing again.
-------
The penthouse of the Holdfast had been Baelor’s home for as long as he could remember. It stood as one of the oldest buildings in the city and housed a fair number of generations in his family. It was within its walls that he spent his infancy, childhood, and adolescence. When he married Jena, he agreed to move to the Stormlands with her where they would build their family. His parents let him go with teary-eyed blessings. His two youngest siblings, Rhaegel and Maekar, took it the hardest and clung to him the entire time he prepared to move out. Aerys, bless his cold heart, ignored Baelor and only hugged him just as he was about to walk out the door.
After Jena passed, Baelor was so sick with heartache that her father pushed him to be closer to his family. He hesitated but his goodfather only asked that they visit him frequently and they did so happily until he himself passed away. When Baelor, Valarr, and Matarys moved in with his parents, his siblings had long since moved out, and his parents were ecstatic to have children to dote on again. He planned to give the apartment to one of his siblings or make it an heirloom to pass to one of his nieces or nephews when Kiera announced she was pregnant with her and Valarr’s child. It was an easy decision then, to continue living in the Holdfast with Kiera and Vaella, doing as his parents did with him and his sons.
Baelor asked Duncan to drop him off at the front entrance and to bring the car back with him to headquarters. He would have to ask Kiera to drive him to work, with the small price of breakfast at any of the many cafes she fancied. As they stopped at the driveway, he was unsure what else to say to Duncan as he already thanked him.
He got out of the car and settled with a safe, “Have a good night, Pennytree.”
Duncan leaned over the console with that same smile he first greeted him with. “Sleep well, Sir,” he said and drove away.
A cold breeze blew into Baelor’s side, biting through his clothes and making him shiver. Yet it was unable to hinder the heat that overtook his face. Was it the migraine? Exhaustion from the long day? Having to be driven home in a half-dazed state? Whatever the reason, he was in no state to parse. He hurried into the lobby before he froze to death.
The receptionist recognized him and gave a cordial greeting, to which he managed a small nod. He realized he was short of breath despite the meager amount of walking it took to reach and enter the elevator. This day means to kill me, he thought wryly.
Unlike at the office, the Holdfast’s lift was silent save for the sound of wires sliding through its old, hard-wearing gears. It left him trying his best to manage the jumble of thoughts battling for his attention, so he opened his phone. In his inbox was an email from Brynden, sent five minutes ago. The elevator bell dinged and opened to the penthouse’s foyer.
He stopped by his bedroom to shed his jacket, accessories, and shoes. The skin beneath his rings were tender from the friction he inflicted throughout the day. He applied salve on them before padding back out barefoot into the kitchen. Mind and body connection, his doctor once told him when the migraines first became unbearable and no medicine got rid of them fast enough. Without all the diversions that kept the ache at bay, the intensity of it grew akin to taking a mace to the back of his head. He took an ibruprofen, for all the good it would do, and heated up some leftovers. The weight of the phone in his pocket pestered him all the way to the living room. He finished his food before checking the email.
Subject: Update
From: [email protected]
You were right. Well done, nephew. 😊
Baelor frowned. It couldn’t be helped really. Brynden and Shiera shared a flair for the dramatics, and they did love putting on a good show when reporting the spoils of their operations. He would handle them in the morning and that was if they had any plans of coming in. They were usually attached at the hip after one or the other returned from a long trip. A meeting with them should be arranged all the same and soon.
Behind him, a small voice approached from the hall. “Grandad? Is that you?”
He looked over his shoulder and saw Vaella walking with her giant stuffed pink dragon hanging off one arm. By the arch, she tripped on the tail and Baelor’s heart stopped. She wordlessly threw the massive thing over her shoulder like a sack and continued walking. He breathed a sigh of relief and welcomed her into his arms. “Darling, why are you awake?”
“I had a nightmare.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he placed her onto his lap. Vaella tucked her head against his shoulder and the crown of her head reached beneath his chin. She was getting bigger and too quickly for his liking. She looked up at his face and giggled. “What?”
“You look funny.” She scrunched her nose and on her round face it looked cute but on his, it was likely ridiculous. He huffed a laugh and stood with her in his arms. With the dragon, it felt like carrying two children at once. The feeling made him a bit wistful as they walked down the hall.
“Where do you want to sleep, love?” There was a time where she would refuse to sleep in her bedroom and only fell asleep in Kiera’s or Baelor’s. It was why they each had a small couch in their rooms, so Vaella could have her own space to sleep in. When she started showing interest for stuffed toys, Kiera filled her bedroom with them and they helped Vaella find comfort in it again. Baelor contributed with the various nightlights scattered in the room.
This time she shook her head, or more accurately, rolled it from one side to the other on his shoulder as drowsiness took over. “I want to sleep in my bed, please.”
“Alright.”
They enter her bedroom and he set her down momentarily to organize the plushies the way she liked: against the wall beside her and by color. After inspecting the layout and giving her thumbs up of approval, she crawled beneath the covers and set her dragon on top of her. Baelor sat on the edge of the bed and patted her head. “Should I wait until you fall asleep?”
This time she nodded. The streak of blonde hair behind her ear poked out among the mess of brown on her head. He looked at it fondly. Then she asked, “Can you sing a lullaby?”
He paused as warmth swelled in his chest. It was the first time she asked that of him as it was usually Kiera who sang her to sleep. He couldn’t say he was as good a singer but he would try. “Of course. What song would you like to hear?”
Her eyes wandered in thought and eventually she shrugged. “You pick!”
Baelor wracked his mind for something she would appreciate. He worried he was taking too long when he remembered the car ride home. Without further delay, he began to hum. He tapped his hand atop her blanket rhythmically as he did until her eyes shut and her breathing steadied beneath his hand. With a kiss to her forehead, he switched on the nightlight on her bedside desk, turned off the overhead, and left her room.
Back in the living room, he sent out his reply to Brynden; a simple “Let’s set a meeting. Tell Aunt Shiera I said hello.” His phone buzzed again and he half-expected it to be Maekar because gods knew his uncle didn’t reply at that speed. An unknown number sent him a message followed by a photo.
Morning again, Sir. You left your bag in the car and I only noticed once I got back, my apologies. Should I bring it to you now? Duncan Pennytree
[image]
Baelor sighed tiredly. The image was a selfie of Duncan in the parking lot holding the bag up beside his face. He wore a close-lipped smile that made dimples appear on his cheeks. For a second, Baelor was distracted by how blue his eyes appeared in the photo. He considered the suggestion but Duncan had his own duties and Kiera would more than likely check those papers with Maekar again regardless.
It’s alright, Pennytree, no need to apologize. Leave it in the car, I will get it tomorrow. Have a good shift.
Yes, Sir.
Will do!
He put his phone face down on the coffee table. With another long-suffering sigh, he slumped into the armchair with a well-earned drag of his hands down his face.
Hours later, Baelor woke to his blaring alarm clock. He learned to push himself up and out of bed before shutting it off, lest he fell asleep again. As he did every morning, he ignored his drawn curtains, letting the room stay in shadow, washed his face in his ensuite, put on his slippers, and started making breakfast in the kitchen. As the pan sizzled, he took out the fruit cut-ups for Vaella’s cereal, and checked his messages for the tenth time that morning. The last email he received was still his uncle’s. Even if Baelor didn’t want to believe it, he had a good guess what he was right about. But he had the gala to think about for the gods’ sakes.
A terrifying notion popped into his mind just as Kiera strolled into the kitchen in a face mask and silk bonnet. “Morning, Dad,” she yawned and squeezed behind him to take the eggs out the pan and grab her jar of overnight oats from the fridge. “You alright?”
He scrubbed a hand down his jaw. “We need to have a lengthy talk with Shiera and Brynden.”
Kiera stopped what she was doing and went beside him to read the email, still open on his screen. “Oh.”
“I thought he would stop.” Naively. The man he thought of was nothing if not determined and no number of years was going to change him; Baelor knew that better now.
Kiera snorted, “I never did.” She poured herself a mug of newly brewed coffee and refilled his half-finished cup. “Especially, not after that fiasco,” she muttered under her breath.
Baelor was at once upset. “Don’t call it that, Kiera,” he chided.
“It’s true! But it was still one of the best days of my life, don’t get it twisted, Dad.”
His expression softened. “I’m happy you think so.”
Adopting Kiera was an unexpected but welcome milestone in Baelor’s life and hers. She was already a daughter and steadfast member of the family for years prior, starting when she became Valarr’s close friend in high school. The two had met when Kiera was an exchange student from Tyrosh and had been inseparable since. Her father had passed around that time, leaving her orphaned with no other relative to take her in. Daeron, Myriah, and Baelor made sure to support her any way they could. Her adoption was more to cement her place in the family business than anything, especially because she never got to take on the family name as an in-law.
The day the papers were signed was celebrated with a dinner party at their ancestral home on Dragonstone, arranged by Baelor, Shiera, and to everybody’s surprise, Aerys. The man barely left his office, let alone his university’s grounds. I actually like this one, was his justification when he was ribbed about it. But it was obvious he wanted to be there for Kiera the way he wasn’t for Valarr and Matarys.
“Vaella had so much fun that day,” Kiera recalled with the sentimental look she had when talking about her daughter’s days as a babe. “You guys couldn’t put her down. I swear, all of you have a picture carrying her.”
“She looked very cute in that dress you bought her,” Baelor pointed out. It was true. Everyone did have a photo with Vaella in her sparkly purple outfit, even Aerion.
“Of course she was, she takes after me,” Kiera scoffed lightly. The smugness gradually melted into a muted apprehension. “Do we know how he knew?”
“Brynden and Shiera haven’t stopped trying to find out.” He meant to comfort her but the fact that they haven’t yet after all these years was admittedly worrisome.
The dinner was a private, intimate gathering among their family. Baelor supposed it was the gods playing a cruel joke when another one of their kin decided to show up that evening. He hadn’t seen his Uncle Aegor since and he was certain whatever reason he had to make any appearance now wasn’t to make peace.
They jumped at a door slamming shut. Heavy, tiny footsteps followed and Vaella sauntered into the kitchen with all the air of someone pretending to be more awake than she really was.
Before he went to sleep, he informed Kiera of Vaella’s nightmare. She hid the worry on her face as Vaella climbed onto the chair next to her at the counter. “G’morning Mama, g’morning Grandad,” she yawned into her palm. Kiera stroked her hair and smiled at her a bit sadly as she started eating. She was shocked that the little one didn’t come to her for help. Baelor encouraged her to talk to Vaella about it when she could.
As the three of them finished breaking their fast, a notification flashed on Baelor’s phone. He was standing in front of the fridge looking for the packed lunches he had prepared for them. “Daughter, can you check what that is, please?”
“Sure,” Kiera replied, and Vaella grabbed his phone with both hands to hand to her. “Thank you, sweetling.” She kissed her daughter’s head and pressed the phone’s power button. It lit up with a notification for a puzzle game and below it was a text from a “Duncan”. She raised an eyebrow. The name was familiar, though she couldn’t place where she saw it. Who was Duncan? And just Duncan? Was that not a first name? She glanced at where Baelor was still pushing things around in the fridge and read the preview of the message.
Good morning, Sir! I’m on shift this evening, in case you want-
“What is it?” Baelor asked with the containers in-hand. Kiera put the phone down before he saw her holding it.
“Haven’t checked yet, sorry.” Vaella gave her an impressive stink eye for that and Kiera responded with an exaggerated wink. The girl’s face lit up and she went back to eating, happy to be her mother’s accomplice. Meanwhile, Baelor checked his phone, unlocked it to type something, and placed it face down on the counter, noticeably farther from their reach.
“Who was that?” Kiera asked as she scraped the bottom of her bowl with toast.
“Another email from Tybolt.” He acted convincingly exhausted, the way he usually was when it came to the Lannister.
Kiera nodded and hid a smile with a bite of bread. “If you’re that miserable with emails now, I can’t imagine how much worse you’re gonna be as Chair.”
“Grandad’s going to be a chair? Why would people need to sit on you?” Vaella giggled. Kiera dissolved into surprised laughter beside her.
Baelor smiled. “Not like that, little one. Your mother means I’ll be like your Uncle Brynden.”
“Ah,” Vaella said with understanding, then knit her brows. “What does that mean?”
“It means your Grandad will have twice the responsibilities and annoying people to deal with.”
“Blegh, responsibilities and annoying people.”
“School is a responsibility,” Baelor added and took her empty bowl to the sink. Kiera cleaned up as well and hurriedly chugged the rest of her coffee. “Now, go on and get ready, you’ll be late.”
“Yes, yes,” the two children said in unison as they went back into the hallway. Baelor waited until they disappeared into Vaella’s room before opening his phone again. There was a new message from Duncan.
Good morning, Sir! I’m on shift this evening in case you want me to drive you home again.
That’s a kind offer, Pennytree. I’ve yet to know if I’ll have need of it. I’ll contact you then.
Alright, Sir. Have a great day!
His fingers twitched atop his screen. He sent out a new message and left his phone to charge on the counter.
Rest well.
Vaella played on her LeapPad Academy as Baelor braided her hair. He had already gotten ready for work, so he could attend to his granddaughter while Kiera readied herself after giving Vaella her bath. A relatively new arrangement they agreed on after Baelor almost slipped on the tiles while bathing Vaella. It was around that time that Kiera started hiring their nanny, Elys. She was older than Kiera but younger than Baelor by several years, and was a vital addition to their household. He didn’t take it as an insult, but he had to quell the disappointment he felt at what that change signified in his life.
“Can I tell you something, Grandad?”
“Of course.”
“I think I like this boy in class.”
“Is that so?”
She whipped her head around and shushed him loudly, the action shaking a braid loose. He asked again in a whisper. She nodded approvingly and turned back to her tablet.
“Yep. He doesn’t know it yet.”
“Would you like to tell him?”
“No, I don’t think so.”
“That’s alright.”
“You and Mama say that, but my friends say I should.” Her words were tinged with confusion and some urgency.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t wish to do, sweetheart.”
“Hm. Okay.”
Baelor finished braiding and began fastening her aptly named “clips-of-the-day”. By the time Kiera walked in to check on them, Vaella was fully dressed sitting next to Baelor on the edge of her bed as they both tapped away on their respective devices with matching furrowed brows. A flash of light made their heads snap up. Kiera grinned at the screen of her phone. “I am so having this framed. Come on.” They got their respective bags and set out to start their day.
They were on the elevator when Baelor’s phone rang. He answered the call and was about to speak when Brynden’s deep timbre cut through the speaker.
“I’ve called in your absences at the office today. We need to have that talk.” A beat of silence. "Oh, and we'll drop the hatchling off at school." Then he hung up.