Baelon felt a sense of peace as he traversed the idyllic garden nestled deep within the Red Keep, two familiar silhouettes ambling ahead of him.
One all but skipped along the path, the other moved more slowly, with an uneven gait, yet there was a strange similarity in their rhythm.
A shared lightness in each step, as both figures were filled with the same joy.
Meanwhile, he lingered behind them, unhurried as his thoughts drifted elsewhere.
Breaking fate.
Was such a thing even possible?
Kael'thir claimed it was, but Baelon had learned well enough to treat the creature's words with caution.
No truth it spoke ever came whole.
Yet that temptation lingered still.
It had taken root far deeper than he cared to admit.
Baelrion…
The name alone brought with it the image of a vast, consuming titan of flame that pressed against his mind with the same suffocating pressure it had before.
Is it truly possible to do what even the Gods could not?
Or, was it made possible because he was no God?
Kael'thir had spoken of the God-King, of how in the twilight of his reign, he had become consumed by prophecy, desperate to escape a fate already written.
Did he succeed?
Baelon almost scoffed at the thought.
Of course not.
The more he turned it over, the more futile it seemed. A struggle against something as absolute as fate...it seemed absurd.
"Why is peace such a tall ask of the Gods in this age…?"
Viserys' voice cut gently through his thoughts, pulling him back to the present. Baelon quickened his pace ever so slightly, closing the distance between them.
"Every day that passes, more and more troubles arise," the king continued, his tone weary.
"Perhaps we of Valyrian blood were abandoned by the Gods," Helaena replied, her voice light.
Viserys gave a soft huff of amusement. "If only it were so simple, child. Though I am sure Maegor would be inclined to agree with you." He glanced between them, a faint warmth returning to his expression. "Still, I am grateful you both chose to accompany a frail old man like me on a walk."
"Did neither Rhaenyra nor mother ever walk with you like this?" Baelon asked, one brow lifting slightly.
Viserys' smile thinned. "Unfortunately…no."
He looked ahead, though his gaze seemed to drift beyond the garden entirely. "In those days, I was more often lost to the milk of the poppy. My mind too clouded to leave my own bed, and…" He let out a quiet scoff, though there was no humour in it. "…both were occupied with their own concerns to spare time for a bed-bound wretch."
Baelon almost had the instinct to look away as guilt gnawed at him.
Viserys had never been a great king in the way songs would remember; he was no conqueror, nor was he another Conciliator.
But he had been kind. Steady in his own way. To see that gentleness weighed down by quiet regret…was an unpleasant sight.
And worse still—
Their own absence had only deepened the wound.
"I recall you were curious about our ventures through Essos?" Baelon said, shifting the conversation before it could linger there a moment longer.
Viserys' head turned quickly, the dullness in his eyes lifting with sudden interest. "Yes, yes, I was." A faint smile returned, though this one carried a hint of reproach. "When you two… eloped." He cast them both a pointed glance. "…I found myself wondering what exactly you encountered beyond my reach."
"It was not as sudden as it seemed," Baelon admitted. "The idea had…lingered for quite some time."
Viserys' eyes narrowed almost immediately. "How long?"
Baelon hesitated.
"How long, Baelon?"
"…Since my time at the Citadel."
The king stopped walking.
Helaena drifted a few steps ahead before pausing as well, turning back as the air between father and son shifted.
"The Citadel," Viserys repeated slowly. "You mean to tell me…this was planned while you were still under my roof?"
Baelon met his gaze evenly. "Not planned in full. But the thought began there."
"And what thought would that be?"
Baelon mumbled. "Well, young me was rather fearful of the machinations of court. Then, lo and behold, during my time reading about the Century of Blood, I came across a variety of ruined cities. The one I was most intrigued by was Sallosh. Then, well…you can guess what I thought seeing it."
Viserys folded his arms. "So you decided the best course of action was to disappear from Kings Landing? Hoping to find refuge in some abandoned city that may yet have completely fallen?"
"We found it." Helaena tilted her head.
The king exhaled, though the edge of irritation softened just slightly. "Of course you did."
"And, calling it ruins would be a stretch if I may add. It was just…dilapidated," Baelon continued, his tone steadier now. "The land around it was also rather fertile, as it was sat outside a lake and had a river flowing right through the Bay of Tusks ."
"You lived there?" Viserys asked, incredulity creeping into his voice.
"For a time," Baelon nodded. "We learned what we needed there. Farming. Repair. Hunting. It was…simpler than court. Though the lack of amenities was rather frustrating at first."
"Hm. Not having maids serve you all day must have been a tragedy," Helaena smiled faintly, to which Baelon simply rolled his eyes.
Viserys stared at the pair of them. "My children…tending fields in some forgotten ruin." He shook his head. "The court would have choked on the notion."
"Thus, they will never know," Baelon said dryly.
"Hm." Viserys resumed walking. "And from Sallosh?"
"East," Baelon replied. "Further than most would consider sensible."
"To Asshai," Helaena added softly.
Viserys slowed again, though this time not from anger. "Asshai…" he murmured. "And you returned whole?"
"More or less," Baelon said. "The city was… wrong. Not in any way easily described. Slimy black stone as far as the eye could see, whilst the air was consumed with this foreboding silence that would bite at your nerves. The people…what few there are, keep to themselves."
"Fascinating city, really," Helaena murmured.
Viserys frowned slightly at that, but did not press. "And yet you left."
"We had no reason to stay," Baelon shrugged. "Not after we had seen enough."
"Enough?" Viserys repeated, though there was a faint note of amusement in it. "Gods help me, I cannot imagine what you consider too much, then where else did you wander?"
Baelon allowed himself the smallest hint of a smile. "Astapor."
That caught the king's interest immediately. "Ah. Now that I heard whispers of." His expression shifted, something closer to genuine amusement taking hold. "Chaos, was it not?"
Helaena's smile widened just slightly. "A little."
"A little?" Baelon laughed. "We dismantled a slaving chain, turned their own Unsullied parade into a riot, and left with half of the city's wealth. "
Viserys barked out a laugh, louder than anything he had given thus far. "Yes, that would do it." He shook his head, still smiling. "You should have seen the Small Council when word reached us. It was the first time I had ever seen Otto take such a keen interest in affairs beyond Westeros."
"I had thought he would be displeased at the chaos we left in our wake," Baelon said.
"Displeased?" Viserys snorted. "He was most invested. Asking questions, sending inquiries, almost as though he wished to hop over to Essos himself. He was the greatest proponent of the various trade deals that reached you."
"That would have been amusing to see," Baelon muttered.
"It was," Viserys agreed lightly. "Though I suspect not in the way he would have liked."
"And…did you perhaps venture, there?" Viserys whispered with a fervent interest in his quiet words. "Valryia?"
Baelon's expression shifted as he thought back to the Codex and his prior conversation, but he immediately cast those thoughts aside.
"We went," he said.
Viserys' gaze sharpened instantly. "You went?"
"Yes."
"What did you see?" The question came quickly now, curiosity overtaking all reason, measure and calm that would be expected of a king. "The cities, were they still standing?"
"Some, though not many," Baelon replied. "Still, the Freehold's corpse was a vast thing, vaster than anything in Westeros. Streets swallowed by ash, structures half-collapsed and yet they all remained so…imposing."
Helaena's gaze drifted slightly. "Alas, they all felt dead."
"Aye, dead they were." Baelon shook his head. "One could only imagine its glory in the Freehold's heyday."
Baelon sighed. "Whatever wealth once filled those cities…much of it is gone. Stripped away over the years. Slavers from the Free Cities have been picking at the remains for decades before keeping whatever was shiny enough to catch their eye, with the rest traded to whatever fool bid on them."
As for where all that ended up...? Well, all Baelon could say was that his treasury was looking rather splendid these past few years.
Viserys frowned at that. "So little remains in Valyria?"
"Not nothing..." Baelon said. "We found dragon eggs on one trip."
That stopped the king outright. "Eggs?"
"Several," Baelon confirmed. "Still alive, as far as we can tell. But dormant. They show no signs of hatching anytime soon."
Viserys' expression flickered between awe and disbelief. "And you brought them back?"
Helaena nodded. "They sleep near Silverwing. I fixed a pretty little pouch for her to keep them close at hand. She was rather taken with it"
For a moment, none of them spoke.
Then Viserys drew a breath. "And the Doom?" He asked more quietly. "Did you find anything…of it?"
Baelon's gaze hardened slightly. "Perhaps."
"What does perhaps mean?"
"Well, there are a great many theories," Baelon continued. "Yet, from what we gathered, the biggest factor was a spell. A grand matrix created from the most intricate Blood Arts, used to calm the Fourteen Flames."
"Then?"
"Then something stopped them."
Helaena finished his words. "The Faceless Men."
Viserys' brow furrowed.
Baelon inclined his head. "It is simply what we found. The Braavosi assassins seemed resentful at their former masters and took down key Valyrian mages. Thus, without the right hands to still the angry Flames…"
"They erupted," Viserys murmured. "Ending a civilisation grander than Aegon and crueller than Maegor…"
***
Time had slipped by since they had reminisced in the garden, and now Baelon sat within the quiet of his solar, the fading light of dusk pooling faintly through the windows as he waited.
Knock. Knock.
The sound drew his gaze to the door.
"You may enter."
The hinges creaked softly as it opened, and a man stepped through unevenly, his weight resting upon a cane.
Despite his gait, the figure was not his father, far from it.
"I presume you are well, Lord Larys," Baelon said, offering a smile that held no warmth.
"Of course, Your Highness." Larys bowed, posture humble. Yet beneath it, Baelon could see it clearly, the quiet watchfulness of something far less benign.
A viper, dressed in courtesy.
"Do you know why I have summoned you?" Baelon tapped his fingers lightly against the desk.
Larys' lips curved faintly. "Has Your Highness had the opportunity to validate my letter?"
Baelon gave a small nod. Silvo's word had come at last, confirming what had already taken root in his mind.
His uncle's hand was in it all.
Still, confirmation did not equate to trust.
"Why did you send word to me?" Baelon asked, leaning back into his chair, studying him. "What is it you want?"
"My prince," Larys said, stepping forward slightly, his cane clicking softly against the floor, "I ask only for your protection…should the time come."
Baelon's brow lifted faintly. "Protection?"
"I had thought you found yourself cozy with a faction already," he continued. "What protection could I offer that they cannot? My power does not reside in this realm."
Larys' smile did not falter. "Your Highness, we both know your influence here needs no grand proclamation."
His grip tightened subtly around the cane.
"The goodwill of the high nobility. The careful favour of the Greens. The caution of the Blacks. And perhaps most telling of all, the absence of suspicion from His Grace."
His voice lowered slightly.
"There are many things a man may accomplish with such…privilege."
Baelon let out a quiet breath through his nose, unimpressed. "And yet, I find myself reluctant to involve myself in such matters. Least of all for you."
Larys' smile flickered, before returning…far thinner now.
How similar he was to the wretch within the Codex.
Using false pretence to lower the guard of whoever conversed with them.
Baelon tilted his head slightly, his tone shifting as he lost his patience for this meaningless drawl.
"Tell me, Lord Larys…" he began, fingers stilling against the desk. "Do you know what I found when I investigated your father's death all those years ago?"
A pause.
"I… recall the court spoke of dragonfire near Harrenhal," Larys said carefully.
Baelon gave a noncommittal nod. "Yes. That was the conclusion."
His gaze sharpened.
"Alas…" He leaned forward slightly, the faintest edge creeping into his voice. "It seems I was mistaken."
Baelon let the silence linger for a moment longer, watching Larys with open amusement before he spoke again.
"The night before the fire at Harrenhal," he began idly, as though recalling some trivial detail, "there was an incident in the Black Cells."
Larys did not move, but Baelon noted the faint tightening of his grip on the cane.
"A prison escape," Baelon continued. "Several men. Not notable in themselves…until one looks closer."
He tapped a finger lightly against the desk.
"They all shared something in common."
A pause.
"They had each been attended by the same confessor."
Baelon's gaze settled fully on him now.
"You."
For the first time, Larys' smile died.
"My prince…" he began carefully, "surely you are not suggesting—"
"I am suggesting nothing," Baelon cut in smoothly. "Only observing patterns. The kind that even children could follow along with. Surely, Lord Larys, you aren't struggling to keep up?"
Larys straightened as much as his form allowed, his tone sharpening just a touch. "If Your Highness intends to accuse me of kinslaying, I would caution restraint. It is a grave charge and one not so easily cast aside."
"There were eyewitness accounts," he continued, his voice firmer now, as if gaining confidence in his own words. "Dragons were seen above the Gods Eye that very night by a fisherman. You cannot pin your house's crime on me."
Baelon gave a dismissive shrug. "Alas, men lie."
Larys' fingers tightened around the cane again, this time not quite so subtly.
Baelon let the tension sit for a moment. Allowing it to fray at the man's mind.
Then, just as suddenly, he leaned back, the tension easing from his posture as though the matter had lost all interest to him.
"One wonders," he said lightly, almost conversational now, "what might happen if such…observations were brought before the court. Tsk! Your Lordship suddenly seems rather precarious."
Larys' breath hitched.
"My prince," he said, more quickly this time, "there is no need for such speculation. If there is something you wish of me, you need only say it."
Baelon's lips finally curved into a genuine smile.
"Ah," he murmured. "There it is."
From the edge of his desk, he picked up something that had rested there all along, half cloaked in shadow.
An intricate dagger. A Valyrian Steel dagger at that, and the first one he ever had, having accompanied him through a great many years.
Baelon extended it toward Larys.
For the first time since entering the room, Larys hesitated outright.
His gaze flicked from the blade to Baelon's face, unease creeping in despite his efforts to mask it.
"My prince…" he said slowly, "what does this mean?"
Baelon's smile did not fade.
"The Master of Whisperers," he said quietly, "has surely heard the tales that travel across the Narrow Sea."
His eyes held Larys in place.
"Of oaths. Of promises. Of things that are…not so easily broken once made."
The room seemed to still around them as the lamps nearby flickered, choked by tension.
Baelon tilted his head slightly.
"I require only one thing of you, Lord Larys…"
His voice lowered.
"An oath."