Chapter Text
163 BC
There is nothing better than feeling the warm morning air hit your skin. Let its rays seep into the pores and take root and wake up the gears in your body to rise with, calling like a siren song.
Aegon drinks in the feeling for a long moment, letting a hum escape his throat as he turns into his bed. When he had returned from the depths of the city, he does not know but he is grateful for it. Gods know the pain it would be to hear his mother complain about wasting his energy with the likes of whores and scoundrels. As if Aegon were not one himself? There is no reality in which he ever lives up to what is expected of him, it is impossible not with Rhaenyra still first in Father's heart.
There is a brief moment where the feeling of something close to shame fills his body before being quickly replaced by the stark taste of bitterness. Aegon had to get all sappy in the last hours of his good rest, didn't he?
His skin feels tight as he shifts about in the thin sheets, each movement feeling as if it is being set ablaze and put out by the burning freeze of ice in his wake. The cusps of winter are approaching — that is what the maesters said the night before they were meant to have dinner with the entirety of their family. An omen or something close to the sort of what was to come, maybe it decided to come early into the new year to make up for the hell Aegon had to put up through.
"Are you awake, my dove?" The voice next to his ear is heavenly, a soft hymn that draws him towards the warm body. It takes a moment for it to settle in, the fingers stroking his hair placating his thoughts until they didn't. . .
Dove?
Aegon peaks an eye open, gazing up until the sight of a woman settles in. She stares down at him with eyes of plum purple, a smile adorning her ageing face, hidden only by the wisps of silver hair escaping her braid. "Shall we spend the day together in the gardens? I know you wanted to plant the roses before your father returned."
Aegon backs away, his head falling back on the pillow. "Huh?"
"Do not mind Alysanne, Mother," Says another voice, sticking to his ears like honey. "She is probably just tired from riding Dreamweaver with me," Is this a dream? Aegon dares to ask himself, gripping the silk sheets as the woman next to him scoffs.
"I told you not to take her flying so late, a girl her age needs her rest to grow."
The other voice dares to laugh. "She is five and ten, Mother. How much more growing can she go through?"
She? Five and ten? Aegon is nowhere near that age anymore and why do they keep calling him she? This has to be a dream, one that is teetering on the edge of vividly real and stark falsity. He groans at the notion, his hangover pounding into his mind like the crack of thunder before being split by the sharp tone of the older woman yelling. "Gaelle!"
The girl. Gaelle comes from the adjoining room both tall and slender with an air of mischief around her as she stalks closer. "Sorry, Mother," She says, before placing a kiss on her ageing face which twists into a small smile. "I will go get your sister but when I get back you two better be ready."
With that, the older woman makes her exit and a thick air of silence takes over. Aegon takes three steady breaths as he gazes up at the carved motifs on the roof of his canopy bed. For a dream, it is quite detailed even the faintest scars of age can be made out. Perhaps if he thinks hard enough he could–
"Wake up!"
Before Aegon even has the chance to take the words in, a heavy force comes crashing down on top of him, stripping the air from his lungs. "Ow!” He manages to say. “Get off!" Aegon yells, pushing the heavy weight of his middle. The sheets go with her, showing lithe legs underneath covered only by a thin green night shift. He does not have time to ponder much on the sight of them before he is being pounced on once more.
"Aw, is little Alysanne going to cry?" Gaelle asks, her eyes wide with something close to pure amusement.
"No!"
He kicks her knee and the girl falls on top of him with a silent huff of air. "You have gotten more bold," She laughs before rolling off of him. "Well enough of this, let us get ready before Mother has our heads, yes?"
Aegon decides not to speak again, his body has been through enough for the time being and he would like to wake up without any stained memories. He swings his legs out of the bed and stands, stretching his arms above his head. His eyes are closed while he does so, slowly opening back with his gaze drawn down — the sight of what is below makes them widen.
Aegon grasps the appendages attached to his chest. Thick and heavy like that of a well-paid whore, it feels strange to pin them back to himself despite the very vivid feeling of them right there in the palms of his thin hands. With one more look over he releases them from his hold, letting them bounce back into their natural state. Why of all things has he dreamt about being a woman? Is it some sort of subconscious thing? He has fucked some many whores he is starting to look like one?
He shivers at the notion. The mind can play cruel tricks when it wants to, perhaps he should lay off the ale for a while. His thoughts become strayed by the sight of servants making their way inside, this will is a strange dream indeed.
"You know I was worried about you," Gaelle whispers as they make their way down the halls a bit later, high walls of white marble that make the structure look like it glowing a heavenly glow. "The night before — after we had ridden Dreamweaver you started acting strange, sick," Her words are barely comprehensible before she grips his side. "Don't do that again."
As their 'mother' proposed the three of them spend the day in the garden planting flowers and pulling roots before placing them in a basket all the while Aegon fumbles about, unsure of how to go about it.
The day goes by without any true thought before Aegon is back in bed, ready to be woken again by the rise of the spring sky. This time hopefully by the sight of his four walls in the Keep.
What the fuck?!
The next day rises with the morning sun and Aegon comes to realize this is not a dream. His body is still the same and the bright fluorescent pink and newborn blue coloring of his bedchambers are still the same, mocking him. The sound of dragons can be heard from his window, the beating of wings brushing large gusts of wind through the window.
It reminds Aegon of Vhagar and yet some of these beasts rival her in size. Even from a great distance, they block out the entire sun as they pass by. It is a sight to behold and Aegon finds his feet leading him towards the open balcony, touching the warm silver bars as his gaze finds the length of the city. He had neglected to take in the sights the first time 'round, convinced that he would wake at any moment. Practically slipped from his existence as everything did once he dared to lay claim to its beauty, coming to wilt away like a flower in full bloom.
However, now Aegon does not have that luxury and no matter how hard he prays to wake once more this is now his reality and what a luminous sight it is.
The very image of the Valyrian Freehold that Father used to drone on about for hours on end. Then, Aegon never saw the interest, who cared about a land wiped out by its own ambition and even more so why anyone would want to recreate it to only meet a fraction of the power they once held? It all seemed so contrived, clinging onto something so fiercely that you neglected anything else bestowed upon it — even that of your children. Taking it all in now Aegon finds a wet laugh escaping his throat, Maybe you were right to be distracted Father, He thinks to himself. With sights like these, I would have lost my ways as well.
With its tall structures of marble of all shades that tower to the highest hills and stretch across the largest of valleys fixed with statues and motifs of dragons, snakes and wyverns it feels like a dream come to life. The people push through the pathways with vigour in their step as if the entire day will pass them by if not — their spun silver and blonde on the tops of their hair, a stark contrast to the dark shade of black and browns mixed in the bunch.
"M'lady," Says a voice from behind. At first, Aegon does not turn, the words not sticking to his head that she may be speaking to him before he gazes down. Right.
He unlatches his grip on the railing and makes his way towards the pair of servants who stand as stiff as boards in his presence. The taller of the two clasps her hands together with a straight face as she begins to speak. "Are you ready to dress for the day?"
Not truly, Aegon wants to say, fingers coming together to mess with the delicate skin around the bump of his bone. He relents from doing so from the grips of his teeth that click together. The more he fights the worse this will be for him, his belly already clenches in on itself at the mere remembrance of the surreal sights around him. So, with the best act Aegon can muster he looks them straight in the eyes and nods. "If it must be so."
The woman furrows her brows. "And what gown would you like to wear today, m'lady?"
Aegon blanks, his lips parting before coming back together to rid the dryness from them. "Um, why don't you decide for me?"
"H-huh?"
"Decide," Aegon says again, his tone sharper. "Come on, I don't have all day to waste."
The servants fumble about then, one finding their way to the closet while the other guides him to sit down on the plush seat in front of the vanity letting the silence fill the air as they work. Aegon usually spends no more than half a candle mark to ready himself for the day, there was not much to look at and even less to make his appearance stand out among the mediocrity of what he was.
He gazes at his reflection or what he thinks it is meant to be. Short and yet not too short and his face is beautiful, sharp-featured with a bumpy nose, plump lips, and small beauty marks on his cheek that make his blonde hair quite noticeable. His figure is slender yet curvy, dressed in a black gown that drapes down his body and stops at his ankles, hugging his hips before hanging loose around his thighs covered by white stockings. The image of the perfect maiden, one he would not mind having for himself if not it being himself in a way.
Alysanne, Aegon says in his head, watching as the servants place a veil on his head. "Alysanne," He says once again, this time letting the words slip from his tongue and take root in the air. It is not a bad name by all means, it was the name of his great-grandmother after all and she was rather well-regarded. Even if she does not exist in this moment of time, it is good to have something familiar to him.
Though Aegon would have preferred something more. . . Masculine. Perhaps Taemon or Aegar. Something new to reinvent himself as an original.
The sound of the door opening draws him out of his thoughts, the sight of a familiar woman making herself known. If only Aegon could remember her name.
The servants are quick to step away from Aegon, bowing in her wake. "Lady Maegelle," They say to which she waves them out of her sight. "My dove just how much you have grown," She walks up to Aegon with a pep in her merry step, there is not the slightest notion that she knows that it is not her daughter she speaks to. It is almost sad in a way that cannot be described with mere words.
"I am not that old. . . Mother."
Aegon's voice sounds off but he does not think the woman notices in the midst of her cooing and sweet smiles. "I know, but it is different when it is your last daughter," She strokes his cheek tenderly. "I fear the day when Vaekar becomes a man even though he is only a sweet thing of one."
Vaekar. He must be another one of his supposed 'siblings'. Just how many are there? And when will he meet them? The pits of his stomach coil at the thought of being made to meet them.
"Will we go to the gardens again?" Aegon asks something to not draw any attention to himself. His 'mother' shakes her head, however, with a high laugh. "Oh, no. I got all I need from there and you should be on your way to herd the sheep with Daenaera."
He furrows his brows. "Herd. . . Sheep?"
A laugh escapes from the other's lips. "Have you become bored of the conquest so soon?" She asks. "I told you, you should have joined Gaelle with the physicians. You can still change your mind if you wish, only a week has passed."
A memory hits Aegon then, a field of grass, sheep. The sights of the clouds passed by as he lay in the warm pasture for hours. There is a sound of laughter coming from behind his shoulder though as soon as he turns back the image is gone. Aegon lips twist into a frown and his brows furrowed into a deep line. "No, no I just find my mind being clouded that's all."
"Well, don't let it get in the way of your duties," She says. "You know how the people like to complain and we have a reputation to maintain — if only for a while," For a moment her sweet tone drifts off and her face turns stiff just before a glint comes to her eyes. "Never mind that, why don't your sisters and us break our fast together?"
Taking Aegon's arm she leads them out of the doors of the bedchambers and towards that of the dining hall in quick succession.
Aegon learns he has another sister, Saera who is two years older than him and only a year over Gaelle. He also has three other brothers — Gaemond, Aerion and Rhaegel. As of now, they are with their father in the capital city, Valyria, meeting with the rest of the sen-something.
Like her, they all look like Aegon in a way but with a few minor differences. His mother, Maegelle is as tall as a tree and her hair is beaten silver with no traces of gold to be seen while Saera has blonde hair like him however with eyes a shade of light pink and a face that is more round. Gaelle is perhaps the most different,
Aegon's mind wanders off when they are served their food, though something about it is strange. The taste and texture are unlike anything he thought he would ever eat, the strange smell makes him almost repulsed, Aegon keeps his mouth shut and continues to pick it up with the strange utensils provided with his plate though.
He listens as the women talk, watching as their lips move to speak in what Aegon knows is high valyrian. It does not match any particular linguistic group he was taught as a child. Each word is said with a drawl at the end of it as if they were about to burst into song and an odd mixture of words are placed in between that seem to heighten the affliction of what they speak.
Aegon had always hated how the maesters would beat the words into his head with a second of explanation or thought before moving on to the next one. The valyrian that he had learned, however, was simple and straightforward compared to the one he listens to now. Aegon can only thank whatever entity that has brought him here for the ounce of kindness that they have given him the ability to retain the language for himself to use and understand without issue.
Soon talk of the lord of the House comes back into play. "When will. . . Our father come back?" Aegon dares to ask.
Saera peels an orange between her two fingers, her eyes never straying from the task at hand. "Whenever the council allows it."
Aegon hums. "The council?" The same as the one in Westeros? "Is he ruling. . . Like with a Hand and stuff?"
He assumes he must have made a mistake because the table fills with the sound of amusement drawing from their lips. "Seriously Alysanne what has gotten into you?" Gaelle asks, her head tilting to the side.
"Be kind to her, sister," Saera says. "You know she is not the best at remembering things."
"Let us all be honest with each other, we are all family here," She declares. "It is hard to believe Alysanne has been anything other than dropped on her pretty little head a few times, worse than that when she was a babe."
Even though this is not his body Aegon cannot help but be offended. "Trust my mind is better than it ever has been," He tells her. "I just — I merely have to find my footing."
"You have trying to find your footing for fifteen years and you only have managed to stumble—"
"Enough! Do not speak another word or so help me,” The mother, Maegelle stands before any more can be said, her hands slamming against the table. While Aegon and Saera both flinch at the sound Gaelle merely scoff and shrugs. "Of course you would jump to her defence."
“Alysanne is a special child, I laboured with her for three days before she was born and even then I had to care for her after the fact, clothe her, feed her, bathe her. Teach her as I taught you even through her bouts of silence, of course i would be like this!"
"You know that is not true Mother, look at her! She can barely stand on her own without you helping her,” She sneers.”It becomes miserable to look at.”
"Then go off then" Maegelle's voice bounces off the walls and drums through the thick of the ears of anyone passing by. It is not hard to see the way her hand grips the wood of the chair with an unrelenting force, the veins popping out past its pale complexion. She opens her mouth to say more but Gaelle before she can, Saera following close behind as they find themselves out of the room, huffing and puffing all the way.
Silence hangs over the air of tension, steadily replacing it with its freezing hold. "My precious little dove, I didn't mean to scare you," Maegelle says, the purple of her eyes strained and tired as she strokes the edges of Aegon's hair, sitting back in her seat. "Finish your food and then find your way to the pasture. The sheep wait for no one, and neither do the people."
Aegon does no more than nod his head, slumping back into his seat with a sigh. He has been here for no more than a day and a half and already he is an outlier. Leave it up to him to manage to make not one but two families loathe him.
Soon, he is bidding his farewells to the lady of the house and making his way out of the palace and towards the city for the first time. He is not truly alone, however, followed closely by a guard who does not speak a word to him. Not that he needed to, his presence alone did enough to strike fear into Aegon's heart — The guard does not wear the traditional armour of Westeros, none of the men do. Instead, chain armour of iron and bronze, neck guards, cheek pieces on the helmet and longer slashing swords.
One that he wields by his side as they walk through the path to the pastures up on the high hills of the city is a maze to try and figure out. Each lane leads him a different way before he finally finds himself winding through the sparse wooden area, overgrown with plants and trees he has to trek through before finding the fenced-off pasture.
No memories could help me there? Aegon asks himself, silently cursing the entity that holds him here for being so cruel. The shift in the wind is the only thing that answers him, however, blowing his hair back and sending the sheep into a spiral.
"Alysanne!" A girl calls out, stepping up the last of the steps behind him. Her silver hair is even whiter than that of the clouds in the sky. It is hard to miss her before she grapples Aegon into a hug taking them both down to the soft grass.
"Why didn't you wait for me, by the bridge?" She asks, pulling herself up. Aegon’s head feels like it is going to pop at any moment, staining the green beneath him in red. The remnants of his farce washing away with the light of the sun.
"Was I meant to?" He manages to slip from his lips.
"You do every morning, have you let your mind wander again?”
Aegon is starting to hate that question. Clenching his fingers together tightly he lets out a tired sigh."It's a game, you tell me things about myself that I would usually know but I pretend I don't."
From the corner of his eye, the girl looks at him as if Aegon has grown a second head. Her thin lips are fixed into a tight line as she contemplates his words before she speaks. "Well, then, my name is Daenaera Celtigar," She purses her lips together before speaking once more. "My family lives on the other side of the city but I came here to herd the sheep with you. . . Am I doing it right?"
House Celtigar is she? At least there is one thing familiar here. “Yes. Yes, you are,” He tells her while sitting up. “Say, do you know where House Targaryen may be?”
Daenaera nods. “They reside far east of our borders, in Gelion with the rest of their settlement,” “House Belaerys, House Uhrratys, House Sheestyr and House Valhaenerys. The Targaryen take most control over Mhysa Faer with the Uhrratys.”
“So we do not see them?”
“Only on special occasions,” She shrugs. “Midsummer is coming soon though so I’m sure they’ll be there.”
Aegon tilts his head. “And this is Valyria, is it?”
Daenaera nods before she clasps her hands together. "Do me next!" The girl is practically bouncing at the opportunity. Aegon merely chuckles nervously at the sight, simply waving her off. "Um, perhaps another day?"
Aegon spends most of his days with Daenaera and the sheep. He has grown fond of them in the way, walking and grazing without a care in the world, they are practically the perfect companions to have while he is in this situation besides that of Daenaera. Her uses are fit elsewhere both in informing of the layout of the land and speaking of trivial topics that Aegon steadily picks up on with time. Like the location of their city-state, Arghurys where most of the lowest Valyrian families reside, the high houses are made up of five branches with House Mataeryon being one of the less prestigious right after House Celtigar.
Aegon still does not understand it very well, each city-state is meant to serve a purpose to the Freehold and the family within it even more so. Mantarys was their domain for the most part, not the ruined lands of days old but a rather prosperous place with both mainland and coastal export. Daenaera promises to come back with sweets her mother had made for them to share and bids her goodbye with a kiss on his cheek each evening.
Other times he spends time with Saera and Gaelle though it is less speaking than it is a brawling match with words that never cease to make any sense to him. They are nothing like Helaena nor Rhaenyra, neither sickeningly sweet nor spoiled beyond comprehension, instead simply wild and free.
His brothers are also different. Gaemond is a relatively nice man, soft-spoken and gentle to the touch. Many times he comes to Aegon to share some detailed drawings he made or tell her about the hatching pools in Valyria. Aerion is more seldom though quiet, following his brother’s around like a shadow and Vaekar rarely ever strays from Aegon's arms if not in his mother's own, mindlessly playing with the trimmings of his gown and pulling out on his hair until he is forced to pull his hands away making him cry in turn.
Probably the most otherworldly are his parents, however. On the third day of being here, the man of the Household returns, his sons stand behind him yet he towers over them all. With a bulky build and silver hair that touches his back, the adorning smile of his chiselled face seems out of place as does his sparkling lilac eyes.
"Where are my daughters?" He proclaims, throwing his arms up as Saera and Gaelle quickly make their way over to him. Picking them up with ease the man kisses their cheeks with fervour, his thick beard no doubt tickling their fair skin. It lasts for a while before he places them back down, kissing the top of their heads as he asks what they have been up to in his absence. Aegon stands at the very back with his arms crossed across his chest. It is a sight to witness he must admit, one that makes a sliver of jealousy travel through his veins. He can’t imagine his own Father doing something like that.
Aegon is brought forth from his low thoughts by the deep voice calling out. "Where is my Alysanne?" The sudden proposal makes him jump a bit to which Saera laughs. “She is shy, Father!”
Aegon almost wants to agree with her claim, turn back and go to his chambers and be rid of the sight but he relents. The man is meant to be his dear father after all and has no reported disgust with Aegon, and so he graciously accepts his hospitality.
His mother, Maegelle seems to take to Aegon the most as he is well aware of it. The woman kisses him every night before bed and comes to wake him when morning comes. When Aegon is not tending to the sheep they find themselves reading from old tomes about the founding of the structure of the Freehold and the various families within them.
Aegon learns the vast of his knowledge from here, in the warmth of the sitting room with the soft voice of the Mother lulling him to sleep.
His mind thinks of his own mother in those moments. His real one, what is she doing now and does she miss him as much as he misses her?
It is the third moon (or more so the third menoth) by their terms of his residence here when Aegon notices something strange about his brother, Rhaegel. Head perched in his mother's lap he watches as the man stalks around the stronghold with a rush to each step he takes, mindlessly twisting the rings around his finger until they are bruised red.
"Rhaegel, darling. Are you well?" Maegelle finally asks, looking up from her book. It manages to draw the attention of the man for a brief moment, his eyes glazed over with an emotion Aegon is foreign to before he places a grim smile on his face. "I am more than fine. . . I merely find myself. . ."
Rhaegel walks off without finishing his sentence most likely back to his agitating pacing back and forth that is driving him mad. 'Just what is going on with him?' Aegon asks himself. Although he is quite new to this entire situation he knows the normal habits of this entire family and he is the most different from the beginning.
"Do you suppose he is worried about the coming of the Midsummer?" Aegon asks. He has only heard about the event in passing but it has all been with dread and apprehension even from that of the lord.
Maegelle turns to him with a smile. "Hm, I doubt it," She says. "Rhaegel was always the most level-headed of us, it would not change now for anything."
Most level-headed?
Aegon sits up as quickly as he can, nearly bumping into the crook of Maegelle’s elbow. "I wish to go back to my rooms," And though the woman furrows her brows she does not stop him bidding him goodbye with a kiss on the crest of his forehead.
"Rhaegel," His voice bounces off the walls as he races after the man in question as fast as his legs can take him without growing tired. "Rhaegel!"
Though it is as if he cannot even hear Aegon or best of yet ignoring him entirely. Whatever it may be he will not allow it, his pace growing until Aegon takes Rhaegel's arm without a second thought, leading them down the hall before he can argue against it. "Are you well, brother?" He manages to ask, casting a bright smile on his face when the man in question jumps at the hasty arrival of his presence. "What are you doing here?" Rhaegel questions back, ignoring what he said entirely. His eyes are unsteady, darting around the empty halls as if someone were going to pounce on him at any moment.
"I was worried for you," He says. "You barely spoke a word during dinner last night and you paced around the palace for hours on end."
"Oh. . . Well, I am feeling all too well. I thought—”
"Is it anything I could help you with?" Aegon cuts in. There is no time to waste with small talk in a time like this. ‘I hope this is what i think it may be,’ He silently prays, hoping for the small possibility that he might not be alone anymore.
Rhaegel shakes his head, continuing his pace as he does so and pulling Aegon along with him. "Not truly, it is more personal.”
"No? Then shall Inform we physician when I get my finger looked at? I seem to have scratched it on something,” He lifts a finger, the fresh bruise from his attempt at sewing still stained with remnants of blood. Rhaegel cringes at the sight of it before shaking his head. "The maester. . ." The word makes Aegon’s pulse quicken. "No! I am well enough on my own."
The poor fool doesn't even know he has been caught.
"What were you going to say? Maester?" Aegon asks, letting the words drawl off of his tongue "And what may that be?"
"I don't know–"
"I think you do."
"What is this?" Rhaegel sneers, pulling himself out of Aegon’s hold. He is trapped now with nowhere else to turn but to him.
"Don't play this game with me, I think we both know what is happening here," He says, coming to grip the man’s arm once more. "Just tell me the truth and we can move past this — I could help you but only if you let me."
The man is a staggering six feet, as he looks down at Aegon the presence of a dragon can be felt. A true testament to valyrian glory rolled into one.
"Fine,” The words stumble from his lips just as the confession does quickly after. Aegon’s eyes widen with it, the shift in his thoughts staggering as he looks into the eyes of not Rhaegel but Rhaenyra.
"And here I thought I was alone in this situation," He laughs, unable to find the strength to do anything else. “I believe the Gods enjoy playing jests on the wicked — of them, sister I suppose we are the worst.”
"Aegon?" She says, her voice thick with so much shock that the man smirks. Silence fills the air after the revelation before the unthinkable occurs. Rhaenyra’s face suddenly twisting into a hardened scowl and her hand shoots up and closes tightly around his throat as he pushes him up against a wall, pinning him all in what feels like a split second.
It was a tight grip, her fingers digging into the pale flesh of Aegon’s neck. He can almost feel the quickening beat of his own pulse underneath Rhaenyra’s fingers, feeling the panicked breaths struggling through his throat. And yet his half-sister cares little about it, her gaze cold and unyielding, taking in his terrified expression.
Aegon tries to speak, but all that comes out are strangled gasps. He clutches her wrist tightly, trying desperately to loosen the hold. The only thing coming to his ears is the sound of her voice as she snarls. "I want to see the life draw out of your eyes just as you watched mine."
Aegon writhes, trying to breathe as she presses tighter. "W-what?"
"Don't play dumb!" Rhaenyra yells in his face, the marble stone digging in the back of his head as she does so.
Before Aegon can even attempt to speak another presence comes towards them, the shift in the air obvious to even the faintest of eyes. "My lady, My lord?" The servant calls out, their voice echoing through the large halls.
"We are fine, merely discussing things," Rhaenyra says, putting a charming smile on her sculpted face. She backs away then, fixing the hem of Aegon’s cloak before seeing herself off.
Aegon’s hand finds the crest of his neck when she is gone, the sweltering bruise on the base of it flush red. ‘Just what in the seven hells was that?’