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Chapter Text

His father was dead.

Baelon had expected it since he was born screaming into the world, bathed in the sacrificial blood of Aemma Arryn. The sickness had spread on Viserys. The maesters knew nothing and could only try to peel off the dead flesh and spread herbal medicines and potions. Leprosy was a deadly disease, much more so in medieval times where healthcare and bacteria were myths.

Now he was dead, and the Seven Kingdoms must have a king.

"Long live King Baelon of House Targaryen, the First of His Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm!"

The kingdom cheered.

Baelon sat alone in his chambers, hunched over with his face leaning on folded hands. This was what he had been waiting for these past 21 years: dealing with assassins, court politics, dragons, and the Targaryen family. Now it was high time to know whether he had won over fate. If the Dance of the Dragons happened again… Fucking damn it. Why couldn't he have been born a Stark during peacetime?

Baelon Targaryen lived despite everyone's expectations—his father's, his sister's, the court's, the kingdom's, and definitely Otto Hightower's. He'd been a sickly child, the type that parents would watch at night, fearing that if they closed their eyes, he would be gone, taken by the Stranger.

But he had lived. A soul that lived for 40 years in another world, thrown into the body of a helpless, literal infant.

The first assassination attempt happened when he was nearly one year old: a maid with a pillow in hand approaching his cradle in the dead of night. He screamed his head off until he woke what was probably half of the keep. They found the maid had stashed a vial of poison in her pockets, and off with her head, literally.

Viserys, who was still one year into his wife's death and stayed nearly nightly at his nursery, had gone mad in fury and protectiveness. He'd had the whole keep flipped inside out and everyone investigated. No words could calm him, and even Otto for once was powerless.

The king had moved Baelon into his own room and had a Kingsguard constantly stay with him. His wet nurse had been carefully watched every feeding and her milk tested by maesters. And other foods were also tested before they were fed to him.

Baelon became the world's most protected baby, and he was glad. Few assassins still tried, and it was a tightrope walk trying to survive as the crown prince of Westeros.

Two years after he was born, he got a baby brother. Little Aegon was a colicky baby, much to the frustration of his young mother and his caretakers. He'd cry all the time, and nobody could soothe him. He was also a very active baby, always babbling and toddling around.

Baelon liked little Egg. He'd visit him whenever possible and play with him. He was a cute baby, with silver-gold hair, pale violet eyes, and the roundest cheeks. A clingy little thing too, always whining to be with Baelon and throwing a tantrum that had the nursemaid in tears when his brother wasn't in his grabbing range.

His older sister, Rhaenyra, was someone who he barely saw. The young girl didn't hate him, but she certainly didn't like him either. It was a mix of grief for her mother, jealousy, and crumbling self-esteem—of knowing she was never enough, that her being a girl had killed her mother, that she would never be the priority, that the kingdom would never favor the "Realm's Delight" over their long-awaited crown prince.

The fuss over his assassinations and safety took Viserys' remaining attention from her too. She was alone in the Red Keep with nothing but her mother's ghost. It was normal for her to resent him, to avoid him because of it.

But time passes, and events occur. Some things are the same, and others are not. There was no naming of a female heir for a start. The hunt in the Kingswood celebrating his younger brother's birthday didn't end with a blood-covered young princess. He hears stories of a battle at the Stepstones, especially featuring Daemon.

The last he had seen of his infamous uncle was when he entered his nursery and watched him with a critical, almost reptilian gaze of a dragon. He then reached inside the crib, and when Baelon thought that this was how he was going to die, a gentle finger rubbed his cheek. The man then took the lukewarm dark green egg and went away.

The ensuing chaos caused by that mess was something Baelon didn't want to remember. Viserys' roar could be heard bellowing from the throne.

Then Helaena and Aemond were born. Helaena was another problem baby for the young queen, refusing to latch on the wet nurse and weeping whenever anyone touched her. His poor younger sister, plagued by dreams she could not forget.

It was with Aemond that Alicent found a child easy to care for. She was old enough to try to be a mother, and a peaceful babe did wonders for her. The young prince easily became her favorite, much to the ire and grief of Aegon, who never received such love from his mother.

The time Aegon spent with him rose as he cried in Baelon's arms and stained his tunic. They shared a room after that, Baelon fighting for it with Viserys, using the excuse of a good brotherhood between them, citing the strong relationship between Aemon and Baelon—their own father and uncle. It helped both of them were young children, easy enough to share a nursery. Otto Hightower hated it.

Then came her sister's tour for a husband. She was no heir, so instead of her touring the Seven Kingdoms, bachelors were invited to the court to try their luck. He was five, so there was nothing much he could do but stay in his room and listen to the gossip of the nursemaids.

It was a nightmare, to sum it up. Daemon also arrived to darken the halls again. He surrendered his crown, and whatever else happened that ended up with him banished again and a betrothal set up between Laenor and Rhaenyra, Baelon had no idea. The fright of Daemon entering his nursery without a soul noticing, his own paranoia, and whispers from Otto ensured that Baelon was locked up in his room and carefully guarded for as long as Daemon roamed the castle walls.

The greatest news he got was Otto was still fired despite not hectoring Viserys to replace Rhaenyra like last time. The reason as to why, he'd never know.

Then the cursed wedding happened again. Lonmouth is killed, the queen gains a Dornish knight, and Rhaenyra is wed.

Soon, news of Daemon freeing Laena from her betrothal via murder occurred, and they fly off to Pentos. Baelon also wants to stay in a vacation spot with good sun and less politics! He envies them, truly.

During the summer, his last brother was also born, followed by the infamous brown-haired and brown-eyed first son of the princess.

The fallout was nothing less than terrific. For once, she did not have the shield of the title of heir. Rhaenys and Corlys were livid, to say the least. It took Viserys stepping in to calm the tides, so to speak. Still, rumors spread like a disease, and the poor child got the label "bastard-born" soon enough.

Rhaenyra was kept hidden at High Tide, and Ser Harwin Strong was escorted by his own father, the Hand of the King, back to his seat at Harrenhal and immediately betrothed and married to a fine young lady from House Darry.

Lucerys Velaryon was born in 118 AC with Valyrian pale skin, blue Velaryon eyes, and black curly hair like ink. The same year, Lucas Strong, heir to Harrenhal, was born.

The time skip proved to be a period of peace and ways to strengthen himself. They all claimed their dragons.

At age eight, during a visit at Dragonstone, he sneaked into the dragon pit and claimed Vermithor. He'd been grounded for life by Viserys, but it was worth it. Aegon claimed his Sunfyre, and Helaena bonded with Dreamfyre.

All that was left was Aemond, who very much desperately wanted a dragon. Baelon was not going to take a chance with this ambitious third son. So when he was ten, he asked for permission and took a scalding hot egg from the dragon pit and gave it to Aemond as a name day present. Better a young dragon over the dangerous war dragon Vhagar. It would also help whenever Aemond feels a bit ambitious in the future to remember who gifted him his dragon.

In 124 AC, the egg hatched into a beautiful sapphire-colored dragon with specks of green over its horns and wings. Baelon had never seen Aemond any happier than when he had his newborn dragon in his hands. The boy cried and clutched the named Gaelithox like a lifeline.

It eased the guilt in his chest to see Aemond so happy with his dragon. Their bond would be different, but it is still a bond. It's better for the war dragon to fade in history. It was time for the old dragon to rest.

Then Laena died, and the Driftmark incident started.

Vaemond's pettiness is a cutting thing, bringing up what shouldn't have been at the funeral of a daughter of the Tides. Baelon stays to the side, watching next to Viserys as the house of dragons meets up again after a decade of separation. The area was thick with tension and grief.

Rhaenyra does not look well; three births had taken their toll, but there was a deep pain and anger in her that had nothing to do with the funeral. She was Rhaenyra Velaryon, the Lady of the Tides, and she hated it. Being but a prisoner in Driftmark under the sharp eyes of Rhaenys and forced away from her lover made her more bitter than in the books.

Laenor looked as if Laena had dragged half his soul to the underworld with her. He was but a walking husk, his paramour having to support him.

Jacaerys Velaryon was pressed beside his mother's skirt, looking down and avoiding anybody. The poor boy looked like a pale imitation of a prince. His brown curly hair and brown eyes made his resemblance to the Heir of Harrenhal more pronounced as the years passed.

Lucerys, on the other hand, was seated with Rhaenys and Corlys, dressed in Velaryon blue and eyes shifting longingly towards the direction of his brother and mother. But Rhaenys had a hand over the boy's shoulder and kept her to him in her grief.

Valaena Velaryon, the princess' third child, was just born. Gone was Joffrey, the third son, and this time was replaced by a girl with Velaryon sun-kissed skin and silver hair white as snow. The fact that she wasn't named Visenya, despite how much Rhaenyra was known to love the name, spoke volumes.

Daemon Targaryen had his two grieving twin daughters tucked near him, the spitting image of their departed mother.

Dragons fly above them, and Targaryens grieve on the ground. Tensions run high; a spark would call forth a hurricane of flames. Baelon wishes he was somewhere in Pentos drinking their version of a Piña Colada.

"Egg, do not try to sneak into my room tonight. I mean it." Baelon huffs at his younger brother, who sprawled himself on his lap, round violet eyes blinking innocently.

"But Baeloonnnn, it would be utterly boring. I do not want to share a room with that twat Aemond," he whined, rolling on his lap like a spoiled cat.

"Aemond is right here. And do not call him a twat. He is your brother."

Aemond sneered at Aegon, where he was petting Gaelithox beside the fire. The dragon was small enough for him to still carry—although with difficulty—and he liked being attached to his dragon.

"Brother, do you want to meet Ana? I found her near the Hall," Helaena dreamily said as she approached him and sat on the soft cushions spread around the room.

Baelon swiftly turned to his favorite sibling and threw Aegon off him. "Hel, sweet sister, lemon pie. Come here and show your brother your new friend," he croons and lifts his sister to his lap to let her introduce her new insect friend.

Aegon squawks like an offended goose, and Aemond bites back a laugh. Daeron giggles with Tessarion nibbling on the edge of his tunic.

Her sweet sister opens her palm to show him a large spider. Baelon tamps down his shivers and looks at the likely venomous thing like it was a puppy.

"She looks amazing, Hel. Now how about we let our friend go, and I'll help you catch some tiny crabs at the sea later?" That thing was not going near his bed. He wants to chuck it out the window.

Helaena hums and rests her head against his shoulder, snuggling to him like the young child she is.

"Green and Blue and Red. The boy has a dragon. Yet the seas want blood. One way or another, a dragon prince she'll have," she whispers in his ear.

Mother fucker.

Baelon marched to the great Hall of Driftmark to where the adults were talking. Being five and ten, he could have joined them, but he was not letting his eyes off his siblings. No one was going to lose an eye if he had anything to say about it.

The older members of the Targaryen family decided to stay awake longer until night fell, for Baelon had volunteered to herd his siblings back to their rooms. Laenor immediately grabbed the chance to get away from everything and told them he was going to tuck Jace and Lucerys to bed and check on their daughter. The twins also followed their uncle and were escorted back to where Daemon was staying.

Now the Lord and Lady of Tides were discussing with Father. Rhaenyra looking longingly at Daemon, who was busy grinding his teeth at whatever Viserys was saying. Alicent was glaring daggers at Rhaenyra, and poor Lyonel looked as if he wishes he was anywhere but here—likely his comfy bed in the Tower of the Hand.

Hang in there, Lord Strong. It was hard work for Baelon to keep him alive, and he performed his first murder to kill the traitorous second son of the man. Larys Strong had tripped and died on the stairs at one of the towers, as far as anyone is concerned.

"Father," he greeted, attracting everyone's attention to him.

Rhaenys had grieved many times over her life. She had grieved her father's untimely death. She grieved when her crown was stolen out of her by the old king and the Lords who decided she was unworthy on the account of not having a cock. She grieved the death of her mother, uttering her husband's name till the Stranger took her away.

The slights against her had made her wonder whether the Gods truly hated their family, that the blood on their veins would curse them. Her crown was stolen, Laenor wasn't even considered, and her dear Laena was passed aside for the hypocritical daughter of Otto Hightower.

Now, her daughter's remains are laid to rest beside her ancestors. To the sea, her daughter of fire and salt returns to. The grief feels like a stab of a knife to her heart.

Now, together again after a decade, the Targaryen family meets again. She did not like Viserys then, not after he became king, and never will. Daemon took her daughter away to Pentos, not to return her until she was in a coffin. The only reason she did not burn him with Meleys the moment she saw him would be because of her darling granddaughters, the image of her Laena when she was young.

Her good daughter. The Realm's Delight! How she hated the harlot. The stain of her firstborn grandson being a bastard would never fade. Rhaenyra Targaryen was a spoiled girl throwing a tantrum against the world. She understood her, the feeling of unworthiness of not being born male.

But wherein Rhaenys faced reality and used it to arm herself and built something out of her life, Rhaenyra acted as if the world owes her, hating everything and spoiling whatever she touches. Although her hate of the princess mostly stems at how she dared to treat his sweet trueborn grandson, Lucerys.

Rhaenyra spoils and raises her bastard under her wing, a fierce protector to anybody who dares slight the prince due to his First Men coloring. But Lucerys might as well be invisible to her. Rhaenys knew the boy was not born out of the best circumstances, a furious and reckless move on their part to use forbidden potions to ensure the correct conception many times.

But if it was not done, then Driftmark would never have itself a Velaryon heir. They had worked too hard to let it all go to waste. Then the princess gave birth to her third child, thankfully one with Velaryon coloring. But Rhaenys knew that this was no child of Laenor. So she took the child and named her Valaena, a proper Velaryon name, and made sure to raise her away from her harlot of a mother and his vying Velaryon unknown father. It was the best mercy she could grant this child, to let her live as a happy Velaryon child of her line.

Make no mistake, he will ensure Lucerys will be the one to wear the driftwood crown. She promised it on fire and blood.

With Aemma's sacrifice, she had finally given the kingdom a male heir. With poor health, they had all thought the boy would die. Otto Hightower certainly thought so, and many daughters were pushed to Viserys.

Then Alicent Hightower was chosen. The Andal daughter of a second son who was not even a warden. It reeks of schemes and Otto's slimy hands.

But as the years pass, the boy continues to live. Assassins were sent, Viserys went mad trying to protect his heir, and the boy grew to be nearly a man. Alicent popped out three sons and a daughter for Viserys. All had dragons.

Yet the heir remains. Baelon Targaryen, the crown prince and rider of Vermithor. Aemma's child. Looking at him like now was like looking at a ghost. Aemma had laid her claim on this child. Her blood ran through him, overtaking anything Viserys could have given.

Baelon looked as if Aemma Arryn had been reborn as a boy—Valyrian pale skin with gold-silver hair braided to his elbows and eyes Arryn blue. The slope of his nose, the curves of his eyes, they were all Aemma. His jaw and his broad shoulders reminded her of his namesake, the faded ghost of the Spring Prince.

How Viserys must have been driven with guilt and love every time he saw his son. Aemma's stake on the crown, her final fight against the kingdom who slighted her and abused her womb. Her victory.

Prince Baelon proved himself to be the perfect prince, great in his studies and swift with his sword, wise beyond his years, kind when needed but with a spine of steel and heavy hand when needed. The small folks whisper and cheer for their long-awaited prince.

Rhaenys hopes this one would be better than the previous heirs and kings before him. For this one, he actually wants for her descendants, not the greed-fueled act of pushing Laena to Viserys by Corlys.

The boy has a sister by Hightower closer to age. But Rhaenys knew that the wound of their house would not be healed unless her blood sits on the throne. Baelon and Baela. Both named after the Spring Prince. They would make a good match. The house of dragons united once more.

Baelon got permission to have his siblings stay in the same room as him. Thank heavens. After bidding goodbye to the older Targaryen generation and trying to pretend not to feel their calculating eyes on him, he rushed to his room where all of his siblings were still lounging about. Ser Criston Cole and Ser Steffon Darklyn were guarding the room.

He placed a finger over his lips to signal the Kingsguards to be quiet as he sneaked behind Daeron. He then lifted his brother to the air and yelled, "Dragon Sleep over!" Daeron screamed, and everyone laughed.

It was not unusual for them to spend nights all sleeping in one room. They all thought it was a bonding event he created called 'sleep over'. He'd have the bed filled with pillows and blankets and have all of his siblings sleep in it with him.

This was easily enough to facilitate since all of them were still young. But he knew it would be harder when Helaena flowered. It would be then that Alicent would fight harder to get her hands in raising her daughter. It was hard enough as it is to keep his siblings away from Hightower propaganda.

Right now, the Hightowers are 50/50 on whether to betroth Helaena to him or have Aegon usurp him. Baelon knew that there are three main contenders for his future wife and queen of the Seven Kingdoms: Helaena, either Baela or Rhaena, and the literal infant Valaena.

But Viserys was sentimental. The king would choose between Daemon's daughters or Rhaenyra's daughter if made to choose. If possible, Baelon prefers not to marry and sire a child at all. In times of peace in his previous world maybe, but in this boiling pot called Westeros? Any child he brings forth would be in danger no matter what.

Baelon blinks awake when he feels someone pat his cheek. Helaena was looking at him with a pursed lip. "Aemond is gone," she whispers. Baelon felt like he had a heart attack.

The Kingsguard guarded the door outside the room. Aemond climbed out the damn window. After making a racket and grabbing Ser Erryk by his armor to make sure his siblings stay inside the room and safe, he told the servants to wake everyone for there was a Targaryen prince missing and pulled Ser Arryk to follow him.

Baelon ran to the beach and pulled his bond with Vermithor to alarm his partner that he needed his help. He does not know what kind of mess he's going to face. Aemond has a dragon, he definitely would not try to bond with Vhagar. But he was a history and dragon nutcase. It's likely his brother would not let the chance of meeting Vhagar, the remaining conqueror's dragon, go.

The piercing roar of Vhagar had his blood run cold as he picked up speed. Then he saw the blasted scene that made him want to pull out his hair. Vhagar was flying, a screaming Rhaena on the war dragon's back barely clinging on. Baela was trying to punch the daylight out of Jace while Lucerys was trying to pull her off, a broken nose in the face of the Velaryon prince.

Aemond on the other side of the beach fretting on Gaelithox who was limp on the sand.

"WHAT IN SEVEN HELLS ARE ALL OF YOU DOING!!!"

It was as if a pause button was pressed. Baela stopped her punches and screamed at Lucerys, "He deserves it! He made Rhaena climb Vhagar now my sister is in danger!" Lucerys kept on crying and trying to pull Baela off.

Aemond turned to him, eyes haunted and silent. "Lēkia," he uttered lowly, eyes welling up in tears. An unmoving dragon on his lap.

Baelon shouted at Arryk to tend to the three children fighting and ran to Aemond. "Aem, calm down. What happened?" He sat on the sand and pulled his brother close, checking on the unconscious dragon and him.

"Vhagar. She—she—"

"Calm down. Breathe, Aemond. Everything will be fine," He lies.

"He was only trying to protect me," Aemond sobbed, shaking hands over the sapphire scales. Then Baelon's heart lurched when he saw the wound over Gaelithox's left eye. Fuck.

"Vhagar roared. I was scared, I couldn't move. He pushed me away when she took flight. Something sharp scattered from the sand when she flew, the winds. It was the winds. Something hit him in the head, his eyes. Seven—his eye. Brother help him, please."

Baelon now has a sibling full on breaking down in his lap and a dragon who has a concussion and a busted eye. Now, he wants to cry too.

"Don't move him. Keep your dragon still. Any movement could do harm. The dragon keepers will know what to do. We must stop the bleeding first." He pulled out a handkerchief and placed it over the wounded area. He took Aemond's hand and placed it on top. "Put some pressure on it." He placed a kiss on his brother's forehead and left as Vermithor landed on the sand with a roar.

Baelon quickly tied himself to the saddle and took flight. He chased after the humongous feature of Vhagar circling around Driftmark.

"Rhaena! Can you hear me!"

Rhaena continues to scream but clearly spotted him as she started crying his name. Vhagar took a sharp turn and she let go. Baelon screamed and felt his stomach turn. Thankfully, she managed to grab onto Vhagar's claws before she plummeted down. She was now swinging in the air, only her tiny hands clinging on the scales of the great beast.

Baelon knew this was a stupid idea. Fail, and both of them were dead. Fucking "How to Train Your Dragons" was not realistic. But fuck it all, he would not let this young girl die. He unlatched himself from the saddle and started running on top of his dragon, the wind nearly blowing him away.

"Vermithor!" He orders and feels their bond snapped in place. Then he dived down into the air.

Rhaena screams when she loses grip of the claw, plummeting down. Baelon's heavier weight made him catch her in time. He pulled her to his chest, caging her in his arms as they fell. He could feel the air pressure, the scent of the sea. He prays and pulls on Vermithor's bond.

Baelon does not land in the water. He crashed on top of the hard shell of Vermithor's back as the dragon plunged into the sea. Pain blooms in his shoulder, and he was sure it was dislocated. Fuck it.

Vermithor swims to shore with the two of them on his back. Rhaena was sobbing in his arms. Baelon felt like pain reincarnate. He could hear loud voices and screams. Great, the unreliable adults were here. The last he saw was the pale and terrified face of Daemon Targaryen, hair and clothes soaked in sea water, as he reached out for them.

He thought, 'Wow, nobody could boast to see that sight.' Then blacked out.

Lyonel Strong, Lord of Harrenhal and Hand of the King, wants to quit. Currently, in the nine halls of Driftmark, he has the following:

A princess screaming about justice for her beaten son. Lyonel was doing his best not to look at young Jacaerys Velaryon being tended by the maesters and see the image of his son.

A queen screaming back about her son's maimed and injured dragon, with the said son cradling his dragon like the beast would fly away to the Stranger's grasp if he looked away. A group of dragon keepers keeping him company.

The Lord and Lady of the Tides furious at everyone for raising this debacle on their daughter's funeral and the danger their grandchildren were exposed to. Rhaenys had a tight hold on Prince Lucerys and was unlikely to let go anytime soon.

Daemon Targaryen was silent, something that Lyonel knew long enough was a very much a sign. A loud Daemon means a normal murderous Targaryen. A silent Daemon usually means someone was about to die a very painful death via dragon or Dark Sister.

He was clutching his twin girls like a lifeline and whispering something to their ears. It was the first that he commiserated with the Rogue Prince. Having your children in danger is a terrifying experience to all parents.

The king was torn between settling the dispute by making everyone calm down futilely or rushing to his heir's side inside the castle, with the said heir dead to the world after doing one of the most insane stunts that Lyonel had ever heard.

The blasted boy jumped off a dragon, mid-air. Others would not have believed it if many haven't seen the boy jump off Vermithor to catch the falling princess in the air.

It was by the miracles of the old gods and new that Vermithor managed to catch up before the two crashed into the sea and drowned. The prince was with an injured shoulder and required bed rest for many moons according to the maesters.

The remaining children of the king had grouped together to join Prince Aemond. Ser Erryk chasing at the children's heels. No doubt the threat of Prince Baelon personally drowning the knight in the Driftmark sea if anything happened to his siblings ringing in his ears from before this mess.

Another screaming match rang out from the Targaryens, this time followed by their respective dragons.

And where was Ser Laenor Velaryon in all of this?

Chapter Text

Apparently, things went a bit like this.

Aemond snuck out to see Visenya's dragon for himself. On the shore, he met the twins. They were there to grieve for their mother and check on her dragon. They sat on the shore and talked with each other; everything was fine. Gaelithox was playing on the shore, catching crabs, and Vhagar was peacefully lying in the sand like one of the sand dunes, mourning her rider.

Then Jace arrived. The boy apparently noticed the twins leave and had followed them. The twins were unfamiliar with the boy and had picked up on their grandmother's distaste for who was supposed to be their cousin. So, they weren't really trying to get into his good graces, not to mention they were grieving. Aemond, on the other hand, knew the rumors, but he'd been taught better by Baelon and decided to act fairly.

But Jace was raised under Rhaenyra's protective wing as a Targaryen prince but loathed by everyone as a bastard. In this world, he was the only bastard. Lucerys was openly favored, and his new sister looked as Valyrian as could be. It made for a terrible growing space for a sensitive young boy.

So, he immediately perceived the distant attitude of the Valyrian twins as dislike of him being a perceived bastard. Their Valyrian coloring openly mocked him. Rhaenyra hated Alicent and her brood; that was no question. So, Jace also knew of the 'half-breed' Targaryens the Andal queen gave birth to.

So, he asked Rhaena if she was there to claim a dragon since she was the only one not to have one. The open scorn made the shy girl flinch, and Baela was hopping mad. So, she started mocking his coloring.

This was when Luke arrived, waking up to find his brother and the twins gone. He tried to defend Jace but instead made his older brother madder. In this life, the relationship between the Princess's sons wasn't a loving one. Lucerys openly wished for his mother's love and brother's care, but Jacaerys was jealous of Luke and fearful for his place as the heir to Driftmark since everyone aside from his mother disliked him.

So, Jace punched Luke, breaking his nose. Aemond—raised and taught by Baelon on how siblings should take care of each other, especially older ones—immediately took offense.

Now it was a verbal fight between the twins, Jace, and Aemond, with Lucerys crying in the corner, clutching his nose. Curses were traded, bastardness exposed, "whore for a mother" both exclaimed, and Valyrian supremacy raised. Very inappropriate for a bunch of kids ten and below in age.

Then—"Even if I hatched a dragon, yet you call me a bastard. What about Rhaena? Maybe the rogue prince picked her off the streets. Some daughter of a Lysene whore in Pentos."

It was like a slap that resounded in the open. They were all silent. Rhaena started crying, and Baela saw red. That was when she started beating up the boy. Aemond helped hold him down for Baela to punch because that was what a good man would do for a lady, according to Baelon.

Unbeknownst to them, Rhaena, in a rare feat of dragon blood boiling, had climbed atop Vhagar. Then the she-dragon woke up mad, and her roar shook Driftmark. Her large wings extended open, and she took flight, dragging Rhaena with her into the air.

The air had blown the sand and debris on the beach. A particularly sharp and large rock almost hit Aemond if Gaelithox hadn't pushed him away and taken the blow for him. Baela tried to reach for her sister but failed. So, she decided to continue beating up Jace instead. Luke, despite being injured by his brother, still wanted to help, so he futilely tried to get Baela off Jace. Aemond cradled his injured dragon and started having a panic attack. All this while, Rhaena was clinging for her life on top of a grieving war machine that breathes flame and is as large as a mountain, several meters off the ground.

It was a miracle no one was dead.

When Baelon woke up, it was to the taste of milk of poppy on his tongue and the tune in his mind of 'D! I won't do drugs! A! Won't have an attitude—' Damn it. He felt like he was used as a chew toy by a dragon.

The days were a blur thanks to the pain and drugs. Viserys was mad and proud at the same time, grounding him again for life. His siblings arrived in tandem and started crying to him. Aegon was on a cursing tirade against Rhaenyra and her brood, Heleana having a sad but relieved smile on her face, Daeron openly crying and clinging to him. They were forced out by everyone when they wanted a 'sleepover'.

Aemond could not come since he'd been plastered to Gaelithox's side. The dragon was being kept by the dragon keepers for recovery. They were in Dragonstone now. Rhaenys and Meleys helped send Aemond and Gaelithox to the heart of Targaryen land. The dragon keepers in Driftmark who tended to the wound first were sent to follow by boat.

It was a form of apology to his brother and thanks for defending their granddaughters. The twin girls did arrive with Corlys in tow, both thankful for saving Rhaena. Baela was loud and fierce as the dragon princess she was, asking questions about how he did it, how jumping off a dragon felt, and whether she could do it. She gave him a kiss on the forehead and grinned like a wild yet charming little tomboy. Daemon's daughter indeed.

Rhaena was more shy, gentle yet always listening. She was the deep ocean to her sister's raging fire. A blush appeared on her face as he gifted her a wreath of pink and blue flowers as a thank you gift.

He cracked a smile and said, "I guess that means you crown me as your queen of love and beauty." Rhaena grew a shade of bright red and hid her face behind her silver locks. Corlys let out a booming laugh.

Alicent visited and formally wished him good health, polite and perfectly appropriate. She left after. It was always awkward interacting with the green queen. It was like she was always shifting between making him the cradle of all her hopes or disliking his very existence. So, she picked to be formal and distant instead. Alicent always looked haunted whenever she faced him.

Rhaenyra tried to visit him with her children but was barred from the door. He could hear her yell at the indignity of it, proclaiming herself a princess and having no intention against her brother. But orders were orders, and this was Driftmark. Viserys didn't rule here. As far as Rhaenys and Corlys were concerned, no children would be let near the woman, much less the very much injured crown prince.

It didn't stop little Luke from sneaking in at night and mumbling apologies. Round Valeryon eyes were watery from tears, and bandages were over his broken nose. He clutched a toy wooden seahorse that was worn with time and play. The little Prince's favorite toy. "He is named Seashore. He'll protect you like he protects me," Luke mumbled and fidgeted with the toy, shyly giving it to him, reeking of anxiety and waiting for a perceived harsh rejection.

Rhaenyra and Jace did a number on this poor baby's self-esteem. Baelon's heart melted, and he would have lifted the young boy and placed him in his bed to cuddle and spoil if only his shoulder didn't feel like Vermithor bit through it. He made sure to hug the Valeryon prince tightly despite the pain and peppered kisses on his face besides the broken nose.

The prince giggled, and Baelon wanted to wrap him in a blanket like a burrito and stow him away on their ship when they returned back to the Red Keep. Damn it, the Targaryens do make the cutest babies. How come they all go bad when they grow up? He wishes his siblings, cousins, nephews, and nieces wouldn't grow up.

Lyonel, his partner in this hellhole called the Targaryen Family, with dark circles under his eyes and a stern line on his lips, had sneered. "After we return to King's Landing, my prince, I have asked the king to graciously allow me time back to Harrenhal to guide my heir for a few moons. I do hope you enjoy your time as the Hand."

In the face of complete betrayal, he could do nothing but gape as Lyonel turned his back with a swivel that could match Severus Snape and walked with the confidence of a coliseum winner as he slammed the door behind him with his head held high. The lack of sleep and stress must have given Lyonel more of a boost than any barrels of Dornish wine could. But still, the fucking traitor.

During the night, despite being deep in sleep, he also felt a figure in the room once or twice. He'd always been a sensitive sleeper. Baelon didn't know whether it was a dream or reality when he felt fingers brushing off strands of hair from his face when they were soaked in sweat from pain when he slept.

They were supposed to be back at the Red Keep immediately. The throne cannot be without a king or at least a hand. So, Lyonel was shipped off to King's Landing. The Royal Family stayed for two moons before the maesters deemed it fine for Baelon to be shipped back to King's Landing.

So, everything was supposed to be fine and in order. But Leanor Valeryon was found dead a moon into their stay. This wasn't some sort of plot by Daemon and Rhaenyra. There was no way for them to scheme and marry each other after the shit show that was the Driftmark accident. Saying Daemon loathed Rhaenyra and her son was an understatement. Apparently, there was a face-off while he was knocked unconscious, like in the books.

This time, Rhaenyra and her son were against everyone else. Viserys was near useless, fretting over him. Words were said, and fights broke out. Daemon loved Rhaenyra; they were twin flames, so to speak. But Daemon would burn the world for his children. He's a fickle lover, everyone knows, but he'd always been a loyal family man. This time, Rhaenyra and her son did not fit the requirement.

This was the real Leanor, too. He was found at the bottom of one of the cliff sides where his sister was laid to rest. Some say accident, others murder, some quietly whisper that Leanor could not bear to live without his sister. But in the end, Leanor Valeryon was dead. That was all to it.

A funeral was made quickly after one. Now the Valeryons had no child to speak of. Driftmark was thick with grief. Baelon was glad he was able to stay in his room.

"Green and Blue and Red. The boy has a dragon. Yet the seas want blood. One way or another, a dragon prince she'll have." Leanor Targaryen was a dragon prince alright, just not the one he had been expecting.

Ser Erryk Cargyll still remembered being shaken awake by Prince Baelon as the panic of losing a Targaryen prince spread. The shame and guilt of losing his charges made him want to jump out the window himself. His twin brother also shared his feeling; may they reincarnate as brothers once again in the next life.

"Listen here, Ser Erryk," Kind and Just Prince Baelon had hissed. "Lose any more of my siblings, and I'll be personally pushing your head down into the waters of Driftmark so you could converse with the fishes. If you still haven't learned their language, then I'll feed you to Vermithor." Then he had grabbed his brother and rushed to find their wayward missing prince.

Upon hearing Vhagar's roar resounding in Driftmark, he started praying for his brother's soul. When Erryk reunited with his brother, it was to the terrifying event of the Royal Family raging against each other, with scared and injured children all around.

Rhaena Targaryen, the rogue prince's younger daughter, almost dying, and their crown prince unconscious and brought within the halls of Driftmark to recuperate under the hands of the maesters. Prince Jacaerys Valeryon was a painting of bruises and blood. Prince Lucerys Valeryon had a broken nose. Princess Baela Targaryen had wounded knuckles and scrapes on her legs from the sand. Princess Rhaena Targaryen had wounded palms sliced from clinging to the sharp and hard scales of Vhagar.

And poor Prince Aemond looked like he wanted to transfer the wound and pain of his dragon to himself. Maesters surrounded them. Never had he seen this many healers before, half of them tending to the injured children and half to tend to the crown prince.

Thank the Seven, Prince Baelon was not here to see this. The prince loved his younger siblings with a fierceness that could burn and swallow Westeros whole. Erryk followed the princess and princes to their brother Aemond, watching as they cried for the blue dragon and huddled next to Aemond.

Princess Rhaenyra was screaming for justice for her son. The queen brought up how this was all her son's fault. King Viserys had been pulled back by Lord Lyonel multiple times to prevent the king from joining the maesters tending to his son inside the castle.

"This interminable infighting must cease! All of you! We are family! Now make your apologies and show goodwill to one another. Your father, your grandsire, your king demands it! Baelon is still unconscious and wounded. Have some shame!"

Forgive his traitorous mind, but all the children are injured, your grace.

"They called me a bastard!" And the fire ignited once again.

Erryk would have been more sympathetic. Forgive his treasonous thoughts that a knight in the Kingsguard should not have. But by the Seven and the Old Gods, that boy cannot be trueborn. Lord Lyonel Strong looks utterly uncomfortable. His curled brown hair and earthy brown eyes reflected on the boy.

"The legitimacy of my son's birth was put loudly into question. This is treason. He is the Heir to Driftmark!" Princess Rhaenyra called upon everyone. "Someone must be sharply questioned on who put forth these baseless lies."

A sharp inhale sounded. Erryk and Arryk both moved to shield the children of Queen Alicent, especially Prince Aemond. If anyone so much as tried, the Kingsguard were ready to defend with their lives for these young royals because if not, then Prince Baelon would let them live a life worse than death after committing mass kinslaying.

He'd heard it once when little Daeron was still in the crib. The Prince had cradled him and cooed, "I have only had you for a day, but if anything happens to you or your siblings, then I'll kill everyone in the Red Keep and burn the rest of Westeros, then myself."

The three Kingsguard watching had exchanged glances and pretended not to hear it, but in their hearts, they had put the safety of the young royals as the top priority, even before the King. King Viserys would turn a blind eye to anything that his precious child from late Queen Aemma would do, including up to mass murder.

"And who would you sharply question, niece?" For the first time since he had clutched his daughters to his side, the Rogue Prince finally spoke. Shivers ran down Erryk's back as he eyed the most dangerous and volatile Targaryen of them all.

Daemon was not the first to arrive. That was the King and Lord Lyonel. He had arrived along with Princess Rhaenyra, but the moment he saw his daughter screaming as she clung to the humongous dragon, he ran to the sea, leaving behind everyone as he rushed to his daughter. No sword, no dragon, just Daemon Targaryen. He was the one to bring back the princess and crown prince, soaking wet and murderous as he yelled for a maester. Prince Daemon then grabbed his other daughter and pulled her tight. He hasn't let go of either one since then.

Princess Rhaenyra stutters as she took a step back. All raging fire snuffed out for a moment before she regained her strength and turned her head to the Queen's children.

The Kingsguards placed their hands on the pommels of their swords. Ser Criston had already unsheathed his blade.

A gust of wind. Vermithor landed on the ground. The other Dragons hackled at the present of the bronze beast, the current largest dragon since Vhagar took off to who knows where. Erryk wondered about the bond between Targaryens and their dragons, whether the bronze beast shared a mind with the Crown Prince because if Prince Baelon was here, then he would have shared the same furious snarl as Vermithor.

"Try it. One step, and all of you know what Baelon would do," Prince Aegon dared.

King Viserys pursed his lips and looked at the sky as if asking the heavens for guidance. Erryk was once again reminded of another scene.

They were passing by the kitchens in the Red Keep when they heard boisterous snickering. One of the kitchen boys was seated in a chair. Another, an assistant cook, was kneading dough with his back to the kitchen boy. The kitchen boy had made a mockery out of Princess Helaena, citing her dislike of attention and fascination with insects, saying that the queen must have dropped her on her head to be such a mad girl, along with very inappropriate things.

Baelon was as silent as a grave. He moved as quick and powerful as his dragon. Before Erryk could do anything, the Crown Prince had stabbed the kitchen boy's hand using his dagger, pinning it to the wooden table. The boy had screamed and thrashed, but Baelon pulled him by the hair and slammed his head into the hard table numerous times.

"Ser Arryk, your dagger," he said pleasantly after the terrifying bout of silence. His brother handed him his dagger. Baelon forced the man's bloody mouth open and stabbed it inside. With a swipe of the sharp blade, a cut sliced through the man's cheek, and a piece of his tongue fell out.

Prince Baelon did it all without blinking or making a sound.

"Good Sers, please escort this man out of the Red Keep. Thank you very much." He turned to the assistant cook who had dropped to the ground, groveling while making promises to never mock the Royal Family. He smiled, "It's alright, lad. I didn't hear anything, or else you might have lost your tongue as well." His blue eyes were dark and empty. "Then again, I did not hear you refute his comments."

Both were dragged out of the Red Keep and, as per order of Lord Lyonel, redirected to the gold cloaks for them to 'fix' the situation.

Prince Baelon is a kind and just boy, caring for the servants, lowborn, and highborn alike, always polite and piteous, respecting the elderly and loving the young, skilled with his sword and numbers, a penny-pinching young lad when boys his age would waste money like flowing wine, very charming and eloquent with his words if not sometimes uttering odd words that only he could understand.

He also proved himself to be a good heir, taking over the projects of his departed mother, the late queen Aemma, and improving the city. He convinced the King to create laws and reforms that benefited the crownlands and calmed conflicts between houses. Prince Baelon Targaryen truly was a perfect crown prince. Too perfect.

So, it was natural his flaw was something deadly. A deep devotion to his family was something good, but Prince Baelon took it too far, others would say. The boy had been more dragon than human regarding his family, having his siblings sleep together in the same room amongst soft pillows and silks, physically affectionate, which if their ages were not as young, would have been inappropriate. But they were Targaryens, so incest was their norm either way. While he does not seem to care much for the older generation of their family, he cherished his siblings.

When the Hightowers had tried to take Daeron as a ward in Old Town, the Red Keep could still hear the bellowing rage of the young prince. The stone pillar still had that mark where Prince Baelon had thrown a candelabrum right beside the head of Lord Hobert Hightower. That was when the Prince had his first real fight with the King.

"I am your King and Father! You will do as I say—"

"No Targaryen has ever been a ward! Much less one as young as Daeron, and with a hatched dragon!"

"They are his mother's family!"

"I do not care even if they are Alicent's family! They are Targaryen! Even if the Warrior and Mother tried to ward my brother, I will not let them! The Stranger can try to pry them away from me, Father!! IF I HAVE TO BURN DOWN OLD TOWN TO PREVENT THIS, THEN I WILL!!!. THEY ARE MY SIBLINGS!!! MINE!!!"

King Viserys is a stubborn soul, but he was weak when it came to his son, and they also knew he was not jesting when he threatened to burn Old Town. So, Lord Hightower left empty-handed without a Targaryen prince and dragon, but at least he left alive. Prince Baelon was found sharpening his sword too many times for anyone's comfort during Lord Hightower's stay.

Every man, woman, and their cat knew of the possessiveness of the Crown Prince towards his siblings, from the North of Winterfell to the South of Dorne. So, if the Princess did try anything, no doubt that Prince Baelon would feed her to Vermithor with his own two hands, consequences be damned.

"No more, this matter… is finished. Do all of you understand? And let it be known, anyone whose tongue dares to question the birth of Princess Rhaenyra’s eldest son should have it removed." The King let out a tired sigh that was bone deep and immediately left afterward, keeping a deaf ear to the loud outcries behind him. Lord Lyonel took over and had everyone escorted back to their respective rooms.

When both the Princess and Queen tried to fight the jurisdiction, Caraxes' unsettling scream echoed in the island. Everyone returned to their rooms after that.

After all royals were in bed, Erryk approached his brother. "Do you know how one could learn the language of fishes?"

Arryk looked at him as if he was mad.

"I want to prepare in case another incident occurs."

A considering look appeared on Arryk's face, "Maybe the Velaryons know. Their sigil is a seahorse."

They both felt a heavy hand land over their heads and saw Ser Steffon Darklyn. "Stop dithering. Go watch your charges. Don't talk about learning how fishes talk. We are better off making sure the children are safe to avoid the Crown Prince's wrath."

So, the Kingsguard again guards the lives of the Royal family—from each other.

Chapter Text

Good news: Gaelithox is going to be fine. The dragon lost an eye but completely healed from his concussion without any side effects.

Bad news: Aemond now has a grudge against Rhaenyra's children, both Jace and Luke.

Aegon knew how badly affected Aemond was by the incident. So, when they all returned to the Red Keep, he graciously allowed his younger brother to take up his position as Baelon's little spoon in their sleepovers. Temporarily, of course, Aegon had warned.

Aemond was only 10 name days old. He was tall for his age but lanky. He was shorter than Aegon, whose height only reached Baelon's shoulders. Although, from his knowledge, Aegon will be the shortest of the Targaryen princes.

He fit like a glove as Baelon scooped him in his arms. Dark circles under his eyes and a thinness that Baelon hated. Aemond had been losing weight and sleep ever since Driftmark, only managing to rest when the dragon keepers confirmed Gaelithox's recovery.

He pulls Aemond closer, using his hand tucked below the boy's waist, and breathes in the scent of dragon, ink, and the perfumed oil that Alicent dabs on her children during prayers.

Using his other hand, he softly smooths down Aemond's hair, humming gently as the young prince continues to sleep.

Baelon pressed a kiss under the boy's eye and thanks the heavens his little brother continues to see with two eyes.

Lord Lyonel Strong kept to his promise and practically fled King's Landing the moment they all settled back into the castle.

Now, he took up the role as interim hand and followed around Viserys as the King went on to do what Kings do. "What the King dreams, the Hand of the King builds," is what the nobility would say, a great honor beyond all.

The lowborns got the gist of it better with, "The King eats, and the Hand takes the shit."

Now he understands why Lord Lyonel dyes his hair. It must have been stark white under all that dye. He would have blended in right away with the Targaryens.

Viserys, while good-meaning, is an easily influenced and eager-to-please man at his core. The court would have him dancing to their tunes if not for a strong hand. No wonder Otto reigned as strongly as he did.

Almost every decision ended up with Viserys looking to his right. Baelon had to grit his teeth and practically rule in his stead. At least it was good practice for the future.

Baelon ruled as hand for two years before Lyonel thankfully returned and he got to breathe again as a crown prince and not as a pseudo-king. He is not doing that again until his father kicks the bucket. It was harder than actually being king because he does all the work without the decision-making. That falls on Viserys. Good decisions, bad decisions, too many tourneys, all his to clean up and manage. Joy.

Then, before he could rest in his bed and enjoy a good sleep for the first time in two years, his betrothal was brought up.

Baelon smiled tightly, but no doubt the Dragon keepers were panicking as to why Vermithor was roaring at the skies.

"My son, you are seven and ten. A man grown. Many would already have wed at your age, much less be betrothed. You are the crown prince, your responsibilities are to the kingdom."

And this responsibility was what drove mother to miscarriage after miscarriage and eventually her murder for a son that should not have lived for more than a day. Because that was what it was, murder. They call it Aemma's sacrifice all they want, but Viserys and the Maesters had killed the queen.

No one is as cursed as a kinslayer.

Maegor remained childless. Jaehaerys outlived almost all his children, the remaining ones hated him. Aegon II died and all his children died as well. Aemond's child with Alys had never been seen again. Daemon escaped the curse since Aemond and him hand killed each other. All of Viserys' children died.

Kinslaying targets their descendants and legacy.

Baelon hopes for the curse to skip his family this time. He prays to Aemma Arryn every night.

The Crown Prince Baelon Targaryen's betrothal was the talk of the kingdom.

There were many candidates in the running.

The Prince's own half-sister, Helaena Targaryen, three and ten, and behind her was the Hightower and the faith. A prime candidate to bond the children of Viserys.

The daughters of the Rogue Prince and the granddaughters of Rhaenys Velaryon, Baela and Rhaena Targaryen, both one and ten. The ones who could finally mend the broken bond between House Velaryon and House Targaryen.

Then the unlikely but definitely listed candidate, Vaelaena Velaryon, just celebrating finishing her fifth name day, Princess Rhaenyra's only daughter and the favored choice of King Viserys.

The sickness had made Viserys' already dubious mind stupider. He'd been calling Alicent, Aemma, more frequently.

Not as frequent as he does Baelon, Baelon thought. Honestly, he was male. Long hair aside, Lyonel says he looked a lot like Baelon, his grandfather, with that weird look in his eyes.

It wasn't like he could check. Portraits aren't popular for some reason here in Westeros.

He was expected to be betrothed, but for the love of—He didn't want to get attached romantically in any way with children.

[REDACTED] died at 40. Reincarnation and hormones in the brain regress your mind, but not completely, so it's cut in half and he's about 20. Then add his current age then he's late 20s to early 30s. He is not going to be interested in girls ranging from toddler to preteen. No—just no.

And the kingdom hangs on the balance of who he marries. War is very much a possibility on the horizon.

If Baelon decides to forgo any of his close relatives then his candidates are the Four Storms of the Baratheons, but he has a feeling that those four storms will turn to zero if he so much as looked at them.

Baelon sees the girls as babies, loud and adorable silver-haired girls that he wants to spoil and pile pretty trinkets on. Honestly, Baelon had never really felt attraction in his previous life. Love yes, but romantic love? The type that they said made your heart skip a beat and swoon? No. Neither men nor women or anything in between made that happen.

But needs are a must and he must have a betrothed by the end of the year, or else Viserys will do the picking and he will not have anything to do with a five-year-old.

Being betrothed doesn't mean automatically married though. Small mercies.

Good news: Viserys collapsed at the end of the year before the betrothal picking. The maesters had made him stay bedbound for as long as possible. Drunk on milk of the poppy, he was unable to do anything.

Bad news: That means the kingdom is missing a head figure. The Hand of the king is going to practically rule. Lyonel ran off as soon as he heard the announcement. According to the council, he had locked himself in Harrenhal to care for his heir and his new grandchildren. Lucas Strong was followed by Ethan Strong and the newborn Dorea Strong.

That left the cursed pin on Baelon's hand. Another bad thing was that Otto Hightower shadowed the halls of the Red Keep with his putrid presence again. The collapse of the king had made the queen worry and she asked Otto to arrive in court as her father.

That stinks of bullshit but he could not prevent it unless he wanted to look like a paranoid tyrant. He was still the Grandsire of his siblings.

Baelon did make sure to have all his siblings transferred to his room. He was practically king now, his words are law. That was the only good thing to come out of this mess.

He had made sure Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk permanently stay at the children's side, always.

Then he summoned Ser Criston in the private audience. The Dornish knight still had a burning hatred for Rhaenyra but it wasn't as if his older sister was in his good books so he didn't care.

"Protect Queen Alicent, no matter who and how. Understand me, ser?"

Criston looked confused at first before his eyes sharpened and he bows his head. "As you order, your grace."

It wasn't common knowledge, but the kingsguard had known back then that whenever the previous Lord Hand leaves the Queen's room, Alicent's nails would be bloody and her mind weak.

Baelon was neutral towards the Green Queen. He did feel guilt over taking her children from her, but it was for the best, for both the children and her. It would be bad if Otto used her to get to his siblings.

He'll see what Otto is planning, but if he so much as lays a hand on his siblings then maybe he'll give Larys a companion down in the seven hells.

Aegon squirms from where Baelon has him pinned by the bed. The fifteen-year-old teen was red-faced and stubbornly pursing his mouth close. The teen tried to kick Baelon off him but he caught the defiant foot and pressed it down with his own weight.

"Don't be stubborn, Egg. We'll be done in no time if you stop resisting."

Tears burst into his eyes, pale violet under long pale lashes.

Helaena giggles at the side and continued her needlework. It was a beautiful depiction of a blue butterfly and a black spider.

Aemond rolls his eyes and continues to read his book, "Maybe if you were not so greedy for lemon cakes then you would not have the illness of the teeth."

Yes, Aegon got cavities and they need to pull the damaged tooth out, but his brother was a creature of pleasure and hated any sort of pain. It was the reason he never did well in the training field.

The maester failed when Aegon acted like a cat brought into the vet, all hissing, scratching, and yowling while trying to escape.

At least they managed to tie a thread to the already loose teeth. Now it was up to Baelon to pull the teeth off, but Aegon would not open his mouth.

"The queen requests audience, your grace."

Aegon turned his head and opened his mouth to probably answer a resounding no. Aegon's relationship with his mother has never gotten better. Among all the children of Alicent, he'd been the most distant from her, even a little hostile.

Spotting an opening, Baelon grabbed the thread and pulled.

Aegon immediately covered his mouth for a silent scream with a pained expression on his face.

Baelon lifted the thread with a tooth at the end in the air like it was a trophy amidst his younger siblings' laughter.

Aegon is the second son of King Viserys Targaryen. He'd never been happier than to be the second son.

Everyone knew he'd make for a bad king, too indulgent, lazy, and addicted to the pleasures of life. He runs from his lessons and disdains the training yard and sword.

He was not a good prince, much less a good king.

Yet for all his flaws, Aegon was definitely not an idiot. He knows he'd been born to be placed on the throne by the Hightowers, that everyone had expected Baelon to die in the cradle, natural cause or otherwise. But his brother had lived, and Aegon couldn't be more happy and relieved.

Everything in his life revolved around Baelon. For as long as he remembered, his brother had always been there. He'd been the one to teach Aegon to talk, walk, and learn his letters.

Baelon had been the one to bring him to the Dragon pit and help him bond with Sunfyre, his precious golden Dragon.

When he was young and wanted his mother's love but only got cold responses and bitter eyes, the only one who would always comfort him was Baelon, it was always Baelon who was there.

He is a needy creature, the ones who drown themselves in pleasure and die a death that people would have sneered or thought befitting of himself. Aegon knew this at heart, but Baelon had always thought better.

When one of the servants had tried to invite him to bed, he was confused. She had been pretty, with pale skin, blonde hair, and round green eyes. The stirring of his linens and the heat that had carved itself in his blood when what Baelon called 'Puberty' arrived, he'd been looking for relief.

But what was reflected in his mind was Baelon's face when he warned him of bedding those who isn't his wife, and the look of utter disappointment if he did so. So he pushed her away and took Sunfyre to fly in the cold sky to dampen the heat in his body.

Aegon tries. He tries so hard to be good, all so that Baelon would continue to love him.

Helaena was the girl in their family, she was cherished, Baelon loving even the odd parts of her that others found unsettling. Aemond the obedient and talented son, the one who mastered his letter and sword easily. And little Daeron was the baby of the family who was utterly charming and talented in music.

But Aegon? Aegon has nothing. The only thing he could bring to the table was that his dragon was the most beautiful and he was a skilled flier, and it was only because Helaena preferred calming flights and neither the boys could ride their dragons yet.

The void of yearning to be useful and be loved chokes him for every moment. He does not want Baelon to abandon him, does not want those cold eyes that his mother has look at him.

He craves the warm touches and tight hugs, the physical affection like a balm to a wound. How Baelon showers him in love like it was what he deserves and more. It was always Baelon. Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon Baelon

Aegon has never been more grateful that Baelon exists. He knows that he would have made a terrible crown prince and an even worse king. That was if he was even made heir. Viserys was clear on his preference for the children of Aemma Arryn.

He'd sired them for the sake of expanding the Targaryen blood, nothing more nothing less. They were invisible to the man, all of them knew nothing they could do would ever attract the attention and love of the king.

It was more possible for the king to make Rhaenyra his heir than to give him that title. The ensuing possibility of that happening and the repercussions has Aegon think of clawing off his skin.

It does not matter that his mother does not love him more does his father bother to remember his existence most of the time. Baelon loves him and he has his siblings. They were together no matter what happens. That was everything for Aegon.

Mother is going mad.

Jacaerys Velaryon knew this and hated that he could do nothing, even more so that it is largely his fault.

Brown hair, brown eyes, plain face. He was no Valyrian. Only his dragon Vermax that hatched from his crib separated him from the common masses.

He'd been quiet, nursing his bruised body as he watched his mother pace around the room muttering and screaming to herself and the air.

"It's Alicent's get! Those worthless Andal half-breeds who dared trifle with their betters, just as conniving and hypocritical as their mother!" She would scream out loud.

The half Andal Targaryens who bore silver hair, pale skin, and violet eyes. Jace thought that as a full-blooded Valyrian he ought to be more like them.

"Laena's daughters. How dare that wild brute of a child lay her hands on you, my hatchling. It always has to be Laena. Laena who has everyone wrapped around her fingers, Laena who almost wore the crown, Laena who Daemon broke off an unwanted betrothal and whisked off to be wed in the ways of our ancestors. It is always Laena." She would whisper the other half to herself quietly, envy and anger dripping from her voice.

Jace thought with shame that his mother celebrated his aunt's funeral rather than grieved as the rest of them. Mother has been getting worse over the years, this was the worst she had been.

Father used to say that she wasn't always like this, that she was once a bright, rebellious, and stubborn girl who dreamed of wielding a sword like Visenya. She talked about wanting to ride Syrax to explore Westeros and beyond while eating lemon cakes.

"Daemon should have known better! He should have raised those girls into fine Valyrian ladies for you to wed in the future. The Targaryens united once again."

Anger, shame, and resentment stirred in his chest, and deep inside, envy.

Jace remembered them well, had heard of the servants talking about them even before they arrived, the Targaryen Princesses and the Pearls of Driftmark. Velaryon Princesses.

He'd been so excited to meet them, his cousins his age unlike Vaemond's children and his other Valeryon kins. (Who all sneered at him and looked at him as if he was horse shit under their polished shoes, who mock him and isolate him, flashing their sun-kissed skin and white hair, calling him a bast—)

They arrived and their grandparents swiftly welcomed them with all the love in their hearts. Jace had never seen Rhaenys smile like that. It was the first time he had seen her without that cold look towards her grandchildren aside from Luke, looking as she gently held the girls and whispered promises of giving them a home.

Then those eyes landed on him and they turned cold and sharp, holding the girls hand as she pulled them away from his presence, as if he was an infectious disease that would infect and harm her precious grandchildren.

It had hurt then, not even the punches that Baela had later given him had hurt like that.

Beside them was Luke, with his Baratheon black hair and Velaryon blue eyes, his grandparents precious grandchildren.

Luke has always been referred to as the Velaryon Prince. Everyone loved him, from the Velaryons, the Baratheons, and even the lowborns and sailors in Driftmark.

While Jace had always been called the Princess' son, or just a prince.

Mother would always wipe his tears and tell him that he was a proud Targaryen prince, that he was a dragon amongst sheeps. Their words mean nothing and she would have the tongue of anyone who dares spread lies about him.

But Jace wanted to be a Velaryons prince, to have sun-kissed skin and silver locks, to have the sea in his blood and his grandparents love, to be seen as something other than a sin, a sin and treason performed by Princess Rhaenyra and Ser Harwin Strong.

Jace had listened to the servants gossip, that after Ser Harwin had been sent away, mother was beside herself in grief. That grief soon turned to raw fury when Lucas Strong was born about the same time as Luke. Now nobody mentions the former swornshield of the princess unless they wanted to face her wrath.

But Jace wasn't a bastard. He wasn't a bastard. He wasn't a bastard. He wasn't a bastard. He wasn't a bastard. He wasn't a bastard. He wasn't a bastard. He wasn't a bastard. (Please don't let him be a bastard.)

It's 130 AC. Two years before Vaemond sticks his nose where it doesn't belong and contest the Driftmark Throne. The six year time skip practically told nothing about what occurred at those times aside from the birth of Halaena and Aegon's kids and the last two sons of Rhaenyra.

He'd been Hand two years ago for two long years and was familiar with the court. This time he spent it strengthening his influence and power over the red keep, the small council, and the kingdom overall.

Baelon would love to have a tour of the realm like the Counciler and his wife had done. Nothing better to familiarize yourself with your kingdom than to visit it. But with Otto Hightower prowling in the Red Keep, he could not.

Many times he had thought about killing the man and being done with it, but if the stubborn tick dies then everyone would point fingers at him. Everyone knows that the two of them hated each other. It was always Viserys that saved Otto from being dragged by Baelon to be burned to cinders by Vermithor anytime the man tries to approach his siblings.

The Hightowers are putting pressure to have Halaena wed. On cannon, she'd already given birth to twins two years ago at 13. Now she is 15, already long flowered and still not a betrothal in sight. Baelon would prefer that day never come.

So they were pushing that either he wed Halaena or Aegon wed her. Baelon enjoyed burning those letters in the fire pit, highlight of his day even.

Otto, his parasitic self, tried to get into contact with Viserys. Thankfully, Viserys was still bedbound and unlikely to leave his room again until the Driftmark debacle happens.

As crown prince, he as the power second only to the Hand now that the King is indisposed. Lyonel was quick to back him up since they were partners in making sure the kingdom doesn't collapse. Also because the man also didn't like Otto. There was a good reason that Baelon liked Lyonel aside from his competence, which to be fair, was a rare trait here in Westeros.

He had made sure the Kingsguard prevents Otto from meeting the king. If Alicent tries then he'll send one of his siblings to accompany her to prevent any chances she could sweet talk Viserys.

The crown prince would have felt bad about using her children against her but Alicent had snapped back into Otto's strings like a well behaved puppet and her actions could greatly harm her children. She would do it do, anything for Otto's approval.

Baelon really wants to be rid of Otto. It would also technically not be kinslaying since they weren't related by blood, but the kingdom is fickle and it's not worth it for now. So Otto continues to live to be a head ache. At least, he is a bigger headache to Otto than the man is to him.

Baelon slowly blinks, a sort of deep resignation settling in his chest.

"Could you repeat that, Lord Hunter?" He asks the appointed Master of Whispers, Alec Hunter, the second son and brother to the Lord of Longbow Hall.

Alec Hunter looked like he wishes that Baelon didn't make him repeat himself. He was good Master of Whispers, not as good as Larys or Varys but decent enough, and most importantly he was loyal. The second son of House Hunter, one of the principal noble houses sworn to House Arryn. He was hitting his early 30s with hay-colored hair and pale green eyes.

"Prince Daemon Targaryen has arrived in Kingslanding, your grace."

Baelon pretended not to hear Lyonel groan as the old man placed his hands over his face. He needed to strengthen security, this could trigger another running trip for the retired Lord of Harrenhal. Lyonel had a taste of some sweet freedom upon throwing the Lordship to Harwin and spending time with his grandchildren. It has made the man flightly and willing to run to Harrenhal at the slightest sign of impending head ache.

And Daemon Targaryen wasn't a head ache, he was a full on stroke.

The small council started arguing and whispering with themselves, mix opinions about the rogue prince.

Baelon leaned back on his chair and tried to remember everything that happened in the last 4 years after the incident at Driftmark.

As he had expected, Daemon did not whisk away Rhaenyra for them to wed in the Valyrian Tradition. Princess Rhaenyra remains a widow with no child in her womb. She was confined in High Tide by the Velaryons.

Daemon on the other hand surprised him when he had asked Viserys for a place in Dragonstone. Viserys was suspicious of his brother as always but the king also wanted Daemon back so after consulting with him and Lyonel, he agreed.

Viserys had to ask him first because as crown prince, he owns Dragonstone. But due to being interim hand and his siblings present in the Red Keep, he left Dragonstone alone. Baelon does prefer having Daemon on Dragonstone, it wasn't as if the man had any place to stay aside from the Red Keep or Driftmark. Not to mention, he'd be far from Rhaenyra.

The rogue prince had brought his daughters to Dragonstone. He'd bring his daughter to Driftmark with Caraxes or Rhaenys would arrive at Dragonstone with Meleys. It also helped that Driftmark and Dragonstone were near each other.

So far while Rhaenys had visited a handful of times with Corys, Daemon hadn't stepped foot in Kingslanding—at least as far as they know.

Now the Prince of the City had returned. Baelon feels like watching storm clouds brewing out a window building and remembering he forgot to bring his umbrella.

Today was another bad day for Viserys, which means his mumbling about dead people and drunk on the milk of poppy. At this rate Baelon is worried that Viserys won't make it up to 132 AC like in cannon.

He's practically King with Lyonel being satisfied with his work and had handed the decision making to him. The realm had long swore to him as the heir, Viserys having called upon the Lords and their heirs to kneel and swear. He has his siblings love and loyalty and the Hightowers cowed. The Velaryons owe him since he saved their grandchildren.

Baelon is as legitimate as they come and he has a dragon, and most importantly to the nobles of Westeros—a cock.

But being paranoid has saved Baelon more then than he can count, so he always keep his mind open and watchful of assassins. The damn things might have lessened since he reached adulthood but it certainly did not stop.

Baelon had opened a bottle of Arbor Gold and happily poured it to his cup. Otto Hightower was called back by his brother, Lord Hobert Hightower, to Oldtown. He didn't know why but by the pale face and unpleasant expression on the man's face, it couldn't be good. Any bad luck that occurs to Otto is good luck to Baelon.

That was why he was going to have a rare drink and not even think about the dreadful hangover he is going to suffer tomorrow. That is for future Baelon to worry about.

Baelon woke up to the sound of steel and a warm splatter to his face. He immediately sat forward and almost threw up when vertigo hit. The sudden movement and the alcohol in his system made him feel dizzy and in pain.

He gritted his teeth and shouted, "Kingsguard!"

He didn't know who bursted in his room, loud sounds and blade being drawn, but by the time he was done feeling like his head was being split by an axe and his vision steady, he was greeted by the sight of man dressed in dark clothes laying bloodied on the floor clearly dead with a dagger near where he fell.

Ser Lorent Marbrand was beside him, sword drawn carefully watching the scene.

The said scene being Daemon Targaryen and Ser Criston Cole with their blades against each other. Ser Criston looked livid, a deep frown on his face. Daemon looked amused, a grin on his face and his clothes splattered with blood.

Oh, so that's who did the murder.

Then the remaining Kingsguards, soldiers, and anybody else woken up by this mess arrived.

"Prince Daemon tried to kill Prince Baelon!"

Someone from the crowd screamed. That set off the other people and now he had a riot.

Baelon looked out the window and saw that the moon was still shining brightly in the night sky. Of course shit like this couldn't occur in the morning.

Chapter Text

The boy looks at him with Aemma's face and Baelon the Brave's shadow.

When he had been born, Daemon was among the people who believed that the boy would not last.

But he lived, battling the Stranger and the assassins sent to end him. Then Daemon was heir no more.

Again unneeded and looked over. Daemon Targaryen was the second son of a second son in the time when Targaryen princes and princesses were plenty.

Baelon Targaryen, his father, was a person he aspired to be. Strong, brave, and riding the conqueror's dragon. Baelon the Brave, the Spring Prince. And dead before he got the crown and half-dead even when he was still alive.

When Alyssa died, it was as if half of his soul was taken with her in the afterlife. Then when Aemon died, he took the remaining half with him as he fell into the sapphire waters with an arrow lodged in his throat.

Before Daemon made a name for himself, he was called another name. Princess Alyssa's son.

Daemon was born more dragon than man. Dragonblood of the Valyrian empire running hot in his veins. A dragon amongst dragons. He embodies the Targaryen most of all. Domineering, tempestuous, ambitious, charming, and loyal to their blood and culture.

Yet all they saw was a wild child seeking attention. Jaehaerys busy holding together the kingdom and watching as his children die one by one. Baelon grieving more than living.

His father would look at him with sad eyes and tell him he was just like his mother. Alyssa Targaryen.

A woman that died too early for Daemon to remember besides the echo of a wild laugh, the wind and sky as they traveled with Meleys, and dark blond hair.

Baelon would look at him and see another person, then he'd be sad. Then he'd look at Viserys and continue raising his eldest son the best he could because they were heirs to the Iron Throne.

Daemon did his best, he learned his numbers, culture, and the Valyrian tongue until no one was as well-versed as he was. He took to the training yard like a dragon to the sky and defeated everyone. Squires or knights, they fell to his feet. He was the very best. A Valyrian warrior in the field of weak Andals and First Men.

Then he'd look back and see them looking at Viserys, his brother, the heir. Soft-hearted and weak-willed Viserys.

Even as he claimed Caraxes he'd never been able to chase the recognition he deserves.

So he made a name for himself. To be more than a second son that fades in the shadows. To be a Hero and a Monster. A name whispered and cheered in the whole Kingdom. A name that strikes fear in his enemies.

Then the old witch had wed him to a sheep. A sheep without any Valyrian blood. A Valyrian bride taken from him, his right as a dragon rider, a Targaryen.

He had gathered an army to support his brother's claim and won him a crown upon their father's death. The Great Council knew him as the Kingmaker.

But all Daemon received was a continuation of his wretched barren marriage with the Bronze Bitch and banishment after banishment.

Watching as his foolish brother fell for the lies of the snakes in court and the unworthy Andals. Otto Hightower took the position belonging to him. Viserys’ trust all given to an Andal snake grasping greedily for things far above him.

They were Targaryen. They should not let the Andals wrench their family apart. No one understands their culture other than Daemon. Even Rhaenys had left their family to take on the Velaryon name.

Daemon was utterly alone.

So he tried his best with Rhaenyra, to raise her the way their family should. A true Targaryen princess, someone he swore won't follow the tragic paths of his aunts.

Aemma was the only person that Daemon could consider his friend. They bonded over the fact that Viserys claims them to be the two people he loved yet he had hurt them the most. He remembers when the old witch had brought her back to the Red Keep. The Blue Dragon of the Vale.

She'd been small and plump in a way that children were. Skittish and always kept her head low. Pale skin, hair more gold than silver, and the Arryn blue eyes.

Daemon had grudgingly accepted her as Valyrian enough of a bride for his brother. Even when he could hear her sobs at missing the steep cliffs and the halls of her home at night when he explored the Red Keep.

Too shy and kind. More Arryn than Targaryen. Daemon hadn't been close to her at the beginning.

Then she had her first miscarriage.

Daemon was not one to flinch at gruesome kills and visions of rape and plunder. But he wished he could cover his ears as he heard the heart-wrenching wails of the young girl.

The prince has no care for outsiders, but he loves his family. So he approached her, sickly pale and gaunt-cheeked. Having lost that plumpness of a child and a haunted look in her eyes. She looked so small, all ten and three of her age showing. She was older than Daemon, but it didn't show.

"Things will be right. You are a dragon. You and Viserys will have more children." Let it not be said that Daemon was good at consoling people.

She looked at him, blue eyes dark. "I named him Daelor. After my mother."

Daemon didn't know why he shivered at that moment.

"The kingdom needs an heir. I will provide that heir. My child, my blood." She stated as if it was the truth and nothing in this world could prevent her.

It was then that Daemon saw her for the dragon she was. What she had was the strength of endurance and will.

Years passed, Daemon remained an untethered sword. Viserys too weak and scared to use him despite Daemon being all too willing to be of use to his brother. Aemma continued to have miscarriages until her miracle child, Rhaenyra, was born.

Aemma loved her child fiercely, being a girl and overlooked for it, made her more protective.

Years passed, still there was no male heir. Daemon remained heir no matter how empty that title felt. Yet he was still hopeful, that one day the crown would be his.

Then 112 AC arrived. He's been given the City Watch for him to mold. Clearly Otto's plan to get him out of the Red Keep when he failed after he manipulated his brother to strip him of the title of Master of Coin. He did not care for the position, he found it boring and tedious. But it had hurt when Viserys had believed Otto's lies of him wasting the Crown's money. As if Daemon Targaryen was a common thief.

A Heir's Tourney is celebrated. Viserys had been so sure that this child would be the one. He already named him Baelon.

Daemon had his doubts. History was on his side and this would be another dead babe.

He was wrong.

The babe lived, Aemma died.

Daemon was caught off-kilter. A sudden dizziness, the feeling of suddenly riding his dragon to the sky without preparation. A ringing in his ears as he wondered whether he heard it right.

Aemma Targaryen died in childbirth. Viserys was given a choice. A son or a wife. He had picked a son. And Aemma died.

Daemon's first thought was about his poor niece. Rhaenyra must be in deep anguish now. For her to lose her beloved mother.

So he stayed by her side while the kingdom celebrated the birth of the prince. While Viserys spent his time between watching over his sickly son in the cradle and locking himself in his room.

Then Otto whispered poison in his brother's ears again. About how Daemon had gotten close to Rhaenyra, lies about inappropriateness happening between them. Daemon wished to have a Valyrian bride and his niece was perfect for it, but he would not seduce her while she mourned her mother. He loved his family too much to do that and Aemma might just rise from the dead to gut him with Dark Sister.

So he was once again banished to his Bronze Bitch's domain. Daemon would not let that happen again. He would not be shoved to the side like a hindrance and forgotten again. Viserys will open his eyes soon. He needs to. Daemon is his sword and protection against the vipers that want to tear him apart and their house. He cannot throw him away. He cannot.

So Daemon rallied his Gold Cloaks from the City Watch of King's Landing to his side, using his position as their Commander and his popularity among the guardsmen. With Caraxes and the army, Daemon seized Dragonstone for himself, occupying the island and fortifying the castle with his forces. He also took with him his lover, Mysaria. This should attract Viserys' attention soon enough, then his brother will come and Daemon will be able to talk to him without the presence of Otto Hightower.

Six moons after Aemma's passing, Daemon continued to occupy Dragonstone without a single word from Viserys. This wasn't enough.

He then decided that nothing would boil Viserys' dragonblood aside from matters relating to his son. That was when he hatched a plan with Mysaria to play pretend. An egg for his supposed bastard stolen from the crown prince himself. Viserys will not be able to ignore him now.

It was pathetically easy to enter the Red Keep through the hidden tunnels in the walls. He knew the castle better than anyone, years of exploration of its secrets.

Daemon pulled at a brick wall and an opening appeared towards the Royal nursery. He wanted to be quick about it since being caught would disrupt his plan.

He arrived in front of the cradle, expecting a babe with pale skin, silver hair, and purple eyes. An image of Viserys.

But he paused upon truly being able to see the babe. The babe had the Valyrian pale skin, but his hair was more gold than silver, just like Aemma.

And his eyes were Arryn blue. It had felt like Aemma was watching him. The same quiet but inquisitive glance was on the babe's face.

He couldn't help but reach out, touch the living proof of Aemma's victory. Her vows come true to life. This was Aemma's child more than he'd ever be Viserys’, he knew at that moment.

"You win, Aemma," he muttered under his breath. Against Daemon, against the realm, against the very gods. Aemma Arryn Targaryen won.

Baelon has a headache the size of King’s Landing. Nay, it's the size of fucking Westeros. Honestly, fuck Westeros. Fuck the Red Keep, fuck the noisy Small Council, and most importantly fuck the Targaryen family.

He was groaning and clutching his head in pain. Sitting upon the monstrosity they call the Iron Throne as the Small Council and other nobles were yelling and being their annoying self-important selves.

In the middle of all this mess and the cause of it, was a smug Daemon Targaryen standing in the middle of the Hall and in front of him.

The Kingsguard had tried to apprehend him by force but Baelon prevented them. It would end up with either him needing to find new Kingsguard or Daemon dead and a fucking uprising on his doorstep.

Thankfully Daemon cooperated when they escorted him to the throne room to have him judged and find out just what in the name of the Seven Hells happened.

Normally, a person being judged would be kneeling in front of the throne without any weapon. But Daemon Targaryen of course had to stand up straight with Dark Sister at his side. The damned drama queen.

The sun had barely risen and everyone was making a racket. Baelon was only able to change out of his nightclothes to a plain white doublet and pants.

It was still better than Lyonel who was still in his nightclothes beside him on the throne. The man had insisted on not leaving his side since the incident, not even to change into proper attire to attend court. The man was more terrified for Baelon's life than he was.

To be fair, this was the most audacious attempt at him since he turned twelve. The last attempt was an assassin that snuck in while he was in the garden. The Lord Commander made quick work of the assassin while Ser Criston stood guard beside him.

Most of the time it was just poison. It became such a problem that Baelon had changed his poison tasters to criminals on death row. He hasn't been able to enjoy a fresh and warm meal in a long time.

"Daemon Targaryen of House Targaryen, you stand accused by the Small Council of attempted assassination of the Crown Prince—"

Baelon waved his hand to stop Lord Caswell, his appointed Master of Laws, from talking.

"Enough," he spoke out loud. His eyes then turned to Daemon Targaryen. "Prince Daemon Targaryen, for your great favor of saving myself from the assassin, I would like to ask what boon you request."

"But your Grace!" interrupted Lord Caswell. Several lords also voiced their opposition. Daemon was not popular with the Noble Court.

"Your Grace, Daemon could have been working with the assassin," warned Ser Criston. His other Kingsguard also looked suspicious of the Rogue Prince, not that Baelon blamed them. Daemon does have a reputation. Not a good one too.

"If Prince Daemon wanted me dead, then I would be dead and he would not be caught." He stated clearly to the court for everyone to hear.

That was true. Daemon's works involved having assigned assassins that would know how to do their job and he would be far from the scene. Or he would proudly murder someone at the scene with numerous witnesses.

You can say all you want about Daemon but he is competent.

Daemon looked so proud and preened under his words. Baelon's eye twitched. He gritted his teeth and his headache got worse.

"Oi, Daemon!" He snapped. The Rogue Prince startled, probably never having experienced that kind of casual disrespect. "Despite your aid, you still snuck inside the crown prince's room. We will have a private discussion about all of this and your boon later along with punishment."

"Prince Baelon, you must reconsider. The events cannot be a coincidence. There are too many secrets that Daemon is hiding," Tyland Lannister, the Master of Ships, piped in.

Viserys and Corlys had many discussions and fights about Rhaenyra. One of those fights had Viserys strip Corlys of the title of Master of Ships. Ser Tyland was one of the candidates to replace him. Baelon picked him because the man had proven himself capable in the books.

Having Corlys as Master of Ships would have given him the fleet of the Velaryons. But that would have come with Corlys throwing Velaryon girls at him every day, so Tyland it is.

"Cease! All of you. This is my decision and it is final. Now, I know the lords would appreciate being able to leave and carry on with their day that was interrupted by the events." To make a point, he turned to Lyonel who was still in his nightclothes.

"But your Grace!"

Baelon stopped himself from rolling his eyes, that would have made his hangover worse. He decided to take a page out of Viserys' book and stood up from the throne and walked away, pretending not to hear anything.

"Ser Criston, have the servants bring some bread and soup to my chambers. And Ser Marbrand, have Daemon escorted to my chamber as well."

Baelon had the Cargyll twins permanently assigned to his siblings. So he was left with three Kingsguard since the Lord Commander was assigned to guard the king all the time. He mostly sent Ser Criston to guard Alicent too, so in truth it was two Kingsguard.

Daemon and Criston got along like a house on fire. In a situation where they are both fighting to lock the other one inside the burning house. So he sent the Dornish knight away.

They were the first to arrive in the room, followed by the servants bringing in food. He had asked Maester Orwyle for a tonic for his hangover and was given a bitter potion that made him want to throw up. At least the world wasn't spinning anymore.

Then Daemon Targaryen was escorted in by Ser Darklyn and Ser Marbrand.

This was the first time that Baelon truly interacted with Daemon Targaryen, the Rogue Prince. The most famous character in the books and movie.

He certainly lived up to the hype. He was beautiful in the more-than-human way that Valyrians are. Pale skin and long hair pure silver. He also had deep violet eyes and long eyelashes that the ladies at court would be envious of. But he could not be mistaken for feminine either, he had broad shoulders and a tall frame. Not bulky like the First Men, since most Targaryen men tend to be on the lean side rather than bulky aside from a few exceptions.

He was dressed in a black tunic and dark pants. His tunic embroidered with red stitches and dragons. How Targaryen.

Now he was looking at him with the same reptilian sizing look that Baelon first saw when he was at the cradle. A smirk on his face and an unconcerned air about him. Like he wasn't in front of a crown prince and surrounded by a pair of Kingsguard.

This must be why the court and nobles found him irritating. Daemon truly does not give a single fuck and believes he is better than everyone.

"Ser Darklyn and Ser Marbrand, leave us." He ordered.

Both Kingsguard looked startled and urged him to reconsider. But Baelon waved them off. "If he wants to harm me, then he would not be stupid enough to do it now."

"You certainly have great confidence in myself, my prince," Daemon commented with a teasing tone. Like a cat playing with a mouse.

"Oh, shut it, you," Baelon grumbled. Daemon blinked in surprise.

The two knights followed his orders but not before throwing Daemon a warning look. Daemon seemed to take that as a challenge and grinned at them.

Baelon had the urge to bang his head on the wall. If this was how infuriating the man was, no wonder Viserys keeps sending him away.

"Don't mind him, good sers. Just keep watching by the door outside. Anything happens then I will call."

The apprehensive knights nodded and finally left the room.

"Not going to fight me yourself, my prince? Can you even use your sword or is it for mere decor?" Daemon drawled, clearly edging him on.

Well too bad for Daemon that Baelon was a modern man at heart and had worked retail in his earlier years. This man has nothing against the Karens he had faced. And now he actually had the upper hand.

"Keep trying to provoke me and I'll grab a rag to stuff it in your mouth," he said blandly, keeping eye contact with him.

Baelon is normally polite and patient. But he has a hangover and all bets are off when he is feeling like a battered egg.

Not to mention he has a feeling that men like Daemon do not follow normal etiquette. Viserys’ soft tactics certainly did not work. Why use them now?

Daemon again looked surprised. Curiosity danced in his purple eyes and his attention completely focused on him. "Are you this rude to your guests, my prince? Then the rumors certainly are lying. Baelon the True."

The True. The True Prince. True to his words. If he promises to fix King’s Landing, then he will. If he promises to punish someone, then he will. Everything a prince should be. The embodiment of the perfect crown prince. Baelon thought Westeros had a low bar for a ruler. Then he remembered that the Targaryens are the royal family and took it back.

"If that is all, then I would like to know how you managed to discover the attempt on my life. As well as how you got inside my chambers, Kepa."

Baelon was paranoid regarding his room with good reasons. Every secret tunnel was dug up from the walls. The floor checked for any hidden opening and the windows had bars installed on them. Kingsguard always watched by his door outside.

He did the same with all his siblings’ rooms. No doubt there was a spy involved. To know that tonight Baelon was going to sleep alone instead of having his siblings over. Someone close enough to know that whenever he orders wine that he would send his siblings away for the night. Baelon would again have to do a full sweep of his personal servants again. What a pain.

"The bars at the window were wise, trēsy. The tunnels sealed shut and even the hatch at the bottom corner of the floor was covered." Daemon prowled around him. Eyes shifting to where the said hidden entrances were in his chambers. Baelon can't decide if the Rogue Prince was complimenting or threatening him.

"Yet," Daemon stopped in front of him. "You forgot to look above, Baelon. Ironic for a dragon rider."

Baelon frowned and looked up at his ceiling. He also had that checked. There were no entrances. He fixed his position on his cushioned chair and looked around more.

Daemon scoffed, "It could only be accessed through a tunnel from the roof. Opening inwards rather than outward. No stick could poke open that sealed slab of rock."

Great, even his ceiling needs to be watched. Baelon is so done with the Red Keep.

"I will have the servants arrange for that, thank you, Daemon. Now let us discuss how you knew about the plot to have me murdered." He changed the topic. This was the most important bit. He needed to know whether he needs to change his Master of Whispers.

"And in return? What do I receive?" The smile on Daemon's face was a mean thing. He got closer to Baelon, until if he chose to, he could touch his face.

A wave of pain from his hangover erupted again. Baelon is pissed.

He grabbed Daemon's wrist and pulled it over, the two of them switched places. Daemon pinned on the cushioned chair while Baelon was in front of him. The Rogue Prince, proving his strength, immediately stood up despite being caught by surprise.

But Baelon was no slouch either. He'd been working himself to the bone in the training yard as well. Despite having no skill in battle, he was fast and strong. He lifted his foot and kicked Daemon back to the chair. Dark Sister was thankfully on the table away from them. The guards had made sure to keep it out of easy grabbing range from Daemon. Baelon also got the feeling that Daemon truly wasn't fighting back against him. If so, then he wouldn't try to leave but instead have already sent a punch or something.

He used his left hand to pin Daemon's shoulder to the chair while he used his right foot to press down on Daemon's sword hand.

Baelon took a deep breath and his nausea persisted. He was never drinking again.

He lifted his head and stared back at Daemon's wide purple eyes. The man could easily get out of his restraint, but it seems the Rogue Prince was curious as to what Baelon wanted to do.

"I know what you're trying to do. Pushing boundaries to see how far I would let you. But I am not Viserys. I have my line and you do not get to cross them. I am tired and suffering from the effects of a morning fog. You are the Targaryens' sword, I know that. But you are an unsheathed wild sword that harms your enemies as much as your wielder. Viserys was not that steady hand, so he sent you away. But I know that sending you away will do more harm than good. So if I have to sheath you and strap you to my belt to make sure you do not fuck up what I have been working so hard to accomplish. Then. I. Will. Do. It." He vowed, a snarl on his face and blue eyes dark.

Pain was pulsing behind his eyes, having talked so much that the bitter and ash taste in his mouth spread. Baelon wanted to fucking go back to sleep and Daemon was not cooperating.

Daemon's eyes were bright and a feral grin spread on his face, "If I do not agree?"

Baelon's response was cold and direct. "Then you are not one of mine and your enemy is the kingdom and the Targaryens."

The headache made it hard to see clearly whether it was true panic he caught in the eyes of the man or if it was a trick of the light. But Daemon was quick to shut his mouth, lips pressed together and a glare that would have had weaker men trembling.

"We are Targaryens. The realm will tear us apart if we do not set aside our differences. There is no better choice for a Hand—"

"Okay, stop it right there," Baelon sighed. Pulling away his hand and letting go of Daemon's wrist pinned under his foot.

"Lord Strong will remain Hand even if I have to nail his foot down beside the Iron Throne. The man might not want it himself but he is not going anywhere." In a court where your position is determined by which order you came out of your mother's womb, competent people tend to be rare. No matter how much you sharpen a doormat, you can't make it a sword.

"Why," Daemon asked. It was a loaded question, years of emotions pent up. A question he asked Viserys more than he asked Baelon.

"Because you lack one thing that a Hand needs." Baelon turned his back and moved towards the table where Dark Sister was placed.

"What is it?" Desperation clawed at Daemon's voice. Anger too. So much anger.

Baelon grabbed Dark Sister and walked back to Daemon. He leaned down until they were eye to eye again. "You are loyal to House Targaryen. You will do anything for this family. But you don't care for the kingdom or the common people."

That was the truth of it. Why Daemon would make a bad Hand much less a bad King. Even weak-willed Viserys had cared for the kingdom. Baelon took a step back and turned his back, watching the sky turn light blue from his barred windows.

"A good Hand must care for the kingdom and all its people. From the lowborns to the Wardens. You, Daemon Targaryen, are more Targaryen than most, and that is why you would not make a good Hand. A good Hand needs to be more human than he is a dragon. For the Hand is the one that reins the dragon on the throne when their fire burns too hot. The Hand needs to clean after the king. So either a capable and patient man or his unfortunate heir. You are neither."

Viserys likely had kept saying 'no' to Daemon without really explaining why he would not make his brother the Hand. While bias and whispers of Otto helped, at its core, Daemon would not have made a good Hand. He grew bored as the Master of Coin, the work and parchments involved in being Hand is triple that.

He looked back at the silent Daemon, numerous emotions and thoughts flashing in those purple eyes.

"Being Hand is not a reward. It's a responsibility." He announced. "It has nothing to do with your worth."

Daemon was still silent. Baelon sighed, at least the headache and nausea were receding now.

The sword in his hand felt heavy, he looked at it and saw what Daemon Targaryen is. A sword, when not in use it will rust and hurt itself and others.

He moved closer and pushed the sword's scabbard to Daemon's chest. The man startled and looked up, his hand immediately grabbing the sword.

"Your talents lie elsewhere. You have shown it when you molded the Gold Cloaks into something worthy of King’s Landing," Baelon uttered. "Then go and make yourself useful. The position for the Commander of the City Watch is still empty."

Then his eyes softened when he saw how bewildered Daemon was. "The Red Keep will always welcome you. No Targaryen will be sent away from our home, without their say-so. No matter how much of a mess you make, I will be there and keep a firm hand on that volatile dragonblood of yours. That I can promise you."

Targaryens create nests like dragons. Sending them away from it would be torture. That was why no matter how good it must have been in Pentos, Laena and Daemon must have always been yearning for Driftmark and the Red Keep. Daemon is an annoying murderous asshole, but he was still Viserys' younger brother. He should not have banished him, should not have forced him into an unwanted marriage, should not have denied him the one thing he wanted. A Targaryen family of his own. Baelon could never imagine doing that to any of his siblings.

Daemon is an important link in the family, if Baelon wants to keep this family from killing each other and burning down Westeros in the process, then he will need him by his side.

"What is your answer, Daemon Targaryen of House Targaryen?

A grin spread on Daemon’s face. He looked... happy? Content? Whatever it was, it looked odd on his face. Baelon held back shivers and a frown. Damn, he actually preferred when Daemon acted like a smug bastard.

"My sword is yours, Your Grace." Daemon Targaryen answered like a vow.

So Daemon finally fessed up. Apparently, his spy network caught wind of a man looking around for his personal servants. Servants weren't always at the castle walls, some went to taverns and whorehouses too. One of the whores had commented that the man invited over one of his personal servants — Oliver — and they weren't seen after.

So Daemon searched and found Oliver readying a ship to the Free Cities with a bag of gold. He'd been persuaded to spit out everything he knew then subsequently murdered.

The man only knew that someone planned to kill Baelon and was looking for the right time. Since he usually sleeps with his siblings it was hard to pinpoint a moment when he would sleep alone. So Oliver informed that Baelon would send his siblings to their own chambers whenever he drank wine, which was rarely. The power behind the assassin promised to handle things and sent the man away with a few instructions. Oliver talked to some servants and told them to prepare him some wine.

Daemon didn't know the exact date, so he actually camped out in the hidden corners in the Red Keep for four days and waited. Then the assassins struck and he'd been prepared.

Baelon pressed the bridge of his nose and cursed under his breath. So that was why Otto was sent away. They knew that he would celebrate the man being away. With convenient servants offering wine, he would not refuse.

Fucking Hightowers. Baelon would not be surprised if half his assassination attempts were by their hand. It was clear to all that Viserys would not live long. Baelon rules the kingdom in all but name now. He also made his dislike of the Greens more obvious in recent years. They were clearly throwing away their plans to use him and had identified him as impossible to puppet. It does not help that he had not shown any marriage inclination to anyone.

During one of those annoying times that he was pressured to pick a bride, he had announced that he would not marry any lady unless she was twenty years old or older. Considering his prime candidates as still below the age bracket, many contested.

Others thought it was an opportunity for their own daughters until they met the resistance. Either by the Velaryons or the Hightowers. So Baelon was letting them fight it out. He prayed an apology to Aemma for using her name. But what he said was true. There would never be another Aemma Arryn situation happening as long as he walked this Keep. No child should experience the horrors she did. Many older women were broken down by miscarriages, much less a young girl who should still be playing with her dolls and not worrying about providing the kingdom an heir.

Baelon had not wasted time and had long made preparations against the Hightowers. He has the power in King’s Landing and he had contained the Greens’ hands only to the Reach. He swiftly cut off any ties they had to expand their power. Maybe that's why they were so desperate to kill him.

Now a retaliation is needed, he can't let them think they could poke the dragon and get away unburnt. He was not a sick cat, he was a modern man in dragon's skin with a literal dragon. Time to put Daemon to use and that tasty record of what the ever-loving hell Otto did to the Royal coffers while he was Hand. This was going to be magnificent.

Chapter Text

The Hightowers were sent to be judged at court after it was discovered that Otto Hightower had been pardoning the taxes of his house since he had become a Hand. That was decades of Royal gold not claimed.

If the crown doesn't rip the Hightowers a new one, then the rest of the noble houses of Westeros would. The Tyrells especially, since the Hightowers had been pressing them under their heel for a long time.

Hobert Hightower was quick to throw Otto to the dragons. He'd been put into a hard place. Whether to claim he had no knowledge of it and prove his incompetence at managing his own House, or admit he knew of it and would be tried for treason. He chose the former and the Hightowers' reputation took a hit.

With Viserys still drunk on the milk of the poppy, he left Lyonel to manage the king. Baelon ruled the court and had ordered the Hightowers to pay back every single gold that they'd owed. To add the cherry on top, he had Daemon and his Goldcloaks do the collecting at Oldtown. It felt like sending loan sharks to knock on their door. Daemon looked like Christmas came early when Baelon told him the mission, especially after he told him he could bring Caraxes.

Now the Hightowers were trying to fetch as much gold as they could, since aside from their own debt, Baelon had ordered additional interest based on how long they had continued their deceit. Safe to say after this, the Hightowers would be dirt poor.

The Faith tried to intervene, as staunch allies of the Hightowers. But Baelon had defended his actions. The Hightowers had committed a crime not only against the crown but to all noble houses by not paying their tax. It was only because they were related by blood that he did not assemble the Targaryen family to rain fire and blood on the traitorous house. He also delegated work to noble Houses like the Baratheon, Lannister, and Tyrell to put pressure on the Faith, since they'd been the most offended Houses. As Wardens, they didn't have any leeway for their taxes, and this mere noble house dared to exempt themselves. Nobles' pride is a powerful thing.

Otto Hightower was being sent to the Red Keep, so to speak. But they were taking their sweet time. Definitely planning something to put a stop to it. Their plan had involved Alicent trying to reason with Baelon or influence the court. She'd even kneeled at the Sept, praying for hours about the crime her father had been framed for.

Baelon quickly put a stop to that and had the queen confined to her chambers, stating that she had been confused of mind ever since her beloved husband's collapse and the influence of her manipulative father. The poor queen needs rest and time away from court. Since she'd already used the excuse of a weak mind to get Otto in the castle back then, everyone believed it.

If Otto is tried, then found guilty, Baelon would still suffer repercussions if he had the man executed, for he was still blood. If he only put him in a cell, then no doubt the Hightowers would find a way to free him and regain strength.

So it was unfortunate that on the way to King’s Landing, at the Roseroad on the way to Bitterbridge, they were attacked by bandits and everyone had died, including Otto Hightower.

The said bandit also visited Baelon's chambers in the middle of the night, giving him a fright. Daemon had gleefully reported on the man's very painful end via Dark Sister. He'd been like an overeager puppy asking who to kill next.

Baelon had sent the man out of his chambers with explicit warning not to kill anyone yet, and to not sneak into his room again. Since the Hightower trial had started, he'd been making his siblings stay in their own chambers. But Aegon still sneaks over occasionally, with amused Kingsguards pretending not to see. He does not want to see what would happen if Daemon and Aegon were placed in the same location. AKA, his bed. No, just no.

His siblings had been unconcerned with the trials of the maternal side of their family. Baelon's efforts over the years ensured his siblings had no connection with the Hightowers. Even Alicent did not have influence over her children; he had made sure of that.

They are riding out this storm and Baelon hopes for the best. By the end of things, it would be the Hightowers who pay the price for their greed. A series of accidents in the years to come would ensure the slow dwindling of Hightower populations. It was hard not to live without gold and power; of course accidents could happen. How unfortunate.

It is 132 AC. Vaemond Velaryon had sent a petition to the crown for the inheritance of Driftmark. Baelon has been waiting for this event since the start of the year.

The battle at Stepstones was halted into a stiff temporary retreat of the Triarchy. Baelon had given full support in the war unlike Viserys. It was in the favor of the Velaryons rather than a standstill.

But that does not mean the Triarchy does not play ambushes at rare instances. It was in one of these instances that Corlys was caught off guard and wounded.

Baelon has prepared for this for a long while. He knows this is going to be a mess that will end in blood. With things changed so much, he wasn't sure what was going to happen.

The doors opened and a servant came running in while the small council was in the middle of the meeting.

"M-my Lords! Lady Rhaenys Velaryon and her dragon Meleys have arrived at Kingslanding." The servant was breathless and seemed to have run all the way here.

"And what seems to be the trouble, lad? The council is in an important meeting. The Lady of Driftmark can wait—"

"Meleys and Caraxes engaged in a fight in the pit, my Lords!"

Lord Caswell was too busy turning pale to mind a servant cutting him off. A dragon fight was no small thing.

Baelon cussed out loud to the surprise of everyone as he left the Iron Throne and marched out of the throne room. "Lord Strong! I will leave the matters for you to handle. Meeting adjourned! I have dragons to wrangle."

For once, no one opposed his early dismissal.

Baelon arrived at the pit to see the scene. Two large red dragons snarling at each other, smoke coming out of their mouths and circling each other as if ready to pounce. Lady Rhaenys Velaryon and Daemon Targaryen having a screaming match in the middle. Around them were terrified dragon keepers and the other dragons getting restless upon watching the two fight.

If this was a fraction of what King Jaehaerys went through, then he doesn't blame the man for trying to send his children away from Kingslanding. He just went with it the wrong way. Should have just packed up his children's clothing and thrown them out. Unwanted betrothals didn't help.

"CEASE YOUR FIGHT! WHAT ARE BOTH OF YOU DOING!!!" His loud bellow was followed by Vermithor's roar.

Both stopped in their tracks, heads snapping to his direction with wide eyes. They looked at him as if they saw another person. Baelon would bet 50 gold dragons it was the Old King based on how quickly they looked at Vermithor behind him.

"Prince Baelon," Rhaenys hesitantly said. "My apologies, Daemon and I were discussing dire things and tempers got out of hand."

Daemon scoffs, and the glare that Rhaenys shot him could melt stone. Baelon looked at Daemon with an even stare and the man shifted his eyes to the sides.

Baelon sighs, "Fight if you must. But consider your dragons as well. Kingslanding is terrorized by the roars."

The two Targaryens looked at him with matching surprised and incredulous looks. Baelon raised an eyebrow then thought that no one must have told them they could fight it out. Certainly not Viserys, who was allergic to conflict, even the Old King or their parents did not.

To be fair, it is not appropriate to encourage a physical fight. But Baelon thought it was better to get it all out of their systems. Targaryens were half dragon; beasts settle disputes by fighting it out.

"Princess Rhaenys, does your visit have something to do with the petition that Vaemond Velaryon sent to the crown?"

A dark look passed through the woman's eye as her lips thinned. "Indeed. I am my husband's representative whilst he remains bedridden and under the care of the maesters."

Baelon thinks things are gonna go from bad to worse for Rhaenyra. "I do hope that the Sea Snake is going to make a full recovery soon?"

The tension lessened from Rhaenys' frame. "The maesters say that he will make a full recovery after two moons."

The smell of sulfur and dragon clung to his nose. The smell was something all Targaryens were used to, but Baelon still had a meeting with the Blackwoods and Brackens later, and he doesn't want the smell to stick to his clothes.

"The Red Keep welcomes you as always, Princess Rhaenys. I will have the servants prepare your usual chambers. They will tend to your needs and the dragon keepers will feed Meleys," he said to the woman, who looked tired. Her fatigue seemed soul-deep rather than just physical.

A crown stolen from you, both of her children dead, her husband injured, and the precarious situation of the heirship of her house falling to a bastard. Baelon would be dead tired too in her situation.

"Thank you, your Grace." She then took her leave, her steps echoing on the stone floor.

Now it was only him and the menace of Westeros.

"One of these days, she will feed you to Meleys, then Caraxes will burn her and the crown will be losing two dragon riders in the span of the same day," he complains. "Just what is going on, Daemon?"

Daemon sneers, his hand on the pommel of his sword. "She was trying to get my daughters to move to Driftmark. As if I would allow them to take my children. I fly to Driftmark nearly every moon to bring them, or Rhaenys visits with her husband. Yet it is not enough for them?!"

That was... Baelon decided to keep his mouth shut for this one. He understands Rhaenys' desire to have her granddaughters close, but at the same time, as the girls' father, Daemon has the right to refuse. The girls have been raised in Dragonstone for the past six years, something that Daemon takes great pride in. His Targaryen girls with Velaryon coloring.

Baelon shook his head, "That is a discussion between the two of you and I will not intervene. But do make sure to avoid terrifying the Keep next time."

Daemon replies with an unrepentant grin. The smug asshole.

"The crown will now hear the petitions. Ser Vaemond of House Velaryon." Lyonel announces in the throne room, his voice echoing in the near silent Hall. The tension was thick enough to cut with a knife. The Targaryens were yet again in the same place for the first time in six years after the disaster that was Laena's funeral.

Baelon does not need Helaena to whisper in his ears that blood would be shed tonight for him to know. Even the courtiers knew that something was brewing. But for whom was the question. Things were vastly different from canon.

Rhaenyra stands on one side, her children beside her. Jacaerys is fifteen and was given the Jon Snow treatment. While Jon was a brooding boy, it was paired with melancholy from his father. Jace was broody and inherited his mother's temper. He was a cocktail of emotions far too big to contain in his body while stubbornly plugging it all with a cork called apathy. He was a ticking time bomb.

But unlike a bastard hidden away like Jon, he was the supposed heir and has something to prove. So a year ago he joined the battle against the Triarchy with Corlys against Rhaenyra's approval. He'd been knighted in the aftermath of the battle with a scar to prove his actions.

Lucerys is thirteen and likely in the middle of a mild panic attack that he hides behind a stiff expression, eyes darting around and tense fingers burrowing a hole in the edge of his tunic.

Little Valaena is a nine-year-old child that definitely should not have been brought to this petition. She was Velaryon in coloring but she was the image of her mother. A copy of Rhaenyra with sun-kissed skin and blue eyes. Her silver hair was wavy like her mother's golden-silver rather than the coiled curls of the Velaryons. She looked anxious and constantly looked to the other side of the court where Rhaenys was standing.

Baelon took a deep breath. An unfortunate habit when in contact with his kin.

He was seated on the monstrous thing they call the Iron Throne, watching the events unfold, letting Lyonel take the stage and manage the petition. Baelon does not know if Viserys would make an appearance to be honest. Rhaenyra had visited the king in his chambers with her children before the trial. But things could go either way. Baelon was staying out of this one.

The court was divided into four sides. Rhaenyra and her brood on one. Vaemond and his sons on the other. Rhaenys was on her own, eyes sharp as she watched the two sides.

Baelon and the court on another, with Daemon and his daughters swiftly making a place for themselves in their crowd.

Baela and Rhaena were fifteen now, the same age as Jace. They were the models of Valyrian beauties. The image of Laena in her youth with Daemon's features. Baelon blinked when he saw Baela's hair cut short just below her chin, while Rhaena's curls flowed down her waist. The older twin was also wearing breeches instead of a dress like her sister. Wait—

Baelon gifted those clothes. On their name day last year. He had been sending gifts to his cousins on their birthdays for the last six years. For last year on their sixteenth birthday, he had given them each two sets of clothes.

First was a comfortable set of tunic with a sewn surcoat of Targaryen colors and embroidery with breeches that made horse riding or dragon riding easier.

Then a dress beautifully crafted from silks in Yi Ti by the dressmakers in the Reach. He'd asked Daemon about the girls' favored colors and he had replied that Baela favored the bright red of Targaryen and purple, while Rhaena loved the deep hue of blue of Velaryon and white.

Baela was wearing the tunic and surcoat with breeches in the colors of Targaryen, and Rhaena in a flowing dress of Velaryon blue and elegant white.

His eyes squinted at Daemon who noticed his gaze and preened.

Baelon knew what Daemon was planning. Unwed girls of marriage age were practically chased out by the servants per his orders. The Rogue Prince was taking advantage of the petition to bring his daughters to court.

Well, too bad for the prince. His twenty-name-day rule is ironclad. Anything below is converted into a baby in his eyes.

Baelon barely paid attention to Vaemond's speech and yapping. Storm clouds were brewing when he entered the Hall. Now it was storming outside. Loud rainfall and rumbling thunder.

His own siblings were in the court. Baelon tried to get them to not partake in this farce but they were stubborn little shits—yes, even Helaena, to his horror. They were placed along with the other nobles watching the petition, their silver hair a beacon in the crowd.

"—My prince, my lord Hand. This is a matter of blood, not ambition. I place the continuation of the survival of my house and my line above all. I humbly petition Lucerys Velaryon before you as my brother's successor... the Lord of Driftmark and Lord of the Tides. To ensure his proper upbringing, I would request that the young prince be my ward."

The yelling now started. From all sides, Rhaenyra's were the loudest. With the Velaryons shouting back. The gossiping crowd was talking to each other. Lyonel was trying to keep peace. Baelon had the weird urge to grab a mallet and slam it down, calling for order in the court.

The storm outside rumbled the same time as his stomach. Damn it.

"KEEP IT DOWN!" he shouted.

The hall quieted down. Loud shouts turning to harsh whispers until there was silence.

Baelon again took a deep breath. "Vaemond Velaryon, let's say I grant this wild petition of yours," he says sharply, eyes dragging over to the smug Velaryon.

"Baelon! How could you—"

"I am not done talking, Princess Rhaenyra." He cut off the Princess. Honestly, he was helping her out here.

"Let's say Lucerys gets the Driftmark throne." He pauses, lets the thought fester. "Why then, would I grant you his guardianship?"

Vaemond was open-mouthed in shock at the derision dripping from Baelon. He tried to answer but Baelon raised his hand, signaling him to keep his mouth shut.

"Who is the Lord of the Tides?" He asks the crowd.

"Lord Corlys Velaryon, your Grace," answers Lord Caswell. He nods his head at the man and turns back to the crowd. "And who is his wife?"

Eyes turned to Rhaenys who was standing on the side, face carved from stone. "I am, your Grace," she replies.

Then Baelon once again turned back to Vaemond who had gone pale upon realizing his blunder.

"So Vaemond Velaryon, the younger brother of Corlys Velaryon. Why would I grant you the position of power over the heirship of Driftmark?"

Vaemond's mind was likely churning like a storm, until he straightened his back and looked like a man ready to march to battle. "Apologies, my prince. But Lady Rhaenys is a Targaryen by birth. She would not know the plight of the Velaryons."

Or straight into the red dragon's mouth.

Daemon's loud laughter could be heard. Attention drifted to the Rogue Prince. It was great timing since they didn't look at Rhaenys and see the cold fury in her violet eyes and face.

Baelon knew that Meleys must be roaring, if not outright rampaging, in the pit. The dragon keepers needed a raise, that was for sure.

"Princess Rhaenyra, you may now speak for your son, Jacaerys Velaryon." Lyonel spoke up, trying to rein the petition back on track.

"If I am to grace this farce with some answer, I will start by reminding the court that—"

A guard burst into the throne room, following him were two dragon keepers soaked in rainwater with mud on their boots and trousers.

"Your Grace, Prince Baelon! The dragons have escaped from the dragonpit!"

Chaos erupted.

The storm had made a weakened pillar collapse, allowing water to flow into the large building. It wasn't a problem on its own. But dragons are affected by their riders' emotions, and considering the clusterfuck in the throne room, many dragons were a breath away from going on a rampage. The loud sound and water flowing made Syrax, Meleys, Vermax, Arrax, and Tyraxes go on a rampage, banging against their chains. The five dragons disturbed the other dragons in the pit, causing them to act with hostility.

The dragon keepers tried to keep peace and manage the tangled chains. But the dragons started attacking each other, their chains wrapping around them. They tried to fight off the chains which in turn tugged on the walls where the chains were connected. It was either they unchained the dragons or the dragons would pull on their chains and cause the walls to crumble and the structure to collapse.

So they unchained the dragons and they all flew out of the dragonpit and away from Rhaenys' Hill. Mad and confused dragons flying around King’s Landing in what was the worst storm they had in decades.

Baelon prefers the canon event where only actual humans were killing and causing trouble in the safe location of the throne room.

They had twelve dragons. Fucking twelve. Syrax, Vermax, Arrax, Tyraxes, Meleys, Caraxes, Moondancer, Sunfyre, Dreamfyre, Gaelithox, Vermithor, and Silverwing. With the last dragon not having a rider. This was the greatest disaster since Maegor roamed the Red Keep.

Baelon had all the dragon riders prepared and out of the Red Keep. They used horses to immediately move to a place where multiple dragons would be allowed to land without destroying buildings and killing citizens — outside the walls of King’s Landing.

The rain kept pouring down and citizens were thankfully all indoors. They heard dragon roars but thought it was only the royals being their normal insane selves, riding in the storm. Baelon had been quick to have the guards and nobles keep the information under lock and key. The last thing he needed was mass hysteria with the citizens of King’s Landing mad with fear. That would cause a stampede and worse things.

When they reached the large expanse of land, he was soaking wet and heart beating too fast in his chest.

There were ten of them here. He had made Valaena stay in the Red Keep. Thankfully Tyraxes was only nine years old. Only as big as a large pony, he would be easily restrained by a bigger dragon.

Baelon ordered them all to spread out and tug on the bond of their dragons to attract their attention. The dragons were still flying above King’s Landing, roaring and likely cursing at the rain.

The first to arrive in the open field was Caraxes. The dragon stayed on the ground for a moment before flying up into the air again, this time with more control and intent. Daemon had ridden his dragon, no doubt. He had instructed the two adult Targaryens to herd the other dragons to their location when they got their dragons under control earlier.

The next one was Meleys, who did the same and was now flying towards King’s Landing with Rhaenys in tow.

Followed by Vermax, Sunfyre, and Dreamfyre. The dragon riders were keeping their dragons company and trying to calm them down.

Baelon was getting nervous about Vermithor. The bronze dragon was usually quick to come when he called. This was unusual.

Gaelithox arrived and following him was Syrax. The yellow dragon was quick to depart with Rhaenyra on her back.

Seven dragons down, five to go.

Caraxes flew back, with him was a smaller teal dragon — Moondancer.

Meleys came back with Arrax, the pearly dragon being herded by the Red Queen.

All that was left was—

A flash of purple, hard to see in the storm. Loud furious roar and a large silver dragon swooping down. Fucking hell. Silverwing was chasing and trying to attack Tyraxes.

Just in time, Vermithor landed behind him with a loud thud. The earth shook but Baelon was quick to climb his dragon and rise to the air.

Rain pelted him as thunder rumbled and lightning crackled in the clouds. He hurried Vermithor to chase after his mate, flying to chase the two dragons. But Silverwing was known for being quick and Vermithor for being a tank. In terms of speed, it was difficult to catch up.

Then a screech of a younger dragon filled the air as Vermax slammed into the head of the silver dragon, narrowly preventing Silverwing from taking a bite out of Tyraxes.

Baelon cursed and swerved in between the two dragons when he caught up. He does not want the fight to lead to biting or fire-breathing. He let Vermithor and Silverwing grapple and held on to his saddle and tied his restraints hard.

He could observe Vermax flying near him, chasing a hysterical Tyraxes back to the ground. A pair of roars and he knew Caraxes and Meleys had come to help.

Yet Silverwing proved her speed and cleverness by slipping away from Vermithor and lunging at Vermax who was behind them. Baelon tugged on his bond with Vermithor to the point that their selves felt intertwined. The heavy rain on his body, the fire bubbling in his throat, the echo of Silverwing's rage.

Vermithor slammed his body at Silverwing, yet the female dragon was successful at snapping at Vermax, causing the young dragon to panic and lose control of his flight. He flew around like an unbalanced paper plane in the sky, the rain sweeping him away.

And Jacaerys.

He. Slipped. Off. His. Dragon.

It was like time snapped like a rubber band. Baelon could hear the boy's scream as clear as if the rain wasn't present. His lungs felt as if they collapsed and his heart stopped for a beat.

'Not in his fucking watch.'

"EMBROT!!! VERMITHOR!"

They dived down, wings pinned to his body to quicken their plunge. It felt like hours, it felt like seconds.

He could feel the whip of Vermithor's tail, the flow of air between his scales, he flew too small yet so large.

They made it down.

Baelon raised his arms, eyes locked on the falling teenager. His arms felt like they had popped out of their joints when Jace fell into his arms. A sharp pain bloomed on his neck, the smell of blood mixing with the rain.

He pulled the young man to his chest. Jace greedily sucked in air as he trembled and sobbed. His heart was beating too fast, his skin clammy and cold from more than just the rain.

"You're good, kid, you're safe. I got you, I got you. You are safe now. Vermax will be fine. Both of you will be fine."

He turned his head to see Caraxes, Meleys, and Syrax chasing off Silverwing, while Dreamfyre had a struggling Vermax in her claws and was bringing him down to the ground.

God, Baelon is so done with this family.

Chapter Text

Honestly, Baelon would prefer to give Jace a keep and Lordship somewhere North and wash his hands off the whole ordeal.

But the problem with that is, in doing so, Baelon was acknowledging that Jacaerys Velaryon is a bastard. Why else would the crown prince not defend his heirship to Driftmark?

It's one thing to look like a bastard and be considered one. It's another to be officially recognized by their greatest head of power as one. If Jace's life was bad now, then it would go on a downturn slide real quick after that.

To the point that he might not be able to marry or retain his Lordship because his people would revolt. Being a bastard in the eyes of The Seven—more than half the people in Westeros' belief—is more than just a stigma, it's a curse. They are literal incarnations of sins that do not deserve basic human decency, treated the same as whores in terms of respect.

Even a dragon and Lordship would not change that. It was only because of the chaos brought by the Conquerors and them literally killing houses and replacing powers like it's a flipping contest that their bastard brother got to establish House Baratheon. And even then, they needed the daughter of a powerful house to marry him.

Jace is cursed for life and people will demand Rhaenyra for trial for adultery. So no. For the debt that Aemma had over him, he could not do that to her only daughter and her grandson.

But if he supports Jace, then he'll face the wrath of Rhaenys and the Velaryons.

Baelon is stuck between a rock and a hard place.

He sighs and looks at the grey ceiling. Again stuck on bedrest after they had discovered that when he caught Jace, one of the metals on his shoulder guard had slashed his neck down to his collarbone. It wasn't a deadly wound on its own, but left alone, he could bleed to death. The maesters patched him up and he was safe from danger of dying. It will scar, the maesters had warned. But Baelon didn't really care. It was just a scar, he wasn't a lady whose life depended on looking perfect and pretty.

Right now, the one who was running everything was his council, which means things are gonna be complicated and a mess when he returns. Lyonel had taken one look at Baelon bleeding from the neck and soaked in rain, staggering into the Red Keep, and had promptly fainted.

Honestly, Baelon just wants to sleep for a month straight. The milk of the poppy kicked in right on time to put him back to sleep. Small mercies.

Aemond wants to march right into the chambers of that brown-haired and plain-faced bastard and use his dagger to rip out his eye, then slit his throat.

Every time. Every single time that that wretched branch of the family arrived, they had to put Baelon in danger.

They are a curse that shouldn't be near his brother. They should have settled their own fight on their island of sailors and left them alone. Driftmark could sink and Aemond wouldn't bat an eye.

Silverwing should have been quicker and bitten off that green dragon and his damned rider. The only one who would mourn the bastard would have been his whore of a mother or his weak siblings.

He could have died. The words of the maesters once again brought the painful twist in his chest and heaviness in his lungs. The cut ran from his neck down to his collar, barely missing the blood vein of his neck. Baelon could have died.

All to save that bastard.

Their eldest brother is perfect. The true image of what a prince should be. The rightful heir to the throne and the future king who will bring prosperity to the realm more than any Targaryen in the past or future would.

And most importantly, he was the best brother that any could wish for.

He cared for them. Lazy and indulgent Aegon, odd and sensitive Helaena, Daeron who loved the lute more than anything. And Aemond, who knows that his temper gets the best of him most of the time.

They were far from what would be considered perfect royalty, but Baelon let them be themselves and continued to love them as if they were the most beautiful and perfect things he had seen.

When Aemond was young and drowning in envy, sadness, and anger at being the only Targaryen without a dragon, it was Baelon who had smiled and brought him a scorching hot dragon egg. The egg in his cradle had long gone cold, nobody cared when Aemond cried on the lavender scales that turned to stone. Even when he burned his hands placing it on the hearth, praying to the Seven, the Valyrian gods, and even the Old Gods, anybody who would listen, that it would grow warm again.

They told him that he could claim a dragon by himself when he was older. But it was different. To hatch an egg by his own hands, to be their first and to name them. To quickly prove himself worthy of the Targaryen name.

The third son, far from the throne and unworthy of attention. The last third son had been Archmaester Vaegon. Vaegon the Dragonless.

Aemond needed a dragon now. Or else he would not have a chance. Their father barely remembered they existed, their maternal family were too far and would not understand, their mother was barely there with multiple excuses.

There was no dragon to claim in the Dragonpit. All claimed. Dragonstone was too far and the King would not spare the effort to have him brought there.

Wild dragons were known as wild dragons for a reason, mostly because they tend to eat those who dare try to claim them or completely elusive that they could barely be glimpsed at. So unless an older Targaryen died, he didn't have a chance.

He was on the brink of despair when Baelon brought him his dragon's beautiful sapphire-blue egg. Then in a few moons, in which Aemond obsessively tended to his egg, countless nights reading tomes from Old Valyria on how to tend to his egg, always feeding the fire in the hearth to ensure his egg remained warm, his egg hatched.

Gaelithox was the most beautiful creature that Aemond has ever seen and he loved him the moment he saw him.

Now he flies the skies of King’s Landing with his siblings. Feeling the joy of being in the air and his birthright as a Targaryen.

"Come on, Hel. Pretend not to have seen us. Look out the window or something," Aegon bargained with their sister, who was silently sewing.

"Baelon would not be happy if both of his siblings were found guilty of kinslaying," she replied blandly, not even looking up from her embroidery. It would have been more convincing had she not been sewing a large spider feasting on something vaguely brown with curls.

"We would not be trialled if we are not caught," Aegon reasoned. For once Aemond was agreeing with his elder brother.

"Ser Arryk and Ser Erryk will then turn a blind eye? Or the guards that circle the Red Keep?"

They all turned to the two Kingsguards that their brother had permanently placed as their sworn shields. Both Kingsguards looked up at the ceiling at the same time and stood silent.

"See!" Aegon gestured. "They'll keep their mouths shut."

"Apologies, my princes and princess," Ser Darklyn, one of their brother's Kingsguards, said as he entered.

"The crown prince had sent me with the command to ensure that no infighting occurs between the Royal Family. As such, he has decreed that no Velaryon should engage in any way with the Targaryens. This rule has been applied to all."

Targaryens means them and Daemon and his girls. Velaryon, on the other hand, included Rhaenyra and her brood, Rhaenys, and Vaemond with his sons.

Baelon is throwing one stone to catch three birds. Ensuring no fighting between them and Rhaenyra's side, and letting Rhaenys do as she pleased with the traitorous side of her husband’s family. As well as letting the Driftmark heirship be discussed between Rhaenys and Rhaenyra while he stayed in the healing towers.

No one wanted the crown prince to be out and about managing the kingdom's affairs when they all saw him merely a day before, walking into the throne room drenched in rain, and blood spilling down his throat. Red staining his pale skin and hair, a coppery hue to the rainwater where he tread.

Rhaenys' haunted scream could be heard echoing in the walls. For all that his brother was named after the Spring Prince, he looked like the departed Prince Aemon in that moment. Blood spilling from his throat as if an arrow had plunged down into his neck.

Every single soul in the castle had fretted over their crown prince. The maesters and healers immediately sweeping him away while servants flocked to get things done and the council argued amongst themselves.

Baelon would survive, but not without a scar.

Aemond was pulled by the Kingsguards to prevent him from marching towards that bastard and slitting his throat right there and then.

His eldest brother. His perfect crown prince and savior. Marred by a wretched scar that could not be covered up or made to disappear. A mark he would wear for the rest of his life. A blemish in what is divine and great. And that bastard dared to do it!

As if the crime against his dragon and the eye lost wasn't enough!

As he fumed and raged in the room with his siblings, they were forced to comply. After all, it was their King-in-all-but-name's order. Baelon's order.

Baelon escaped his prison known as the Healers’ Tower and made his way to the secret tunnels of the Red Keep.

It's been two weeks and his wound had scabbed. Targaryen magic genes made healing faster as well, a wound like this would have taken many months to scab. That was not including the infections and fever he should have experienced in this backward society.

He pulled down a rusty handle and the wall flipped itself to reveal an opening. Baelon peeked outside and saw he was on the left wing of the castle. The hidden tunnel behind him closed and he began walking down the halls.

The tapestries were still very much Targaryen with a few Arryns added to the mix. He had the power over the Red Keep so the Hightowers never had the chance to hang green banners or anything related to the Seven on the castle walls.

Baelon was searching for a particular room. It was built as the last room in the halls of the left wing and was adjacent to a window that showed the view of the Hand's Tower. It was an unused guest room that barely anyone used since it was too far from court and too close to the kitchens.

The Kingsguards knew of the place and when they eventually found out that Baelon snuck out of the Healers’ Tower, this would be the first place they searched. And they were discreet when doing so under his orders. This was his one Targaryen-free place in the Red Keep and he preferred it that way.

Or at least it was.

Jacaerys Velaryon sat on the foot of the bed with his legs tucked in and arms crossed, his head down with wavy brown hair covering his face. His head snapped up when he heard Baelon enter, both of them left staring at each other.

"What are you doing here?" Jace blurted out, shocked at being seen so vulnerable.

Baelon merely raised an eyebrow. What would the Crown Prince be doing inside his castle indeed.

Jace flushed upon realizing how rude he was and stood up. He did a respectful but stiff bow and greeted him, "Your Grace."

Baelon waved his hand and walked towards the bed, Jace awkwardly shifting away, then sat on it. "It's fine, Prince Jacaerys. This is a room that I frequent whenever I prefer to rest alone. Tis but a coincidence that we met. I will not chase you out. The room is big enough for us."

He patted the bed beside him. "Come, take a seat," he paused, "or not. It does not matter to me whether you'd prefer to talk, stay in quiet company, or leave."

Jace decided on quiet company and hesitantly sat on the bed beside him. When Baelon thought he would spend a moment in an awkward but quiet silence, Jace spoke up.

"Why did you do it, your Grace," he asked so quietly that Baelon almost didn't catch it.

"Do what?"

Jacaerys looked at him perturbedly. Eyes half-lidded and uneasy. He got a good look at the young man and saw his eyes actually had a mix of purple, just covered by the dark brown.

"Save me," Jace answered. "It would have been the easy thing to do. My departure would have opened the heirship to be passed on to Luke without any trouble from my mother."

Oh great. This conversation.

"The future monarch does not take the 'easy' path, Prince Jacaerys. They take the right one." And that is why it's such a pain in the ass to be a decent monarch.

"Is it really the right decision to pick?"

Baelon looked upon the tapestries on the walls, a pleasant embroidery of flowers since he had the orgies and depictions of Kama Sutra à la Targaryen replaced.

"As far as I am concerned, yes. Now you better continue on with that life."

Jace's hands clenched tightly until his knuckles turned white. "You wouldn't understand."

Baelon stayed quiet.

A shaky gasp left the brunette, like he was barely holding back tears. "I am a sin. An act of treason to the realm. Everyone wants me dead. You will not understand, Crown Prince Baelon. All the people from North of Winterfell to the South of the Arbor adore you. You are the Targaryen prince that our family dreamed of. Even mother could not deny that you would make a great king."

Baelon knew that Jace wanted someone to listen to him rather than converse. A conversation that Jace must have longed to have with someone other than himself.

"Driftmark does not belong to me. I knew that from the start. From my coloring and to my seasickness. Seasickness! A Velaryon with seasickness, a jape of the gods, like a Targaryen being sick in the air. They have long shown the world that I am not a Velaryon. My only saving grace is my dragon that hatched from my cradle. Without Vermax, then my Targaryen blood would even be questioned. My grandmother wants me gone and my grandsire looks at Luke as if he could not wait to put the Driftmark crown upon his head."

Baelon hummed, showing that he was still listening.

"Baela and Rhaena still resent me for the incident six sun turns ago. Driftmark feels more like a prison than a home. Every Velaryon in the halls of High Tide wishes my end for the slight my existence has created. Even the common folks believe my existence to be a curse."

Jace let out a shuddering sigh. "No one wants me to live aside from my mother. It has more to do with me being her son, an extension of herself, than being Jace."

The silence was deafening after. Baelon had the urge to wrap the teen in a blanket and hide him away in his room. But he needed to widen the boy's perspective or else he'd end up going down like a bastard. Bitter at the world, angry at himself, and experiencing a very preventable death.

"Do you know how many assassinations I have evaded in the last moon?"

Jace looked confused and scared for a moment, "What?"

He smiled, it was not a nice smile. "Five times this moon." Jace flinched. As someone who was hated but never actually faced an assassination attempt, it seemed like a large number.

"But—you're the Crown Prince! You are Baelon the True. Every soul in Westeros is in awe of you!"

Baelon shook his head, "Hate and Love are not two sides of a coin. They are intermixed and more often than not embraced like lovers."

He stood from the bed and stepped in front of Jace. He bowed to match his eyesight, piercing blue eyes. Eyes as cruel and frosty as the highest towers in the Eyrie.

"Five attempts in a single moon is already a small amount, three sun turns ago it would have been about five and twenty in a moon at the least." He bared his teeth, "No meal that touches my table does not have a dish touched with poison. I go through poison testers like a lady goes through her dresses."

He straightened up and looked down on the pale Prince. "I am simultaneously the most loved and hated person in Westeros, my prince. You need to broaden your horizons. Things are never what they seem. Rules and scriptures of the holy text are never as they are. All decisions are in your hands. You are a Prince of the Realm, you have the power." And the dragon.

"But I am no Valyrian Prince!" The boy exploded, like a secret tearing itself out of his mouth.

Baelon paused, "You look plenty Valyrian to me." And you have a fucking dragon. A cradle-hatched dragon.

Jace's pale face exploded in crimson, rage pulsing in his veins and he gritted his teeth. "Prince Baelon. Do not mock me—"

He took out a handkerchief from his pocket and shoved it into the younger man's mouth. The sheer gall had shocked Jace into silence, eyes wide.

"You do not tan, yes? Even under the Driftmark sun and salt. Just nod if so."

Jace, completely bewildered, nodded.

"Valyrians do not tan, we do not burn under the sun either. You are pale as a ghost, that's the Valyrian skin color. You have dark coloring but that's not much to consider since Valyrians could come out dark-haired. Look at your brother."

The younger prince’s eyes were downcast, considering his words but not actually able to believe in them. Fifteen years of being told you look wrong, imposter syndrome, and the inhuman mental torture of being considered a bastard in Westeros tends to do that.

"Let me put out a situation," he started, "If I were to throw you to the North and you withheld your identity, then the northern folk would not ask 'Who is this lost First Man or even Andal', they will ask 'Who is this lost Valyrian ponce' instead."

Jace blinks like he couldn't decide between being offended or crying his eyes out.

"You have Valyrian features. You look like a Targaryen prince. For all the mixing of blood between Velaryons and Targaryens, we might as well be the same line and come out looking the same. The sun-kissed skin is a detail that pops out sometimes. Most importantly, you have a dragon. Not just any dragon, one that you hatched at the cradle. You can't be more Valyrian than that. No matter who your other parent is, you are definitely Rhaenyra Targaryen's child. You are part of the family, no matter what."

Jace was crying now, sobs muffled by the handkerchief. Hand tightly gripping the end of his tunic and shaking like a newborn kitten.

Baelon decided to take some pity and took out the handkerchief that's now stained with tears, snot, and saliva. Yeah, he better clean this himself lest others misunderstand.

"B—but I-I am plain-faced. Even the Lyseni whores look more Targaryen and have greater honor than me, they said. I bring shame to our family."

Yeah, if Rhaenys doesn't take care of those upstart Velaryons then Baelon will. A very painful type of care that would have them meeting their ancestors.

He cups the boy's face in his hands and made him face him. Aside from the scar over his right eyebrow he observes the face and has the familiar déjà vu from years ago.

"Jace. You have the same face as Rhaenyra. The Realm's Delight. You are far from plain-faced."

Honestly, how the fuck do people think of Harwin when the teen had Rhaenyra's face? Coloring aside and curls, he was a copy of his mother with a broader and taller cut to his figure from First Men blood.

"It's just the rumors have spread to the whole realm. When they look at you, they imagine Harwin Strong. So they focus on those features and consider anything else as inconsequential. If you hear something to be described as blue over the years and you see it for yourself and see that it is purple, you will doubt yourself and agree with the rest that it is indeed blue."

Jace continues to cry, hand gripping Baelon's tunic. He wrapped the teen in a tight hug and pressed him against his chest. Jace was only fifteen, he doesn't deserve any of this. Neither he nor his siblings deserve to carry the generational trauma of the Targaryens and Velaryons.

"You have no fondness for Driftmark, do you?"

The prince nods with his face tucked in Baelon's chest.

"I'll give you a keep, no bothersome Lordship. Somewhere nice and far. How about the North? They worship the Old Gods and do not bother with the hypocrisy of the Seven. I'll get Rhaenyra to agree, you do not need to worry. You won't have to return to Driftmark unless you want to. You do not need to meet any of them if you don't want to."

Jace continues to cry, fifteen years' worth of unshed tears. Baelon continues to hug him and gently pat his back.

They were later found by the Kingsguard who had discovered their crown prince missing and immediately went to this location.

Baelon was laying on the bed with his back against the headrest and cradling a sleeping Velaryon prince with puffy red eyes closed and tear marks on his fair face.

He places a finger over his lips to silence them and immediately shooed them out. They could come later when Jace wasn't falling apart and Baelon wasn't busy trying to fix him back together.

Baelon waltzes into the throne room like a feline ready to get things done quickly no matter who he has to swipe at to get it.

The Velaryons and Daemon and his twins had stayed for one and a half months while they waited for Baelon to recover. His wounds weren't in danger of opening up anytime soon but he still needed bandages over his throat. The smell of the herbs still lingered around him. Thankfully the more pungent herbs were thrown in the fire by Baelon, so only the ones that smelled minty and pleasantly herbal remained.

Rhaenyra was the image of The Mother in her fury at everyone for even thinking of disinheriting her precious son. Looks like she wasn't able to negotiate or plead with Rhaenys. There was no throne and Luke was legitimate in this time.

Rhaenys looked absolutely done and at the same time, mildly murderous. The Velaryons, Vaemond and his two sons were behind her and silent as quails with their heads down.

Good, Rhaenys gave them a reality check about how big dragons are and how pathetically easy it is to end their lives. Only the bond of being bound by blood prevents her from making an example of Vaemond for his sons.

Daemon had no problem whatsoever and the man has a long list of people he wants to kill and Vaemond, who did not hide his plan to wed at least one of the Targaryen twins to either of his sons, was currently on top of it with the crossed-off Otto and a written-in-red Criston.

Vaemond is a wound left to fester while he lives. Baelon would not have civil war in the second most powerful house in Westeros.

To make this quick, he had only made Rhaenys and the Velaryons, Rhaenyra and Jace, and Lyonel and the small council present. Anyone else he had barred from being present.

His plan included first giving Jace a nice keep somewhere North without any Lordship and enough gold to live a life of luxury many times over. He would also decree that Jace be given the title of Royal Land Consular. An empty title but one that would give him authority to snitch on the houses to the King's ears about how they are managing their lands. It would make the uppity nobles who had a problem with him back off.

The second step would be to survive Rhaenyra.

But what matters is that the kids are happy, fuck what the unreliable adults want. Rhaenyra should remember she has more than one kid. No matter how horrible the circumstances that poor Luke was born out of. Blame Rhaenys and Corlys, not the poor boy.

Jace was standing away from everyone, his back straight and chin up, like a man who had made a decision and would stick with it even if the world disagrees. Good, because they were in this together.

"Jacaerys Velaryon, Prince of the Realm. We are here in the presence of the court to decide on your fate and stance as the Heir to Driftmark. Step forward to the Crown's presence," Baelon announced, his voice echoing in the silent halls.

Jace moved towards him until he was in front of the Iron Throne. His dark eyes locked on Baelon, face calm and steady. Yet his stiffness betrayed his uneasiness.

"Prince Jacaerys Velaryon. You are hereby—"

Then Jace suddenly kneels.

"Your Grace, Crown Prince Baelon Targaryen of House Targaryen. I swear to ward the crown prince with all my strength, and give my blood for his. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard his secrets, obey his commands, ride at his side, and defend his name and honor. My life is saved by the crown prince and hence it will be his. Your Grace, please allow me the honor to serve as your Kingsguard."

There was utter silence. Tension thick and shock permeating in the throne room.

Baelon was gaping, eyes wide and vibrant blue. He couldn't speak, he couldn't move.

This was not what they fucking talked about.

Rhaenyra screamed out her eldest child's name. The room seemed to come alive as noises traveled around and chaos surrounded them.

Jacaerys Velaryon continued to kneel, eyes serious and steady and so very hopeful. He looked so young yet so old at the same time. Baelon knew then that nothing was going to make Jace back out of this.

Like mother, like son.

They're gonna send Baelon to an early grave.

"Your request is granted, Prince Jacaerys. The oath-taking will proceed tomorrow with the rest of the Kingsguards."

Honestly, he was done with this family.

Chapter Text

Viserys, may he be rewarded for his actions both good and bad in the afterlife, held on longer than in canon.

He should have died a day and night after the petition and the infamous dinner that never happened here. But hearing his precious heir was injured made him cling to life until Baelon had recovered enough to visit him after the whole petition mess.

The king was delirious and alternating between talking to him, Aemma, late Prince Baelon, and even King Jaehaerys.

Then for the last time, he called him Aemma. Told him that they had fulfilled the prophecy, that both he and she had sired and birthed the prince that was promised. The one who would save the world from the Long Night, the chosen prince. They had done their duty.

Baelon looked at the man with blank eyes and closed his own when his breath stopped.

Viserys was a decent king, a bad father to his other children, and an absolutely horrible husband. But he had made sure to raise Baelon the best he could and keep him alive when half the realm was after his head.

"The king is dead," he said out loud.

Ser Harrold Westerling kneeled with Ser Steffon Darklyn. Both Kingsguard bowed respectfully. "King Viserys Targaryen has passed. Long live King Baelon Targaryen, the First of his name."

Baelon sighed and looked up at the ceiling. He didn’t know what to do now.

First was the funeral.

The common folk wept for the king. They called him Viserys the Peaceful. His reign wasn’t anything great, but it was peaceful, and no wars raged while he ruled. This was more than enough for the common folk.

The nobles liked Viserys for his genial and soft attitude and were sad to see a malleable king go, no matter how much Baelon had reigned for him over the last years.

The Targaryens had no love for Viserys, even more so the Velaryons. The only one who might have actually felt sadness was Daemon. And that was more for his idea of a “brother” and Viserys of their childhood than the delusional and weak-willed man he grew up to be.

The one who lit his pyre was Baelon, commanding Vermithor. It was a silent but heavy affair.

Alicent was with her children, dressed in black with a mourning veil over her face. She clutched Gwayne Hightower’s arm like a lifeline.

Unlike his father, Gwayne did not have a speck of ambition in his blood and was more often than not found speaking and drinking ale with the common folk. He was patient and easygoing, a nice young lad with some decent skill with the sword. Those qualities were what kept him alive as the Hightowers slowly but steadily crumbled and died off.

All of them were present at the funeral. He had expected Viserys’ passing, so he made everyone stay even after the petition. He excused it as a settlement between all of them to avoid having wounds fester if they all fled back to their homes without talking about things. There was no real conversation going on though, and everyone kept to themselves, but it got the job done and everyone was present when the King was announced dead.

Baelon had many plans and things to do, planning a coronation at the top of it. Honestly, he wanted to take Vermithor and have a relaxing flight around the Seven Kingdoms. He and the old dragon needed it.

Ser Harrold Westerling was given his white cloak and joined the Kingsguard during the reign of King Jaehaerys. Then he continued to serve King Viserys when the man was crowned. As the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, he served the king first and foremost. Even when Prince Baelon had gained power and controlled the court, he stayed beside the ailing king.

It was his duty, and he was grateful that Prince Baelon was an understanding and wise young man. Harrold had served two kings who improved and cared for the realm. But the two great men had the same failing.

In serving the realm, they had forgotten about their own family, or worse, hurt them. King Jaehaerys, bless his soul, was more king than he had ever been a father, especially to the princesses. Stabilizing and pacifying the realm after the reign of terror of Maegor was no easy feat. Yet as his children continued to fall like autumn leaves in a torrid storm, he hadn’t done anything to stop it.

From a bountiful family field with numerous heirs, he was left with four grandchildren from nine children who lived to adulthood. With one taking on the Velaryon name along with her dragons.

King Viserys tried. But he tried too much and ended up with miscarriages after miscarriages and stillborn children from his poor late queen Aemma.

“Bedded too early,” whispered the maesters and common folk. “Too many pregnancies in too little time in between,” said the midwives.

Then the queen died, leaving behind a sickly heir everyone thought would die before the Moon’s turn. Living only a princess as the child of the king and an empty seat for the title of queen. Lord Otto Hightower used his influence with the king, and his daughter became queen.

Yet Prince Baelon lived.

And now he was to be crowned King.

The crowning ceremony was grand and festive. The food and wine flowed in the feast and were shared amongst the common folk, something the crown prince had insisted on. Citing that no food be wasted and every coin spent must be worth its weight.

The crown prince tried to have a smaller and quicker coronation with barely any festivities. But everyone had protested, and even the money-pinching Master of Coin, Lord Beesbury, said that they must make a statement. The Velaryons were glad to prepare coin for the coronation, but Baelon barred them and insisted on using the Royal Treasury instead. Smart move by the prince since Lord Corlys would have squeezed every favor he could when given a chance.

It had been a stressful time for everyone, especially the crown prince. So he had his siblings moved to his chambers again.

So when Harrold knocked and entered the chamber of the crown prince, he wasn’t as scandalized as others would have been.

It was a scene that would have made him deeply uncomfortable many sun turns ago when he still had dark auburn hair instead of silvery white. The scene was very scandalous, and if the people involved weren’t Prince Baelon and his siblings, people would have assumed the worst.

Prince Baelon lay on the large bed with his limbs spread out, staring at the ceiling as if it had the answers to all his questions and wasn’t answering the young man. He was only in his sleeping clothes with his thin tunic exposing his pale collar and throat. A thin jagged scar running down from below his neck to his collarbone. Also dressed in nightclothes was Prince Aemond, who was using his lap to pillow the crown prince’s head, slender hand cascading and playing with the long gold-silver hair of his eldest brother.

Focusing on avoiding the sight, Princess Helaena was also in her nightclothes and was sleeping while hugging the crown prince’s right arm, curling into herself with soft snores.

Prince Aegon had always been the most daring—shameless—and had sprawled himself on his elder brother’s chest. Cheeks pressed on where the prince’s heart would be. Entwining his fingers with his brother’s left hand and the other hand hugging the crown prince’s waist. His right leg slung over Prince Baelon’s legs. Sticking to him like a court monkey to a tree.

Prince Daeron was with his infamous lute and gently plucking the strings. He also sat on the bed, his back pressed against Prince Baelon’s side.

A scene that would have horrified the whole keep and spread scandal faster than any ship in the naval army of the Velaryons. But a common enough sight to the Kingsguard who knew better.

While the younger royals certainly had no problem raising their relationship into something more intimate, as proven by their actions over the years, Crown Prince Baelon certainly did not.

For such a sharp young man who seemed as if he could peer into your mind when those cold blue eyes landed on you, he was quite deft at amorous feelings towards himself. Oh, the prince knew well enough if a lady or lad in the court took a fancy to him. But to those he kept close, he was particularly blind.

It might have something to do with the twenty-name-day rule that the prince followed with an ironclad will. Anyone below that age might as well be walking out of a cradle for their gracious prince.

It was a fear and stance of mind developed by the poor prince in relation to his mother, the late queen Aemma. The queen who was bedded too young and suffered for it until her death. Prince Baelon would be the first king crowned without a lady wife beside him.

Since the only possible candidates to the queenship were a few sun turns short of their twentieth name day, it would likely remain that the prince stayed a bachelor.

Everyone in the kingdom knew that if the prince picked any bride outside of Valyrian royal blood, then that bride wouldn’t last until the wedding. It was also a reason for the decline of unmarried noble ladies in the court aside from the prince’s own efforts to chase them all away.

When it came to this peculiar trait, Harrold was reminded of Prince Vaegon when the Archmaester still lived in the Red Keep.

No woman or man caught the scholar prince’s eyes. Nay, he despised any contact whatsoever. When boys their age were spending coin and time in the brothels, the prince spent it reading. Even when the older princes tried to cajole him, Prince Vaegon would sneer and chase them off with his sharp tongue.

But Prince Baelon was nothing but dutiful and true to his words. A king that anyone would be proud to serve. He would give the realm heirs, that Harrold knew. And most likely soon, with how the princesses (and princes) circled around his presence like a beast on a hunt. Or a dragon.

For now, they had a coronation to survive, for all that it was for show. All citizens, from highborn to lowborn, had been referring to Prince Baelon as “Your Grace” instead of “My Prince” for years now, after all.

“Your Grace, the small council awaits.”

Ser Harrold Westerling, Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, was looking forward to the future that King Baelon would bring them.

He wants to retire.

Baelon sat alone in his chambers, hunched over with his face leaning on folded hands. This was what he had been waiting for these past 21 years: dealing with assassins, court politics, dragons, and the Targaryen family. Now it was high time to know whether he had won over fate. If the Dance of the Dragons happened again… Fucking damn it. Why couldn't he have been born a Stark during peacetime?

The crown was barely on his head, and he wants it gone already. The coronation was as ostentatious as a coronation could be, with overflowing guests and feasts. There was a tourney, politicking, and too many Targaryen banners. His family even managed not to rip each other's throats out long enough to pull off a dragon performance in the sky.

It looked pretty and reminded the people that they had large flying and fire-breathing lizards that could easily burn them all if they do something stupid – a threat and a performance mixed together, what a joy of a message at the start of his reign.

Aside from a pissed-off Rhaenyra who was more annoyed with her son, he was in a good situation with everyone. There were no Blacks or Greens or any other colors. He does his job for the realm, doesn't have the eccentricities of murderous Targaryens, and most importantly, has a cock, so he was easily supported by the nobles and the common folk. There was unlikely a dance, and Baelon fucking hopes so.

The crown was on his head – a new crown he had the Kingsguard help him dig out of the Treasury in Dragonstone, a small vault mostly filled with jewels and Valyrian steel, found when he had them search the place upside down for any possible entrance for assassins.

It was a slender silver band, made from Valyrian steel – a simple circlet with patterns like a tree branching out its roots. A few small rubies embedded in the crown brought some color.

Baelon was not going to wear a crown from the head of the kings past, especially not Viserys' crown. But now, as a king, Baelon feels lost. All this time his goal had been preventing the Dance, but now that it was unlikely to happen, he doesn't know what to do.

Someone knocks on his door, and he immediately knew it was not one of his siblings, they would just barge in without any warning as if they owned the place. "Let yourself in!"

Whoever it was, it wasn't anyone dangerous; two Kingsguard were at his door, after all. The door opens to a strutting Daemon Targaryen with two Velaryon girls trailing after him. Oh great.

"Greetings, Princess Baela and Princess Rhaena. What brings both of you and... Daemon here?"

Baela has the same unrepentant grin as her father, while Rhaena blushes gracefully. The polarity of this pair of twins was interesting to see.

"You are King, trēsy! Do not mope in your chambers. The whole kingdom celebrates you! King Baelon Targaryen, the First of his name! The lowborns cry out for their blessed king, and Andal nobles quake in their knees at the presence of a strong Targaryen King. Get out of your Chambers!"

'No, you get out of fucking mine,' Baelon does not say, but instead glares at his uncle. "My father is dead, Daemon. Your brother," he says pointedly, his melancholy has less to do with Viserys and more to do with the uncertain future, but he does feel a tinge of loss upon the man's death. For all that he was a bad father to his other children, he did prioritize Baelon.

A dark look passes through Daemon's dark purple eyes before he sneers, "My brother has been dead for quite some time, trēsy. It's been sunturns since Viserys left his bed and has been able to talk to someone without mistaking them for someone else or falling asleep in the middle of the conversation."

Since the Prince roams the castle again, Baelon had given him free access to the ailing king. Safe to say that Daemon stamps out of the room furious almost every meeting. Otto's poison is hard to strip away from the king even with the man gone.

Viserys' own jealousy and paranoia against Daemon did not make things easy, especially since the green snake managed to whisper in Viserys' ear a few years back that Daemon was after Baelon's life, completely forgetting that Daemon could have killed him there and then when he stole his egg at one year old, you know, the time babies die without any explanation in the medieval times.

The continued interaction and failure chipped off the already frayed loyalty the man had after years of banishment and betrayal from Viserys. It wasn't a reunion like in canon where distance makes the heart fonder.

It was because of his understanding of Daemon's rage and grief at his loyalty being tossed away like something inconsequential that he allows the man to visit his chambers at night after every failed interaction with Viserys.

Some nights he would rant and pace around the bed, others he would be deathly quiet sitting in a chair, sometimes he would be cleaning his sword too. Then there were the times that he would be drunk. Daemon was a reminiscent drunk, thinking of the past more often, talking about his childhood, dragging Viserys to the training yard, following behind Rhaenys, being excited when his father brought him flying with Vhagar, even being annoyed with his timid aunt Gael who was closer in age with them.

Rarely, he would even talk about Aemma; he would just mutter how 'she was right' or 'she had beaten them all'. Baelon doesn't pry.

Then there were nights when Daemon just seemed so tired, a bone-deep pain in him. The first time it happened, he stood beside the bed, listless. Baelon felt pity, then pulled him to bed. He allowed the man to wrap him in a tight hug, almost enveloping him. When they would sleep close to each other, their body heat would warm each other, and they could hear each other's breathing.

Since that time, whenever Daemon was in that mindset, he would just pull open Baelon's covers and join him in bed without any prompt.

Of course, the prince visited him whenever none of his siblings did, and the fact that his siblings suddenly encounter events like a ghostly partition that frightened them back to their chambers, incidents like a loud feral cat lounging in the path, and many other ridiculous reasons, was definitely a coincidence.

It didn't stop them, but it certainly lessened their visits, but it likely has to do with no one knowing the nightly excursions of the rogue prince; if so, then he has no doubt his siblings would camp out in his chambers every single night.

At this rate, the times Baelon spends alone in his chambers are rare.

"Cousin! Father said we are here to present our case for you to allow Rhaena to try to claim an egg or dragon in Dragonstone," Baela says. She was vibrating in anticipation and seemed more excited than her sister.

Rhaena on the side does a perfect curtsy and smiles hopefully at Baelon. "Good day, Your Grace. It has been a long time, I would like to give my gratitude again for saving me six sunturns ago."

Baelon waves his hand, "No need, it was not a task to save family. You can drop the title as well. Call me Baelon."

Baela grins, short silver hair curling around her cheeks, and Rhaena smiles, violet eyes sparkling and a fair face – as expected of Valyrian genes, not to mention having Daemon and Laena's DNA.

"So, the dragon claiming?" Daemon brings up, also excited to share the experience of a dragon bond with his younger daughter.

Baelon doesn't roll his eyes, but barely so. "I permit it. I will provide you with a seal for the dragon keepers. You can go to Dragonstone tomorrow."

It was about time as well. Amongst all the Targaryens and Velaryons with Dragon-riding genes, only Rhaena didn't have a dragon. It must have been a terribly horrible feeling. The right to claim a dragon from Dragonstone was something only the king could grant.

Who knows why Viserys didn't give his permission, but it damn well broke whatever loyalty was left in Daemon. None of the female dragons laid eggs either. Only the rider can decide where the eggs of their dragon could go.

Neither Syrax nor Meleys had shown any signs of nesting in the last years, so there wasn't an egg available aside from the cradle egg of Rhaena and Baela. Wild dragons were not considered for good reasons.

Baela did a loud cheer and wrapped her arms around her sister, lifting Rhaena's dainty feet up and twirling her around. "You hear that, Rhae! You can bond with a dragon! Or an egg! I told you Cousin Baelon would give you a chance!" Not like Viserys, was implied but not said. Again, Baelon would like to repeat that no one really liked King Viserys, and sometimes for valid reasons.

Rhaena was eventually let go by her sister, and she did a low bow with tears in her eyes. "Thank you, Cousin," she choked.

Baelon gently smiled and waved the girls out as they left. Baela was happily yelling out loud how her sister was about to have a dragon while pulling her by the hand. Rhaena smiled again as she took one last glimpse of him before she left.

That left him with the family's resident headache. "Do you know why Father never gave her leave?" he asked.

A furious scowl appeared on Daemon's face. No doubt if Viserys was here, then he would have strangled his kingly brother right there and then. "The fool said that he could not let another house have a dragon when Rhaena marries, that the Velaryons had enough dragons and were a threat."

Baelon did a slow blink, Viserys couldn't have—

"He did remember that the girls' surnames are Targaryens, correct? And the fact that he celebrated every cradle-hatched dragon from Rhaenyra Velaryon's children?"

The dark, violent emotions playing out in Daemon's eyes and his bared teeth were enough of an answer.

"Good grief," Baelon sighs. Viserys, you fucking fool. It was always Daemon, anything to do with Daemon was always a problem for him. Just what was going on inside his father's head?

"He is dead now, nothing we could do about it. Viserys is in Aemma's hand now," he shakes his head and tilted his head back to land on his bed, his lower half dangling on the edge of the bed.

Daemon raises an eyebrow. "You think both of them share the same afterlife?"

"Aye, Viserys' hell is Aemma's paradise. No doubt he is her punisher, her and the babes that never lived past their first name day."

The rogue prince blinked in surprise. "That is a morbid thought."

Baelon snorts. "Karma is, if you ask me."

"Karma?" Daemon dubiously asks. Ah, right, the belief didn't exist here in Westeros.

"Never mind; it is a belief about punishment and rewards from somewhere I forgot," he blithely said, then turned his head when a knock sounded on the door. "Your Grace, the council requires your presence. A situation has arisen," Ser Harrold said from behind the door.

Baelon sagged and looked up at the ceiling. "I will be there soon, Ser."

Daemon snickers and stands up, making his way behind him. Arms circle around his shoulders, Daemon leaning his weight against Baelon's back. "I hope you like my present for your coronation, Your Grace," he whispers in his ear.

A vein throbbed above Baelon's eye, and he reached out his hand to pinch the rogue prince's ear.

A hiss of pain escaped Daemon as he let go of Baelon.

"Now, I have a meeting about an infernal problem you have made. Go and make yourself useful by helping your daughter prepare," he chided, hands pushing away and towards the trap door that became Daemon's personal tunnel.

Baelon was practically ruling already, why did wearing a crown make things so much more difficult?

Vaemond Velaryon was dead. That was Daemon's gift. What the hell? It was merely a day after his coronation!

Officially, the man decided to leave the festivities to roam Flea Bottom drunk. That was when he tripped over his foot in an alley and hit his head. The festivities drowned out any sounds from the incident, and the man was later found by a poor street rat who reported it to the gold cloaks. The cause of death was the impact that cracked his skull and left him to bleed to death – a brain hemorrhage, so to speak, in modern times.

Unofficially, and the truth based on what Baelon could infer, Vaemond was lured into a trap by Daemon to visit Flea Bottom and ended up having his head bashed against the walls by either Daemon or one of his gold cloaks. An unfortunate incident as far as anyone was concerned.

The unlucky man should not have been walking around drunk on Arbor gold – an unfortunate and accidental death, just what Baelon had asked. But did it have to happen during his coronation?

The Velaryons were, of course, skeptical, but eyes were on Rhaenyra, the only one to have the motive. Yet, she was under surveillance by Rhaenys, so it would have been near impossible for her to find a chance to hire a cutthroat. So the Velaryons were leaning towards this being an accident in truth, or another hidden presence that Vaemond must have pissed off.

But no one pointed a finger at the new king. After all, he had nothing to gain from the death of the man. As for Daemon, people have assumed that he would have one day lopped off the man's head in front of many people as a show when the greedy man actually tries reaching for his daughters.

Then Vaemond again became a forgettable footnote in the grand history of Westeros, especially since his death was the same day as a coronation. Huh, maybe that's why Daemon did it; he was a petty bastard, after all.

When he gave his permission for the twins and Daemon to claim an egg or dragon from Dragonstone, he expected Rhaena to find a warm egg that calls to her or to bond with a hatchling. He did not expect her to come out of Dragonstone flying on top of Silverwing.

That she-dragon had been particularly snappy in the recent years, as seen in how she tried to eat Tyraxes. Even the dragon keepers knew to be particularly careful with this dragon, so he knew that Daemon knew better than to allow his daughter near a practically feral dragon. What he didn't consider was Rhaena herself.

Damn it, she was so polite and shy that he often forgets that Daemon's blood runs through her, that she was the ten-year-old that fucking climbed and tried to ride Vhagar out of pure spite. So now Silverwing has a rider – an unwed Valyrian woman of great status, and Baelon fucking rides Vermithor.

Unlike his bonded, he wasn't as thrilled as Silverwing finding someone to bond with. Baelon could practically hear the wedding bells already. But—Rhaena is sixteen. Sixteen. Baelon got four more years before the court and the Velaryons hauled him up his ass to throw him to Daemon so the man could present him to his daughter like a name day present.

"Your Grace, Lord Strong requests entrance," Ser Harrold says when he enters his chambers.

Baelon gave him his permission, and Lyonel enters the chambers. The man had given up on trying to dye his hair brown, so his dark hair was nearly half silver.

Wrinkles appear on his face as a mark of time, but there was a lightness to him that was new. "Pri—King Baelon," he corrects himself. "I have a request I hope you might grant."

There was something in his voice, a carefree lightness that Baelon does not like.

"Go on," he said.

"I have faithfully served as Hand for sixteen years, first to your father, King Viserys, and then as your mentor during the later years. I am an old man now, Your Grace. My time is near; I would like to spend it with my family, guiding Harwin as Lord and seeing my grandchildren grow up."

Hold up. What. Rewind. Fucking rewind.

"A-are you saying you want to quit?" He stutters, disbelief painting his face.

Lyonel blinks like a man in Zen mode. "If that means leaving my position as the Hand, then yes, Your Grace. I would like to 'quit'."

The traitorous bastard! After all they went through! They were supposed to be in this together.

"What brought this on? Being the Hand is a very influential position that is not easy to leave. You could help Harwin and your house further as a guiding power in Westeros."

Lyonel continues to be calm, a small smile appearing on his face. "I trust you, Your Grace. I know that King Baelon will protect the realm and its people and be the King every unfortunate soul in Westeros needs. I do not need to be there to do it. I have already compiled a list of possible Hand candidates; I will have a page send it here."

Baelon does not know what to say.

"That would be all, Your Grace," he bows, then turns around to walk towards the door. But before he leaves, he pauses and looks back at him. "And my king, Prince Daemon and Prince Aegon with the rest of your siblings are currently engaged in a very heated discussion in the east wing. I'm afraid blades will be drawn soon. I bid you fair fortune. Farewell," then he slams the door shut behind him.

Baelon grabs a pillow and buries his face into it, then screams. He cries too. A lot of crying.