The hall held its breath for a heartbeat.
Then the silence shattered beneath a roar of applause.
In Westeros, all unions were sanctified beneath the eyes of the Seven.
The pair were young, it was true, yet this was only a betrothal, not a wedding. The marriage would not be solemnized until Laena Velaryon had flowered. Even so, though no vows had yet been sworn before septon or altar, there were terms that could not be left to chance.
"The first child born of Baelon and Laena shall bear the name Velaryon," Lord Corlys declared at once, his voice firm as the tides. "That child will inherit Driftmark and the ancient titles of Lord of the Tides."
He folded his hands atop the table, dark eyes unblinking.
"In return, Driftmark will stand as Harrenhal's closest ally, now and always."
Once the feast had drawn to a close, the great houses withdrew to a quieter chamber, away from prying ears. It was there that Corlys spoke more plainly.
He was no fool. He knew his son Laenor's inclinations well enough, and he held no illusions that Laenor would ever give him heirs. His hopes rested wholly upon Laena and the prince she was to wed.
Daemon Targaryen exploded.
"Folly!"
His palm struck the table so hard the cups rattled. His violet eyes burned as he rounded on Corlys.
"Baelon's children will bear the name Targaryen. Prince of Harrenhal, Lord of Crab Bay. and the Archon of Tyrosh. Tell me, Lord of the Tides, which of your titles rivals those?"
"Tyrosh?"
Corlys turned his head slowly toward Baelon, curiosity sharp in his gaze.
The smile on Baelon's face tightened, almost imperceptibly. He flicked a glance toward Daemon, warning clear in his eyes.
Baelon laughed softly. "There is no cause for alarm. I merely enjoy cordial relations with Tyrosh's newly elected Archon."
Daemon snorted, but Baelon pressed on, smoothly reclaiming the floor.
"Should we not be speaking of my betrothal instead?" he said, turning to Corlys with practiced ease. "One child bearing the Velaryon name is a fair and generous compromise. I accept these terms."
His tone was light, almost amused, yet his intent was precise. He would not allow the conversation to linger.
If it became known that Tyrosh already bent to his influence, the Stepstones would slip further from his grasp. No one would permit Harrenhal to grow too mighty, not even his uncle, King Viserys.
Strength, Viserys could accept. Baelon had ever stood openly beside Rhaenyra, and the king could endure a powerful nephew.
But power sufficient to rival the Seven Kingdoms themselves was another matter entirely.
Even without ambition for the Iron Throne, Baelon's vassals would one day forge such ambition on his behalf.
And when that day came, the Iron Throne would be reduced to twisted iron and old bones.
At last, even Viserys sensed the danger, though he scarcely understood it.
"Speak plainly," the king said, leaning forward. "What is your involvement with Tyrosh? Have you already taken possession of it?"
Baelon met his gaze without flinching.
"No," he said firmly. "I do not rule Tyrosh. I have only personal ties with Archon Aqys, and several private trade accords, nothing more."
He repeated the assurance, calmly and without embellishment. Still, Viserys's brow remained furrowed.
Baelon did not command Tyrosh yet, but his haste to secure the Stepstones betrayed his aim. Tyrosh lay at the heart of that island chain.
Viserys had once planned to divide the Stepstones. Grey Gallows and the southern isles to Corlys Velaryon. Bloodstone and the northern reaches to Daemon.
Now he saw the flaw.
Both men were bound to Baelon. To grant either dominion would only strengthen Harrenhal's unseen grasp upon Tyrosh.
Daemon most of all would never hesitate.
As the king turned the matter over in his mind, he recalled a thought Daemon himself had once voiced. The removal of others from inheritance.
At last, Viserys found his answer.
"The Stepstones shall be divided according to Baelon's proposal," the king announced. "Bloodstone and the northern isles shall be united beneath the title Lord of Bloodstone, to be held by my son, Prince Aegon Targaryen."
A murmur rippled through the chamber.
"Grey Gallows and the southern isles will pass to my daughter, Princess Helaena Targaryen."
Shock struck like thunder.
No one had imagined that a betrothal would end with the fate of the Stepstones decided so abruptly.
Daemon rose in a blur.
With a violent sweep of his arm, he overturned the table. Wine and silver crashed to the floor.
"Viserys," he snarled, pointing a shaking finger. "Is Rhaenyra the only child you can see? Look at her. What in her resembles a queen? The true heir stands before you, yet you deny him. Worse, you bind him. Is this kingship?"
Daemon was not wrong.
Even with Baelon's guidance in this life, Rhaenyra had only softened the sharpest edges of her nature. Her judgment remained uncertain, her passions unchecked.
"Enough!" Viserys bellowed, rising unsteadily to his feet. "I am the king."
He loved his family, but he would not suffer open defiance.
"You will rue this," Daemon said coldly.
He seized his cloak and strode from the chamber, boots echoing with finality.
Only when the doors closed behind him did the room breathe again.
Baelon lifted his head. He exchanged glances with Corlys and Princess Rhaenys. All three shared the same restrained, resigned smile.
"Uncle," Baelon said evenly, "I will honor your decree and acknowledge Aegon and Helaena as rulers of the Stepstones."
He inclined his head.
"If it pleases you, I would now return to Harrenhal. Laena wishes to accompany me for a time, with Lord Corlys and Princess Rhaenys's leave."
He rose and bowed, perfect in form.
Viserys opened his mouth, then closed it. He wished to explain himself. To say that his affection for Baelon had never waned, only that a king must guard against excess.
"I understand," Baelon said gently. "You are the King of the Seven Kingdoms, and Princess Rhaenyra is your chosen heir. That truth stands unchallenged."
There was no resentment in his voice, only calm acceptance. That composure cut deeper than anger ever could.
"Baelon," Viserys said heavily, "I cannot grant you the Stepstones. But beyond them, you may pursue your interests in Tyrosh as you see fit. I will not oppose you."
He paused.
"And your wedding. I will oversee it myself. It shall be the grandest wedding the realm has ever witnessed."
Baelon inclined his head. "You have my thanks, Uncle."
He had long since learned the limits of Viserys's resolve.
In his former life, even when Rhaenyra filled the court with bastards and folly, Viserys had shielded her at every turn.
That was the difference between Baelon and Daemon.
Baelon never placed his future in another's hands.
The Iron Throne belonged not to blood alone, but to those strong enough to claim it.
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A/N: If you think you know what comes next… you don't. The answers are already waiting ahead.
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