[ auroth, auril, and a battle between gods. it's familiar in a strange way, how some stories seem universal. every world has its gods and its conflicts. aemond wonders if these gods are the same ones across the universes - taking for themselves new names and faces, like a child might pick up a new shiny pebble or button as keepsake. ]

Perhaps he is my patron, were I born in your world. I would share in his rage, I should think.

[ aemond reaches for lauralae's hand where it's held out to the sky, bringing her fingertips to his mouth to press kisses to her knuckles. ]

What sort of mount was he?