The Great Hall of Winterfell was a grand and imposing space, its stone walls adorned with the banners of the noble houses of the North. A roaring fire blazed in the massive hearth at one end of the hall, casting flickering shadows across the room and providing warmth against the chill that permeated even the thickest stone walls. Heavy wooden tables, laden with maps and goblets of strong Northern ale, were arranged in a semi-circle around a raised dais where Lord Stark, my grandfather, presided. The dais had four seats, all occupied by my grandfather, my two uncles, and myself. Uncle Bennard wore a frown and kept glaring at me as if I might vanish under his intense stare. Despite my best efforts, I could never charm or befriend him, and it was no surprise that he had been kept in the dark about my role today when Grandfather informed Uncle Rickon, his heir.
The hall buzzed with low murmurs, the deep voices of Northern lords mingling with the crackle of the fire. I could feel the weight of their stares as they questioned each other about the presence of an eleven-year-old bastard at the meeting, though none dared voice their concerns to Grandfather. The only lords who didn't frown or question my presence were Lord Theomore Manderly and Lord Reed. Even I felt uneasy under the intense scrutiny. These men were hardy and robust, their faces weathered by harsh winters and their bodies honed by a life of toil and battle. They wore thick furs and woolen cloaks, their attire practical and unadorned, save for the sigils of their houses emblazoned proudly on their chests.
Lord Stark, seated in a high-backed wooden chair draped with the direwolf banner of House Stark, called the meeting to order with a firm yet measured voice. His presence commanded respect, and the room fell silent as he stood to address the assembly.
"Thank you all for coming," he began, his gaze sweeping across the gathered lords. "We face many challenges in these dark times, and it is more important than ever that we stand united. I must also thank you for following my instructions to inform the King about the troubles beyond our borders."
"Lord Stark, don't patronize us," Lord Karstark grumbled. "We all know there's more to your orders than meets the eye. The King won't change the laws; they were made by the Queen. Admitting any mistake would tarnish their reign. Our only hope is that Prince Aemon will recognize the damage done and amend the law enacted by King Jaehaerys when he ascends to the throne." Lord Karstark glanced at me as he mentioned Prince Aemon, trying to gauge my reaction, but found nothing.
Lord Umber, tall and broad-shouldered with a thick beard, scowled. "I am closer to the Wall than anyone else and have news to share. There has been an increasing number of defectors in the Watch, mostly men sent as punishment from the South by the King. These deserters are a blight. They break their sacred oaths and bring shame upon the Watch. They must be hunted down and brought to justice."
"Aye," agreed Lady Mormont, fierce and resolute. "We cannot allow them to destabilize our lands. We must support the Night's Watch in tracking and capturing defectors. Moreover, many have joined the Wildlings and gained favor by defeating them. Wildlings love nothing more than corrupting a man of the Night's Watch and watching brothers turn on each other. The influx of smallfolk from the New Gift and Old Gift to our lands is mainly due to the Night's Watch's inability to protect them from such defectors. This growing population is both a curse and a blessing."
Every lord was grave, their anger palpable at the thought of oathbreakers daring to act on their lands.
"Lord Umber, Lady Mormont, these issues stem from the Night's Watch being overburdened by the New Gift and their inability to manage such vast land. Hunting down defectors is merely a temporary fix, not a cure. The true remedy lies in reclaiming our stolen fertile lands. Lord Karstark is right that there is more to our plan than just wasting gold on sending messengers and letters. However, Lord Karstark, you're mistaken if you think any future king will change the laws established by the current one. No king will dare challenge the legacy of King Jaehaerys the Wise, the Conciliator, and the Good King. They will believe he could do no wrong, and nothing will change. Fortunately, the solution came from an unexpected source—my grandson, Daemon Snow, who proposed a very effective way to reclaim the New Gift. The agreement has already been reached with Lord Commander Ryswell and will be signed after this meeting."
I watched the lords' reactions as Grandfather credited me with the idea, observing which lords were against me from the start. My suspicions were confirmed. Manderly and Reed, knowing my intelligence and skills, showed no doubt. However, the frowns on the faces of Karstark, Umber, and Glover were expected. Karstark and Umber are the most affected, and any agreement made without their input will be scrutinized by them. Bolton, on the other hand, looked at me like a piece of juicy meat, trying to figure out how to use me for his own purposes. If I'm right, he expects me to be another Greystark, a grave miscalculation on his part.
"Lord Stark, with all due respect, I have one question," Lord Dustin said calmly. "Was it wise to enact a plan proposed by a five-year-old child? It's been nearly six years since we began voicing our complaints to the King."
Everyone grew serious as Lord Dustin questioned Lord Stark. Despite the tension in the room, no one could protest the question due to Lord Dustin's impeccable reputation as both a warrior and a lord. Observing him, I could see how a son raised by this man could become Roddy the Ruin during the Dance of the Dragons.
Lord Stark smiled at Lord Dustin. "As always, you ask the pertinent questions, my dear friend. Daemon has always been special, a genius beyond comparison. I recognized this when he was four. His ideas have already proven effective. I'm not foolish enough to enact a plan bordering on treason that could cost the North so much based solely on the say-so of a child without proof of his ideas. Lord Manderly and Lord Reed can attest to the results of his suggestions."
"As you've all heard, the trade fleet was a roaring success," Lord Manderly said, clearly pleased. "Of fifty ships, twenty-nine returned, carrying goods that allowed us to recoup the entire fleet's costs and brought significant profits. Moreover, my son has established trade with many of the Free Cities and mapped out a faster route than merely hugging the coast. A new grain called rice was obtained and given to Lord Reed to try growing in the swamps of the North. This entire endeavor was developed by Lord Stark, but the idea came from Daemon Snow. He specifically suggested searching for rice in Yi-Ti. He even used his own funds to finance the fleet, and the navigation technique he developed helped the sailors avoid pirates and bad weather."
Lord Reed nodded in agreement. "The rice has been successfully grown in the swamps after some trial and error. This will significantly boost our food reserves. Furthermore, Daemon has shown immense bravery, successfully thwarting a bandit ambush on the way to the Neck. He even made his first kill that day and later hunted down a lizard lion, a rite of passage to adulthood in the Neck. So, I have no objections regarding the origin of the plan if Lord Stark approves it," Lord Reed concluded, demonstrating unwavering loyalty to the Stark in Winterfell.
"Roderick, I trust you now understand why I chose to proceed with a plan conceived by my grandson," Lord Stark concluded, his voice firm. "We Starks have always been capable of bearing responsibilities from a young age; our history attests to this. And so, I will allow Daemon to explain his plan to you."
All eyes in the hall turned to me, and for a moment, I felt a flicker of nervousness. However, over the past eleven years, I had honed my social skills by closely observing Lord Stark as he held court or conducted meetings. Drawing on that experience, I began to present the plan. Though the plan would proceed regardless of the major lords' opinions, I aimed to ensure my presentation would not make things difficult for my grandfather.
"Lord Stark, Uncles," I began, standing and bowing respectfully, "and my Lords. The land ownership of the New Gift is held by the Night's Watch, granted by the crown. As loyal subjects, we cannot reclaim that land without it being seen as treason. The Night's Watch, while custodians of this land, has not utilized it effectively, and much of it lies fallow. Historically, no lord rents land from another; only landowners are considered noble. My proposal is to lease the entire New Gift from the Night's Watch for a nominal annual fee and continued aid from House Stark. The contract, a lease, would be irrevocable without mutual consent, thereby preventing the Iron Throne from interfering without risking conflict with the Night's Watch—a move that could sully their reputation as it did Maegor the Cruel. My grandfather, I believe, will appreciate a solution that addresses the North's grievances while sparing the King from appearing ineffectual."
The lords exchanged perplexed glances, clearly intrigued by a strategy none had ever encountered, even in Essos.
"HAHAHA!" Lord Umber's laughter boomed through the hall. "An ingenious move! If someone asks, 'Is it treason?' the answer is no, and if they ask, 'Isn't it treason?' the answer remains no. The land remains with the Night's Watch, but we regain its use and benefits for a modest fee. I'd love to see the Good Queen's face when she hears this. It was at Last Hearth that she pledged lands to the Night's Watch, despite my warnings that it would burden them."
I couldn't help but grin. "I, too, would like to see her reaction when she realizes the idea came from her first grandson, whom she abandoned without so much as a glance, even after I battled death for two weeks as an infant. But Lord Umber, there's a misunderstanding."
"And what might that be?" Lord Umber grumbled, his mirth fading.
"You mentioned those who lost the lands—unfortunately, that includes you and Lord Karstark. However, this plan will only succeed if it is executed by House Stark alone. The lease will be between House Stark and the Night's Watch, with Winterfell directly overseeing the New Gift. The Iron Throne will not tolerate such an arrangement from lesser houses. Only a Great House can implement this plan without severe repercussions. In fact, the King may view House Stark's assumption of the New Gift's responsibility as a necessary sacrifice, preventing it from falling into the hands of Essosi slavers or pirates. Moreover, when my grandmother hears of this, she may be furious with me, but any punishment will fall on me, not House Stark or the North."
I braced myself for a heated response from Umber but was surprised by who spoke up.
"NO! I WILL NOT HAVE A BASTARD DICTATING WHAT I CAN AND CANNOT DO, OR SEEING MY LANDS STOLEN AGAIN!" Lord Karstark roared.
"I concur," came Lord Bolton's silky voice. "Once, we were robbed by the King, and now even the Starks seek to reward our loyalty with further theft."
"Silence!" My grandfather's voice cut through the uproar, a cold command that silenced the room. I glanced at him, feeling an instinctive urge to retreat. None of the lords dared to meet his icy gaze, save for me and my elder uncle.
"Lord Karstark, I will forgive your outburst once, out of kinship, though you insult my grandson, who has done more for the North's prosperity in his brief life than you have in your four decades. There is nothing to protest, as the contract has already been signed by the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, pending only my signature. This meeting is a courtesy to inform you of House Stark's dealings. We require no permission to use our own gold to rent land. And Lord Bolton, I have stolen nothing from the northern lords, as none of you have held ownership of these lands for years. I alone will decide who is entrusted with which lands, and your actions have placed you at the bottom of that list."
I watched as Lord Bolton swallowed hard, struggling to mask his fear.
"I apologize, Lord Stark. My personal feelings over the injustices suffered by the North blinded me to the true purpose of your actions—the prosperity and safety of the realm."
"See that it does not happen again," my grandfather replied, his tone chilling. Then, in a more measured voice, he continued, "This plan carries great risk, and House Stark alone bears that burden, though the benefits will be felt by all. Let us now move on to other matters beyond the Night's Watch."
The lords nodded in silent agreement, and the meeting shifted to more mundane topics. I allowed my mind to wander, warging into my animals to escape the monotony.
---
The Spring Prince
King's Landing, 78 AC
Baelon Targaryen stood near his beloved brother Aemon, offering silent support and strength, as Jaehaerys Targaryen, the King of the Seven Kingdoms, held his first grandchild for the first time. Well, the first grandchild the King had personally held or seen, Baelon thought, remembering his bastard nephew in the North. There was a rare happiness on the King's face that Baelon had seldom seen before, and he wondered whether his own future child would bring the King as much joy.
"Aemon, have you decided on a name for the girl?" the King asked. Baelon could see the gears already turning in his father's mind, envisioning a future role for the girl, just as he had done with his own numerous children.
Baelon looked at his brother Aemon and saw the worry still etched on his face. Baelon had tried to ease his brother's tension and fear as his sister-in-law, Jocelyn, became pregnant and neared her birthing date, but even he couldn't calm his brother. The number of flights on Caraxes, the number of training swords, and straw statues broken were too many to count. It was as if the current Aemon had been replaced by the broken, haunted boy who had returned from the North. At that time, Baelon couldn't understand how Aemon had changed so much after losing someone, but now, seeing his dear sister-wife Alyssa with a small baby bump, he could understand. If something happened to her, he would be lost and devastated too.
"I don't have a name, Father. I was quite worried and didn't think of any names," Aemon replied.
"Well, the baby looks healthy and is our Queen-to-be. Let her have a queen's name," his mother, the Queen, suggested.
Aemon thought for a few moments before declaring, "Rhaenys. Her name will be Rhaenys Targaryen, after the first queen of Westeros."
Everyone nodded in agreement, and Baelon concurred with his mother and brother that it was the only name worthy of a queen. The King would, of course, not allow anyone to be named Visenya.
"Maester, send out the ravens. Let the realm know that our house has grown, and the next generation is born. Send an invitation for a tourney in one moon. Now, everyone, let us leave so that the babe and the mother can rest," the King ordered.
His father carefully placed Rhaenys in the crib and turned to leave, knowing that his order would be followed immediately. As the others left, Baelon looked at his brother, who was still gazing at his daughter with a forlorn expression. He understood that his brother needed him and decided against leaving with the rest of the family. He walked toward Aemon and stopped behind him, looking at the girl resting and the wet nurse standing at the side of the room, head bowed and making herself as invisible as possible.
"What is it, Baelon?" Aemon asked.
Baelon scoffed and said, "You know what it is, brother. Why are you looking at the babe like a lost dragonling? You haven't held her yet. Why, brother?"
Aemon sighed and looked at him. "Brother, it's been ten years since I lost my first love. Even now, thinking about her feels like a sword piercing my heart. Seeing baby Rhaenys for the first time, I couldn't see her; my mind only saw my first baby, my Daemon. I haven't contacted him in ten years. I haven't even asked about him from you or the King. I know you both keep an eye on him. I want to ride Caraxes and take him for my own, but I can't, brother. The day I held him for the first time was a happiness beyond anything. Only when you hold your first child can you know it. When I heard of my Lyarra's death with him in my hand, the rage and sorrow were like nothing else. Even now, I'm sure only the presence of mind of Lord Stark to take him from my hands and my own mind being frozen by pain is the reason he's still alive and not a splatter on the walls of Winterfell. Even now, I don't know whether I would smother him in a hug or let Caraxes feed on him if I visited Winterfell. So, for the last ten years, I've avoided him, and I will avoid him for the rest of my life. I drowned myself in whores and alcohol for two years to forget Lyarra and my son. Then, when that wasn't enough, I buried myself in the yard and my duties as the Crown Prince. When I married Jocelyn, I forgot Lyarra in her. Now I will forget my son by doting on my daughter. I have no other choice."
Baelon looked at his brother with pity and sadness. "Don't worry, brother. I'm here for you to pick up the pieces. For your information, he has grown to be large for his age and is the life of Winterfell. Lord Stark dotes on him like he's his own son. The sum of dragons you promised is sent annually and was even increased last year by me."
"Thank you, brother. I don't know what I would do without you, but don't ever tell me about him again, even when I share my grief. That is an order, brother. I don't want to hear about him and bring up my painful memories again or regret the life I have missed with him," Aemon finished as he turned to look at his daughter.
Baelon studied his brother carefully to determine whether he truly meant the order or not. Surprisingly, his brother meant it.
"As you command, Prince Aemon," Baelon replied with a slight bow and turned to leave the room at the dismissal.
The door was guarded by a Kingsguard knight, but surprisingly, it was Ser Ryam, their father's personal Kingsguard.
"Prince Baelon," the knight bowed and said, "the King has requested your presence after you were excused from Prince Aemon's side."
Baelon swallowed a scowl hearing that and nodded at the knight. He started walking toward the King's Solar. He had hoped that the King missed that he had stayed behind against the King's order, but as usual, his King didn't miss anything. Now, the King was calling his personal spy that he kept on his firstborn son and heir. Baelon still didn't understand how the King molded him into the role of spymaster of House Targaryen. Baelon had attended every lesson with Aemon, even the lessons with their father. Later on, his King started personal lessons for him alone. At first, the personal lessons the King taught were very interesting for the second son. He got his King's valuable time alone, and he was beyond happy, so he absorbed everything like an obedient, honorable prince. His father had spent many such personal lessons with every child. Everyone else thought that the loving father was spending time with his children, but Baelon understood that it was training them for different roles assigned by the King in his plan for House Targaryen. He was sure that Vaegon only wanted to become a maester because of the King's influence, even if the reason still eludes him. He still blamed his father for the instant love Aemon had for the Northern woman, which was only because of the lessons the King had given to the Crown Prince. He still hadn't understood why the King taught the Crown Prince about romanticized northern tales, Legendary Winter Kings of House Stark, and ancient fights with gremlins and snarks so much. He thought that his role was to support Aemon in everything, but he only understood his true purpose on the day the raven from the North reached the King ten years ago.
Flashback:
As ten-year-old Baelon entered the King's solar, he immediately sensed the severity of the situation. The King was livid, and Baelon could see none of the warmth of a loving father—only the stern, unforgiving face of a ruler.
"Baelon," the King's voice cracked like a whip, "why am I just now hearing about your foolish brother's affair with the Stark girl, and why did you not inform me when she became pregnant with his bastard? Why didn't you tell your King—your father—of the folly you and Aemon committed during our visit to the North nearly ten moons ago? I know Aemon couldn't have acted so recklessly without your aid. Speak now."
Baelon squared his shoulders, meeting his father's gaze with unyielding resolve. "Your Grace, I am your son and subject, but my loyalty to my brother Aemon comes first. I will always follow him, even above your orders. I apologize for this, and you may punish me as you see fit, but I stand by my choice."
The King sighed, a tired, weary sound, and said, "I expected no less from you, but you are only ten years old. I advise you never to repeat such words to anyone else. What you have spoken borders on treason, but because it is said out of loyalty to your elder brother and my heir, I will overlook it. However, there will be consequences, and you must learn a hard lesson, Baelon. It was one I hoped you wouldn't need so soon, but the circumstances demand it."
Baelon felt a chill of fear. What lesson was his father about to impart? One he would never forget?
"Baelon, your brother has sired a child with the Stark girl. By now, the babe will have been born. A raven was sent to ask for my permission for your brother to marry her."
Baelon's heart surged with hope, but that hope was swiftly crushed.
"I will, of course, deny it. House Targaryen cannot afford for its heir to marry a Northern girl who has already borne a child out of wedlock. The realm would never accept it, and it is a battle I do not wish to fight. Had you informed me of this affair ten moons ago, I could have acted. I could have legitimized the girl and permitted the marriage, using it as a means to bind the North more closely to our house. I would have presented it to the realm as a tale of romance, a union to civilize the wild Northmen. But now, all is lost. Even if the girl survives childbirth, she is now seen as a seductress who ensnared the young, innocent Crown Prince. My first grandchild will be a bastard and lost to me."
Baelon stared at his father in stunned disbelief. He and Aemon had feared their father's wrath, but they had never expected this.
The King continued, seeing Baelon's shock. "What? Have you not paid attention to my lessons? There was a reason I influenced Aemon's education with stories of the North and its heroes. I wanted a Northern marriage for him, a way to unite the realm after I had united the South under the Targaryen banner. I made peace with the Faith, but I could not be the one to make peace with the North. That was my successor's task, and now it is ruined. Your role was to support your brother—not in his foolishness, but in his well-being. You were to report any of his missteps to me, so I could intervene without such dire consequences. In plain words, you were to spy on your brother for me, and later, you would have become my eyes and ears, the invisible master of whispers for your brother."
Baelon's disbelief turned to anger. He had never realized the King's true intentions. The questions about Aemon had always seemed like a father's concern for his son, not deliberate spying. His mind swirled with rage and betrayal. The King was supposed to be honorable and wise, yet here he was, revealing the depths of his deception. Baelon's emotions must have been plain on his face, but the King ignored them and continued, further fueling his anger.
"Spying is a task for later, I suppose. Baelon, you have brought this punishment upon yourself. Aemon was in love, and love makes us Targaryens foolish. Indirectly, you could have prevented this disaster. You could have granted your brother the happiness he deserves if only you had informed me. In a way, I share the blame. My outward support for the Faith may have made you both believe I would not support him. The guilt you feel when you see Aemon suffer will be your punishment. I pray that he recovers swiftly, and that sacrificing his happiness was worth the loyalty you showed to your brother above all else. I have borne the guilt of many sacrifices, and now, may the gods give you the strength to bear yours, my son."
End Flashback
Baelon, lost in thought, finally reached the King's solar. After receiving permission, he entered and bowed.
"Your Grace, you summoned me," Baelon said. Since that fateful meeting a decade ago, he had refrained from addressing the King as "father," even when they were alone. Over the years, Baelon had learned to see through Jaehaerys Targaryen's facade. The King's public persona was mostly a performance, a mummer's role. The only genuine aspects seemed to be his bond with Alysanne Targaryen and his identity as a Dragonlord of House Targaryen. Baelon was almost certain that the King had married his mother only because his sister had asked him to. Over the past ten years, Baelon had even come to believe that the King harbored no real hatred for his uncle Maegor. The only visible resentment arose when Maegor's name was mentioned or alluded to; otherwise, the King's reaction mirrored that of Aemon towards his son Daemon. Like Aemon, the King preferred to ignore any reference to their supposed objects of disdain, and Baelon knew that even Aemon himself wasn't sure if he loved or hated his son.
In Baelon's eyes, the only role the King played with any sincerity was that of the ruler. Even his role as a father to his children seemed lacking. Baelon often wondered if the King's own lack of a positive father figure had left him ill-equipped to be a good father himself. The King treated even his children more like vassals than kin.
The King looked at Baelon expectantly. When Baelon didn't immediately respond, the King snapped, "Well, spit it out, boy. How is he? Do I need to prepare for Caraxes to suddenly fly to Winterfell, or for my heir to become a kinslayer? What is it now?"
Baelon sighed, recognizing that the King's concern was for the image of House Targaryen, not for his son's mental state. Something had broken in Aemon when he returned from the North, and it had taken all of Baelon's skill to prevent Aemon from doing anything that would damage their house's reputation. Baelon hated that he had to use the same manipulative tactics he had learned from the King.
"Nothing, Your Grace. You have nothing to worry about. There has been no change. My brother has decided to distract himself with Rhaenys and continue with his responsibilities. He has also ordered me not to speak of Daemon to him after I shared some news today," Baelon replied.
The King sighed in relief. "It seems you have done your job well, Baelon. I am proud of you, my son. At least I can say I avoided my father's mistakes. Aemon, as heir, knows your worth and considers you nearly his equal. He values your counsel. My own elder brother, Aegon, never saw his siblings as equals. He believed himself Maegor's heir and ignored his sister-wife's and elder sisters' advice to delay his rebellion. Maegor had just crushed the Faith and the lords who had risen against our house when Aegon, following the advice of those same foolish lords, started his rebellion. Even now, I wonder what madness drove my brother to challenge the Black Dread…"
Baelon felt nothing at the King's praise, recognizing it as another manipulation. He saw the King lost in thought, musing over his brother and the Black Dread. Baelon wondered if it would have been better if Aegon had become King after Maegor's death or if Jaehaerys would have done something treacherous to seize the throne. Suddenly, the King's attention returned to him, and Baelon saw a calculating look in his eyes.
"Baelon the Brave," the King mocked, "you struck Balerion's snout in your childish exuberance. You ride Vhagar, the greatest dragon alive after Balerion and the Cannibal. Tell me, would you fight against a Dragonlord who rides Balerion the Black Dread?"
Baelon was taken aback by the unexpected question. He considered it carefully before replying. "Vhagar is nearly as large as Balerion, and Balerion is older and weaker now. It would be a close fight if the rider were inexperienced, but if the rider were skilled, it would be suicide."
The King regarded him with a moment of pity, a rare expression that quickly vanished, replaced by his usual authoritative demeanor.
"Your calculation is correct only if the older dragon weren't Balerion. As long as Balerion can fly, no dragon can defeat him. I'm not sure even Vhagar, Meraxes, and the Cannibal combined could bring him down. I imagine he'll keep flying until he drops dead. Be proud that you, Baelon, will be the only Dragonlord to see the great Balerion die of old age. When that day comes, I suspect Vhagar will cry out in sorrow, for they are kin."
Baelon didn't respond, recognizing the King's words as a command, not a discussion. However, the King continued, as if wanting to further provoke Baelon.
"Tell me, my son, why do you think your brother hates me? It's been so long since he treated me as a father. He still speaks to me respectfully and obeys me, but he's no longer the happy child he once was. You know him best—what is his grievance?"
Baelon saw through the King's tactics and chose his words carefully. "Your Grace, my brother Aemon doesn't hate you. He was simply heartbroken, and the pressures of ruling as heir have hardened him. He knows his duty, and his love for his family hasn't wavered. He understands the necessity of the choices made, even if they brought him pain."
The King studied Baelon closely, but Baelon held his composure, masking his thoughts. Finally, the King nodded, seemingly satisfied, though Baelon knew the conversation was far from over.
"Very well, Baelon. I'll leave you to your thoughts, but remember this: we Targaryens are not like other men. We must always put our house above all else, no matter the personal cost. There are no exceptions. Now, go to your brother and ensure he stays on the path of duty. The realm cannot afford to see its future King falter."
"Yes, Your Grace," Baelon accepted the wisdom offered, though deep down, he firmly believed that with him as Vhagar's rider, they would prevail. The King's sharp gaze met his, as if sensing a trace of dissent.
"Well," the King began, "I got sidetracked from the real reason I called you here. Our spies in Winterfell have sent word. It seems my grandson takes after me in intelligence. He's shown a remarkable wit for his age. He proposed a solution to the issue of the New Gift's deterioration. He suggested to Lord Stark that they lease the entire land from the Night's Watch for a nominal fee. The contract they're about to sign is perpetual, meaning the land stays with the Starks unless both parties agree otherwise. In return, House Stark will continue to support the Night's Watch with additional resources. That's the essence of the agreement."
Baelon was taken aback by the audacity of the contract. On the surface, it appeared to align with the Crown's orders, but upon closer inspection, it clearly defied the spirit of those orders. If judged by its substance rather than its form, it was plain treason masked as a lease agreement or whatever the new term for renting might be. Essentially, the land now belonged to House Stark again, allowing them to rule it as they saw fit.
The King studied his son, clearly pondering the dilemma. After a moment, he sighed and said, "There's nothing we can do without allowing the status quo to continue, but I don't want that. The only option is to impose a penalty on House Stark for defying the spirit of the Crown's orders. The Night's Watch has existed for 8,000 years, beyond the reach of the politics of kings. I will not interfere with their decisions. If they choose to relinquish their lands, that is their prerogative, so long as the King's Peace is maintained. Before your mother's, frankly, misguided decision, there were no complaints from the northern lords. Now, I'm beginning to question the true origin of this plot. It seems like a calculated move to weaken both the North and the Night's Watch. I had never visited the place and genuinely believed it would strengthen them, so, combined with your mother's forcefulness and my own beliefs, I allowed it. Previously, all we had to endure from the North was a raven twice a year from the Watch requesting men and resources. Now, we receive countless complaints from the northern lords about Wildling raids, the Night's Watch failing as lords of the land, and numerous other grievances. I would prefer things return to their previous state, but the Crown's decision cannot be undone, so I have endured it over the years. Now, a perfect solution has been handed to us on a silver platter. I won't question or hinder it, and I will manage my wife's and my Hand's outrage."
Baelon nodded pensively. "Your Grace, I agree with you. The amount of time and energy spent discussing this issue has been immense, but what about the thinly veiled treason? This could be perceived as a weakness of the Crown. Other lords might exploit it for their own gain."
The King nodded in agreement. "You are correct. I cannot be seen as yielding to such strong-arming by a vassal lord. However, I have a solution that will not only protect our position but also strengthen it. We won't inform the Small Council of this matter. Let us see who raises it for discussion. If anyone has been keeping an eye on Winterfell, where a claimant to the throne currently resides with intentions concerning him, they will reveal themselves when they bring this matter up in the Small Council. I'm certain they'll push for punishment against my grandson and House Stark and suggest voiding the contract. This is where you come in, Baelon. You will ensure that Aemon opposes any moves against this contract and the Starks. Let him be the one to stand against it, and I will present it to the realm as his gesture of goodwill towards a son he abandoned for ten years. This way, the Crown won't appear weak, and we can quell any discontent among the Valyrians and the First Men regarding abandoning our own blood."
Baelon looked at the King with newfound respect. He had always recognized the intelligence behind his father's regal demeanor, but the cunning required to turn a potential vulnerability into a strategic advantage was unparalleled.
"Of course, Your Grace. I will make sure Aemon opposes any recommendations against the Starks and Daemon in this matter," Baelon replied confidently.
The King nodded, trusting Baelon to carry out his orders. "Baelon, it's also time to establish contact with your nephew. After this matter is discussed in the Small Council, send him a letter. Present yourself as the loving, brave uncle eager to connect with his daring nephew. Gauge how much he resents the father who abandoned him and his feelings toward the Royal Family. Make sure he understands that House Stark has escaped serious repercussions, aside from increased taxes, as a gift from his father. Now, if there is nothing else, you are dismissed," the King ordered.
Baelon bowed respectfully and left the room, already strategizing on how to influence Aemon, despite the order never to discuss Daemon with him.
Two Weeks Later
Baelon stood in the court, embodying the perfect prince of House Targaryen. Lords from near and far had begun to arrive for the Tourney, offering their congratulations to his brother, Prince Aemon. The court was currently welcoming the Baratheons and several of the Stormlords. Boremund Baratheon's exuberant pride in his niece Rhaenys was more pronounced than necessary. The man was the son of a former queen, half-brother to the current king and queen, uncle to the future king, and brother to the next queen. Given his royal connections, his niece becoming queen shouldn't be that significant—unless he hoped his future son would marry Rhaenys and become king consort.
King Jaehaerys welcomed his brother with all the requisite formalities, receiving congratulations with graceful decorum. Despite Aemon's informal betrothal to Jocelyn before he fell in love with Lyarra, Baelon knew his brother still cared for and liked Jocelyn. The Baratheons had been furious when news of Aemon fathering a bastard with the Stark girl and seeking marriage to her, thereby spurning Jocelyn, leaked out as usual within the Red Keep. Their anger only grew when Aemon behaved like a drunken, lovesick fool, caring only about flights and fights to forget his lost love for nearly two years, without even courting Lady Jocelyn. It was considered a miracle when Aemon finally cleaned up his act and became the responsible crown prince he is today. The whole affair had delayed Aemon's marriage to Jocelyn by at least two years. Baelon knew the Baratheons were still resentful that Aemon had not rescinded the lifelong annual stipend of dragons awarded to Daemon or that he was being groomed by a Great House like House Stark.
Baelon had already received word that Grand Maester Elysar had been informed of the Stark contract directly from the Citadel. He still couldn't understand why the Winterfell maester had reported that it was his nephew who proposed the idea. His sole responsibility was to collect taxes for the Crown and report business contracts to the Citadel; the originator of the idea should have been irrelevant to him. Baelon suspected that the maesters, or someone manipulating them, were keeping a close watch on the Stark bastard. He anticipated that today's council meeting would be quite entertaining.
Baelon had already warned his brother that morning about the upcoming council meeting and the discussion of Stark's contract.
--
Aemon gently rocked Rhaenys in his arms when Baelon found him.
"Brother," Baelon called softly.
Aemon looked up, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. "Is it already time for the council meeting?"
"No, brother," Baelon replied gently. "The meeting is after we receive your wife's family. The Baratheons have entered King's Landing. We'll need to be in the Throne Room soon."
"I'll be there to receive them," Aemon said, carefully setting Rhaenys down in her crib.
Baelon watched Aemon, knowing that now was the time to play the role of the loving brother who disobeyed orders for Aemon's own good.
"Aemon, brother dearest, I need to warn you about something," Baelon started delicately, his tone serious.
Aemon studied his brother's face, noticing a hint of anxiety beneath his seriousness—reminiscent of the times they were caught in their childhood pranks by the King. He waited until Aemon finished tucking Rhaenys into her crib, then nodded for Baelon to continue.
"Brother, two weeks ago, I learned of a contract that, at first glance, appears to comply with all of the Crown's orders," Baelon began carefully, "but in reality, it undermines our mother's directive regarding the New Gift to the Night's Watch. It effectively returns the New Gift to House Stark's control, rented at a nominal rate annually, in perpetuity."
Aemon's expression turned incredulous, his brows furrowing deeply. "The audacity of House Stark... They are known for their honor, yet this is blatant treason and disobedience," he muttered.
"Yes, brother. Lord Benjen seems to have orchestrated this to circumvent the Crown's intentions," Baelon continued, his voice tinged with concern. "As you know, the Night's Watch has been deteriorating further, and Northern lords are flooding us with complaints. The Starks have proposed this solution to address that problem, but it is a blatant disregard of our mother's will. This cannot go unpunished."
Aemon frowned deeply. "Why did you wait until now to inform me? You mentioned you learned of this two weeks ago."
Baelon hesitated briefly, then confessed, "Because, Aemon, the idea for this contract came from Daemon Snow."
Aemon's shock was palpable. "Daemon? He's only, what, ten years old! How in the Seven Hells could he have suggested something like this?"
Baelon nodded, a smirk playing on his face. "It seems my nephew may not bear my name, but he has certainly inherited my brains, not your foolishness." He said it with pride, aiming to lighten the mood and reassure Aemon. A jest seemed necessary in such serious times.
Aemon scoffed, but Baelon noticed his brother's shoulders relaxing, the tension easing. For the first time, Aemon's face didn't show sadness or rage when thinking about Daemon.
Baelon continued, planting the seed of a gift to Daemon from the father who had abandoned him. "By all accounts, he is a prodigy in whatever he sets his mind to. Nothing is too difficult for him, so it's not impossible that he could have come up with this. This situation doesn't actually affect us—it's good for the realm and especially for us, as it will put an end to the Great Complaints of the North. But we cannot allow it because it disregards the Queen's judgment and will. The only real concern is the potential appearance of weakness in the Crown if the lords find out."
Baelon looked at his brother carefully as he continued, a sly note entering his voice. "No one actually cares about the North or the Night's Watch, so I decided not to report it. I don't want the first message my nephew ever receives from his father's family to be a punishment when he's actually done something incredible for the realm. It would be unnecessarily cruel for my nephew to open the first communication from us, hoping for a positive message or a gift for his missed name days, only to receive scorn and wrongful judgment. But it seems the maesters are excessively interested in this matter. The maester of Winterfell not only reported the contract to the Citadel but also that Daemon was responsible for it, not Lord Stark. Our own Grand Maester Elysar was informed, and he will bring it up at today's meeting. He and Septon Barth have even invited our mother to today's meeting."
Aemon absorbed the information in silence, then turned to his Valonqar, his right hand, and spoke firmly. "I see their strategy—to garner support for whatever they propose. Our mother hasn't fully recovered from childbirth, yet they would inconvenience her for their agenda. Naturally, she will be furious at this disrespect and will not admit to any wrongdoing. I will not allow this to proceed. Whatever their intentions are, it will not be done. Brother, will you stand with me on this?"
Aemon looked at Baelon, seeking his unwavering support.
Baelon smiled and said, "Of course, brother. My support will always be with you. My fealty is yours forever." And he meant every word. Though the King might think that he spies on Aemon on the King's behalf, ever since the folly of their youth that cost Aemon his love, Baelon's first priority had always been his brother. Baelon would protect Aemon, even from himself, and he knew a loving Aemon would never punish someone for doing good, especially his own blood. After all, Aemon had always supported and encouraged him, even when he surpassed him in anything, despite being the second son.
---
Small Council
The Spring Prince
Baelon waited outside the council chambers for Aemon. Though Baelon had no official seat on the Small Council, his role as Master of Whisperers was known only to the King. Aemon had included him in these meetings a few years prior, recognizing the value of his advice and assistance. As Aemon approached, having just attended to the Baratheons—who, as family through marriage, warranted special attention—Baelon noted the barely contained fury in his brother's eyes. It reminded him of the difficult years spent managing Aemon's temper, ensuring that it didn't damage House Targaryen or Aemon himself. He silently prayed that the coming meeting would not turn that simmering anger into dragonfire, hoping his plan would succeed.
Entering the chamber behind his brother, Baelon noticed the King's sharp gaze immediately shift to Aemon, then back to him with a questioning look. Baelon gave a subtle nod, and the King seemed to relax slightly, reassured. Observing the King, Baelon realized he had underestimated how much the King valued a peaceful North. Perhaps even the King had grown weary of the endless complaints from the northern lords. Baelon cursed whoever had encouraged the Northern Lords to believe that their grievances would be heard. As protector of the realm, the King couldn't simply dismiss their constant complaints, but every one of them was an arrow aimed at his image as the wise and capable ruler. Baelon knew the King would go to great lengths to preserve that reputation, even if it meant reversing the Queen's orders within a year on some vague pretext.
Baelon bowed to the King and Queen, taking his assigned seat to the right of Aemon, who was seated at the King's right hand. The table was rectangular, with the King at its head on a raised platform, and the Queen opposite the heir on the left side. Septon Barth, the Hand of the King, sat next to the Queen. As the meeting began, Baelon observed the tense but oddly satisfied expressions of the Grand Maester and the Septon. Beside him, Aemon shifted uneasily in his seat, his tension palpable to those who knew him well.
Finally, before the King could adjourn the meeting, Grand Maester Elysar spoke up. "Your Grace, a grave matter has come to the Citadel's attention, and through them, to me."
Baelon watched as the King scrutinized the Maester before giving him permission to continue.
"It is treason, Your Graces," Elysar began, his tone solemn. "House Stark has violated the Queen's edicts, reclaiming the lands of the New Gift and Brandon's Gift. They have coerced the Night's Watch into signing a lease that is worthless in practice."
The Queen snapped to attention, her pale, thin face—still marked by dark circles from her recent loss—betraying her shock. She had not fully recovered from the death of her brother Gaemon, and Baelon swallowed his scowl at the obvious manipulation by the Maester and Septon. It was clear to him that Septon Barth had used his personal relationship with the Queen to further his own agenda, disregarding her fragile health. The rage simmered in Baelon at their blatant disregard for the Queen's well-being. As the Maester detailed the lease's terms, the council members sat in stunned silence, surprised by the cunning of the supposedly honorable Starks.
Baelon noticed Aemon growing more tense, his hand gripping the hilt of Aegon's knife, knuckles white. Baelon shifted slightly in his seat, preparing to intervene if needed. He knew that if Aemon drew steel in the King's presence, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, Ser Gyles Morrigen, would strike preemptively to protect the King.
"How dare they defy my orders," the Queen hissed, her voice filled with venom. "Lord Benjen has violated the very directives of his ancestors. He was insolent during my last visit, and I showed him mercy because of that lustful bastard girl's death. He should be punished, my King."
Baelon was taken aback by his mother's harshness, wondering if she had fully recovered from her recent trauma. He saw Aemon freeze, his hands trembling as they gripped the knife, while the King looked at the Queen in surprise.
Septon Barth, oblivious to the danger simmering in Aemon, continued. "Your Graces, there is more troubling news. The Maester at Winterfell reported that the idea and major terms of the contract were proposed by Prince Aemon's bastard son. The Maester claimed that when the northern lords questioned the boy's loyalty, he boasted of outwitting his supposed 'Old Lady,' who had never even acknowledged her firstborn grandchild. This entire situation reeks of treason."
"Indeed," the Queen concurred. "My King, what should be the punishment for this bastard boy and the Starks?"
The King remained silent, his eyes slowly moving from the council to Aemon and Baelon.
"Your Grace," Maester Elysar interjected before anyone could speak, "may I suggest that such treachery demands severe punishment? Lord Benjen should be sent to the Night's Watch, and his heir brought to court to learn loyalty, receive knighthood, and do penance. As for the bastard boy, he is only ten but already full of deceit. Who knows what treacherous acts he might commit when he grows older? He is a threat to the royal family. It would be wise to either geld him and send him to the Night's Watch, or have him join the Faith."
Baelon regarded the Grand Maester with disdain, realizing the Citadel and the Faith were using his family's authority to impose their will on the First Men. He didn't need to look at the King and Aemon to know they were both furious, albeit for different reasons. Aemon sat silently, his demeanor and mood akin to Caraxes before a hunt. Queen Alysanne nodded at the suggested punishment for the Starks, but she seemed hesitant when it came to her grandson.
-----
"Yes, Your Grace, I concur with the Maester," Septon Barth said. "Even after the Conquest, the North acts as though they are still independent. Teaching the heir the southern ways of chivalry would benefit the realm. I completely agree with punishing the bastard. He must not be allowed to grow in influence. He is the firstborn son of the Crown Prince, even if he is illegitimate, and the Starks are already cavorting with Braavosi to acquire dragon eggs. With a dragon, even a firstborn bastard would have a claim to the throne. Bastards are known to be cunning and ambitious little creatures. This one is already showing signs of deceit and hatred. The Seven teach us that bastards are born of sin and lust, Your Grace, and they carry that greed and lust within them. The boy must be disciplined to learn the righteous path of the Seven, so he can control his base desires and ambition, unlike his mother, who seduced—"
Smash!
Baelon leapt to defend Aemon from the Lord Commander's sword, but it was unnecessary. Despite his focus on his brother, Aemon moved with astonishing speed. The chair behind him slid several meters back as he rose, slamming the table with one hand and hurling a Valyrian steel knife at the Hand of the King. The knife embedded itself halfway into the table between the Septon's index and middle fingers, who had been resting his hands on the table while spouting his beliefs. The knife hilt quivered from the force of the throw. The Septon pulled his hand back in terror, his fingers trembling. The Grand Maester looked at the Crown Prince as if seeing him for the first time. The Queen, who had seemed uneasy as the Septon condemned the bastard and suggested punishments, now gazed at Aemon as if she were seeing a ghost from the past. The only one who remained calm was the King. He observed the Crown Prince and the Septon as if they were the most fascinating things he had seen in years.
"Shut your mouth!" Aemon's voice was cold, yet it echoed loudly in the silence. The sound of the still-quivering Valyrian steel knife sent a shiver down even Baelon's spine. "I will say this only once: the next person who insults my Lyarra will lose their tongue. The one after that will lose their tongue and be forced to eat it. And the one after that will be fed to Caraxes in front of their family, after making them eat their own tongue. And even then, if anyone dares to insult my Lyarra and my son in my presence again, I will feed them to Caraxes after ensuring they watch their castle, house, or whatever else they hold dear become another Harrenhal. Do I make myself clear, Maester? Septon?"
Though the threat was not directed at him, Baelon felt a chill. He glanced around. The Septon looked as though he had seen the Stranger himself. The Maester seemed on the verge of a heart attack from fear. The Queen was speechless, staring at her elder son as if seeing him truly for the first time. The most intriguing reaction was the King's. For the first time outside of their private lessons in magic, Baelon saw the King's mask slip. The facade of the King cracked, and Baelon caught a glimpse of the same gleam of excitement and pride in his magical skill that the King had shown when teaching him Valyrian magic, now directed towards Aemon. It was fleeting, but Baelon finally saw the madness that had led the King to declare rebellion against the rider of Balerion the Black Dread with only decades-old dragons at his side. Then, the King's mask returned, and he regarded Aemon with a cold, unreadable expression, his thoughts a mystery.
"Yes, My Prince," both the Maester and Septon murmured fearfully, bowing their heads.
Aemon's fury remained undiminished as he commanded, "Spread my words throughout the court. They apply to everyone." The Maester and Septon nodded quickly. Still searching for any dissent, Aemon continued, "And there shall be no punishment for my son or House Stark. As the Master of Laws and the Crown Prince, I declare it so. I have not bestowed anything upon my bloodline thus far, nor upon my family. This shall be his reward, earned through his own wit. In fact, it is fitting for my son to be appointed as the Overlord of the New Gift."
Baelon closed his eyes and cursed Aemon for passing judgment without the King's consent. The moment Aemon encroached upon the King's authority, Baelon knew things would spiral out of control. The King would never tolerate even his heir appropriating the Crown's authority. Even the Maester and Septon looked to the King with hope, knowing how much he despised being pressured in this manner.
"Enough, Aemon," the King's voice reverberated through the chamber. "You have not ascended to the throne yet to issue such judgments. I am the King on the Iron Throne, not you. Do not presume to use my authority again."
Aemon snarled in rage, ready to retort, but the calm, burning gaze of the King forced him to rein in his emotions and adopt a facade of forced calmness.
"I apologize, Your Grace," Aemon said through gritted teeth. "My emotions got the better of me, My King," he added, bowing deeply and remaining bowed as the King continued to stare at his heir in silence.
Baelon could see Aemon's hand beginning to tremble in suppressed rage, and he quickly placed his own hand over Aemon's fist, hidden beneath the table, to calm him.
"Apology accepted. You may rise and take your seat, and let us continue this discussion like the civilized individuals we are," the King declared. Aemon straightened, nodded, and took his place.
"But before we proceed," the King continued, a glint in his eyes, "just now you issued a threat to the realm. Are you truly willing to carry out that punishment if someone insults Lady Lyarra? What if it's the Baratheons? Even then, are you still willing to uphold your threat, Aemon? And what if it's the Faith of the Seven? Answer me."
"I am your son, Father," Aemon replied with steely resolve. "You have taught me well. I will not make a threat I am not prepared to carry out. If the Baratheons are foolish enough to defy my warning in my presence, I will burn Storm's End to the ground. And if it is the Faith, then perhaps I will finish what my Great Uncle, King Maegor the Cruel, started, so that the message sinks in."
The Septon and the Queen gasped audibly, while Baelon barely restrained himself from striking Aemon on the back of the head for the foolishness of provoking the King by mentioning King Maegor.
Baelon looked at the King in panic. Aemon knew how much it enraged him when Maegor was mentioned, and anyone who did so faced dire consequences. Aemon was well aware of this, and Baelon understood just how resolute his brother was.
A furious expression briefly flashed across the King's face, but he swiftly regained his composure.
"I see that you are prepared to follow through with your threat. Good. Never make a threat unless you are prepared to carry it out, and never issue an order you do not expect to be obeyed," the King remarked calmly. The Maester gasped audibly at the blanket permission granted by the King to destroy anyone who defied the Prince's orders.
Ignoring their reactions, the King continued with a smirk, "Now, you have passed judgment without my approval, utilizing my authority. What will you do if I were to order the boy to be gelded, as suggested by the Maester? Tell me, my heir."
Aemon fixed a sharp gaze on the King and smirked while replying in High Valyrian, "Then I suppose you will have to attempt it yourself, Father, as anyone else will be fed to Caraxes. Perhaps you'll even have a chance to carry out your order with Vermithor, but I wouldn't bet on it. You've grown older and only ride the dragon every other month now, whereas I train and fly against Vhagar almost daily."
Baelon looked at his brother and saw the smirk, a smug, prideful smile that only a dragonrider could have about their dragon. Everyone in the room, except the Queen, looked shocked at the implicit threat issued against their King. The Lord Commander even half-drew his sword, but the King snorted and began laughing.
After a few moments, the King's laughter subsided, and he smirked at his son. "Well, then it is fortunate that I do not intend to issue such an order. You will not have to discover that you are still the foolish boy who once tried to tame the fiercest young dragon as his mount rather than claiming the older, more experienced dragons. My dear son, even though I do not ride as often as I would like, I remain the skilled dragonrider who decided to face Balerion The Black Dread and King Maegor in his prime. That skill will not diminish until the day I die."
Baelon grinned at the response, and even Aemon smiled and nodded his acceptance.
The King's demeanor shifted from merriment to seriousness. "Now, moving on. Maester, My Queen, Barth, my friend," he addressed each in turn, "you all recommended punishments for House Stark and for my grandson. Maester, you are a learned man, yet all I heard from you were punishments and poetic descriptions of their so-called treason. Similarly, Barth, earlier you sounded more like a Septon preaching to the smallfolk than the Hand of the King. We are not here for a sermon on bastardy or lust. Even now, all I hear are complaints and talk of punishments. Over the years, none of you have proposed a solution to the problem you yourselves created."
"Problem, Your Grace?" the Maester cautiously inquired.
"Yes, the problem of the New Gift, Maester," the King responded sternly. "A problem created by you and the Septon when you proposed it to the Queen without consulting the lord of the family that has ruled that land for 8,000 years. A foolish suggestion indeed, or have you forgotten the endless letters and complaints we received?" The room grimaced collectively, recalling the mountain of paperwork and grievances.
Continuing, the King stated firmly, "Therefore, I will not annul this agreement, which, technically, I cannot do since it was signed by the Night's Watch, not under my authority. The contract can only be terminated by mutual consent, and I cannot dictate terms to the Night's Watch. It is their land, and they have the right to lease it as they see fit. Moreover, it is preferable for the realm that they lease it to the Starks rather than to some Essosi slaver for resources or any other dubious purposes. House Stark has not violated any laws, nor breached the King's peace in securing this land, nor disregarded any of my orders. They have acted within their rights, and I will not penalize them for it. Henceforth, the Starks shall be responsible for the New Gift and will handle any complaints from the Lords of the North concerning wildlings, food shortages, or Night's Watch activities."
With that, the King concluded calmly. Everyone in the room nodded in agreement, acknowledging the King's judgment and the clear resolution to the problem.
"Your Grace, that is a splendid idea regarding the lands and the contract. But what is to be done with the boy? After all, he insulted Her Grace, the Good Queen, your own wife. Such disrespect at least warrants some whipping, Your Grace," the Maester said with a sly smile.
Baelon glanced at the King and noticed his growing annoyance that the matter had not been dropped. Aemon's rage flared again, and he said, "Maester, my father has already issued the order—there shall be no punishment. I have also ordered it—there shall be no punishment. Why are you still bringing it up now?"
"My Prince, that judgment was clearly for the trickery with the contract. This is an insult to the Queen, your own mother," the Maester persisted.
Baelon observed the King, noting his growing irritation whenever the Queen was mentioned.
"If my son actually insulted her, then she deserved it for being tactless and insulting his dead mother, my love, before her body had even cooled under her castle, her birthplace, and then not even picking up her first grandchild at least once," Aemon snapped back.
The Queen winced at her son's admonishment. Baelon continued observing the King, knowing he would be enraged if his sister was disparaged, even by their own son.
"Aemon," the King snapped, "beware of your words. This is your mother, and moreover, my own sister you are speaking about."
"I am minding my words, Father, because she is my mother. I will defend my love as you defend yours, and there will be no whipping for her son," Aemon replied firmly.
The King looked closely at Prince Aemon and said, "I understand your defense of your love and your son. I, too, love as you do. Don't worry, my son; there will be no punishment since we do not know the actual truth beyond hearsay. You do not have to defend your son from me; after all, he is your son, which means he is my grandson. More than that, I have kept an eye on him more closely than you ever have, so do not pretend to be a sudden caring father now, for your own selfish desire to please a dead woman. I love you, my son. You are my own blood, and I love all my children and grandchildren, even Daemon Snow. Even if he does not bear my name, he still carries my bloodd..."
Baelon suddenly looked at the King, who had ceased advising or chastising his heir. The King had halted mid-sentence when he uttered the word "blood," his soft whisper drawing everyone's attention, laden with concern and a trace of fear. His face remained composed, but his eyes gleamed as thoughts churned within him. Baelon sensed something profound, a truth rarely revealed. Whatever thought had gripped the King at the mention of "blood" seemed to stir a deep anger within him. Baelon noticed that even the legendary calmness of King Jaehaerys was beginning to slip. The Dragonlord of House Targaryen was emerging, and Baelon could see that the epithet of the King's dragon, The Bronze Fury, suited him well.
After several tense moments of silence, the King's voice, heavy with tension and fury, rang out, "Prince Aemon Targaryen, you shall remain silent until I call upon you. This is an order from your father, the head and Dragonlord of House Targaryen. Do you understand?"
Surprised, Aemon replied, "Yes, Your Grace," and bowed.
Nodding in acknowledgment, the King cast a bewildering look at the rest of the council, who returned his gaze with apprehension.
The King then turned to the Maester, whose seat seemed to tremble under the intensity of the King's stare.
"Maester, you have served us loyally for 20 years. You have saved many lives dear to me. Your counsel is valued. Tell me again, what punishment did you recommend for Daemon Snow, my grandson, for his supposed treason and insult to his queen?" The King asked in a tone so charming that Baelon knew it was false.
The Maester, surprised by the King's shift in demeanor, replied eagerly, "My King, I recommended gelding, joining the Night's Watch, and whipping. Both are fitting punishments."
The King scrutinized the Maester for a moment, and Baelon almost felt pity for him.
"I see. Maester, if I were to order this, who would carry it out? He is thousands of miles away in the North. Do you think Lord Stark would obey an order to geld him? From all reports, Lord Stark loves Daemon as if he were his own son. Daemon has helped the North prosper, and you think Lord Stark will simply comply with my order? What will happen when they hide him in the vastness of the North and force my hand? What will happen when my own son joins their resistance, as he has just declared he would defend him with dragonfire? What solution do you propose for this?" the King inquired.
The Maester looked at the King as if he were simple. "Your Grace, the Starks are oath-bound to follow your orders. If they do not, it is rebellion, and you have loyal lords and dragons to enforce your will. Prince Aemon may have claimed he will defend his son, but we all know he harbors disdain for the bastard. He will not defy his own King and father."
Aemon snarled and began to rise from his seat, but Baelon quickly pulled him down and tightened his grip. When Aemon looked at him, Baelon shook his head and gestured towards the King. Aemon glanced at the King, and realization dawned upon him.
"So, you recommend spilling my grandson's blood? You suggest harming my blood? The blood of House Targaryen, your sworn royal family. How dare you sit in my castle, in my council, and propose gelding my grandson? How did you even muster the audacity to think of harming my blood? The Blood of the Dragon shall not be judged by lesser men or even gods. Only the Blood of the Dragon can judge another of the Blood. You are either incompetent or an enemy to the Seven Kingdoms to suggest a solution that would incite rebellion from my own son and heir. What madness and foolishness possessed you to believe you could manipulate my queen to punish my own blood for your selfish desires?" the King finished in a deadly whisper. Baelon had never seen his King so enraged.
"Your Grace, it's not like that," the Maester immediately protested against the harsh accusations.
"Silence!" the King snapped. "Do you take me for a fool, thinking you could use me to influence the realm for your agendas? Do you believe you can make your selfish desires for the realm a reality by using my throne, my authority, and power? I see through your deep-seated hatred against the North, evident in your original suggestion for harsher laws and your crown jewel proposal to spread your influence and weaken them, seizing their fertile lands."
"Your Grace, we are innocent. This was a mistake, and we have no hatred against the North. We are all one realm under your crown," Septon Barth attempted to defend against the accusation.
The King scoffed and said, "No, I can clearly see now that the Citadel and the Faith have swayed your decisions. Their animosity towards the North has colored your judgment. The Faith failed to conquer the North, failed to convert them; they hold no sway there. It was only by my father's decree that the North began accepting Southern maesters appointed by the Citadel for tax collection purposes. After that, the North gradually stopped sending eligible candidates to be trained, finding it increasingly costly. Your use of our authority to fulfill your selfish desires disgusts and enrages me. It seems that your years-long proximity to us has led you to believe you are as close to the blood of the dragon as royalty itself. This mistaken belief must be corrected immediately so that no one again will be foolish enough to think themselves equal to royalty."
The King took a long breath to calm his rage, and after a moment continued, "Septon Barth, you are dismissed from the position of Hand of the King. You have become biased against the First Men, and the man I appointed 20 years ago would never have advised such foolish suggestions. Whether due to incompetence or a deliberate attempt to weaken the crown, both are dangerous. Therefore, you are removed from the council. You may return to the Starry Sept and deliver your sermons there, not in this council."
"Brother, no. Septon Barth has served us for many years, and he is our friend. You shall not dismiss him from the court. He is also my personal septon," the Queen interrupted.
The King looked at the Queen and nodded. "Aye, Septon Barth, you may stay in the court. However, you will no longer be my Hand. Now, Maester, you are found guilty of incompetence and the willful intention to harm my blood. You are also found guilty of deliberately trying to incite one of my loyal Lord Paramounts to rebel against the crown. You are dismissed from the position of Grand Maester. You will not be appointed as a maester in any other holdfast. Instead, you will remain in the Citadel, performing the duties of an acolyte for the rest of your life and die in that post."
Everyone blanched at the harsh punishment. Baelon saw the Maester's face go from shock to anger in seconds.
"No, Your Grace, you can't do this!" the Maester yelled in anger and fear. "The Citadel and the council of Archmaesters decide on the Grand Maester and the appointment of maesters to different holdfasts. This has been the tradition for centuries. The King has no right to change this tradition. I will not be disgraced and dismissed by the Ki…" The Maester suddenly stopped, remembering he was sitting in front of a decisive King who despised weakness and disobedience.
The King looked at the Maester as though he were dragon dung beneath his boots. "I see you remember where you are sitting. It seems that the kingdoms need a reminder that I am not my weak father, who pandered to his friends' whims. I am Jaehaerys Targaryen, the rider of Bronze Fury. You will follow the orders as they stand. But before that, you shall be punished."
"The Citadel is ordered to send a new Grand Maester within one moon. You will send the raven yourself, stating your disgrace and new position as the lowest acolyte. From this moment on, your senior assistant will perform your duties. If the new Grand Maester is not present before the court within one moon to take up the position, you will send the raven again. If he is not present within 15 days after that, there shall be no more ravens. The next message will be carried by Vhagar."
"From today, the Iron Throne shall not pay for any maester appointed to castles for recording business, calculating taxes, or for tax collection purposes if the maester is used by the lord of the castle for any other matter. Even if small advice is sought, the lord of the castle shall be liable for the upkeep and salary of the maester. The rule implemented by my father, requiring every keep to have a maester to do the taxes, is hereby rescinded. The Iron Throne shall only pay for the days when tax calculations are actually done. If the lord has paid an additional sum for their service, he may ask for any other replacement as he sees fit. Lords may punish maesters for disloyalty or incompetence if they can prove the charge. The maester sent by House Targaryen to the North is only to be used for tax collection purposes; all other expenses of stay will be borne by the Citadel itself or by the lords as mentioned above. If lords need a maester, they are to follow the methods used before Aegon's Conquest."
The Maester's face paled in absolute fear upon hearing the harsh sentence.
"Now for your personal punishment: you shall be gelded and whipped, the same punishment you gleefully suggested for a ten-year-old boy, before the court for your crimes. You shall serve as a message to those in my realm who would seek to misuse my authority and power."
As the King finished, Baelon saw the Maester become numb with fear and disbelief.
"Your Grace," Aemon interjected, "the Maester's intentions were against my son. Let me personally administer the punishment. There is a saying among the Starks: those who pass judgment should also wield the sword to carry out the deed. If you cannot do that, then the man does not deserve to die. Allow me to be your representative and uphold that saying."
The King regarded Aemon thoughtfully and then nodded. "Prince Aemon, you shall be my Hand from this day forward, and Baelon, you will be the new Master of Laws. Let this council meeting be adjourned, and let us summon the court for the Maester's punishment."
Baelon bowed in deference, accepting the honor after his brother. The Small Council dispersed, and Baelon followed the King to his Solar.
"Your Grace, thank you for the honor, but what of my role as Spymaster?" Baelon inquired.
The King sighed wearily. "Appoint and train your second for the duties of Master of Laws. Delegate as much as you can. The Spymaster must be your first priority."
Baelon nodded and then posed a question that had been weighing on his mind. "Your Grace, why did you dismiss your friend Septon Barth as well? It was the Maester who suggested such harsh punishment."
The King looked at Baelon with disappointment. "I am the King, Baelon, and I have no friends—only those who will aid me in achieving my goals. Septon Barth was a valuable ally a decade ago, but he has long overstayed his welcome. His influence over my sister and younger children has become oppressive."
Baelon nodded in understanding and returned to his chambers to rest before the public whipping and to prepare for the fallout on Aemon's behalf.