⠀

Cities all over Westeros had been preparing for Founders’ Day for many days before the biggest celebration of the year. Government buildings, however, were another matter entirely, and the morning there unfolded according to ceremony.

Flags hung from every façade surrounding the memorial square, stirred only occasionally by a mild breeze that carried the last comfortable traces of spring before summer settled in properly. Rows of veterans, uniforms pressed to impossible precision, stood shoulder to shoulder beneath white canopies. Military bands played pieces everyone recognised, but few truly listened to anymore, their brass instruments gleaming beneath a cloudless sky. Television cameras tracked dignitaries as they arrived one by one, flashes scattering across polished black cars and carefully rehearsed smiles.

The Targaryens occupied their customary place near the front — not the centre of attention that belonged to the veterans, but impossible to ignore all the same. Baelor stood beside his wife, their children already growing restless despite everyone's best efforts. Rhaegel had brought his own family down from Dragonstone for the morning alone, Aelor and Aelora fascinated far less by speeches than by the ceremonial cavalry waiting patiently beyond the barriers. Maekar stood with Daeron and Aerion between the formalities, one hand resting lightly on Aerion's shoulder whenever the younger boy began drifting too enthusiastically toward anything interesting. Aerys stood by his wife, just behind the twins.

The speeches came, followed by the wreaths, the photographs, and the carefully choreographed procession through rows of invited guests—government ministers, military commanders, representatives from organisations whose names everyone recognised only once a year. It was all familiar, necessary, predictable, the same rhythm the day always took.

By half past twelve, the official programme dissolved into handshakes and brief conversations, cameras gradually peeling away toward newer stories elsewhere in the city. The cousins disappeared together under the supervision of nannies and security staff after enthusiastic promises of board games and dessert somewhere considerably less formal. Aerion protested leaving his father for approximately thirty seconds before discovering that his cousins intended to build an elaborate pillow fortress, and Daeron required no convincing at all. By one o'clock, the day belonged to everyone again.

Then, the drive home was almost unnaturally quiet. Traffic had thinned as families scattered toward parks, lakes, grandparents' houses, and countryside roads leading nowhere in particular. Even the city itself seemed to exhale, relieved of deadlines for twenty-four hours.

Maekar loosened his tie somewhere between the memorial district and home, and by the time he stepped through his front door, the jacket was already draped over one arm. The house greeted him with silence—not the lonely kind, simply the absence of urgency. It was peaceful. He changed upstairs without much thought, exchanging the dark suit for a faded grey polo and comfortable trousers that had not seen a boardroom in years. The cufflinks disappeared into a drawer. His watch remained, more out of habit than necessity.

When he returned to the common area, Daeron had already retreated to his room, the faint sound of turning pages filtering faintly into the hallway whenever a door shifted open. Aerion occupied nearly half the living room carpet with what appeared to be an increasingly ambitious construction involving wooden blocks, plastic reptiles, and two toy dragons that served no obvious architectural purpose.

"They're guards," Aerion explained before being asked.

"I see."

"They breathe fire to protect the city! Raaagghh!"

"I'm sure that improves security."

Entirely satisfied with that answer, Aerion returned to his engineering, and Maekar wandered into the kitchen, where the coffee machine hummed softly. Sunlight spilt across the stone countertop through wide windows overlooking the garden, bright enough that he found himself opening one despite the perfectly functional air conditioning, warm air drifting inside carrying the scent of freshly cut grass from somewhere nearby.

He poured himself coffee, answered two emails that could not reasonably wait until Monday, and flagged four that absolutely could. Another arrived while he was reading. He ignored it. For perhaps twenty minutes, nothing happened—the house remained comfortably occupied without demanding anything from him, Aerion occasionally announcing structural developments from the living room, and another page turning somewhere from the hallways.

Maekar stood at the kitchen window, mug warming one hand, watching leaves shift lazily in the breeze. The weather was unusually pleasant—not merely sunny but inviting, the sort of afternoon that seemed wasted indoors. His thoughts wandered without destination. Baelor would be spending the rest of the day with his family. Rhaegel had likely already begun the drive back toward Dragonstone after one promised lunch, after arguing that he would return in a few days for yet another promised birthday lunch. The city itself would be filled with picnics, cyclists, and children chasing footballs across public parks.

His gaze remained on the coffee. Then, without much warning, another thought arrived. She probably has today off too. It came so simply that he almost failed to notice it—not accompanied by longing, not even expectation, merely an observation that seemed perfectly natural once it had appeared. He took another sip of coffee, set the mug down, and looked once more through the window toward the afternoon beyond it. Only then did he pick up his phone, his thumb hovering briefly before typing.

What are you doing this afternoon?

His phone buzzed before he'd managed another sip of coffee. She was apparently still holding hers.

absolutely nothing i was planning to enjoy doing absolutely nothing

He looked at the screen for a moment, the corner of his mouth lifting almost imperceptibly. There was something distinctly her about the phrasing—committing wholeheartedly to the serious occupation of doing nothing at all. He could picture it without much effort: oversized clothes, hair still only half-tamed from the morning, perhaps a book abandoned somewhere within reach while she debated whether making tea required more energy than she currently possessed. Maekar found the image unexpectedly pleasant.

His thumbs hovered over the keyboard. There was no plan. Only a feeling that the afternoon was too good to spend indoors. 

Would you like to come with us somewhere?

The message disappeared. He set the phone down almost immediately afterward, as though distancing himself from it somehow made the invitation less direct.

It buzzed again less than a minute later. 

...us?

He smiled despite himself. 

The boys and I.

Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. 

what are you planning?

He looked back through the kitchen window. The trees beyond the garden shifted lazily in the breeze, and somewhere farther down the street someone was mowing a lawn. He could hear Aerion making dramatic roaring noises from the living room, apparently negotiating with one of the toy dragons. He realised he genuinely did not know — not because he was being mysterious, but because he hadn't decided. He simply wanted to be outside. Away from the city. Away from schedules. His reply reflected exactly that.

I haven't decided yet.

The typing indicator appeared almost immediately. Stopped. Started again. 

you invited me before deciding where we're going?

He considered that. It sounded slightly unreasonable when written out. 

Apparently so.

A pause. Then another message. 

that's... strangely trusting of you.

He read it twice. Trusting. He had not thought of it that way. He supposed it was. Or perhaps it was the opposite — he hadn't cared where they ended up, only that the day seemed worth sharing. His fingers rested against the edge of the phone. 

I only know I'd rather not spend the afternoon indoors.

This time her reply took longer, long enough that he wondered if she had wandered away from her phone entirely. When it finally arrived, he found himself reading it more carefully than necessary. 

well......... i suppose i can postpone my very important plans of accomplishing absolutely nothing what time?

He glanced toward the living room. Aerion had now enlisted at least six dinosaurs into whatever conflict was unfolding across the carpet. Upstairs, another page turned. He looked at the clock on the microwave. Just after one. 

Can you be ready in forty-five minutes?

thats unfair!!!!

His eyebrows lifted. 

Why?

because now I have to figure out what "somewhere" clothes look like!!!! do I dress for walking food? or are you about to tell me we're climbing a mountain?

A quiet laugh escaped him before he realised it had. Aerion looked up from the floor. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You laughed at me!"

"I did not."

Aerion accepted that answer with remarkable generosity and returned to rescuing his dragons. Maekar looked back down at the conversation, comfortable in a way he didn't examine too closely. 

Very mysterious. I'm making this up as I go.

ill be ready.

She spotted the car almost immediately. It wasn't difficult — even parked among a row of ordinary family SUVs lining the curb outside her apartment building, Maekar's car was recognisable less because of the vehicle itself than because Aerion had both palms pressed enthusiastically against the passenger-side window the moment he saw her emerge from the entrance.

"There she is!" His voice carried even through the closed glass, and she laughed before she'd reached the car.

Maekar stepped out as she approached, and for a fraction of a second her brain refused to reconcile what she was seeing—not because he'd dressed badly, but because he hadn't dressed like himself. Dark jeans, a grey polo, comfortable trainers, and an old baseball cap sitting low enough to shade his eyes and hair from the bright afternoon sun.

She stopped beside the driver's door. "...You own a cap?"

He glanced up as though only just remembering it was there. "Is it so hard to believe?"

She looked at him another moment. "I've never seen you wear one."

"I don't wear it very often."

"It feels—" she tilted her head thoughtfully, "—unexpected."

From inside the car, Daeron looked up from the paperback resting against one knee. "He only wears it when it's sunny."

"Is that true?" she asked.

"It serves its purpose," Maekar said simply.

Daeron gave the tiny sigh of someone resigned to having practical parents. "It was Uncle Baelor's."

Maekar looked at him. "It was the university's."

She smiled. "I like it."

Maekar opened the rear door for her without comment, and only then did she notice Aerion already occupying the front passenger seat, legs swinging happily beneath him. "My seat!" he announced proudly.

"I can see that."

"I won."

"There wasn't a competition," Daeron chimed in from the backseat.

"There was in my head."

She laughed again and climbed into the back seat beside Daeron instead. He shifted his backpack onto the floor to make room for her. "Hi."

"Hi."

Between them sat a large resealable bag of assorted snacks already half open. Without a word, Daeron offered it to her.

"Oh." She looked between the bag and him. "Thank you."

"We're about twenty minutes in," he explained matter-of-factly. "Aerion already ate most of the chocolate."

"I did not!" Aerion protested from the front, twisting around as far as his seatbelt allowed.

"You did."

"I only had—" he paused, visibly counting on his fingers before abandoning mathematics altogether, "—some."

"You had like seven."

"That's not most."

"There were ten."

Aerion considered this with the deep betrayal of someone who had just heard an irrefutable argument and had no rebuttal prepared, and turned back around in his seat without further comment. She took a handful of crackers, trying not to smile, and Maekar started the engine.

The city slipped quietly past as they eased into the light holiday traffic. They had made it perhaps three intersections before Aerion twisted dramatically around again.

"Brother,"

"No."

"You don't even know what I was gonna ask."

"I do."

"You don't."

"You want more chocolate."

A pause. "...Yeah." Followed by a grin.

Daeron sighed with the weary dignity of an older brother who had accepted his fate years ago, shook the packet once to locate the chocolate buried near the bottom, and passed it forward. Aerion reached back without looking, hand patting blindly at the air.

"Wider."

"No, lower!"

"I can't see!"

"You don't need to see, you need to feel it."

She watched the entire exchange with increasing amusement until Daeron caught her looking. "It happens every car ride," he said, with the flat authority of someone reporting a well-documented fact.

"I heard that!" Aerion called, having successfully located the packet at last.

A minute later, the packet came back. Three minutes after that — "Daeron?"

"No."

"...please?"

Another resigned sigh. The snacks went forward again. By the fourth request, she found herself reaching for the bag before Daeron could.

"I'll do it."

"He’s greedy," Daeron said, with the tone of someone delivering a serious warning.

"I know."

Aerion beamed at her in the rear-view mirror with all the gratitude of someone who had just discovered a far more sympathetic supplier. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

Daeron leaned back in his seat, arms folded. "You've made a tactical error."

"Oh?"

"He's gonna ask you forever now."

Almost as if on cue — "...one more?"

She laughed so suddenly she had to steady the packet before another handful escaped onto the floor. From the driver's seat came a quiet, familiar voice.

"Aerion."

"...last one?"

"The one before this was the last one."

"...this one's the last last one."

Silence settled for exactly six seconds. Then... "Father?"

"Yes?"

"Can we get ice cream later?"

Maekar nodded.

Aerion accepted this as a binding legal agreement and faced forward again, entirely satisfied. Beside her, Daeron quietly shook the snack packet toward her once more. "You should probably take some while there's still food left."

She did. 

Outside, the city slowly gave way to wider roads and taller trees, the buildings growing lower with each passing kilometre. Inside the car, conversation drifted in the effortless, untidy way it always seemed to when no one had anywhere urgent to be, carried along by rustling snack packets, Aerion's endless commentary from the front seat, and the comfortable certainty that there was still an entire afternoon waiting somewhere beyond the city.

One moment there were rows of brick terraces, traffic lights, and shopfronts pressed shoulder to shoulder. The next, the road widened into long ribbons of asphalt bordered by dry-stone walls and hedgerows so dense they seemed to have grown together over centuries. Fields unfolded beyond them in broad green squares stitched together by ancient oaks, their leaves already heavy with summer. Sheep dotted distant hillsides like scraps of white wool someone had forgotten to collect. The afternoon seemed larger here, the sky somehow too.

Aerion had lowered his window halfway and spent most of the drive narrating every horse, sheep, tractor, and inexplicably shaped cloud they passed. "I think that one looks like a dragon."

"It looks like a potato," Daeron replied without looking up from his book.

"A flying potato."

She watched them through the gap between the front seats, smiling to herself, while Maekar said nothing, simply driving, one hand resting loosely on the steering wheel, the other occasionally tapping the rhythm of some song low enough on the radio to be almost part of the afternoon itself.

The village announced itself with vibrant flowers. Window boxes overflowed with lavender and trailing ivy beneath whitewashed cottages whose roofs dipped gently with age. Hanging baskets swayed outside cafés. A church bell marked the quarter hour somewhere beyond rows of honey-coloured stone buildings, while a narrow stream slipped quietly beneath an old bridge barely wide enough for one car.

The market occupied the village green. Canvas awnings fluttered lazily overhead, and tables displayed homemade jams beside fresh strawberries, local honey beside hand-thrown pottery, woven baskets beside bunches of wildflowers tied together with coarse string. No one hurried. People wandered with paper cups of coffee and dogs wandering patiently at their heels.

Aerion barely made it three metres. "Look, look!"

"What is it?"

"Look!" He was already pointing toward a stall selling handmade wooden toys, and Maekar followed without resistance. Five minutes later they were looking at carved birds. Three minutes after that it was painted kites. Then windmills. Then a man demonstrating tiny mechanical music boxes. Each discovery seemed, to Aerion, unquestionably the most important thing anyone had ever built.

"That one!"

"I'm here."

"Loooook!"

"I am looking."

"This one!"

"I know."

She exchanged an amused glance with Daeron. "Does he ever get tired?"

"No."

"Ever?"

"No," Daeron said, with the flat certainty of someone who had run this particular experiment many times and accepted the results.

She laughed softly. Ahead of them, Aerion had already found something else. "I want that!" Maekar disappeared once more into another enthusiastic investigation, neither impatience nor resignation crossing his face. He simply went, again and again, as though there had never been another possible way to spend an afternoon.

She slowed beside Daeron without quite noticing. He had tucked his book beneath one arm now, walking at an easy pace that matched hers rather than his father's longer stride. "They've been over there for ten minutes," she observed.

Daeron looked ahead. 

"Should we rescue him?"

"Dad?"

She nodded.

"No."

"Why not?"

"He likes it." Daeron gestured vaguely toward the increasingly animated conversation between Aerion and a craftsman explaining something about miniature catapults. "He never really said no."

The answer surprised her. She looked ahead again. Maekar had crouched to Aerion's height so the little boy could point more effectively at whatever complicated question currently required answering. Somehow, the observation fit.

They continued walking. After a few quiet steps, she felt something brush against the back of her hand and glanced down to find Daeron had reached for it almost absent-mindedly, as children sometimes did without announcing the decision to anyone, including themselves. His fingers rested lightly around hers. He seemed not to realise he'd done it until several seconds later. His eyes flicked downward, then up at her. "...Sorry."

"For what?"

"I just—" he looked vaguely embarrassed, "—I thought you wouldn't mind."

Something warm settled quietly inside her chest. She turned her hand properly, lacing her fingers around his smaller ones. "I don't mind at all."

His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptible, and neither of them mentioned it again. They simply continued walking, hand in hand, several paces behind Maekar and Aerion.

›

The ducks occupied a pond behind the village green. Naturally, Aerion declared they were starving.

"They literally have a sign saying not to feed them," Maekar observed, nodding toward the small wooden notice staked into the grass.

"They're hungry."

"They're extremely well-fed."

"They told me."

"The ducks?"

Aerion nodded with complete sincerity. "They said quack."

Maekar looked toward her. She was already trying—and failing—not to laugh. "You speak duck?"

Aerion considered this grave injustice for a long moment. "...can we still buy duck food?"

Five minutes later, despite everything, Aerion possessed a small paper bag of approved grain purchased from the visitor kiosk near the pond's edge. Daeron sighed. "I told you!"

They stood at the edge of the pond, the water catching the late afternoon light in soft, shifting flecks of gold, dragonflies stitching low loops above the reeds, and watched Aerion scatter grain with all the enthusiasm of someone feeding mythical beasts. 

The lake sat just beyond the village, wide and flat and silvered with afternoon light, willow branches trailing their leaves along the bank where the water lapped gently against an old wooden jetty. Boats drifted lazily across the surface, their reflections breaking and reforming with each small wake.

"I don't want to," Daeron declared immediately.

"No one's forcing you," Maekar replied.

"...Good."

They stood quietly watching another family paddle past, the rower clearly enjoying himself far more than his technique deserved. "Fine..."

She smiled. "I thought you didn't want to."

"I think it looks…okay."

"I see."

"It looked less embarrassing from here."

They rented a small rowboat, its wood pale and sun-bleached, the paint along its rim chipped from years of careless docking. Aerion insisted on sitting at the front to act as navigator despite possessing no navigational abilities whatsoever, pointing with great authority toward nothing in particular, acting as a captain of their small rowboat. Maekar rowed, the oars dipping with an easy, practised rhythm that sent soft ripples fanning out behind them. She sat opposite him, trailing one hand near the surface of the water, watching the lake's edge slide slowly past—reeds, a low stone bridge in the distance, the dark green shadow of the trees doubled in the still water.

Daeron attempted to appear entirely indifferent until a family of swans glided close enough that even he forgot to maintain the performance. "...they're so beautiful..."

"I know, right?" she said.

"Huh." He leaned slightly over the side for a better look, one hand braced on the boat's edge, the swans gliding past with the unhurried, faintly imperious grace swans seemed to manage no matter the circumstances.

Later that day, she disappeared into a tiny bookshop tucked beneath crooked timber beams that seemed older than the village itself, the building leaning gently against its neighbours as though it had settled there centuries ago and never quite straightened up since. A brass bell chimed softly above the door. The inside smelled of old paper, polished wood, and dust warmed by afternoon sunlight filtering gold through leaded windows, the light breaking into small diamond patterns across the floorboards. Shelves leaned ever so slightly, crowded floor to ceiling, with handwritten recommendation cards protruding between books in handwriting that suggested decades of different owners. Someone's elderly cat slept undisturbed beside the history section, one paw draped over the edge of a shelf.

Outside, Maekar stood beneath the shade of an old oak with two takeaway coffees balanced in one hand, the dappled light moving faintly across his shoulders whenever the leaves above him shifted. Aerion had become distracted by a nearby fountain, crouched at its edge, tracking something in the water with full concentration. Daeron had found a bench and was simply taking in the view.

Maekar watched through the shop window as she drifted slowly between shelves, pausing every few steps to read a spine before moving on. There was no urgency to it. She browsed the way some people wandered through museums.

Eventually, she emerged holding another paperback against her chest.

"You bought one."

"I did."

"Just one?"

"I know."

"I only needed one."

Without another word, he offered her the second coffee. She accepted it with a grateful smile, the warmth of the cup pleasant against the cooling edge of the late afternoon.

Two doors down stood a stationery shop, its window arranged with the same careful, slightly excessive charm as the bookshop—a fan of notebooks in jewel-toned linen, a small brass scale holding down a stack of paper samples, a single fountain pen displayed on a velvet cushion as though it were jewellery.

She slowed.

He noticed immediately. "You may as well."

"I wasn't—" she looked through the window, "—I was only looking."

"So look."

Inside, notebooks were bound in linen in colours, fountain pens resting inside velvet trays beneath the glass counter, bottles of ink lined up like a small spectrum, their names sounding far grander than the colours themselves deserved. She picked up one notebook, turned it over, set it back. Another. Then another, the late light from the window catching the gold-edged pages as she fanned them briefly beneath her thumb.

Outside, Maekar waited beside the doorway, coffee in hand, saying nothing at all. Not once did he check his watch. Not once did he suggest they continue. He simply watched people wander past beneath the warm afternoon sun while, inside, she debated notebooks she had absolutely no intention of buying.

When she finally stepped back outside empty-handed, he looked at her. "Successful?"

"I exercised tremendous restraint."

"I'm proud of you."

"I'd like you to know it was extremely difficult."

"I never doubted it, young lady."

She laughed, and together they wandered farther down the lane, the cobblestones were uneven and sun-warmed beneath their feet, until the warm scent of butter and sugar drew Aerion toward a roadside bakery with the inevitability of gravity itself, its window stacked with golden pastries and a chalkboard sign listing the day's specials in looping, slightly crooked handwriting. Five minutes later, they left carrying paper bags still warm enough to soften the butter inside flaky pastries, the scent trailing behind them down the lane.

No one suggested where to go next. No one looked at the time. The afternoon simply continued unfolding ahead of them, golden and unhurried, the shadows of the old buildings stretching slowly longer across the cobblestones, one quiet discovery after another, asking nothing except that they keep walking.

They left the village behind almost by accident. The narrow lane curved gently between hedgerows heavy with wild roses and elderflower, opening now and then onto fields where the afternoon light stretched long across the grass. Somewhere in the distance, sheep grazed lazily beneath an enormous oak that looked older than memory itself. No one seemed in any hurry to reach wherever the path ended.

Aerion had long since discovered that every stick lying beside the trail possessed untapped potential. "This one's a sword."

"It was a stick five seconds ago," Daeron said.

"It's a sword now."

"It still looks like a stick."

"I’m going to fight you with a stick!"

Satisfied with his own logic, Aerion charged ahead toward an imaginary enemy waiting somewhere beyond the next bend.

She watched him go. "I think he just declared war on a bush."

"The bush will probably win," Daeron replied.

She laughed. Ahead of them, Maekar had stopped while Aerion demonstrated the proper technique for defeating particularly aggressive vegetation, swinging his stick with theatrical precision against a clump of nettles that seemed entirely unaware of the danger it was in. The sight made her smile before she realised it had. He wasn't correcting him. Wasn't hurrying him. Wasn't reminding him they had somewhere else to be. He simply listened with complete seriousness as Aerion explained battle strategy against an opponent made entirely of leaves.

The phone vibrating in his pocket felt oddly intrusive. He glanced at the screen. Baelor. He answered after a moment.

"Hello."

"Tell me you're doing absolutely nothing."

Maekar looked up the path. "I was."

"Excellent. Come over for dinner."

A pause. "I thought everyone was keeping to themselves."

"We were." A short, theatrical sigh. "I've decided I miss people. Or possibly I've just run out of things to say to Jena that don't involve the children, and she's threatened to make me go for a run if I don't find a new audience."

Maekar almost smiled. "That sounds more believable."

"Don’t take her side! You’re my brother!"

Baelor waited.

"So?"

Maekar didn't answer immediately. His attention had drifted back toward the path ahead. Aerion had apparently become convinced that swords alone were insufficient. He now required a shield. She crouched beside him, studying the collection of fallen branches with exaggerated concentration.

"What about this one?"

Aerion frowned. "Too bendy."

"This one?"

"Hmm..." He inspected it gravely. "...Almost."

Daeron wandered over with all the theatrical reluctance expected of an older brother. "You're looking in the wrong place."

"We are?"

"The good ones are over here." He pointed toward the base of an old oak where thicker branches had fallen after some forgotten storm, half-sunk into a bed of moss and last year's leaves. Aerion immediately sprinted over. She followed. Daeron walked beside her, and this time he reached for her hand without hesitation, as though he'd already decided it belonged there whenever they walked. She squeezed his fingers once. He squeezed back. Neither of them said anything.

Together they inspected branches with the utmost seriousness while Aerion narrated the qualities required of a respectable shield. Behind them, Maekar stood completely still.

"Earth to Maekar?" Baelor's voice crackled faintly through the phone. "You've gone quiet."

"Huh? Sorry."

"What are you looking at? Are you working?"

His eyes remained on the three figures a little farther down the path. Aerion enthusiastically presenting each branch for inspection. Daeron quietly dismissing half of them. She was somehow treating the entire discussion with complete sincerity, as though the future of the kingdom genuinely depended on selecting the correct branch stick. A breeze stirred through the hedgerow, scattering a few loose petals from the wild roses across the path. She laughed at something Aerion had said. 

Maekar realised, not for the first time that afternoon, how naturally she occupied the space beside them. Simply there, as though she'd been walking this path with the three of them for years.

"...Maekar?"

He blinked. "I'm sorry."

"I asked if you're coming."

He looked at the quiet scene unfolding only a few metres away. Aerion had finally chosen his shield and was proudly demonstrating it, holding it up against an invisible blow. Daeron was pretending not to care while offering entirely unsolicited tactical advice. She applauded as though she'd witnessed something remarkable.

A faint smile settled onto his face. "No."

Baelor was silent for a beat. "You’re out?"

"Yes."

"...The Redwyne girl?"

Maekar watched Aerion suddenly grab her wrist. "Come on!" Before she could protest, the little boy tugged her into an enthusiastic sprint toward the next bend in the path. She looked back over her shoulder at him, laughing.

"Apparently," Maekar said quietly.

Baelor chuckled, the sound warm and entirely too pleased with itself. "Look at you. An entire day, gone, and not one complaint about it." A beat. "Enjoy your afternoon, little brother."

"Thank you, Baelor. Enjoy dinner."

The call ended. For several seconds he remained where he was, phone still loose in his hand. Ahead, she had slowed enough for Aerion to catch up again, pretending to lose the race every few strides simply because it delighted him. Daeron followed a few paces behind, hands tucked into his pockets now, watching them with the resigned fondness only older brothers seemed capable of.

Without thinking, Maekar slipped his phone back into his pocket. He never checked the notifications waiting for him. Instead, he crossed the distance between them, the warm afternoon stretching comfortably onward as though the day had no intention of ending anytime soon.

By the time they wandered back toward the village, the afternoon had begun surrendering itself to evening. The sunlight softened almost imperceptibly, exchanging the bright certainty of midday for something warmer, slower. Long shadows stretched across the lanes between cottages, and the scent of freshly cut grass had given way to wood smoke drifting lazily from chimneys despite the pleasant weather, the cottage windows beginning to glow faintly gold as lamps were switched on within.

Aerion's energy, astonishingly, showed no signs of fading. "I'm hungry."

"You've said that every twenty minutes since we left the market," Daeron replied.

"Because I keep getting hungry."

"I don't think that's how it works."

"I’m hungrryyyyyy!"

Maekar glanced down at his watch for what she suspected was the first time all day. "I suppose dinner is in order."

Aerion pumped a triumphant fist into the air. "I knew it!"

"You predicted that people eventually eat?"

"Yes."

"Remarkable."

The restaurant stood at the edge of the village where the road narrowed again into winding country lanes. It occupied the ground floor of an old stone cottage with climbing ivy nearly reaching the second-storey windows. A hand-painted wooden sign swung gently above the entrance, creaking softly whenever the breeze caught it.

Inside, everything smelled of butter, rosemary, and bread fresh from the oven. The dining room couldn't have seated more than fifteen tables, all mismatched wooden chairs, floors worn smooth by decades of footsteps, framed black-and-white photographs of the village before cars had become common, a chalkboard menu hanging beside the kitchen doorway. Warm amber pendant lights cast gentle pools of light over every table, while the last of the evening sun filtered through lace curtains framing wide windows overlooking fields washed gold beneath the lowering sky. Conversations blended into a comfortable hum. Children laughed somewhere near the back. Plates clinked softly. Someone in the kitchen called an order before disappearing again behind swinging doors.

The owner looked up from behind the counter as they entered. Recognition crossed his face almost immediately, lasting barely a heartbeat. "Good evening," he said simply, as though greeting any other family passing through.

"Good evening."

"It's been a while."

"It has."

"Window table?"

"If it's available."

"It always is." He smiled before collecting four menus. 

She noticed the exchange. "...He knows you?"

"We've stopped here before."

"Often?"

"When the boys were younger."

The answer was so matter-of-fact that she didn't ask anything further.

The table sat beside a broad window overlooking gently rolling fields where the last sunlight painted everything in shades of honey and amber. Aerion immediately claimed the seat facing the window. "So I can watch tractors."

"There are no tractors," Daeron observed.

"There could be."

"At this hour?"

"They might be late!"

Neither she nor Maekar interrupted the discussion. She slid into the bench opposite Aerion while Daeron settled beside her, and Maekar took the remaining chair across from his eldest son. The menus remained largely unnecessary. Apparently everyone except her already knew what they wanted.

"You've been here enough to memorise the menu?" she asked.

Aerion nodded enthusiastically. "The meat pie."

"The meat pie," Maekar agreed.

"And ice cream."

"We'll discuss ice cream later. If you finish your meal."

"We're discussing it now."

Daeron didn't even look up. "He's going to say yes."

"I know."

Their drinks arrived first. A tall glass bottle of soda placed carefully in front of her, already beaded with condensation from the cold. She blinked. "I didn't order this?"

"No," Maekar said, unfolding his napkin. "You usually order soda on a hot day."

She looked at him. "...how do you know?"

"You've done it every time."

A waiter set a tall glass of iced tea beside Maekar, slices of lemon floating lazily beneath clinking cubes of ice. The boys received apple juice. For approximately three minutes. Then Aerion looked toward the dessert board. "Can I…."

"No."

"I haven't asked."

"I know."

"What if I was going to ask for vegetables?"

Daeron snorted into his drink. "You weren't."

"But what if I—"

Maekar sighed with theatrical resignation. "We'll have two sundaes."

Aerion beamed so brightly she was surprised the lights didn't dim in comparison. "I knew you'd say yes. You always say yes!"

"I certainly do not."

She covered her mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking with barely contained laughter. Maekar looked across the table. "What?"

"Oh, nothing. I’m enjoying this."

"So it would seem…"

The sundaes arrived before the main courses, towering glasses layered with vanilla ice cream, strawberries, chocolate sauce, whipped cream, and wafers taller than seemed structurally sensible. Aerion stared at his as though witnessing divine intervention. Daeron maintained considerably more composure ... for nearly ten seconds.

Outside the window, the countryside had begun dissolving into evening. The sky faded from gold to pale lavender above distant hills. Families wandered slowly back toward parked cars. Someone cycled past with a basket of wildflowers balanced on the handlebars. Inside, the warm glow of hanging lights reflected softly against the glass until the dining room itself seemed brighter than the world beyond it.

She rested her chin lightly against one hand for a moment, looking around the table — Aerion enthusiastically scooping the whipped cream first, Daeron pretending not to steal cherries from his brother's sundae whenever Aerion became distracted, Maekar quietly sipping his iced tea between watching the boys with that familiar, almost imperceptible attentiveness he carried everywhere as a father. No board meetings today. No security briefings. No more ringing phones. No one asking anything of him beyond whether he wanted more bread.

She found herself studying him and his little family for a moment longer than she intended. There was something quietly beautiful about seeing Maekar here. Not because he was different. Because he wasn't. The same patience. The same steadiness. The same instinct to notice before anyone had to ask. Only here, beneath warm lights in a little countryside restaurant where no one expected anything from him, those qualities no longer belonged to the son of a chairman or a public figure. They simply belonged to a father sharing dinner with his sons. Somehow, she suspected this was the real Maekar. Everything else was merely what the world required him to become.

They left the village just as the last warmth of the day settled over the fields. The road unwound gently through hedgerows now painted bronze by the sinking sun, the countryside gradually slipping into softer colours as evening drew nearer. Golden light spilt across wheat fields ready for harvest, catching the tops of wild grasses until they shimmered whenever the wind passed through them.

For a while, nobody spoke. Aerion occupied himself by counting sheep. He lost count somewhere around thirty-seven. Started over. Lost count again. Eventually the numbers became quieter, then disappeared altogether. By the time they reached the motorway, his head had tipped sideways against the passenger seat, one small hand still loosely wrapped around the wooden shield he had insisted on bringing home. Maekar reached over at the next red light and adjusted the boy's seatbelt with practised ease, careful not to wake him. It scarcely disturbed his sleep.

Behind them, the rustle of pages continued. Daeron had returned to his book almost as soon as they'd left the village, the fading daylight pooling across the open pages balanced on his lap, a small bag of chips from the bakery resting half-open in his other hand. Every so often he turned another page, fingers leaving faint salt smudges along the corner.

Outside, fields gave way to scattered houses. Houses became suburbs. The first familiar signs of the city appeared on the horizon, their lights flickering awake one by one against the deepening blue of evening.

She rested one elbow against the window. The glass had cooled beneath her skin. There was something strangely peaceful about watching the countryside disappear in reverse; the open sky slowly interrupted by rooftops, then traffic lights, then apartment buildings glowing softly behind drawn curtains as families settled in for the night.

She glanced sideways. Both hands rested comfortably on the steering wheel. The baseball cap had long since been discarded onto the centre console. Without it, he looked more familiar again. Yet something remained different. Perhaps it was simply that she had spent an entire afternoon seeing him without interruption. 

He caught her looking. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You've been saying 'nothing' rather often today."

She smiled faintly. "I was just thinking."

"About?"

"That’s a secret."

"What conclusion did you reach?"

She looked back out the window. "...I think today suited you."

He considered that. "How so?"

"You seemed—" she searched for the right word, "—lighter."

Not happier. That wasn't quite it. "Lighter."

He was quiet for a few moments. "I suppose I had nowhere to be."

"I noticed."

"It was pleasant."

She nodded. "Thank you for inviting me."

The silence returned without awkwardness. The radio played softly enough to disappear beneath the steady rhythm of tyres against asphalt. Behind them, another page turned. Then another. Eventually, nothing.

She glanced over her shoulder. Daeron had fallen asleep somewhere between chapters, his book still lying open across his chest, the small bag of chips tipped gently against his palm, a few crumbs scattered loose across his lap, his reading glasses slipping ever so slightly down his nose.

She reached back carefully. The book slid free with surprising ease. He murmured something unintelligible but didn't wake. She folded the page where he'd stopped before closing it gently, then eased the bag of chips from his loosened fingers and set it in the cupholder beside her.

When she looked forward again, she found Maekar watching the entire exchange through the rear-view mirror.

"Thank you," he said quietly.

She simply smiled.

›

By the time they reached her apartment building, the city had fully settled into night. Warm yellow light glowed behind familiar windows, softening the concrete apartment blocks into something almost homely, while across the street someone walked a golden retriever through the small neighbourhood park. The convenience store on the corner remained brightly lit, a handful of customers drifting in and out with bags of crisps and late-night snacks, reluctant to let the long weekend end.

Maekar eased the car neatly against the curb before shifting it into park.

For a brief moment, no one moved.

The silence inside the car felt different now—not the companionable silence of the drive they had shared earlier, but the reluctant pause that comes when everyone knows the day has reached its natural conclusion.

It was Aerion who stirred first after noticing the lack of movement.

His eyelids fluttered open, still heavy with sleep, and he blinked owlishly through the windshield before turning toward his father.

"...We're home?"

"Not quite," Maekar replied, his voice instinctively softer than usual. "We're dropping her off first."

Aerion turned to look at her, the sleepy smile already forming on his face before the meaning of those words caught up with him. It faltered almost immediately.

"...oh."

The sound was barely audible, more breath than voice, but she heard the disappointment tucked quietly inside it. She unfastened her seatbelt and turned slightly in her seat, smiling at the boy.

"Thank you for inviting me today, Aerion."

"We have to go home now?"

"I'm afraid so."

His small face scrunched into an unmistakable frown.

"...can't you come too?"

Neither she nor Maekar answered right away. The question wasn't manipulative or dramatic. It was simply asked with the uncomplicated sincerity unique to young children, who still believed the people they enjoyed could simply continue existing together if everyone agreed to it.

She reached forward, gently smoothing a stray lock of hair away from his forehead.

"Maybe another day."

"When?"

She couldn't help laughing softly. "I don't know."

"...Soon?"

Her eyes lifted almost unconsciously toward Maekar.

He was already looking at her.

For the briefest moment, neither of them said a word. There was no promise exchanged, no discussion waiting beneath the silence. Only the quiet recognition that neither of them, if they were being completely honest, particularly wanted the afternoon to end.

"Soon," she said at last.

Aerion studied her face with surprising seriousness, as though measuring whether that answer could be trusted. Apparently deciding it could, he nodded once before asking one final question.

"...Promise?"

"I'll do my best."

That seemed sufficient. With all the solemn determination of someone making a very important decision, he leaned as far across the centre console as his seatbelt would allow and wrapped both arms around her.

She laughed under her breath as she returned the hug, careful not to squeeze too tightly.

It lasted only a few seconds.

It didn't need to last longer.

When he leaned back into his seat, he looked noticeably brighter than he had a moment before.

"...okay."

She smiled. "Goodnight, Aerion."

"Night."

Only then did she glance toward the back seat. Daeron hadn't moved. Somewhere during the drive, he'd fallen asleep with his head resting lightly against the window, the book she'd rescued from his lap now lying neatly beside him. The light jacket he'd shrugged on before dinner had fallen halfway from one shoulder.

Careful not to wake him, she reached back and gently pulled the fabric into place.

He shifted almost imperceptibly, murmuring something unintelligible before settling again without opening his eyes.

"Goodnight, Daeron," she whispered anyway.

The cool night air greeted her the moment she opened the door. She stepped out onto the pavement, then leaned back down before closing it, resting one hand lightly against the roof of the car as she looked at Maekar through the open doorway.

"...thank you."

He regarded her for a moment.

"For what?"

She considered the question more seriously than she expected.

The lake?

The market?

Daeron quietly slipped his hand into hers without thinking?

Dinner beneath amber lights while the countryside faded into dusk outside the windows?

An ordinary afternoon that had somehow become unforgettable simply because they'd spent it together?

"For today."

His expression softened almost imperceptibly. "I'm glad you came."

The words were simple and unadorned.

Yet they carried a sincerity that lingered somewhere beneath her ribs long after he had spoken them.

"Message me when you’re home?"

"Will do."

She offered him one last smile before closing the door gently.

Standing on the pavement, she remained there until the headlights pulled away from the curb. As the car disappeared into the quiet stream of evening traffic, she caught one final glimpse through the rear window: Maekar's profile illuminated in passing pools of streetlight, Aerion already curling back toward sleep in the passenger seat, and Daeron still resting peacefully against the glass in the back.

Then they rounded the corner and vanished.

She stayed where she was for another moment, apartment keys resting loosely in her hand, listening to the fading hum of the engine.

Only as she climbed the familiar steps toward her building did she realise what lingered with her most wasn't any single place they'd visited. It wasn't the lake, or the village, or the restaurant with its warm lights and homemade pies.

It was the feeling of belonging, if only for an afternoon, to the quiet rhythm of Maekar’s little family.

tbc

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