Archive of Our Own

1. Arthur

There were rolling green hills for miles: trees, flowers, grass as far as the eye could see. Above, the sky was a striking, shimmering blue. There were a few glittering clouds, here and even there, even the sun had a faint glimmer.

It had a wild, untouched sort of beauty. There was a constant hum of magic across his new senses, pressing him to relax. To forget his worries and let them fade away.

João was instantly on edge.

“Welcome,” Arthur said, stretching his arms out. “To Elfhame, home of the fae.”

“It's beautiful,” João said honestly. He meant it. Strange, lulling magic or not, Elfhame was the most beautiful place he'd ever seen. It had an ethereal beauty, something out of the reach of mere mortals.

“Of course it is.” Arthur nodded. “The fae love beautiful things. They would never stand for their home to be any less than perfect. I've brought us near the border between the Summer and Winter Courts. We're right under one of the Seelie suns.”

“One of?”

“There's three.”

That…actually wasn't as crazy as Joäo first thought. They lived in a world with gods, faeries, ghosts, and all sorts of magical creatures. Hell, Arthur had a man-eating Yew tree in his garden.

“We're lucky we came here today,” Arthur continued. “Uncle Ci's busy experimenting with spells with Cousin Fiach. So there's no chance he'll find out we went to Elfhame.”

“Why can't Uncle Ci know about this?” João frowned. Uncle Ciarán—as he told João to call him—was a grumpy man. However, he was passionate about learning and enthusiastically encouraged João's magical studies. Most afternoons, he would invite João into his lab to experiment with potions and teach him botany and magical reactions.

It was nice. Adults didn't usually care for João. Although Carthage and Rome had briefly been his guardians, they were too busy caring for their empires or doting on their actual children to care about João. He grew up in the shadows with only the company of Castile and tutors around him.

No one cared for João. Not really. They cared about Portugal, the Kingdom. Not João, the person. For all his life, he watched from the shadows as other children happily embraced their parents. But when Uncle Ciarán gently guided his hands to stir a potion or point out different magical plants in the greenhouse, João felt a sense of warmth bloom in his heart. Mayhaps this was what those children felt. This strange warmth was why they eagerly ran to their parents.

Arthur winced. “Uncle Ci…had his work stolen by the fae a few millennia ago. He's hated them ever since. If he knew we were coming to Elfhame, he would have insisted on coming along for our ‘safety.’”

“Stolen?” João said in alarm.

Arthur waved a hand dismissively. “Long story.” Then he beamed and clapped his hands together. “But going past that, let's continue the tour!”

The rest of Elfhame was equally as beautiful. They passed forests and hills, each teeming with life and vibrant colours. Time was strange here. The sun didn't move in the sky, and the next hill always stayed just over the next hill. But João knew time had passed with the ache in his feet.

“Elfhame isn't a planet,” Arthur lectured. He was sitting on the saddle of a large unicorn he summoned earlier. Their steeds, each a moonlight dapple with manes and grand horns of mercury, galloped through the grass. “It's a world of magic. Magic is the foundation of this place; if you simply will something, it shall be done. It sits somewhere between Earth and the Astral Plane.”

“That's not vague at all,” João said sarcastically.

Arthur huffed and rolled his eyes. “Well, don't blame me, blame the universe. There isn't an exact location for each world. They all sit on the fabric of the universe, like a spider's web. There's no exact way to pinpoint their location, but you can feel where they are. Mortals can't travel between worlds, but the divine do.”

“Is that why Uncle Ci always travels with me to the Astral Plane?”

“Exactly.” Arthur nodded. “If you don't have divine blood, you need someone else to side-teleport you. It's the only way to cross between worlds.”

“Ci…now that's a nickname I haven't heard in a while.” An unfamiliar voice interrupted.

João jolted and tugged on the reins. The unicorn reared to a stop. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw that Arthur did the same.

An impossibly beautiful woman stood before them. Lean and tall, skin as pale as snow. Her snowy hair was gathered in a thick braid that fell to her hips and framed her periwinkle gaze. She was draped in a dress of what seemed to be a myriad of purples and blues and greens, the grass around her frosted over with snow. There was an aura of power around her. It was faintly reminiscent of Liádáin, Gormlaith, and Ailpein's, but much weaker.

“Queen Mab,” Arthur greeted, inclining his head politely. “What can we do for you?”

“Lord Arthur.” Mab gave a shallow curtsy. But even the little action was enough for the shock to thrum through João's bones. Sometimes, he forgot Arthur was the son of a god. It didn't matter whether or not Mab was a queen; Arthur ranked higher than her and was only superseded by his family and the other pantheons. “I sensed your presence near my borders and came to investigate. I wasn't aware you brought someone else with you.”

João froze as Mab turned her periwinkle gaze on him. Bright eyes pinned him to the spot. They seemed to brighten with glee. “And who are you, Fragile Creature? You’re clearly one of the Earth Mother's children, but I can sense the Old Gods’ presence all over you.”

“He,” Arthur interrupted, reaching over and placing a hand on João's shoulder. “Is my older brother, Jay. Jay, may I introduce you to Mab, Queen of the Winter Court.”

Despite the tension in the air, João felt warmth filling his chest.

Older brother.

Arthur called him his older brother. He did it more often now. Sometimes, he slipped up during their conversations, but Arthur didn't say it so blatantly like this.

Mab's eyes widened briefly before glinting slyly. “Jay, was it? Is that short for something?”

Lesson number one of dealing with the fae, Uncle Ciarán's voice echoed in his head. Never tell them your name, full name or otherwise. Always give them a nickname. Giving them your name gives them a measure of power over you. They can enchant or lure you with it.

Common courtesy dictated that you didn't use a god or godling's name to enchant them. It was self-preservation not to piss off someone who—unlike a mortal—could retaliate and make your life a living hell. Or in the case of godlings, piss off their divine parent and get a vengeful god on your case. But João didn't have an overprotective godly parent like Arthur, so he went with the traditional precautions.

João replied in the same airy tone. “It is whatever you wish it to be, Your Majesty."

Mab grinned with something close to approval in her eyes. “How refreshing! I suppose Lord Ciarán must have taught you our ways. You are a credit to your family, Lord Jay.”

João dipped his head. “You are too kind, Your Majesty.”

“So charming! Just like your uncle! I shall not bother you two any further; I can see when my presence is unwanted. Enjoy your visit to Elfhame, you two. And do stop by the Winter Court before you leave.”

Mab vanished in a flurry of snowflakes, leaving the grass frosted where she once stood.

Arthur breathed a sigh of relief and turned to face him worriedly. “How are you feeling? I know Mab can be a bit much.”

“I'm fine, but." João grimaced. “Let's not do that again. I don't think my heart can take meeting another Faerie Queen.”

Arthur laughed and knocked their shoulders together. “Don't worry, that was the only one. And you were great, big brother! Mab loved you!”

There it was again. Big brother. It had been a long time since someone called João that. A cheerful boyish voice enthusiastically shouted at the back of his head. Hermano!

The last time he heard that title, it was said full of hatred and on a bloody battlefield.

It was strange hearing it again. But João liked it.

“Race you to the portal!” Arthur grinned as his unicorn galloped away. His cackles carried over the wind.

João scowled and charged after him. “You cheater! We're supposed to start at the same time!”

2. Rónán

For as long as João remembered, he loved the sea. Something about its sparkling blue waters called out to him. In the distant days of his childhood, back at Rome's grand palace, when Castile—then called Hispania—was playing in the gardens with France—once named Gallia, João holed up in his room and dreamed of sailing.

He used to sketch designs of boats on papyrus and tried to think of ways to improve them. Carthage had encouraged his love of the sea. The naval empire found it endearing and bought him tons of books on ships before her death. It was the only time she ever showed a shred of interest in him.

Rome didn't think highly of his interest. He frowned and discouraged João from that sort of “lesser thinking.” He learned to hide the books whenever Rome came around after the first disapproving frown.

But at night, he would stay awake and dream of sailing to places he had never been. João wanted to sail to the reaches of the known world and further beyond. He always wanted to see what stretched beyond the horizon.

And he always wanted to captain his own ship.

Of course, João had been on boats before, but he had never been allowed to help with the rigging. The royal family insisted that a Nation should not trouble itself with basic work.

It frustrated him, but it didn't matter anymore. They had suddenly changed their attitudes overnight and gave him all the freedom he wanted. It was oddly similar to how the English royal family treated Arthur. It didn't escape João's notice how smug Uncle Ciarán and his siblings looked when he told the family about the strange behavioural change.

The first thing João did with his freedom was get a ship. It was a small barque, with a single mast and a fixed sail. But it was João's, and he loved it, which was how he found himself now, frowning down at the pile of rope in his hands.

It didn't matter how many times he tried; the rope always tumbled to the ground. João silently cursed himself. Fuck, he was already butchering something so simple. How would he sail the world if he couldn't tie a simple bowline knot?

It was one of the easiest knots there was. Simple to tie and untie, perfect for beginners. Considerably, one of the most important knots for sailing.

“Need some help?”

João was startled and looked up in the direction of the voice.

Rónán grinned at him. Although he was backlit by the sun, no light caught on his black curls. He looked at ease here on the ship deck, like nowhere João had seen on land.

“Where did you come from?”

Rónán shrugged carelessly. “Arthur and I came here to visit you. Ari's in the shops now, but he'll be by soon. I came here first to see what you were up to.” He looked curiously at the pile of rope. “So what are we doing? Rolling hitch? Reef? Alpine butterfly?”

Rónán would find him foolish for not being able to do a simple bowline knot. He was the God of the Waves, the Son of the Sea. Seawater was in his veins. He likely grew up doing sailing knots from the cradle.

Here was João, already messing up something simple from the start, so much for wanting to sail. It was hopeless.

João felt embarrassed and self-conscious as he fingered the pile of rope in his hands. “...A bowline knot.”

Even with João butchering something so simple, Rónán did nothing but nod along and smile. “Alright, let's do it.”

Rónán took the rope into his hands and laid it across his left hand with the free line hanging down. He formed a small loop in the line in his hand. João followed his movements intently.

“You have to bring the free end up and pass it through the eye from the underside,” Rónán explained as his hands moved in unison with practised familiarity. “Like a rabbit coming out of the hole.

“Wrap the line around the standing line and back through the hoop. So the rabbit goes around the tree and back down the hole.

“Then tighten the knot by pulling on the free end while holding the standing line.”

João looked in awe at the tightly tied knot in Rónán's hand. It was nothing like his wobbly, undone piles. The pristine knot spoke of years of practice to the point where he could do it like second nature.

“Here, let's try together.” Rónán placed the rope back in João's hand and gently guided him through the steps.

João furrowed his brow in concentration and ran through the instructions in his head. The rabbit came out of the hole, around the tree, and then down the hole again. He repeated the mantra over and over until he was finished. Through it all, Rónán’s hands were a steady weight on his. Gentle and patient, never rushing him through the steps.

There was a completed knot in his hand. It wasn't pristine and flawless like Rónán's, but it was a knot.

“That was great!” Rónán praised. “You were brilliant!”

“I did it,” João breathed. He turned to smile at Rónán and filled his voice with all the sincerity he could muster. “Thank you so much.”

Rónán threw an arm over his shoulders. “Don't be silly, you don't have to thank me for that. That's what brothers are for.”

Brothers. João had brothers. Rónán said it so casually, like he didn't upend João's world.

That's right. It wasn't just him and the glaring absence of a brother across the land. He had a family behind him with many members who readily claimed him as a brother. They were all open and eager to form a close relationship with João. He didn't know when it started, but there was a constant warmth that accompanied him throughout his days.

It was a strange but heady feeling. João didn't want it to stop.

“We could practise together if you want.” Rónán grinned. “My athair taught me a couple of tricks of the trade! I've been dying to tell someone about them. Ari’s not much of a ship enthusiast, even if he pretends he is.”

It would be nice to share this with someone as enthusiastic about sailing. The thought made a smile break out on his face.

“I'd like that.”

3. Lorcán

It was a day like any other. The sun was shining, the birds were singing, and the court was bustling with courtiers.

Except today wasn't just another ordinary day.

Today was Castile's birthday.

Or at least the birthday of when João first met Castile. He supposed the family would refer to it as a nameday. They were fond of using terms from Planetos. Nations didn't truly have namedays. Only the Earth Mother knew their actual namedays, and it wasn't like she would tell them.

They chose today as Castile's name day and celebrated it every year. Until time made their relationship sour.

João frowned out the window. Part of him regretted that they drifted apart. Their personalities and tempers had always clashed, even when they were children. He supposed the wars had only fueled the bad blood between them.

But he still missed Castile. What did it say about him as a brother if he let their relationship get this bad? Was he even a good brother? What if he messed up with Arthur, too? He didn’t want to hurt his littlest brother.

It was how Lorcán found him hours later, sitting listlessly on the floor of his room.

Lorcán sat down beside him and hummed. “Want to talk about it?”

Perhaps it was because João remembered all the times Lorcán patched up his wounds and carried him to safety on the battlefield. Or when Lorcán quietly made João a cup of warm milk spiced with cinnamon when he was stressed. Or when Lorcán came to check up on him without being asked.

The words escaped João's lips. “Today is Castile's nameday. I haven't celebrated it with him in years.”

Lorcán only hummed, silently encouraging him to continue.

“I don't like him very much, and he doesn't like me either. Honestly, we've never gotten along, but I shouldn't have allowed our relationship to deteriorate this badly. I'm the eldest. It was my duty to keep things together. And I failed.”

João's hands trembled slightly. “I'm a terrible big brother. What if I mess up with Arthur—”

He was cut off by Lorcán wrapping his arms around him. João stiffened before he melted into the embrace. It didn't take long for something wet to trail down his cheeks. He was crying, he realised distantly.

“You are not a terrible big brother,” Lorcán said firmly. “You are going to drop that line of thinking now. You hear me?”

“But—”

“Absolutely not. João. Arthur adores you. Between you and me, I think you're his favourite big brother. He's always bouncing around and telling you secrets he doesn't tell anyone else. Except, of course, Rónán, but that's different. That gremlin looks up to you and thinks the world of you. And you are amazing with Arthur. Always patient and gentle, even when that brat is causing chaos.”

João couldn't stop his lips from twitching weakly at the mention of troublesome Arthur. His little brother could be a handful because he unintentionally and intentionally left chaos in his wake. He was always causing mischief with his partner in crime, Rónán, by his side.

Lorcán smiled in response. He gently tapped João's nose. “You are a brilliant brother. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.”

“You think so?”

“Of course I do. It takes a special kind of patience to deal with our Arthur. You are brilliant at it. And, João? You may be the oldest, but it isn't your job to hold the relationship together. It's a two-way path. It takes two people to hold a bond together. But from what Sundrop has told me, Castile is as happy and healthy as a Nation in these times can be. It seems to me that you did your best to protect him when you were younger. You were also just a child yourself back then, so cut yourself some slack. You were a good big brother, and you didn't fail. I'm sure Castile thinks the same, too.”

“Y-Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Lorcán gently thumbed away his tears. “I think you are a fine big brother. And I am sure Arthur and Castile think so, too. So no need for tears anymore. Alright, little brother?”

João nodded and leaned into the hug. “A-Alright.”

It didn't escape his notice that Lorcán called him little brother.

Lorcán continued shushing him. He started humming a lullaby in Gaelic, as it was known on Earth, the equivalent of the Old Tongue's northern dialect. It survived the Andal Invasion and was still used in the North of Westeros. João had learned bits and phrases from the family but wasn't entirely fluent in the language yet.

The soft crooning made João's eyes grow heavy. It was like he was being rocked to sleep, though he was too old for it at seven-and-ten. Something hurt and tired in his heart loosened.

He always had to be the strong one. As the eldest, it had been João's duty to protect Castile and stay strong for him. Tears had no place in the ancient world. Not when Carthage burned to ashes, Rome was overrun by Germanic tribes, or al-Andalus conquered their lands.

But for the first time, he didn't have to. There was someone there to catch him when he fell. Lorcán was a steady weight around him, like a constant flowing river that snaked through the trees, the lifeblood of the forest. João never had an older brother before, but if he could see why people liked them.

It was hard to keep his eyes open. They felt heavier than before. João felt himself being lifted from the floor. He was carried across the room before being laid down on a bed. Someone pulled the covers over him and ran their fingers through his hair. He leaned into the touch.

The last thing João remembered was someone gently kissing his forehead and whispering, “Tha gaol agam ort, a bhràthair beag.”

4. Ailpein

João liked fashion.

He loved following court trends and marvelling at how much could be said with a single outfit. Gold and jewellery? A statement of wealth. Vibrant colours? A show of allegiance to a court faction. Embroidered precious metals? A symbol of status.

Sometimes his eyes would follow the noble ladies' pretty dresses. They seemed to change every decade. Always colourful and beautiful and vibrant. Never static.

And secretly?

João wanted to wear one.

He stared nervously as Ailpein continued rummaging through his wardrobe. Ailpein's wardrobe was an adjacent room connected to his bedroom. Occasionally, clatters and mumbles of "this doesn't fit" would come from the room.

As a Nation, society gave João much leeway. He could start a relationship with a man, and no one would think twice. But to wear a woman's clothing? He didn't think anyone would speak against it, but it wasn't like anyone encouraged it either.

He had never done anything like this before. João had no idea where to start. So he went to the one person he could think of: Ailpein.

It wasn't a secret Ailpein that was comfortable in silk and ringmail. He took one look at João and eagerly dragged him to his house, claiming he had the perfect outfit in mind.

A victorious cheer dragged him out of his thoughts.

“Aha!” Ailpein exclaimed from inside the wardrobe. “I found it!”

Ailpein stepped out with a green gown neatly folded in his hand. João peered curiously at it. It was a bundle of shimmering emerald silk. At first glance, he could already tell it was richly woven, likely finer than the clothes of several European royals.

“You'll like this one.” Ailpein grinned. “It's one of my favourites. Now, go on. I'll help you get dressed.”

João pulled on a chemise while Ailpein unfurled the gown in a flurry of green silk.

Cream silk stockings were pulled on first and secured with a silver garter ribbon embroidered with snowflakes. João tried not to fidget as Ailpein helped him put on the kirtle. It was laced at the front with green ribbons and fit snugly around his waist.

Most dresses were split into several pieces, and this gown was not an exception. A cream surcoat was pulled over him. The arm holes were slit to the hips, and the neck was cut low to create a narrow strip over the shoulders. It was edged with elaborately embroidered snowflakes and raised to show part of the kirtle beneath.

Then came the houppelande. A long, billowing outer coat with flared sleeves and voluminous skirts that stretched to the floor. It was sewn from emerald silk that seemed to resemble water. The neckline was decorated with tiny emeralds and diamonds in the pattern of snowflakes. The huge sleeves fell to the floor in a pool of emerald silk.

“Gormlaith used to do this for me when I was starting,” Ailpein said. He belted the houppelande beneath where the bust should've been with a diamond-studded silver belt. “She used to help me pick out my dresses and do my makeup before I learned how to do it myself.”

“And she…didn't question?” João fingered his cuffs, which were lined with ermine. It was stupid to ask. The divine didn't care for such matters. They were completely fluid when it came to things like gender and sex. It wasn’t surprising when they could change forms at will to any gender. It was humans who were more uptight about these things. But…it wasn't easy shaking off the decades of societal condemnation.

“No.” Ailpein smiled. “She helped me figure out my style and bought me my first dress. It's an honour to do the same with you, little brother.”

João felt a smile stretching across his face. The warmth that always came whenever he was in the presence of his family flared in his chest. “Thanks, Ail.”

“You never have to thank me for this, Jay. Now sit! Let me do your hair!”

With his dress fully belted on, João allowed Ailpein to usher him to a chair and braid his hair.

“It's a good thing you have long hair.” Ailpein hummed as he threaded silver ribbons through the braid. “Makes it easier to do your hair without growing it out with a hair growth potion. That's always a pain to brew.”

“I'm good with potions.”

“That means you can help me with my hair next time.” Ailpein winked. He stepped away briefly to grab rouge and kohl before settling before João. “I never get the dose right. My hair always comes out too long whenever I try brewing it myself.”

“I will,” João promised, trying to hide his delight at the words “next time”. He stayed still as Ailpein dabbed rouge on his cheeks and lips and drew kohl over his eyes.

“That's good. I don't think Gormlaith will let me live it down if I come out with a train of hair again.”

João couldn't stop himself from laughing, and in response, Ailpein grinned. His brother placed a pair of snowflake earrings wrought with silver on his ears and a string of pearls on his neck.

Ailpein gestured for him to stand and gently guided him to the mirror. “Take a look, little brother.”

João heard his breath hitch as he laid eyes on his reflection.

A lovely lady was standing in the mirror. Bronze skin hugged with emerald silks and diamonds. A string of pearls lived in the hollow of the lady's throat. Brown shaggy hair was gathered in a thick braid thrown over the lady's shoulder.

But those were still his features staring back at him. Except for the rouge painted on his lips and cheeks and the kohl-lined eyes, that was still João.

Oh.

He…He looked like—

“We have a lovely little lady here today.” Ailpein smiled broadly.

“I look...beautiful.” João blinked rapidly to chase away the tears.

Ailpein gently wrapped an arm around his shoulder and squeezed. “You always look beautiful, little brother, but you're right. Today, you look as stunning as always. Now, no tears, alright? You'll ruin my hard work!”

João nodded and inhaled sharply to stop his tears from overflowing. He'd be damned if he ruined his makeup on today of all days.

“We’ll have to go shopping for dresses later.” Ailpein eyed him speculatively. There was a calculating glint in his eyes as if he was already visualising the colours of silks and precious metals he could dress João in. “I doubt you want to continue wearing an English-style dress. Hmm… we’ll have to commission some along the lines of the Portuguese fashions. I’ll have to talk to Arthur about this.”

João blinked at the unexpected mention of his little brother. “Arthur?”

“Mhm, Arthur.” Ailpein grinned. “Who do you think made my dresses? The gremlin has always loved arts and crafts since he was little. He practically jumped at the chance the first time I commissioned him. Better watch out, he’ll nab you to fashion the perfect dress when he finds out.”

He felt a smile creep at the thought. João could easily picture his Arthur bouncing up to him with an arm full of fabrics and a gleeful smile. Ailpein’s grin widened at João’s smile.

“We can sit down together and discuss dresses later, but for now, you can keep this one.”

João froze and looked wide-eyed at Ailpein, but the grin on his face never wavered. “Really?” His voice sounded surprisingly vulnerable. Was that him speaking?

“Of course,” Ailpein said softly. “First dresses are important. And I think this one suits you better than it ever did me. Keep it. It’s yours now.”

If João teared up slightly and gave Ailpein a bear hug, that was no one’s business but theirs.

5. Gormlaith

Essos was the largest continent of the known world of Planetos. It lay east of Westeros with nine city-states scattered along its western coast.

And the greatest, richest, and most powerful Free City was Volantis. The First Daughter of Old Valyria, the grandest of the nine, boasted the opulence with that lofty title. The city sprawled from the Rhoyne River, where it met the Summer Sea. Centuries ago, it had been founded as a colony of Valyria before it became the great port city today.

Across the city in western Volantis lay Fishmonger's Square, a bustling tangle of ways, palanquins, and people. In the centre stood a cracked and headless statue of a dead triarch. The fishermen were already out in strength, crying out their morning catch. Cod, sailfish, sardines, barrels of mussels and clams lined the stores. Several vendors fried chunks of fish with onions and beets or sold peppery fish stew out of small iron kettles. The streets were crowded as merchants went about their business, sailors prowled, and people bought their wares. A rich, pervasive smell hung in the air. There were fish, flowers, and some elephant dung, as well as something sweet and earthy and something dead and rotten.

João took in his surroundings. Outside a tavern, a pair of cyvasse players waged war with each other. There was a crowd gathering near the centre around a pair of jugglers tossing flaming torches at each other. Meanwhile, the ground would rumble as a palanquin passed by. In the distance, the Black Walls of Old Volantis glimmered under the sun, a smear of ink against the sky.

It was Rónán's idea to bring him to Volantis, something about seeing what else Planetos had to offer. The rest of the group jumped on the idea and eagerly pulled him on a boat across the narrow sea to Volantis.

João had seen a lot during his long life; the noisy harbourfronts of Carthage, the bustling streets of Rome, and the crowded streets of Castile. But there was something about this trip that made him feel giddy.

This was his first family vacation in centuries. The last time João did something like this, Castile was only five name days, and they still lived with Rome.

The moment they docked at the harbour, they sped off in different directions. Arthur and Ailpein took off to the fabric stores to squeal over the colourful rolls of silk, lace, and velvet. They appeared simultaneously serious and gleeful. João wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

Rónán was bargaining with a merchant over a trinket. Judging by the merchant's pale face, he was traumatised by his merciless haggling.

Lorcán munched happily on a bread bun stuffed with meat and peppers he bought from a vendor. He was chatting with a group of sailors.

Gormlaith had wandered off to get them both food. She told João to explore the city to his heart's content, and she'd be back soon.

João wasn't afraid of getting lost. Gormlaith could find him in a second with her magic. He followed her words and wandered wherever his feet would take him. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't pay much attention to where his footsteps took him. When he looked up. It was one of the grandest temples he had ever seen.

An enormity of pillars, steps, buttresses, domes, and towers flowed together as if they were chiselled from one rock. A hundred hues of red and orange and yellow melded together on the temple walls, dissolving like clouds at sunset. The towers twisted upwards, frozen flames reaching for the sky.

But there was something off about this place. The fiery shimmer seemed to be a mockery of Uncle Aodhán and Arthur's aura. There was something twisted and rotten about these flames. A deadly snake hiding behind a beguiling warm hearth.

He knew what this place was. His family had warned him of it dozens of times. The centre of worship for the Red God, a god of fire who had a fascination for Uncle Aodhán and Arthur and a love for human sacrifices.

The Temple of the Lord of Light.

Uncle Ciarán had told him of the Red God's strange fascination for Uncle Aodhán. He detested Uncle Aodhán since he slew the Other during the Long Night. In the Red God's arrogance, he believed he would be the supposed saviour against the Other and was furious when Uncle Aodhán took that title instead.

Since then, he spewed prophecies of the second coming of the Long Night and a supposed saviour that would be his champion. He nursed a burning grudge for Uncle Aodhán and was fascinated with Arthur as his “rival's” son.

João had to get out of here. He didn't want to be anywhere near the temple of some crazy god who hated his uncle and had a strange interest in Arthur.

He was ready to run when an unfamiliar voice drawled, “What a pleasant surprise. I haven't seen one of you near my temple in centuries.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. João slowly turned around, and his hopes died before his eyes.

There was a gaping blaze of fire with the faint outline of a person around it. Though the flames burned bright and hot, they seemed to infect the air like a gaping wound. They were nothing like Uncle Aodhán's protective embrace or Arthur's mischievous aura. No, this was the fire that burned innocents at the stake and reduced entire cities to ashes.

“And who might you be? You're clearly from that family of northern savages, but you have—oh? What's this?” The Red God leaned in, and the outline of a gleeful smile stretched across the flames. “I can smell sunshine on you.”

João's heart thundered wildly in his chest. He didn't dare say anything as the Red God studied him. He didn't think he could. His throat had gone painfully dry, and the words wouldn't form on his tongue.

“You must be Aodh's newest nephew.” The Red God stretched out Uncle Aodhán's name, almost like he was tasting it. “And little Artúr's brother.”

What? Artúr? Uncle Aodhán only ever called Arthur his name in the Old Tongue if he was in trouble. It felt…wrong to hear the name from the accented voice. The sounds ground against each other in an ear-wrenching, gravelly tone.

“He prefers to be called Arthur,” João said. In the gaze of the Red God, João felt like he was four again, under the sharp eyes of Rome with Carthage's charred bones behind him, and Castile's terrified form pressed against his side. He hated feeling so small.

The Red God’s smile widened, and he loomed over him. “You have a lot of gall to correct a god, João Henrique Lisboa-Carriedo.”

“It’s not polite to use someone’s name without telling them yours.” João feigned calm. Breathe, stay calm, Uncle Ciarán's voice echoed in his head. How did the Red God know his full name? They never met before! Fuck, who knew what the Red God would do if he tried to run? João was magically powerful, but he was nothing compared to a god. He didn’t stand a chance.

At the end of the day, João was just a Nation. The only gifts the Earth Mother left him were eternal youth and conditional immortality. His lifespan was linked to the beliefs of his people. Even then, that tie could be severed if one had enough power. He didn't have an endless reserve of magic to call upon. He had to get his siblings to perform the draining rituals that always sapped his energy. He didn't have the strength to overpower lesser gods or spirits. João would do his best to survive this conversation, but his siblings may find him as a pile of ashes after all this.

The flames crackled with glee and flared to the sky. “How audacious, João Lisboa-Carriedo! As daring as your uncle! Very well, I shall award your impudence this once. My name is R’hllor.”

“More like a pile of useless embers,” a wonderfully familiar voice interjected.

Gormlaith stepped between them. She was half a head taller than João and easily covered him in her shadow.

Relief flooded over João. He felt no shame in hiding behind Gormlaith and tangling his fingers in the fabric of her shirt. She gripped his free hand and pulled him closer to her.

“Lady Gormlaith, what a pleasure to see you.”

“R'hllor. I'd say it's a pleasure too, but it really isn't.”

R'hllor barked a laugh. “I see your tongue is as sharp as ever.”

Cautiously, João peeked over Gormlaith’s shoulder. The two gods seemed nonchalant, if he had to pick a word for it. But João didn't miss the way R'hllor's flames rose like a snake poised for an attack or the frost gathering on Gormlaith’s fingertips.

“And you are as dull as ever,” Gormlaith said, bored, a strange power coating her words. “I would have care of how I speak to my brother if I were you, child." She threw R'hllor a dismissive look when he bristled at the title. João looked wide-eyed at the tense exchange. To treat a god with such condescension...only the foolish or the powerful dared to do such a thing. And Gormlaith was anything but foolish. "Such insolence will not be tolerated again.”

The flames flickered with what seemed like annoyance. “It was only a chat. João Lisboa-Carriedo is as daring as his uncle and brother. You cannot blame me for being intrigued.”

“Your intrigue is irrelevant,” Gormlaith said imperiously. She drew herself to her full height and fixed her cold grey glare on the Red God. “I advise you to leave before I dismember you as reparations for your disrespect. My family shall be informed at once about your harassment of my brother. They will not ignore this assault on his person. Leave now, I will not repeat myself a second time.”

The flames stilled. It was nearly imperceptible, but João caught the flickering hesitation before they stretched out with vigour.

R'hllor sighed loftily. “You are no fun, Lady Gormlaith. I shall take my leave then.” João froze as the flames crackled in his direction. “Lovely meeting you, João Lisboa-Carriedo. Do say hello to your lord uncle and little Artúr for me, will you?”

The god vanished in a roar of flames, leaving the air empty where he once stood.

Gormlaith led him away from the temple and to an alleyway. When they were safely tucked away from view, she fretfully checked over him for injuries.

“Are you alright?” Her hands worriedly fluttered around as she cosseted him. “Did he do anything to you?”

“I-I'm fine.” João tightened his grip on her shirt. “I just— He came out of nowhere.”

Gormlaith wrapped him protectively in a hug. Without hesitation, João burrowed himself into her embrace like a boy of four rather than seven-and-ten. It wasn't how a battle-hardened man was supposed to behave, but he couldn't care less about that now. He hadn't been that vulnerable in...centuries. He hated it.

“It's my fault this happened,” she said grimly. “That fucker has been quiet for the last millennia, but I should've known he would've come sniffing around.”

“You couldn't have known.”

“Mayhaps. But it is no excuse. I'll teach you how to summon a winter storm on that bastard. That'll teach him not to mess with you again. Who knows? Perhaps those flames of his will turn to frost and he'll fade into oblivion."

João snickered as Gormlaith led him back towards Fishmonger's Square. "I think I'll take you up on that."

When Gormlaith and João reunited with the group, they were descended upon with hugs and fussing. They all scowled when they learned what happened, and Arthur declared he would geld R'hllor and toss him into the Shivering Sea. There was a vehement chorus of “NO!” from all of them, Rónán being the loudest. Ailpein smacked Arthur's head and told him he wasn't going anywhere near the red creep. Then they devolved into bickering about how they would exact revenge on R'hllor and the safest way to do it.

It made João's smile widen.

+1. João

João wasn't a stranger to surprises.

His life was shaped by them. The first surprise was when Iberia brought back a tiny toddler with large green eyes, shaggy brown hair, and a face like João's. That night, he became a big brother.

The second appeared when he was laying siege to Lisbon. A golden teenager popped from nowhere with green eyes and a bright smile. When he first wrote back to his new ally, João never expected to gain another little brother. And he never expected the family that came along with him.

If someone told João a few centuries ago he would have a large family, all eager to dote on him, he would've laughed in their face. But that was exactly what happened now. He had a grandfather, uncles, aunties, cousins, and siblings, who all loved him dearly.

Now, those siblings in question were dragging him to another surprise again.

“Where are we going?” João asked. He had been preparing for bed when his siblings burst into his room and wrapped a blindfold over his eyes. It wasn’t unusual for them to kidnap him for an adventure, but it was normally never so late at night. He felt Lorcán piggyback him out while the rest of his siblings followed his footsteps. They had been travelling for the better part of an hour. And through the walk, João heard the rustling of leaves and tittering of birds in the far distance.

“It’s a surprise,” Arthur said cheerfully.

“That’s what you said last time, too,” João complained. “Just tell me where we’re going!”

He felt someone ruffle his hair. Ailpein had an audible grin in his voice. “Patience is a virtue, little brother.”

“Fuck patience.”

Rónán cackled and Gormlaith huffed exasperatedly. Meanwhile, Arthur’s giggles joined their laughter.

“Uncle Ci will wash your mouth with rainwater if he hears you,” Lorcán said, amused.

“What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”

"Yeah! Don't be such a wet blanket, Lor!" Arthur chimed in.

Lorcán squawked. "Wet blanket? The only wet blanket here is Lai!"

"Me?" Gormlaith said indignantly. "Why am I getting dragged into this?"

"Well, it's true! You tried to drown me the other night when I was having a bit of fun!"

"I was putting out the fire on your arse, you idiot!"

There was a shocked chorus of "Fire?" from all of them.

Gormlaith made a delighted noise. "Oh, I have so much to tell you. This idiot got himself drunk and his arse caught on fire. I had to throw him in one of his rivers to put it out."

There was a moment of silence before they burst into laughter.

"Lai, you fucking snitch!" Lorcán complained.

João snickered. "You're such an idiot. How the fuck does anyone manage that?"

"Really? Then why do I remember someone jumping out—"

João slammed his hand over where he assumed Lorcán's mouth was. "We swore never to talk about that again!"

Lesson learnt. Never trust Lorcán and Rónán when they come to you in the dead of night, clutching bottles of especially potent Arbor Gold for a "taste test." João had not been happy waking up in a kitchen barrel, without any clothes, or any idea how he got there, to the horrified screams of the kitchen maids. The only thing that made it better was Lorcán and Rónán being found sleeping by the moat with rouge smeared over their faces.

He was dragged out of his memories by Ailpein’s victorious shout. “We’re here!”

Lorcán set him on the ground. He steadied João and stopped him from tumbling. João felt his stomach bubbling with anticipation as his blindfold was finally removed.

“SURPRISE!”

A meadow dappled with moonlight greeted his eyes. Above, it was as if someone peeled back the layers of the sky to reveal nothing but the heavens. Swirls of nebulae and glittering stars inked themselves in the open night. There was a hum over the meadow as the crickets sang their nightly serenade.

A picnic blanket was laid out on the grass with plates of pastries, biscuits, and tea cakes. There was a pitcher of juice placed near the centre, surrounded by six goblets. A mountain of blankets and pillows was scattered around the edge, splats of colour in the darkened meadow.

His siblings surrounded him with beaming grins. “HAPPY NAME DAY, JOÃO!”

Oh. That’s right. Today was his nameday. And unlike most of them, he was turning the physical age of eight-and-ten today.

Rónán ushered him to the picnic blanket. Arthur plopped down beside him, with Rónán on his other side like always. Lorcán sat on João’s other side, followed by Ailpein and Gormlaith, completing the circle.

Then out of nowhere, Gormlaith pulled out a large cake and presented it to João on a silver platter. Magic had to be involved, he thought. There was no way she held that cake on the long trek.

The lemon cake was frosted with cream and sugared lemons. Sugar dusted the moist sponge where “Happy Name Day, João!” was written with loopy gold frosting. A single candle speared through the cake, wax crafted in the shape of the number eighteen. The flickering flames cast a dancing shadow across the frosting.

That familiar tingling of warmth flooded through him from his head to the tip of his toes. It only got stronger when his siblings started singing The Name Day Boy at the top of their lungs. They would be winning no awards, but their voices made João's eyes wet.

Lorcán wrapped an arm around his shoulder. Arthur curled at his side. Rónán grinned at him, while Ailpein reached over to grip his hand. Meanwhile, Gormlaith gestured to the cake.

“Make a wish, little brother. But don't tell us, alright?” She winked. “It won't come true if you do. And that's the last thing we want.”

João closed his eyes. He thought back to the last few centuries. Gormlaith’s steady back when she positioned herself between him and the Red God. Ailpein's assistance as he helped him into his first dress. Lorcán tucked him into bed and kissed his forehead. Rónán, when they went sailing together and excitedly talked about different ships. Arthur's sly smile as he whispered the latest scandal at court to him. Castile, when he sang a new song he composed when they were younger and could still tolerate each other. João thought about the rest of his family. His grandfather, uncles, aunts, and cousins.

He knew exactly what to wish for.

I wish that everyone I love continues to be safe, healthy, and happy, João prayed. May they continue to laugh and smile. May their cheer never fall from their faces.

He blew out the candles to the collective cheers of his siblings. When he opened his eyes, they smiled at him and Ailpein crowed it was time for cake. Gormlaith rolled her eyes, but obligingly cut a slice for each of them.

“I love you all,” João said abruptly as his sister continued cutting the cake. “You're the best siblings I could ask for.”

Arthur, affectionate as always, pounced on him in a giant hug. “I love you too, Jay.”

“We,” Rónán corrected, joining the hug. “Love you.”

“That's what I said.”

“No, you didn't.”

“Did too!”

“Did not!”

“You two bicker like an old married couple.” Lorcán rolled his eyes. Arthur stuck his tongue out childishly, but Rónán blushed to the tip of his ears. Oh? That was interesting. Had he finally been clued in on his feelings?

“We love you too, Jay.” Ailpein grinned. The sentiment would've been more heartwarming if his eyes weren't flickering hungrily over to the cake. “Now let's eat! I'm getting hungry!”

João scoffed. “You're always hungry.”

“Glutton,” Gormlaith muttered as Ailpein snatched a piece of cake and stuffed it in his mouth.

Ailpein squawked offendedly around a mouthful of cake. “Can a man not appreciate a meal in peace here?”

"Never."

“Not when it's you.”

“You'll be as fat as old Frey if you keep this up, Ail.”

“I am nothing like that git!”

“You sure? I mean, I can see the resemblance.”

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I see it. It's the potbelly, isn't it?"

"What the fuck? There is no potbelly, you arseholes!"

João laughed as he watched his siblings devolve into their usual bickering and playful quips. Under the moonlight, the meadow was filled with sounds of laughter and cheer.