Baelon cracked his eyes open as he found himself in a familiar chamber. His chamber. One that he had almost forgotten.
His weary gaze scanned the room before he peeked out of a nearby window, finding the moon sitting overhead, gazing upon Dragonstone...upon him, with familiar compassion.
"Why am I here...?" He murmured, hands raised to wipe away the tiredness from his eyes before he jolted and looked at them.
They were wet. Wet with tears he had never cried.
Not only that, they were oh so small. His current form could scarcely have seen a few namedays.
But that made little sense.
He had just been confronting—
Wait?
Where did Balerion go?
Baelon leapt to his feet, eyes darting about with a wary glint before he relaxed.
He seemed safe...for now—
He could not finish his thoughts as a deafening boom echoed from outside the Targaryen seat.
With bated breath, Baelon inched towards the window, hoping to have some, if not any, of his doubts answered.
And answered they were.
Outside, pounding the earth until it screamed red, stood a familiar titan.
Each thunderous step sent tremors racing across Dragonstone as great scars split the earth beneath him.
Rivers of molten rock bled from the wounds he carved into the island, whilst towers of black smoke clawed skyward.
The Dragonmont had descended into utter chaos.
Dragons burst from the pits in panicked droves, their shrieks and silhouettes filling the night. Younger, smaller dragons fled first, abandoning their lairs without hesitation.
Larger beasts soon followed, scattering across the sky as they desperately sought distance from the towering monstrosity below.
None dared to challenge him.
None dared to linger.
They simply…fled, in complete and utter terror, as if they were the sheep and it was the dragon.
However, soon, Balerion stilled. As if the God-king had gotten bored with the chaos it had wrought and slowly…it turned its head.
And his eyes found Baelon.
Baelon froze. Though separated by great distance, he knew with absolute certainty that Balerion was looking directly at him.
A low rumble escaped the God as the entire island shuddered.
Seeing this, Baelon threw himself away from the window and dashed through the winding halls of Dragonstone.
Violent thumping followed behind him as the bones of the keep groaned and wept around him.
No.
He could not allow himself to be caught unaware by some Primordial God. Not until he knew what was happening.
Was he dead? Already consumed by Balerion and merely in the throes of an eternal slumber?
Or had whatever machination the God had conjured only just begun?
Baelon did not know; he only…ran.
Past corridors he knew.
Past corridors he thought he knew.
Then beyond them entirely.
The halls twisted and coiled around one another like the churning insides of some great beast.
Once, familiar passages stretched far longer than they should have.
Stairways led him to places that made no sense. Doorways appeared where none should have existed, whilst turns he swore should have brought him deeper into the keep only brought him back to an almost endless trek.
With every single moment that passed, with every single step he took…the less Dragonstone resembled Dragonstone.
Yet still he ran.
Behind him, the relentless thumping continued. Closer. Then farther. Then closer once again.
As though Balerion was toying with him, Baelon was not given a moment's respite.
Minutes passed.
Then more. Far more.
Baelon's lungs burned. His legs screamed. Sweat soaked his brow as he stumbled around yet another corner.
Then slowly…Baelon's pace slackened, planting a hand against the wall as he panted deeply, the sound of chasing long gone as he was surrounded by a vast silence.
Perhaps he should stop.
Or, perhaps this was exactly what Balerion wanted.
To exhaust him. To wear him down until the God could carry out whatever it was that he wished.
Thoughts muddled by weariness and fatigue swirled through his mind as he desperately searched for an answer to this madness.
He had performed a ritual, stumbled into some God-King's scheme, only to awaken in a dream wearing the body of himself as a child.
Baelon truly could not have conceived such a sequence of events even if he tried. Yet soon, his doubts became irrelevant as he lifted his gaze and found that the endless hallway had come to an end.
And standing at its mouth was...
"Hah…hah…H-helaena?"
Like him, she appeared to have been cast into the past. Her form was that of a child, scarcely older than the one he currently wore.
Baelon approached, his breath broken as he desperately tried to speak, only for exhaustion to rob him of his voice.
Finally, he gathered enough strength.
"W-what are you doing here?" Baelon asked. "I thought I was the only one trapped here."
He had hoped as much.
If he alone had been imprisoned, then Helaena could have followed one of his contingencies and, with any luck, found a means to free him.
If both of them were trapped here, however...
Well, that would be most unfortunate.
"Give up."
Helaena's voice was as sweet as honey, as it had always been, as she looked at him with a smile, with a slight tilt of her head.
Yet her whimsy and gestures were stripped of any innocence he expected from a child. In its place lingered only a haunting finality.
"Pardon?" Baelon paused, studying the silhouette before him.
"Give up."
Helaena tilted her head deeper, her smile widening by a smidge as he found something akin to sympathy lingering in her gaze.
Or at least something masquerading as sympathy.
"Do you not feel tired?" She asked softly. "Of body? Of soul?"
Her violet eyes bored into his own; only now, Baelon realised they were not filled with compassion. Not in the slightest.
Instead, they were filled with something far older. Far crueller. Endless malice hid beneath her words and smile alike.
This was not Helaena. Baelon was certain of that.
'What is going on…?' Baelon pondered. 'What is the point of this trick? Surely, He would not think of me as being so easily tricked?'
Baelon did not know what conspiracy the God-King held for him, or even why the ritual was tampered with; he could only caution himself to be wary of this situation at hand.
Unfortunately, caution could only do so much, especially when he was placed against a God.
Soon, he felt memories boil within him. Each one screaming at him. Mocking him. Taunting him.
Waste.
Fool.
Coward.
Again and again the words spiralled around him, coiling around his thoughts like a serpent's embrace as he found his mind drifting. He tried, oh so dearly he tried to steady himself, but it was to no avail.
Soon, his mind flicked through memory after memory. Scene after scene.
How he had studied at the Citadel.
Fled Kings Landing.
Established himself within a derelict city.
Ventured through to Asshai.
Walked the cursed roads of Valyria herself.
Conquered the Slave Cities, Tolos, Elyria and New Ghis.
Frustration raged within him as Baelon understood something. He was not at peace.
No matter what he did or tried, nothing ever seemed to be enough to give him sufficient confidence to change those dreams he had seen.
Otherwise, he would never have bothered with this ridiculous ritual.
Thoughts that had followed him for years now began to surge in his mind with cruel vigour.
Ones he buried beneath layers of plans, ambitions and endless thinking.
Yet no matter how far he ran, did they not remain?.
What if everything went wrong anyway?
What if all his efforts merely produced a future worse than the one fate had originally intended?
Was he to spend every waking moment struggling against a tide that cared nothing for his wishes?
"Do you see hope in achieving this childhood whimsy of yours?" Helaena asked once more.
Baelon opened his mouth. Alas, no answer came.
Because for the first time in a great many years, he allowed himself to consider the possibility.
No.
He did not.
Was he perhaps manipulated by the circumstances at hand? Most likely.
Nevertheless, this ritual was his last hope, and it had most certainly not unfolded in accordance with his expectations.
At this point, he was truly out of ideas. And frankly…he was tired. Part of him just begged to give this all up. To accept what was coming, for nothing he could do would ever change it.
The thought had scarcely crossed his mind when the world around him began to shift and writhe.
The endless hallways, everything, they simply…melted.
Stone walls stretched like wax beneath a flame, whilst the floor beneath his feet vanished into mist, whilst the distant ceiling broke apart into countless fragments of silver light.
Only Helaena remained unchanged before him.
Still smiling. Still watching.
A sense of despair gnawed at Baelon as he felt the situation drift out of his control, as visions and scenes assaulted his sight.
He saw his father. Hearty, healthy and above all laughing with a vigour Baelon had not seen in years.
Viserys chased a giggling Daenys through the gardens of Red Keep, the little girl darting between flowerbeds whilst her grandsire pursued her with all the enthusiasm of a man half his age.
From a nearby balcony, Baelon saw another Helaena perched atop a balcony, looking down at the scene with a soft smile.
It was…peaceful.
Then, the vision shifted again as he saw Westeros.
Neither divided by war nor consumed by ambition, but thriving in a manner he doubted had appeared since the reign of The Conciliator.
In the Reach, he saw vast swathes of fields stretch beyond the horizon, rich with harvest.
Cities bustled with life and joy, from King's Landing to Winterfell up North.
Trade flowed freely across roads and seas alike as he saw great ships leave from Oldtown to the Blackwater Bay, from Lannisport to Gullstown, each one filled with riches as every man on board laughed with easy smiles.
Again…it was peaceful.
Then Dragon's Bay appeared as its harbours swelled with ships from every corner of the known world.
He watched the markets in Tolos and Elyria flourish, watched poverty banished from the streets of the Slave Cities and watched the temples of New Ghis thrive.
The banners of Dragon's Bay spread across distant waters, whilst prosperity followed in their wake, as would birdsongs herald a coming Spring.
Once again…it was peaceful.
So utterly yet indescribably peaceful.
"Sleep." Helaena's voice drifted towards him.
Yet he could no longer see her.
The visions had swallowed everything, and he only grew more enchanted, more absorbed by the peace and calm before him.
"Close your eyes and sleep." Her voice seemed to come from everywhere at once. "Only then will you no longer have to fight this losing war against fate."
The scenes pulsed as they shifted again, scattering like smoke in the wind and in their place appeared two children.
"Only then can you find peace and joy."
Himself and Helaena.
Trembling beneath blankets as they recovered from yet another nightmare. Another dream of death and horrors not meant for eyes so young. Another glimpse of a future they never wished for.
"Only then will you...rest." The vision pulsed again.
Now he saw the arguments. The endless arguments.
A family divided by fear, pride and resentment.
Drowning in a myriad of accusations and threats, with wounds that had festered long before he was born.
Again, the scene shifted.
His father sat alone atop that cruel, cruel throne.
Baelon watched helplessly as disease and age slowly stripped away the strength of the man he loved.
It was no glorious end. It was wretched. Almost unbecoming of a King.
Still, the visions proceeded without mercy, shifting and twisting.
Soon Baelon saw himself fleeing across seas and continents, for power, for safety, for anything capable of freeing him from dreams that had long poisoned him.
Yet no matter how far he travelled, the dreams followed. Whether it be Sallosh, Asshai, or even the corpse of Valyria herself, they always followed like hounds loosed upon his scent.
Baelon's eyelids soon grew heavy. So very heavy. The visions continued to dance before him.
Peace. Prosperity. Contentment.
The joys of the prior visions now contrasted with the desolation set before him, twisting his thoughts.
Hollow yearning swelled within him.
Sleep. Just sleep. Something commanded within him.
Then—
Baelon's eyes snapped open as a violent tremor ripped through the dreamscape.
An ear-piercing screech echoed through the world.
Baelon recoiled as he watched scenes devoured by familiar, scarlet flames, and a sense of weakness assaulted him as his thoughts grew sluggish.
Nevertheless, he had an inkling of an idea of what had happened.
Helaena.
The real Helaena in the outside world had likely followed through with one of his plans.
Nevertheless, he was not given the chance to dwell on it as he found himself in an endless, silent yet all-too familiar void.
Alone at that.
Or so Baelon thought until he saw a decrepit figure stand before him.
Kael'thir.
The name jumped into his mind.
Yet Baelon knew better now. Far better. He knew what lurked beneath that decrepit shell. The thing before him was no simple God.
It was a monster. A primordial horror wearing another's skin.
And suddenly, Kael'thir smiled a familiar smile.
One Baelon now dreaded with every fibre of his being.
"Ah." The thing wearing the old man's mask clasped his hands behind his back.
His tone was warm. Amused, even
"There he is."
The void trembled as cracks of crimson light spilt through the darkness.
And for a fleeting moment, Baelon glimpsed something vast coiled behind those cracks. Something with burning eyes. Something that stretched beyond mortal comprehension.
The smile on the thing widened by a fraction.
"The fool who thought he could outwit destiny."