[ welcome to jon snow™: dutiful and loyal to a humdrum degree, but also not super into siting on the northern throne and very new to the targaryen experience. ]
[ A little hazing is due, as Jon takes it so well. None could blame Aemond, his reputation for antagonizing his bastard nephews is not entirely untold information among certain circles. Of course he would not pass the opportunity to prod at a bastard king, no matter how reluctant he is to his claim. A dragonseed, no less. At least Ned had good taste.]
I shall see you in the fields, then. At dusk, we shall race our dragons.
[ thing is, ned wasn't the one with "good taste"... his sister was, but jon has kept that under wraps. he doesn't want anyone to know that his father was actually prince rhaegar and that he's actually a legitimate targaryen with claim to the throne.
he doesn't want it.
he's fine with people assuming that ned stark bedded some bastard girl with targaryen lineage if that means he doesn't have to sit on the iron throne. ]
[With as much turmoil there is to the future succession to the iron throne, it's better Jon stay out of it anyway. It's enough fuss going around as it is with the North reclaiming its independence. ]
We have to get there first, do we not?
Scared to lose?
[Rhaegal is young and more agile compared to the living mountain that Vhagar is. It is not as though he doesn't have a chance. Though, Aemond considers that chance very slight.]
sorry for the delay! the extreme heat wave in my area fried my ability to brain tags for a while.
[ why must everything be a competition? jon was far more competitive in his youth at winterfell when he was constantly trying to prove his worth by outdoing robb and theon. now on the other side of dying and coming back to life and learning things about himself he never knew, jon's just tired. ]
Of course not. You and your dragon just have more experience than Rhaegal and I do.
[ jon doesn't even have a saddle to sit upon. he just holds on and hopes for the best, just like dany taught him. ]
no worries!! 'too hot, cant tag' is def a relatable mood
[Not everyone has the benefit of getting humbled by the cycle of death and rebirth, Jon. The rest of them, even bratty Targaryen princes, are out here still trying to fight for their place in this world. ]
What better opportunity to learn, no? I think he'd enjoy it. You might too.
[ it's not dany's fault for not knowing any better; it's been over a century since dragons were last sighted and the knowledge of how to care for and handle them has been lost to time. everything she knows, she figured out on her own through trial, error, and the advantage the literal magical blood of her lineage granted her. it's a feat in and of itself that she's kept three dragons in line as well as she has. a feat jon is now beginning to understand as he navigates his own way around being bonded to one of her dragon sons. ]
There's only one way to find out.
[ meet you there, great uncle? (great uncle times seven, apparently.) ]
[ Find out they shall. Jon is a curious thing, the prince had long decided. A northman with a dragon, not a lick of fire to be seen in him. Yet, it persists in there somewhere. It allows him to fly among the gods. No normal man can do just that, the world would devolve into absolute chaos if it did.
Vhagar had long outgrown the ability to be housed within the Dragonpit long before Aemond had claimed her. They two can be found on the grounds beyond the hill when Jon chooses to arrive. Enough light is left in the sky to drench the hilltops in a golden glow, likely to wane by the time their feet touch the fringes of the kingswood to begin their hunt.
The she-dragon is first to note their company, head lifting with a curious rumble in her throat that sounds of approaching thunder. Deeply inquisitive (if dragons were capable of making expressions) of Jon and his youngling. Aemond, having been invested in ruffling the sagged leathery skin of the she-dragons gullet, drops his hands as he turns to witness their approach. Stepping ahead to keep the distance between dragons, though neither of them seem to pose immediate threat towards one another. It is courteous, as Vhagar is akin to a grouchy old woman none so hesitant to set a firm boundary. The prince would not see Rhaegal nor Jon so cruelly humbled (by accident anyway).]
We follow the coast to the southern fields of the Kingswood. Sound fair enough to you, Snow?
[ Snow, the disrespect. Jon has yet to earn much respect otherwise. The willingness to partake in Aemond's company, despite his acrid attitude, is a start. He's keen to see how well he holds onto those spines whilst whipping against a southern wing. ]
[ in the wake of being named king in the north and having bran with his newfound bluntness calling him aerion at every available opportunity, having someone address him by the faux moniker that protected him from the wrath of robert baratheon is a breath of fresh air. he doesn't correct his princely ancestor, content to be regulated to that which he spent the majority of his life believing he was: a bastard. ]
Aye, a fair challenge.
[ or as fair as a challenge could get when it came to racing an experienced dragon with an experienced dragonrider when he knew next to nothing about what he was doing. ]
With all the luck, Jon's grip will stay true and he won't get flung into the sea. Admittedly, he is curious to see how well the Northman flies. Even their ancestors from centuries ago preferred to rally their dragons with horns and whips. Their current generation only needs to follow commands. Does Jon even know any Valyrian? Questions, questions, and more questions.]
See you there.
[Cordial, before the prince turns to climb the long rope ladder up his dragon. Vhagar's steps rumble the about the earth already in anticipation to take flight. Aemond does not mind his compatriot, expecting him to follow as they both take to the sky.]
[ perhaps it helps that jon no longer has the same fear of death that he used to. where once being atop a dragon and racing at speeds no horse could hope to run would have unnerved him before, the danger of it all (especially without a sturdy saddle to sit upon like aemond does) completely alludes him. the threat of death is no longer a dangerous form; it's one made of ice and darkness, of glowing blue eyes and rotting flesh that peels off the bone as corpses snarl and crawl and bite.
jon knows a handful of valyrian words and phrases. some he picked up at the wall from maester aemon, others were taught to him by daenerys in the wake of him bonding with one of her children. case in point as jon grips the spikes protruding from his mount's back: ] Rhaegal! SΕvΔs! [ and likely sounds very interesting, to say the least, with his thick northern accent.
obediently, the dragon lifts into the air. it's unlikely they'll win, but there's no denying that jon finds joy in the thrill of flying faster than any horse could ever hope to run. it's a rush like no other, a rush that actually makes him feel something when he's been numb to so much else in the wake of his assassination and resurrection. ]
Issa jΔda, Vhagar. [ Much more conversational between the two as Aemond gives his dragon a light pat along the weathered scales of her shoulder.
Ground and dirt uprooted beneath the beat of the she-dragon's feet and wings kicking off. Impossibly massive, it could be a small miracle every time she makes it off the ground. A centurion now at the very least, the peeled holes in the webbing of her wings date back to the conquering.
The thrill of the flight is no doubt just as good as winning. To Aemond, it never grows old. It is nothing compared to any horse in both speed and thrill, but that of the bond shared between dragon and rider. The massive heart beating and entwined with his own. The shared thrill of a freedom so pure as to fly. Never had he concerned himself with dying on dragonback, though it would surely be his fate some day. As many of those who came before him, he honored the idea of a dragonrider's death.
Though that day certainly isn't today. Today they will scrape along the coast. Though the beat of Vhagar's wings are much slower than Rhaegals, she soars greater distances between them. Drifting up through golden clouds on way to their destination.]
[ it's a bond that jon has only recently begun to clue himself in to, a bond that transcends the simplicity of a dragon allowing him to ride. a bond that daenerys likely did not fully understand herself, else she would have taken a closer look at his ability to be near her dragons without being perceived as a threat when no one else could, let alone take flight on one.
the targaryens were called dragonlords for a reason. (a reason westeros's last two dragonlords are, sadly, woefully unaware of.)
jon isn't so bold as to fly up into the clouds, though he does take a moment to tilt his head back and marvel at the shadow of vhagar's massive form passing over him. an extraordinary beast if there ever was one. vhagar dwarfs rhaegal, yet where he ought to feel some sense of intimidation, if not fear, all jon feels is an overwhelming sense of pride that this relic of the conquest survived for as long as she did. it's remarkable, and it's still incredibly surreal for him to know that this, the dragons and the now-evident connection they share with their riders, is part of his family's legacy.
he doesn't know if he'll ever stop feeling like a stark bastard, but he's warming up more and more to the idea of being a trueborn targaryen with each passing day. ]
Adere! [ likely not the right word or form of the word to use, but let the record show that jon makes an attempt to encourage rhaegal to fly faster. ]
[ Some dragons and riders need no commands. Sometimes it isn't necessarily the command the dragon adheres to, but the will of the spirit. That's what the bond really is. It is an intangible thing, and sometimes Aemond doubts his ability to make it stronger. They are both only half Targaryen, and some days he wonders if that equally makes his bond to Vhagar half as strong. Perhaps its easier for Jon and his youngling to fly more in sync than it is for Aemond at the neck of an ancient giant. Who has hosted more riders than any other dragon he's known.
He thinks it's the pull of the saddle that does more work than the command sometimes. High up in the sky with the wind eating up his words. Vhagar dives somewhere ahead Jon, cutting through the clouds as a green iridescent spear. The ancient dragon thunders a roar that undoubtedly sounds aggressive as much as it is actually playful.
From over his shoulder he can see Rhaegal kick up his wings to dive through the lower stream of sky. Whatever Aemond calls out to Vhagar is undoubtedly lost again to the wind, veering off to one side of his saddle to bank a turn and give chase. Laughing all the way down. ]
[ jon could take control of rhaegal by other means, but doing so with a creature as intelligent and aware as a dragon seems cruel. it would be a violation, an insult to both the bond between them and the legacy of his ancestors β both stark and targaryen alike. lacking in practice with warging aside (even if bran insisted he had a natural talent for it), it wouldn't be right.
and would be cheating.
also, probably dangerous to do while atop said dragon without a saddle.
aemond's words are indeed swallowed by the wind, and jon is once again distracted by the sheer massiveness of the dragon he rides. he's a competitive person (he had to be, growing up a bastard, he had a lot of prove) but he's content in this moment to lose to such an extraordinary beast. ]
[ There's no victory to be had where there is no true challenge. For all the balking, Aemond was more invigorated by pushing Jon's buttons to agree than he is to snuff him out in the actual race. Had Jon actually won, well. Aemond was never recorded by the maesters for being a particularly gracious person. He may not be a bastard, but he is evermore competitive. Chronic second son syndrome. His great nephew is lucky Aemond doesn't see him a threat.
Even greater that Vhagar doesn't see either dragon nor rider as a threat, her temperament is considerably more volatile. No sign of it is there now as the she-dragon circles down the open field beyond the Kingswood. Tiny dark specks among the open fields begin to rustle through the grass before it gets wind-beaten by the powerful beat of wings.
A cluster cuts towards the woods, splintering off as Vhagar's great shadow looms in over them.]
Dracarys!
[ A plume of dragonfire dusts the fields, snuffing out a round of cows. One lone cow making out ahead as Aemond and his dragon turn and land just outside the scorched grass. ]
[ it's the one command that daenerys had him practice that he's yet to put into actual practice. he hasn't had reason to and did not want to go about needless scorching the earth because he wanted to know what it felt like to give the command, what it felt like to have a dragon breathe fire while perched upon it's back.
the lone cow flees, but it doesn't make it to freedom. jon brings rhaegal around, and lower, closer and closer untilβ ]
[ A significantly tinier fireball, but a fireball none the less. Good work, Snow.
A half dozen will make a fine meal for them both. Aemond dismounts his she-dragon to let her reap her spoils among smoking grass. He supposes to check up on his great nephew, meandering across the field once he too lands.]
[ jon's dismount is surprisingly graceful given the lack of saddle, sliding easily down the dragon's side and landing firmly on both feet. he gives rhaegal's side an affectionate pat before leaving him to his meal and meeting his great-uncle halfway.
there's a rare grin on his face, a sign that yes, he did indeed find enjoyment in commanding his dragon to burn something. ]
[ Look at those happy dragons. Bones crunching, the smell of charred flesh, a painted sunset against the Crownlands. It's impossible for anyone to grouse here. Not for Aemond, not even for a Northman. ]
It's... amazing. I'm not sure I have the proper words for it.
[ especially since jon, a man who has literally died and was dead for days before his revival took root, struggles with actually feeling alive these days. most are spent going through the motions and completing tasks like he's checking them off a list; it's rare for him to actually feel something even remotely close to satisfaction, let alone exhilaration. the truth of his lineage and the bond he's formed with rhaegal may just be the key to living again β truly living. ]
Makes me wish I'd known sooner. [ oops, slip of the elated tongue wrt masquerading as a man that's always been and always shall be a bastard. ]
[ It doesn't occur that it might be a slip. All that occurs to Aemond is his own experience watching his nephews and siblings bonding with their drakes and dragonlings. Even though he was a boy of ten when he'd finally claimed Vhagar, the years of agonizing in his lonesome beforehand felt a waste. ]
You've got fire in your blood. You must have felt its ache long before you came to knew what it was.
[ A lone hunger gnawing away at something deep inside. A life is changed once one bonds to a dragon. He finds it unfathomable to think on what it was like without it. Though maybe that's just him. Maybe Jon had much more on his plate being a bastard already making him feel out of touch and out of place. ]
How that fire got there, I wonder.
[ Now that he has his great nephew cornered off somewhere where no one can hold Aemond to some standard of decorum. He can begin to press the matter of his pedigree. Because he has run the numbers and they are fascinating. ]
[ jon's always been lonely, and for the vast majority of his life, he attributed that loneliness solely to his supposed bastardy. it wasn't until fairly recently when the truth was revealed to him and he bonded with rhaegal that he began to realize that there had always been more to it; something missing beyond not being ned stark's trueborn son.
because he wasn't. he was rhaegar and lyanna's. ]
I did, [ he admits. ] And I had no way of knowing what it was.
[ those lies protected him, and he was grateful to his uncle for guarding him against the wrath of the baratheons and all those who would have seen to his end. for keeping his promise to jon's mother and ensuring that in spite of being labeled a bastard, jon grew up knowing that he was loved and wanted. just as lyanna (and presumably rhaegar) had wanted him.
jon contemplates lying further himself, but what would that really accomplish when he's here instead of where he ought to be? ]
From my father, [ he admits after a moment, looking away from his ancestor and towards his dragon. ] Rhaegal was named for him. Rhaegar Targaryen.
[ Though Jon looks away, Aemond continues to look on. Studying him as he speaks, as though something letting can be found in the way his strange kin holds himself. The fact of the matter is he has spent too little in his company to divine the truth anyway.
The name is distinctly Valyrian, though unfamiliar in its placement in his family tree. Certainly based on their similar age, it would have been paramount that a fringe branch of their line existed that still carried their name and not one of a bastard born. ]
Is that what you were told?
[ A little condescending, despite the fact there is a living and breathing dragon that Jon has bonded to.
Still, plenty of men and in this realm only dream of being a Targaryen. It only takes one of some matter of their kin's features to masquerade as one of their own. A dragonseed, a Celtigar, a Velaryon. His poor mother must have been duped, that's the only explanation he can muster. ]
[ jon laughs, because someone questioning what he was told is (bitterly) hilarious in hindsight. ]
To understand what I've been told, you would have to be willing to believe that I'm not from here. That I won't be born for another hundred and fifty years or so.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
thanks for moving this over!
[ welcome to jon snow™: dutiful and loyal to a humdrum degree, but also not super into siting on the northern throne and very new to the targaryen experience. ]
Yes, I agree. Let us take our dragons out.
π
[ A little hazing is due, as Jon takes it so well. None could blame Aemond, his reputation for antagonizing his bastard nephews is not entirely untold information among certain circles. Of course he would not pass the opportunity to prod at a bastard king, no matter how reluctant he is to his claim. A dragonseed, no less. At least Ned had good taste.]
I shall see you in the fields, then. At dusk, we shall race our dragons.
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he doesn't want it.
he's fine with people assuming that ned stark bedded some bastard girl with targaryen lineage if that means he doesn't have to sit on the iron throne. ]
Race? I thought you wanted to set things ablaze.
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We have to get there first, do we not?
Scared to lose?
[Rhaegal is young and more agile compared to the living mountain that Vhagar is. It is not as though he doesn't have a chance. Though, Aemond considers that chance very slight.]
sorry for the delay! the extreme heat wave in my area fried my ability to brain tags for a while.
Of course not. You and your dragon just have more experience than Rhaegal and I do.
[ jon doesn't even have a saddle to sit upon. he just holds on and hopes for the best, just like dany taught him. ]
no worries!! 'too hot, cant tag' is def a relatable mood
What better opportunity to learn, no? I think he'd enjoy it. You might too.
[Get that man a saddle though, by the gods. ]
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There's only one way to find out.
[ meet you there, great uncle? (great uncle times seven, apparently.) ]
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Vhagar had long outgrown the ability to be housed within the Dragonpit long before Aemond had claimed her. They two can be found on the grounds beyond the hill when Jon chooses to arrive. Enough light is left in the sky to drench the hilltops in a golden glow, likely to wane by the time their feet touch the fringes of the kingswood to begin their hunt.
The she-dragon is first to note their company, head lifting with a curious rumble in her throat that sounds of approaching thunder. Deeply inquisitive (if dragons were capable of making expressions) of Jon and his youngling. Aemond, having been invested in ruffling the sagged leathery skin of the she-dragons gullet, drops his hands as he turns to witness their approach. Stepping ahead to keep the distance between dragons, though neither of them seem to pose immediate threat towards one another. It is courteous, as Vhagar is akin to a grouchy old woman none so hesitant to set a firm boundary. The prince would not see Rhaegal nor Jon so cruelly humbled (by accident anyway).]
We follow the coast to the southern fields of the Kingswood. Sound fair enough to you, Snow?
[ Snow, the disrespect. Jon has yet to earn much respect otherwise. The willingness to partake in Aemond's company, despite his acrid attitude, is a start. He's keen to see how well he holds onto those spines whilst whipping against a southern wing. ]
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Aye, a fair challenge.
[ or as fair as a challenge could get when it came to racing an experienced dragon with an experienced dragonrider when he knew next to nothing about what he was doing. ]
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With all the luck, Jon's grip will stay true and he won't get flung into the sea. Admittedly, he is curious to see how well the Northman flies. Even their ancestors from centuries ago preferred to rally their dragons with horns and whips. Their current generation only needs to follow commands. Does Jon even know any Valyrian? Questions, questions, and more questions.]
See you there.
[Cordial, before the prince turns to climb the long rope ladder up his dragon. Vhagar's steps rumble the about the earth already in anticipation to take flight. Aemond does not mind his compatriot, expecting him to follow as they both take to the sky.]
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jon knows a handful of valyrian words and phrases. some he picked up at the wall from maester aemon, others were taught to him by daenerys in the wake of him bonding with one of her children. case in point as jon grips the spikes protruding from his mount's back: ] Rhaegal! SΕvΔs! [ and likely sounds very interesting, to say the least, with his thick northern accent.
obediently, the dragon lifts into the air. it's unlikely they'll win, but there's no denying that jon finds joy in the thrill of flying faster than any horse could ever hope to run. it's a rush like no other, a rush that actually makes him feel something when he's been numb to so much else in the wake of his assassination and resurrection. ]
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Ground and dirt uprooted beneath the beat of the she-dragon's feet and wings kicking off. Impossibly massive, it could be a small miracle every time she makes it off the ground. A centurion now at the very least, the peeled holes in the webbing of her wings date back to the conquering.
The thrill of the flight is no doubt just as good as winning. To Aemond, it never grows old. It is nothing compared to any horse in both speed and thrill, but that of the bond shared between dragon and rider. The massive heart beating and entwined with his own. The shared thrill of a freedom so pure as to fly. Never had he concerned himself with dying on dragonback, though it would surely be his fate some day. As many of those who came before him, he honored the idea of a dragonrider's death.
Though that day certainly isn't today. Today they will scrape along the coast. Though the beat of Vhagar's wings are much slower than Rhaegals, she soars greater distances between them. Drifting up through golden clouds on way to their destination.]
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the targaryens were called dragonlords for a reason. (a reason westeros's last two dragonlords are, sadly, woefully unaware of.)
jon isn't so bold as to fly up into the clouds, though he does take a moment to tilt his head back and marvel at the shadow of vhagar's massive form passing over him. an extraordinary beast if there ever was one. vhagar dwarfs rhaegal, yet where he ought to feel some sense of intimidation, if not fear, all jon feels is an overwhelming sense of pride that this relic of the conquest survived for as long as she did. it's remarkable, and it's still incredibly surreal for him to know that this, the dragons and the now-evident connection they share with their riders, is part of his family's legacy.
he doesn't know if he'll ever stop feeling like a stark bastard, but he's warming up more and more to the idea of being a trueborn targaryen with each passing day. ]
Adere! [ likely not the right word or form of the word to use, but let the record show that jon makes an attempt to encourage rhaegal to fly faster. ]
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He thinks it's the pull of the saddle that does more work than the command sometimes. High up in the sky with the wind eating up his words. Vhagar dives somewhere ahead Jon, cutting through the clouds as a green iridescent spear. The ancient dragon thunders a roar that undoubtedly sounds aggressive as much as it is actually playful.
From over his shoulder he can see Rhaegal kick up his wings to dive through the lower stream of sky. Whatever Aemond calls out to Vhagar is undoubtedly lost again to the wind, veering off to one side of his saddle to bank a turn and give chase. Laughing all the way down. ]
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and would be cheating.
also, probably dangerous to do while atop said dragon without a saddle.
aemond's words are indeed swallowed by the wind, and jon is once again distracted by the sheer massiveness of the dragon he rides. he's a competitive person (he had to be, growing up a bastard, he had a lot of prove) but he's content in this moment to lose to such an extraordinary beast. ]
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Even greater that Vhagar doesn't see either dragon nor rider as a threat, her temperament is considerably more volatile. No sign of it is there now as the she-dragon circles down the open field beyond the Kingswood. Tiny dark specks among the open fields begin to rustle through the grass before it gets wind-beaten by the powerful beat of wings.
A cluster cuts towards the woods, splintering off as Vhagar's great shadow looms in over them.]
Dracarys!
[ A plume of dragonfire dusts the fields, snuffing out a round of cows. One lone cow making out ahead as Aemond and his dragon turn and land just outside the scorched grass. ]
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the lone cow flees, but it doesn't make it to freedom. jon brings rhaegal around, and lower, closer and closer untilβ ]
Dracarys.
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A half dozen will make a fine meal for them both. Aemond dismounts his she-dragon to let her reap her spoils among smoking grass. He supposes to check up on his great nephew, meandering across the field once he too lands.]
Glad to see you hung on. How do you feel?
[ Liked it, didn't he? Burning stuff. ]
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there's a rare grin on his face, a sign that yes, he did indeed find enjoyment in commanding his dragon to burn something. ]
Invigorated. Alive.
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[ Look at those happy dragons. Bones crunching, the smell of charred flesh, a painted sunset against the Crownlands. It's impossible for anyone to grouse here. Not for Aemond, not even for a Northman. ]
Not so bad now, is it?
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[ especially since jon, a man who has literally died and was dead for days before his revival took root, struggles with actually feeling alive these days. most are spent going through the motions and completing tasks like he's checking them off a list; it's rare for him to actually feel something even remotely close to satisfaction, let alone exhilaration. the truth of his lineage and the bond he's formed with rhaegal may just be the key to living again β truly living. ]
Makes me wish I'd known sooner. [ oops, slip of the elated tongue wrt masquerading as a man that's always been and always shall be a bastard. ]
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You've got fire in your blood. You must have felt its ache long before you came to knew what it was.
[ A lone hunger gnawing away at something deep inside. A life is changed once one bonds to a dragon. He finds it unfathomable to think on what it was like without it. Though maybe that's just him. Maybe Jon had much more on his plate being a bastard already making him feel out of touch and out of place. ]
How that fire got there, I wonder.
[ Now that he has his great nephew cornered off somewhere where no one can hold Aemond to some standard of decorum. He can begin to press the matter of his pedigree. Because he has run the numbers and they are fascinating. ]
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because he wasn't. he was rhaegar and lyanna's. ]
I did, [ he admits. ] And I had no way of knowing what it was.
[ those lies protected him, and he was grateful to his uncle for guarding him against the wrath of the baratheons and all those who would have seen to his end. for keeping his promise to jon's mother and ensuring that in spite of being labeled a bastard, jon grew up knowing that he was loved and wanted. just as lyanna (and presumably rhaegar) had wanted him.
jon contemplates lying further himself, but what would that really accomplish when he's here instead of where he ought to be? ]
From my father, [ he admits after a moment, looking away from his ancestor and towards his dragon. ] Rhaegal was named for him. Rhaegar Targaryen.
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The name is distinctly Valyrian, though unfamiliar in its placement in his family tree. Certainly based on their similar age, it would have been paramount that a fringe branch of their line existed that still carried their name and not one of a bastard born. ]
Is that what you were told?
[ A little condescending, despite the fact there is a living and breathing dragon that Jon has bonded to.
Still, plenty of men and in this realm only dream of being a Targaryen. It only takes one of some matter of their kin's features to masquerade as one of their own. A dragonseed, a Celtigar, a Velaryon. His poor mother must have been duped, that's the only explanation he can muster. ]
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To understand what I've been told, you would have to be willing to believe that I'm not from here. That I won't be born for another hundred and fifty years or so.
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lmao sorry for making him explain the timey wimey
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