After Baelon's departure, only three remained in the chamber. The doors closed behind him with a muted thud, and silence crept in like a gathering storm.
Rhaenys broke it at last.
"Forgive my bluntness, Viserys," she said, folding her hands atop her skirts. Her voice was steady, though her eyes betrayed a trace of weariness. "Though I would rather not speak such words aloud, compared to Baelon… Rhaenyra is not well suited to rule. The lords of the Seven Kingdoms will not acknowledge her."
Even as she spoke, Rhaenys knew how cruel the timing was. Yet she had chosen honesty over comfort.
An observer always sees more clearly. More than that, she herself had once stood where Rhaenyra now stood.
At the Great Council of 101 AC, she had watched the smiles of the nobles and learned what darkness lay beneath them.
The laws of succession had never declared that a woman must stand beneath a man. Yet her own defeat had written that truth in bloodless ink.
In every measure of ability, she had surpassed Viserys. Her dragon still lived, a living threat and shield in equal measure. And yet the lords had turned away from her.
If she could not ascend the Iron Throne, then Rhaenyra's chances were slimmer still.
"I believe Rhaenyra can become a fine queen," Viserys said. He clasped his hands together, fingers worrying at one another. "I truly believe she can."
Even as the words left his mouth, their strength faded.
He had not expected such resistance. Not from his own blood.
For the first time, doubt took root in his heart. Could she truly keep the throne once his shadow was gone?
"Then perhaps we must bind our houses more closely," Viserys continued, lifting his head as if grasping at a final rope. "Rhaenyra and Laenor…"
He faltered.
Corlys Velaryon inclined his head slightly, his expression calm and immovable. "Forgive me, Your Grace," he said evenly, "but my son is not suited to such a burden. Laenor cannot bear the weight of a prince consort. I must decline."
There was no malice in his tone.
Corlys was a man long accustomed to the tides of power. He knew better than most that one should never stake everything on a single throw.
He had already bound his house to the most formidable Targaryen prince alive. In comparison, Rhaenyra's claim no longer carried decisive weight.
In the contest for the Iron Throne, she stood at a disadvantage.
Against Baelon, she had no chance. She would likely not even prevail over Aegon.
Among the lords of the realm, Prince Aegon commanded the greatest open support.
Baelon followed close behind. His overwhelming personal strength, paired with the backing of Jason Lannister, Lord of the Westerlands, placed him firmly in second.
As for Rhaenyra, Corlys allowed himself a silent reckoning.
In name, she enjoyed universal loyalty. In truth, only the Riverlands, the North, and portions of the Crownlands would truly stand with her.
Dorne remained aloof from the struggles of the Iron Throne, as it always had. Their voice carried little weight.
The Stormlands were another matter. Borros Baratheon spoke loudly of loyalty, but Corlys knew the man well enough to understand how swiftly his favor could turn.
Once, Corlys had intended to remain neutral.
But Baelon's meteoric rise had shattered that notion.
A Targaryen of such promise came once in a generation. Corlys would not let such an opportunity pass him by.
Lines, at last, had to be drawn.
"Very well," Viserys said softly. A strained smile tugged at his lips as he rose from his seat. "Please rest comfortably. I shall take my leave."
As he turned away, the weight of the day pressed heavily upon him.
I have made too many missteps, he thought.
Thank the gods Rhaenyra was not present. Had she heard this, the fragile warmth between us would have frozen once more.
Three Years Later
115 AC
After the final rupture within House Targaryen, Prince Daemon mounted Caraxes and left King's Landing, taking up residence in the blackened towers of Harrenhal.
Laena Velaryon, meanwhile, often flew to Harrenhal on dragonback, spending long days in Baelon's company and strengthening the bond between them.
Laena had turned fifteen. She had seen her first blood the year before. Yet Baelon was still young, and both houses agreed that the wedding should wait. The betrothal would stand.
In a few years' time, they would wed.
"My lord."
Baelon turned from the window as Illis spoke behind him.
"Word has come from King's Landing," the older man continued. "His Grace intends to bring his children to Dragonstone to attempt dragon bonding. The eggs meant for Princess Helaena and Prince Aemond have been confirmed dead. They will not hatch. The king means for them to attempt claiming riderless dragons instead."
Illis hesitated, then added, "Princess Rhaenyra and King Viserys also invite you to attend. They say it has been too long since the family last gathered."
Baelon considered this in silence. Sunlight caught in his silver hair as he lifted a hand and brushed it back behind his ear, a habit Laena had insisted upon since he was seven and one he had never abandoned.
"Send word to King's Landing," he said at last. "Tell them I will attend."
"Yes, my lord."
Illis inclined his head, but as he straightened, his gaze lingered on Baelon's figure.
Though the years had worn his own body thin, Illis had watched Baelon grow into something extraordinary.
Every time he saw him, the same thought rose unbidden.
What a devastatingly handsome youth.
The unnatural charm Baelon possessed, paired with the otherworldly beauty of Valyrian blood, had made him the most striking young man in the Seven Kingdoms.
Each year, bards and noble ladies alike journeyed to Harrenhal merely to glimpse the Dragon Prince. Once ensnared, they spread tales of his beauty across the realm, until his name became legend in its own right.
From such whispers and longing, a new achievement took shape.
***
[Achievement Unlocked: Crimson-Faced Beauty (Gold Rank)]
Beauty knows no borders... of nation, race, or gender. Dragonfire may destroy your enemies, but your charm can conquer everything.
At this point, shouldn't anything I do be forgiven?
Reward: Mercy of All Things
Though only a Gold-rank achievement, Mercy of All Things was extraordinarily powerful.
Baelon tested it himself. This ability dramatically increased others' goodwill toward him.
For example, when encountering a complete stranger for the first time, that person's initial disposition toward Baelon would automatically settle at a friendly level.
It was a perfect talent for winning hearts and minds.
Two years earlier, upon fully taking control of Tyrosh, Baelon had unlocked another achievement.
[Achievement Unlocked: King of Tyrosh (Silver Rank)]
Though your banner does not yet fly, Tyrosh has already taken your shape. Its armies, industries, and officials all serve your will.
A mere Free City is nothing. Your gaze should be set on the stars and the sea beyond.
Reward: Bloodflame Legion
Unlike previous rewards, this one granted something tangible, a two-thousand-strong army.
They were equipped with finely crafted weapons and armor, their bearing cold and lethal, unmistakably elite.
Most striking of all, their armor and cloaks bore a vivid sigil: a blood-red dragon's head.
Yes, an exact miniature of Tyraxes
Fortunately, these troops could be stored within Baelon's consciousness space. Otherwise, he would have had no plausible explanation for the sudden appearance of two thousand soldiers.
These two achievements were among Baelon's few but most significant gains over the past three years.
---------
A/N: If you think you know what comes next… you don't. The answers are already waiting ahead.
There are 34+ advance chapters on Patreon,
If you've enjoyed the story so far, this is the moment you don't want to miss.
www.patreon.com/Baelon