80 AC
Beyond the wall
I woke to the sensation of wetness on my face. Groaning, I opened my eyes and was immediately greeted by a direwolf pup licking me repeatedly. The pup had pure black fur and striking green eyes. Flaring my senses, I could feel the bond between us, able to see myself through the direwolf's eyes.
I withdrew and noticed blood droplets around the direwolf's mouth; it had been licking at the wound on my stomach and drinking blood from it. The wound was only half healed, and I groaned as I sat up, feeling the pain. My clothes had been burned in the fire, and the only reason I hadn't died from frostbite was due to the cold resistance I'd developed in my younger years.
I saw another wolf cub, white as a ghost, lying near my foot. It was the runt of the litter, seemingly abandoned by its mother. The mother was nursing the other pups, and the father stood guard over them—and maybe over me, too.
The moment I sat up, the pack began to move away, leaving my direwolf and the runt behind. I extended my senses to the male direwolf and tried to convey visions of safety, food, and shelter. But he growled back in annoyance, and I shrugged.
"Well, I tried." I said as I looked at the black direwolf in my hand.
The black direwolf wagged its tail at me.
"Well, you're a lucky one. You're stuck with me for a long time, Fenrir." The only name I could think of, looking at him, was Fenrir. The direwolf woofed at the name, and I could feel acceptance through our fledgling bond. I could already tell this was unlike my other bonds with animals. There was something more in this bond—I could almost feel a magical thread weaving between us, connecting us. Perhaps it was because my talent had picked up on the Night King's skilled use of this power, but I wondered how much this bond would develop.
"Well, well, Lyra will be angry that she missed this sight, Daemon," Aethan's voice called as he and ten men from Winterfell entered the clearing on their horses. Despite his teasing tone, I could still sense the worry beneath it.
"Lord Snow, what happened? Who did this to you?" one of the men-at-arms asked me, handing over my spare clothes.
"Don't worry, my friend. I've succeeded in my quest." I lifted my black direwolf and held him up, just like Rafiki held young Simba. "This is Fenrir, and after centuries, a direwolf has returned to House Stark."
Feeling my amusement, Fenrir tried to howl majestically, but it came out as a small sound that made me laugh.
Everyone, except Aethan, looked at me as if I were insane, but I could sense the awe and fear through their presence as I extended my senses. After that intense fight with the Night King, I could tell my mental prowess had increased drastically, and now I had a kind of discount empathy sense.
"Get dressed, Daemon; we have to go," Aethan warned, and I nodded in acceptance.
=================
The Wall.
Ever since the battle, every single bond with my animals had been severed, and I'd had to manually reestablish each one as they came to find me. All the birds on this side of the Wall had returned, making it easy to reconnect with them. The problem was that I couldn't sense any of my connections beyond the Wall, and because of that, I had no idea whether Prince Aemon had left or whether he was still waiting for me.
I hardened my mind as we entered the courtyard of Castle Black, scanning for a flash of silver hair. Seeing none, I sighed slightly, easing a tension I hadn't even realized I was holding. The direwolf pups were tied to my body by cloth, both curiously peeking out. They lay nestled against me, wrapped securely, and it was astonishing to see how much they'd grown in just a week—much faster than any dog or wolf.
Lord Ryswell's eyes widened in surprise when he saw the direwolves. He glanced around the army, a series of questions flashing across his face as he realized that our numbers hadn't diminished and there were no injuries among us.
"So, Prince Aemon Targaryen has fled back to the south rather than face me. Is that it?" I said, smirking.
A few gasps sounded at the audacity of my words, but Lord Commander quickly cut in. "Prince Aemon instructed me to order you not to linger here any longer and to proceed directly to Winterfell, as promised by you."
"Ah, don't worry," I replied. "As you can see, Ice is strapped to my back, and Aethan—show them the traitor's head."
With a grimace, Aethan held up the preserved head of the treacherous knight, displaying it for all to see.
"As I said," I continued, "we vanquished the wildling army beyond the Wall without suffering a single injury. The Old Gods have blessed House Stark once again with their fated companions—the direwolves have returned south of the Wall. The black one, Fenrir, is mine, and the white one will belong to my cousin, Lord Cregan Stark."
The Lord Commander grasped the significance of my words, and finally, he spoke. "I offer you guest rights, and perhaps you might enlighten me on how you achieved such an impossible victory."
I ofcourse, accepted the guest rights graciously.
========================
One moon later
Winterfell.
Upon our arrival at Winterfell, we were met with a hero's welcome from the people of Wintertown and the castle. I presented the sword and the traitor's head to Lord Cregan Stark. Cregan, alongside Lady Giliane Stark, welcomed us in the courtyard. I could see Cregan was holding back tears of happiness at the sight of me, though he was doing his best to maintain the Lord Stark Mask of our grandfather.
Cregan was looking at puppies at my feet curiosly and I decided to end the surprise.
After the pleasantries were over, Cregan's gaze fell curiously on the pups at my feet, so I decided it was time to reveal the surprise. I lifted the white pup into my hands—it was already the size of a one-year-old dog—and presented it to Cregan.
"Cregan, little brother, it's time House Stark is reunited with its wolf protectors. Here is the direwolf pup I obtained from beyond the Wall for you. You may name this one, and I have named mine Fenrir."
Everyone looked at the black pup, now larger than the white one. My blood and the bond we shared had accelerated my companion's growth. Seeing the white wolf and feeling the bond, Cregan finally let go of the Stark mask. He lunged forward to hug me, whispering "Thank you" over and over.
============================================
It wasn't even the next day before Lord Regent Bennard Stark summoned me to the solar. Though it irked me, I didn't want to start trouble on my first day back, so I decided to present myself.
As I entered the solar, I saw Lord Bennard standing near the fireplace, his back to me. My eyes drifted to the Lord's empty chair, and memories flooded my mind of the countless meetings I'd had with my grandfather in this very room. I sighed, taking a deep breath to control the sadness that enveloped me. My anger had been satiated, but sadness had no cure, save time—or perhaps my control ability to cheat it.
Cregan was sitting with his mother on the chairs along the wall. I looked at them and they shrugged in confusion.
I cleared my throat to break the awkwardness of the room.
"Daemon Snow, you may have escaped punishment due to being the son of a prince and the foolishness of my nephew, but know that you are being watched. You usurped my authority and wielded a sword to which you have no right. Beware—I am not fooled by your intentions, hidden though they may be from my brother and father," Bennard said sternly, still not turning to face me. I was surprised at how my uncle had arrived at such a foolish notion.
"My lord—" Lady Gilaine began, trying to come to my defense, but Bennard turned abruptly and snapped,
"Oh, shut up, Glover! Like everyone else, you too are charmed by this dragonspawn. You have no idea what he has done. The people of the North may praise my father for the improvements he brought—even for restoring Moat Cailin—but the lords know the truth. The ideas came from him," he said, nodding towards me. "For centuries, House Stark has never needed to question the loyalty of the Reeds, Manderlys, or Mormonts. And yet Daemon has impressed their lords and heirs more than Cregan has. He even convinced Reed's heir to go with him beyond the Wall on a reckless mission. Now the smallfolk and the lords praise his military strength and martial prowess, all at the tender age of thirteen. If I didn't know for a fact he had no contact with Targaryens since birth or that he is too prideful to be a puppet, I might even think he was planted here to turn House Stark into a puppet of the dragon throne."
Even I was taken aback by my uncle's rant for a moment, but soon the memories from my previous life hit me, and I started laughing. It began as a snort, but within seconds it grew into an uproarious, uncontrollable laugh.
"Ha…hahahaha!"
"Daemon," Lady Gilaine said, looking shocked at my reaction, while Bennard was, of course, furious at the apparent disrespect.
"Sorry, Uncle, but that's the best joke you've ever told," I said, stifling my laughter. "I have no desire for Winterfell or the North. I have higher purposes in this life than ruling over a gaggle of idiotic lords." I looked at Cregan, who was glancing between his uncle and me, his thoughts racing.
"Cregan, you don't have to worry about anything. You will be Lord of Winterfell when you come of age—I'll make sure of it." I turned back to my uncle with a stern look.
"Thank you, Daemon," Cregan said, hugging Winter, his direwolf, close.
"You may placate them with this boasting, but I will keep my eye on you. And your strutting around Winterfell as a prince is over. I've spoken with Lady Mormont, and you are to foster with House Mormont on Bear Island, since you seem so taken with her daughter," Bennard declared.
My smile faded, realizing that my plans were unraveling even further.
"What?" Lady Glover interrupted. "And you decided this on your own? I am co-regent!"
"Yes, you are co-regent, and of course you can change this, but I wonder how the Mormonts will take it since they were honored to host a son of Winterfell," Bennard replied smoothly.
Both Lady Glover and I saw what Bennard's intentions were. We couldn't reject his order without insulting the Mormonts—especially after the loyalty they had shown to me and House Stark. This was an unofficial punishment, the furthest Bennard could go in removing me from Winterfell, effectively banishing me to the northernmost of the lowly bannermen.
"No!" Cregan shouted, realizing we weren't going to challenge the decision. "You can't send him away from me. I need him here."
"That's not my problem, Cregan. Daemon may stay for a moon's turn, but after that, he is to go to Bear Island with the Mormont heiress. This decision is final." With that, Bennard left the solar.
"Daemon, you can't go! You still have to teach me so many things," Cregan said as soon as the door closed.
"Don't worry, Cregan. I'll find a way to keep teaching you, even from Bear Island," I said, trying to reassure my young cousin.
==============================================
Four Weeks Later: Godswood
"Cregan, do you understand the plan?" I asked. "You'll warg into this bird at set times, or use it to contact me. I'll warg into my own bird left here, and we'll communicate that way."
Cregan scoffed. "I understand, Daemon. You're repeating it for the tenth time. There are potions made from your blood for a full year. I'm to consume that potion directly every week, and the diluted form with my food and water."
I sighed in exasperation as it was a typical childish response.
"Daemon…you'll come back, right? You won't marry Lyra Mormont and stay there, will you?" Cregan asked, his curiosity piqued. "She's been looking at you…strangely."
I scoffed. "I'm not marrying her, Cregan. Now look after Winter, and she'll look after you, too."
Cregan nodded eagerly before running after the direwolves.
"Brandon, you are to be Lady Gilaine's sworn sword from today until I call you back," I told my silent shadow. Though I had my own birds and animals in Winterfell, a human perspective would be valuable.
Brandon raised his hand as if to protest, but my glare stopped him short. He nodded reluctantly.
I sighed, exhausted by the thought of reworking my plans for the future. At least the silent improvements to cattle and the people of Winterfell would continue, as Bennard wasn't foolish enough to halt the developments begun by his father. I would miss the comforts of Winterfell, but it seemed the Mormonts would be lucky to have me there to help develop their lands.
I looked at the weirwood tree, knowing it would be my last time here for a long while, then walked to the courtyard where Lyra and Lady Mormont waited for me.
=====================================================
80AC
Kingslanding
The Spring Prince
Baelon waited with the King in the royal solar for his brother to return and report after his journey to Winterfell. He had been anxious the entire time Aemon was in the North and had even used the glass candles to keep an eye on him—nearly getting immolated by Caraxes for his trouble. Sometimes, he cursed the gods for not granting his brother any talent in sorcery.
Aemon entered the solar and bowed to the King as tradition required. The moment Baelon caught Aemon's gaze, he knew his brother had disobeyed one of the King's orders.
"Aemon, come, sit, and tell me which of my orders you chose to ignore. I can see it on your face—you didn't follow my instructions," the King said, sighing in weariness.
"Aemon," Baelon acknowledged, as Aemon sat beside him, facing the King across the table.
"Father, I appointed Bennard and Lady Gilaine as co-regents due to Bennard's disrespect. He's still bitter over my love for his bastard sister and holds a vendetta over it, which clouds his judgment. Here's what happened in Winterfell…" Aemon explained.
Baelon looked at the King and he saw the king contemplating the information. Baelon could see the subtle shock and a slight fear in the King's face hearing about Daemon's rampage with a Valyrian Steel Sword and pyromancy.
"Aemon, are you certain of this account?" the King asked, his tone grave. "Could it not be an exaggeration from panicked peasants, who mistook Daemon's skills with Valyrian steel for something more? Even among the Old Blood only few know of the full potential of such weapons unless that power is accidentally awakened."
Baelon grimaced, knowing the King would be displeased that his thirteen-year-old grandson had uncovered one of the secret aspect of Valyrian steel—and wielded a greatsword with the grace and ease of perfectly matched sword, when the size should have been a liability at his age.
"Aye, Father. From what I gathered, Daemon stands nearly five-and-a-half feet tall with enough muscle to make a Baratheon jealous. But even with that to wield a Greatsword like Ice as it is said, he must have activated the bonding aspect of the blade. Even with the usual bonding Valyrian Steel sword had, Ice is more than that. It actually burned Lord Karstark when he tried to take it and deemed his motives suspect. There is also the matter of Fire spreading coldness after it radiated hotness like the dornish desert for a moment. Everyone agreed that the Ice spread a bone deep cold making everyone freeze in terror." Aemon said with a grimace.
Baelon could hear the King's mind working hard to grasp the magic involved, as he was certain there was still some knowledge his father had yet to teach him.
"Interesting, very interesting. There must be a reason the Starks retained the name of their original ancestral sword when they commissioned the Valyrian steel from old Valyria," the King said thoughtfully. "But these are just words, Aemon. What made you believe this is the truth? Have you seen Daemon perform such feats with your own eyes?"
Aemon immediately looked guilty, and Baelon understood; for some reason, Aemon had not seen his son on this trip.
"I never saw him, Father. I couldn't get the opportunity. I believe the story because—even without the smallfolk knowing the full tale—Daemon is regarded as a god-gifted child. I inquired further, and they told me that everyone in Winterfell is healthy and that disease has almost been eradicated. They thank Daemon for this, believing he has the power to bless them with healing. I couldn't see him because he went beyond the Wall to hunt down the Lusty Knight, and no matter what I tried, Caraxes wouldn't fly over the Wall."
"Preposterous tales, Brother," Baelon interjected. "There is no magic that could heal that many people for years."
"That's true, Aemon. Perhaps it was just a phase or due to other policies. I'll forgive you for waiting only seven days instead of staying until my grandson returned and completing my order. You've captured the spirit of it, though," the King said thoughtfully. "So why did you attempt to fly over the Wall when even Silverwing wouldn't do it?" he asked curiously.
Baelon was surprised to see the King forgiving Aemon for not actually meeting with Daemon. Observing him, Baelon finally understood why: the King had never truly expected Aemon to accomplish the order as it was given.
Aemon looked ashamed for a moment before replying, "I forgot about that story, Father. Only after I tried the first time did I remember the tale of Silverwing and Mother. Speaking of Mother, where is she? She usually attends these meetings."
"Our mother is with child again, Aemon. It's surprising, especially at her age, but the maester has recommended rest for now." Baelon tried to break the news gently, but Aemon's frown quickly turned to anger, revealing he had failed.
The King wore a mocking smile, as if daring Aemon to speak up.
"Why, Father? Why risk it all for a child who might not survive, like our brothers Gaemon and Valerion?" Aemon asked, struggling to hide his anger.
The King grimaced at the memory of his lost children, but it disappeared quickly. "You are my heir and my eldest living child, so I'll show you the courtesy of answering. After Valerion, the maesters said there would be no more children, that her chances were near impossible at our ages. There are too few Targaryens left in this world, and my eldest son has avoided his duty to sire more children because of the fear of losing them—or his wife—to the birthing bed. I have no such fears. Alysanne has successfully borne twelve children, and I am sure she will be unharmed by the thirteenth too."
Baelon could see Aemon looked guilty under his father's chastisement, but he knew Aemon would never change his mind on this matter.
"May I be excused, Father? I need to meet my darling daughter and Viserys after freshening up," Aemon requested.
"Aye, you are dismissed," the King replied, waving him away.
Baelon wished to accompany his elder brother, but he knew it was impossible for now. As Aemon closed the door behind him, the King sighed wearily.
"Baelon, it seems your brother has recovered somewhat and performed admirably. What has your scrying through the glass candle discovered?" the King asked.
"As you know, my King, Winterfell is shielded against scrying by unknown means. I cannot view anything within the castle or enter the minds of its residents. Daemon is an exception, as our blood relation seems to bypass this protection, but I cannot glean much from his mind—it's protected by an imaginary Winterfell. I attempted it yesterday, and his skill in mental defense has improved drastically. I was almost burned by a new barrier around his mind, a black flame from the firewall that stopped me from even entering. More than that the flames counterattacked me and even followed the link to my mind. Only my bond with Vhagar and my own skill saved me. Later, I tried scrying on the smallfolk in Wintertown, and they all corroborated Aemon's version of events."
Baelon saw the King pale as he shared this information.
"Black flames?" the King asked hesitantly.
Baelon nodded, and for the first time, he saw the King slump in his seat, losing his regal posture, a shadow of sadness crossing his face.
"It seems Fate is a cruel mistress, and is punishing me by making the Targaryen blood sing with greatness in my bastard grandson after it blessed me." The King said and Baleon could see a glint of insanity and mirth in the King's face as the masks crumbled, the same madness that made the king threaten his own sons using Balerion the black dread. Baelon could see the mirth increasing but he couldn't understand the reason. The King snorted and a heartbeat later it was full blown laughter.
A laughter of a man who finally understood a joke that no one else could see.
Baelon paled further and his hands tightened around handles of his chair as his heartbeat increased. Baelon could see that somehow the iron control of the king has vanished and he is seeing the true self of the king. A man brimming with both greatness and madness.
The King eventually stopped laughing, wiping tears from his eyes as he glanced at Baelon seated opposite him. A cruel glint entered the King's eyes.
"Ah, Baelon, forgive me, my son. No one has played such a trick on me since I was a child, but it seems the Fourteen Flames wish to punish me in my lifetime, not after my death. And it goes without saying that you will not disclose this lapse of mine to anyone," the King said with a careless smirk.
Baelon nodded immediately, deciding that no one would hear of this from him.
The king accepted this and continued, "Today I curse my own younger self for not approving the marriage request when Aemon sent his letter. I valued my wife and my hands advice and didn't think about the bloodline of my grandchild. It would have been perfect -The bastard girl will still die in the birthing bed and Aemon would be free to marry Jocelyn later. Our house will become more stronger by having a heir with such magical power and by my own teachings to him. But alas, my own arrogance blinded me and now it's too late."
Baelon wondered what would have happened if something like that happened.
"My King, is it truly too late? Daemon is only on the cusp of thirteen, and though we ignored him, House Targaryen has still supported him financially. We could invite him south and begin a relationship. I have many sisters with no suitable matches, which would address the issue of free dragons and prevent lords from seeking dragons through my sisters—or wait until Rhaenys is of age. She could marry her elder brother and he would be the king consort. Of course, he would have to renounce any claim to the Iron Throne before granting him the Targaryen name," Baelon advised.
The King kept silent as he mulled over the idea.
"No, Baelon. It's too dangerous to bring him into our midst now. According to Aemon's tale, Daemon regards Lord Stark as his father, and the carnage he unleashed after Lord Stark's death validates that. He has no love for our family and is highly intelligent. He would immediately know we only called him because he proved himself in battle and because we want to verify the stories of his 'god-blessed' powers."
Baelon nodded in understanding. "Aye my king, he will obviously know the true reason, but what if he desires such a connection. He lost his loving relatives in his grandfather and uncle. There is only Bennard left and he hates daemon. The other is Cregan who is younger than him, so irrelevant. You are his other grandfather, and I am his uncle from other side of the family. It may be helpful to integrate him to house Targaryen through that relation."
The King scrutinized Baelon with a proud smirk. "It's too risky," he said. "The cost may outweigh the benefits he offers us. What if he comes to King's Landing and bonds with Balerion, the Black Dread? And if the stories of his talents are true—if he can heal others and make them whole again—then he would be dangerous to our house. With Balerion fully healed, even I could not contest Daemon's claim should he seek the heirship and the Targaryen name after Aemon. He would make us his puppets, and we would have nothing to make him obey. No fear, no loyalty, and certainly not the love of kin."
Baelon paled at the thought, understanding the King's reasoning.
"I understand, my King."
"Baelon, keep an eye on him through those near him, but do not enter his mind again. Keep me informed of his sentiments toward our house. If one of my daughters might know the honor of being a dragonrider at the price of Daemon's loyalty, I am willing to pay it. You are dismissed," the King said.
Baelon rose and bowed. "Your Grace."
He left the room without making it obvious he was running away from the king.
===========================
82 AC
The Spring Prince
Kingslanding.
Baelon gazed at the tiny bundle of joy cradled in his arms—his second son. The child had come early, but the birth had been surprisingly easy for Alyssa. Even now, the boy bore the unmistakable Targaryen features, and Baelon knew he would steal many hearts when he grew older just like himself and his beloved wife.
He sat alone in the nursery, pondering names to discuss with Alyssa, when Aemon entered. Aemon had just returned from the Stormlands, and it was clear he had hastily cleaned up after dragon riding.
"I hear congratulations are in order, Baelon," Aemon said cheerfully. "A second son! Perhaps now Father can stop snapping at me for not providing a second child—or anything else he can complain about." He laughed as he reached out to take the child.
Baelon handed the baby to Aemon, watching as his elder brother's expression softened. It didn't take long for Baelon to realize that Aemon was lost in thought, likely about his own son.
"Aemon," Baelon said gently, trying to draw him from his stupor.
Aemon carefully returned the baby to Baelon and sighed deeply. "You're a lucky man, Baelon. You can love your boys freely and give them the world. Look at me—I lost my son, Daemon. Maybe it was my own fault, hating him for taking Lyarra from me. Or maybe it was the disdain the Andal lords held for bastards. I love Rhaenys more than anything in this world, but she's not a boy. And I couldn't always be there for her like her mother was." Aemon paused, his voice laced with melancholy. "Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I just flew to Bear Island and brought him home."
Baelon's happiness of having a second son immediately dimmed seeing the sadness in his beloved brother.
"Brother," Baelon said softly, "it's been nearly 15 years since that day. You were barely a man then. Now, your son has built a life for himself in the North. The lords there would beg to host him for the aid he could offer their houses. And when Cregan Stark ascends as Lord of Winterfell, he'll call his cousin back immediately. The King would never allow Daemon to return to the South—it's too dangerous for Rhaenys' position. Dragons are our strength, and Balerion still lies unclaimed in the Dragonpit. I am sorry brother, but I couldn't support you in this and I don't think you can actually meet Daemon, after all you ran away from that meeting two years ago.
Baelon finished with a hint of reproach.
Aemon grimaced, frowning deeply. "I never told you why I returned to King's Landing after waiting for seven days at that godforsaken wall, did I?"
Baelon raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "No, brother, you didn't."
Aemon exhaled slowly. "It was horrible. I spent seven nights at the Wall, and every night I had nightmares—so vivid they felt like visions. The details changed, but the last days were always the same. My meeting with Daemon would go wrong, and my punishment for him would be harsh. But the last two dreams were the worst. In them, Daemon's words enraged me so much that Caraxes tried to kill him with fire—and he survived. Then Daemon used Ice to kill Caraxes and... me. He beheaded me with Ice." Aemon shuddered. "After those dreams, I decided it was better to withdraw than tempt fate."
Baelon processed the story and his mind went faster trying to decipher whether it was actually a dragon dream or just stupidity conjured by his brother's idiotic mind.
"It's all right, brother," he said, attempting to soothe him. "Avoiding that scenario was wise."
Aemon nodded, but before he could respond, the nursery door burst open. Rhaenys and Viserys tumbled inside, panting heavily, clearly trying to escape their caregivers. They leaned against the door, catching their breaths, oblivious to their fathers' presence.
"I can't believe we did that, Rhaenys," Viserys said, his voice tinged with nervousness. "We should've waited for permission to see our new brother."
"Oh, that would take too long, Vissy," Rhaenys teased. "This way, we can spend more time here without them realizing."
"Oh, is that so?" Aemon's stern voice cut through the room like a blade.
Both children froze at the sound, stiffening visibly. When they turned and saw their fathers' stern faces, their complexions paled.
"There's a reason you weren't allowed to see the baby today," Baelon said, his tone devoid of humor. "I'll explain it later. Ser Redwyne, escort the prince and princess to their rooms."
The silent knight, stationed unobtrusively in the corner, immediately stepped forward, bowed, and led the children out. Baelon turned back to Aemon and noticed a thoughtful expression on his brother's face.
"Brother?" Baelon called out.
Aemon shook his head to clear his thoughts, sighing when he saw Baelon's questioning look. "I was just thinking about the future, Baelon. It could be glorious—Rhaenys as Queen, Viserys as king consort, and your second son as Hand of the King. Our children continuing the golden period started by our Father, expanded by us. You're an excellent father, and moments like this make me realize how many I've missed with Daemon because of my hatred. I want that back."
Baelon shook his head. "Brother, you know that's impossible."
Aemon's gaze lingered on the baby in the cradle. Suddenly, a thought struck him. "Brother," he began hesitantly, "I want to ask something of you."
"I'm yours to command." Baelon replied.
"Let our son and daughter be married. They'll continue the Targaryen line. There's no formal betrothal for Rhaenys yet, but familiarity and our encouragement will lead them to love one another. Even now, Viserys feels like a son to me, and Rhaenys like a daughter to you. Your second son is also my nephew twice over, but I am sure, he will be like a son to me as well. Name him Daemon Targaryen so I can raise a son named Daemon and forget the pain of losing the elder one."
Baelon gasped at the request, shocked. He remembered how Aemon had named his firstborn Daemon simply because it was the only name he knew. A name Baelon himself had promised to use for his son, after his beloved elder brother. Seeing the hope in Aemon's eyes, Baelon relented.
"I have followed you till now and I will follow in this order too, but you shall be the one informing our sister Alyssa that you have named her child after your eldest bastard or after yourself." Baelon said without any hesitation.
Aemon immediately grimaced knowing he is in for a hard time convincing Alyssa not to turn Meleys' fire on him.
===========================
83 AC
Small Council Meeting
"My lords, is there anything left to discuss in this meeting?" Prince Aemon asked.
Baelon realized it was time to bring up the foolish Dornish incursion heading for the Stormlands. How the Martell prince thought arriving in ships to attack the Stormlands would succeed—especially when the Iron Throne had five dragonriders—was beyond him. He was sure the king would order him and Aemon to deal with the Dornish fleet. It would be good exercise for their dragons.
Before Baelon could speak, Lord Beesbury, the Master of Coin, addressed the council.
"Your Grace," Lord Beesbury began, "there is the matter of the North."
The king's gaze sharpened as he nodded for Beesbury to continue.
"The North's tax revenues have stabilized in recent years. Up until 79 AC, they increased every year, but now they've leveled off and even decreased slightly. I suspect the northern lords may be manipulating the accounts and stealing from the crown," Lord Beesbury said.
The King looked at the Grand Maester, a position which still had a seat at small council, but was required to be silent until called upon by other members.
"My king," the Grand Maester replied, "there is no chance of manipulation. The North has refused the maesters' services and banned us from Winterfell, but as per your orders, a maester was sent to oversee tax calculations. According to the latest records, everything is accurate."
"But how is this possible?" Lord Redwyne interjected. "Taxes have steadily increased for the past decade and have now stopped? Lord Rickon was an honorable and loyal lord, but his son... well, we all know the regent lacks his father's loyalty, as demonstrated by his disrespect toward Prince Aemon."
Sensing an argument brewing, Baelon decided to step in.
"My lords, the explanation might be simpler than you think. Lord Rickon was known for his exceptional leadership and ability to foster growth. His passing has clearly caused stagnation. His son lacks the same skills. Furthermore, major projects, such as the repairs at Moat Cailin, have been completed. The policies Lord Rickon implemented are still being followed, but there's been no new development or innovation to drive further growth. The taxes have stabilized as a result."
"Aye," the king said. "Prince Baelon speaks the truth. The maesters have verified that the northern lords are not stealing from the crown. The lack of new ventures supports the idea that the young lord regent is risk-averse and a miser."
"My king, there has been a new development in the north," Lord Redwyne said immediately. "The Mormonts have started shipbuilding and even whaling in the seas. We received the first shipment last month of whale oil and other goods. Whaling has been almost entirely done by the Ibbenese on the other side of the world compared to the Mormonts, and after inquiring, the northmen spoke in revered tones about the Red Death, and his skill in building ships and even whaling in the deep, ice-cold seas, as well as taming a she-bear. I couldn't make them tell the actual name of the Red Death, but I have heard a rumor of a song in the Riverlands called "The Red Death." It talks about the red-haired Tully defeating the Ironborn and bathing himself in blood. The bards have not yet reached King's Landing with that stupid song."
Baelon noticed Aemon grimacing at the mention of The Red Death, though his brother's face betrayed no overt anger or any other emotions.
"Lord Redwyne," Baelon interjected, "there's no need to waste resources investigating this figure. We know who he is. He is my bastard nephew, Daemon Snow. Regent Bennard Stark sent him to Bear Island to be fostered. He earned the name The Red Death after slaughtering wildlings in the Battle of the Nightfort."
The council exchanged surprised glances at this revelation.
"Enough," the king commanded sternly, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "This is the Small Council, convened to advise me in governing my kingdom—not to waste time gossiping about a bastard on the other side of the realm.
As I have already made clear, every lord in this kingdom is free to govern their lands as they see fit, provided they pay their taxes and abide by the laws of the crown. Let the Mormonts hunt whales or even krakens if they so choose. The Iron Throne has no interest in their pursuits, so long as they remain loyal and fulfill their obligations of fealty and taxes."
"Aye, Your Grace," both Baelon and Lord Redwyne said in unison, accepting the rebuke with bowed heads.
After the king acknowledged their obeisance, Baelon spoke. "My king," he began, his tone grave, "the Dornish have committed to attacking our coasts by sea. Their ships are said to set sail with the next moon."
Prince Aemon let out a derisive snort at the news. "They're actually attacking us with wooden ships?" he said, incredulous. "Father, allow me to meet them when the time comes. I'll deal with this insult myself."
"My prince," Lord Redwyne interjected, his voice steady but respectful, "your life is far too precious to risk. The royal fleet and my own are prepared to meet the Crown's enemies. Though my sailors have reported increased shipping traffic in the Dornish Sea, there has been no credible word of an attack or declaration of war." He glanced toward Baelon, his expression turning sharp and calculative.
The king sat in deliberation for a moment, his gaze heavy with thought. Finally, he spoke, his tone resolute. "I am the Protector of the Realm. Should they dare attack my kingdom, I will welcome them—not just with my sons, but with Vermithor by my side."
==============================================
84 AC
The kings solar
Baelon hurried into the solar after receiving permission, his steps brisk. Inside, he found the king seated with his mother, Queen Alysanne, and his brother, Prince Aemon.
"Baelon, I'm glad to see you out of the nursery," his mother greeted, her voice warm yet tinged with exhaustion. Baelon noted the dark circles beneath her eyes and the weariness etched into her regal features. He was certain his own face bore a similar haggardness; the loss of Alyssa Targaryen had left both of them utterly devastated.
"Mother," Baelon said softly, "I'm relieved to find you here." He turned to face the king, his voice gaining urgency. "I've come to ask something that might save my son, Aegon." His gaze shifted between his mother and father before he continued, addressing the king. "My king, let me go to Bear Island and bring your bastard grandson here. He has... abilities. Whether through healing or some unknown cause, people's health improves wherever he is. Please, let me take this chance for the sake of your youngest grandson's life."
Baelon watched his father's face intently, searching for any sign of emotion. The king remained unmoved, his expression stony.
"Aemon," the king said finally, his tone unreadable Baelon grimaced. He understood, his father's plan to shift the burden of saying no to Aemon, but before Aemon could speak, their mother cut in, her voice sharp.
"Baelon, what in the Seven Hells are you talking about?" Alysanne demanded. "Do you honestly believe the tales spun by smallfolk? They've always been prone to fanciful stories, and now you think a bastard is blessed by the gods? We are not blessed by the gods, my son. If we were, I would not have had to give my own sons and daughters to the flames." Her words carried both derision and a deep, lingering sadness.
"It doesn't matter if the stories are true or not, Mother," Baelon snapped back, his tone fierce. "I'm willing to gamble on any chance that might save my son's life!"
Throughout the exchange, the king's attention remained fixed on Aemon, who had stayed silent until now.
"Brother," Baelon called hesitantly, searching for support.
Aemon finally spoke, his voice calm yet resolute. "You don't need to worry about me, Father. Let Baelon go and bring my son here."
Baelon's heart lifted for a moment, but his hope faltered as the king sighed, his exhaustion evident.
"Baelon," the king said, his voice firm but weary, "you know why I've kept him in the North after Lord Stark's death. The maesters and healers have assured me that Aegon is healthy for a babe of his age. Any signs of illness can be treated, and he will recover within moons. I've seen my children at this stage, and they've grown into strong men—just as the two of you are sitting before me now."
My king," Baelon protested, his voice rising with desperation, "this is about my son! We lost Alyssa, and what did the healers say about her? The same assurances!" His voice cracked with emotion. "I would go beyond the Wall itself if there were even a—"
"Baelon," the king hissed sharply, cutting him off. Though his tone remained controlled, it carried the weight of authority, and Baelon felt his body tense instinctively. His muscles locked, and the momentum of his outburst faltered mid-sentence.
"Prince Aemon," the king said, his gaze now shifting to his other son, "your brother is grieving and exhausted from sleepless nights spent beside my grandson. Escort him to his chambers and ensure he rests. He may return to the nursery once he is sufficiently rested. We will discuss seeking miracles when and if they are truly needed."
Baelon opened his mouth to argue, but the king's promise to revisit the matter stayed his words.
He was tired—so tired—and perhaps half an hour of rest would help him marshal his thoughts and prepare a more convincing argument. Perhaps, then, he could find a way to bring Daemon here.
=======================================
84AC
Bear Island.
Daemon Snow
"Up, up, up!" the crowd cheered, forming a circle around Jon, a Bear Island guard, and me as we competed in a push-up contest.
"You can do it, Daemon! Come on, it's just the two of us on your back," Lyra teased from her perch on my back.
A low growl rumbled in agreement, and through my bond with Fenrir, I realized my direwolf was siding with her.
"Damn traitor," I hissed under my breath as I lowered myself for another push-up.
Yes, I had introduced bodyweight exercises to Winterfell and now to Bear Island too, but it wasn't doing me any favors at the moment. I was pushing up with my direwolf perched on my shoulder blades, and Lyra, wearing her armor, sitting across my lower back and hips.
"Look, Jon's on his last ones! His arms are shaking, and he doesn't even have anyone on his back," Lyra pointed out with a laugh.
I didn't reply. Even with my enhanced body and stamina, having 250 kilograms of extra weight on me was no joke. Balancing them both without making them topple off added to the challenge. I could feel my abs and back muscles strain as it tightened again and again to balance both of them in back.
"Daemon! Daemon!" The crowd erupted in cheers as Jon finally collapsed onto his stomach, his arms giving out. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight, but the shaking of my body threw Fenrir off balance. My direwolf slipped from my back, and the sudden shift in weight sent me tumbling down as well, my stomach smacking against the ground with a thud.
I groaned in discomfort for a moment before laughter overtook me. Fenrir, however, was not amused. Using his paws, he smacked me square in the back as if to scold me for making him fall. The force was enough to leave bruises if I'd been a normal man. Luckily, he refrained from using his claws, though I groaned again from the pain.
"As fun as this is, it's time to get to work." Lady Dacey Mormont's stern voice cut through the laughter as she entered the training yard.
Lyra, still seated on my back, quickly scrambled to her feet and stood at attention.
I shoved Fenrir off me with a grunt and rose to my feet, brushing dirt from my clothes.
"Daemon, Lyra, get cleaned up," Lady Dacey ordered.
I was lying in bed, with Lyra hugging me as she slept, her face resting on my chest. Even though the cold didn't bother me, having a warm body to hold was comforting. By now, I only needed two to three hours of sleep to function at my best, but there was almost nothing entertaining to do here apart from using my greensight to glimpse interesting moments from the past. Over time, I had uncovered many secrets and histories that Martin had skipped in canon.
It had been four years since my banishment to Bear Island, and it had turned out to be both a vacation and a productive time. My training in the ocean and the mysterious sensations I felt there, especially as we ventured westward, had been fascinating. However, I never dared to prod too deeply, not wanting to awaken whatever slumbered in the depths. Still, whatever it was, its presence in the west was unmistakable and not to be taken lightly, as I could feel it even from Bear Island. At-least I got the answer why the West of Westeros was left unexplored by every sailor.
It was while searching for fish in the ocean that I first encountered whales and orcas. Whaling had been a practice near Ibben for millennia, but no one had ever realized whales were present on this side of the ocean as well. This discovery led to the Mormonts initiating whaling—a monumental endeavor under my leadership. My relationship with Lord Manderly proved invaluable, as it enabled us to establish a shipbuilding process and construct ships directly on Bear Island. This development also ensured I wasn't confined entirely to the island. Each year, I travelled across the North, recruiting people to Bear Island to support the burgeoning shipping and whaling operations.
My thoughts were brought to a halt by Lyra moving around and trying burrow deeper to my chest in her sleep. I smiled as I tightened the hold around her.
It has been almost a year since I lost my virginity in this life to Lyra. I had tried to keep my distance and even told her I wouldn't marry or settle down with her, but she was adamant. She assured me that even if a child were to be born, it would carry the Mormont name and not be labelled a bastard, as per tradition. For now, though, she was taking moon tea, ensuring that possibility remained distant.
I have been communicating with Cregan through warging, and he has been progressing rapidly in both talent and lessons. However, the reason for my current sleepless night lies in the latest tidings from King's Landing. My greenseeing, combined with my warging, has revealed potential disruptions to my plans.
I grimaced, reflecting on how I had never expected my own healing ability to be taken seriously enough for my father to report it to the king. Now, my aunt Alyssa has died during childbirth after weeks of fluctuating health, and Baelon has finally recalled the story Aemon shared two years ago.
I am caught in a dilemma. Saving Aegon would undoubtedly alter the Targaryen future, adding another dragonrider to their ranks. More troubling is what I foresaw—the king may see me as a resource to be controlled, a prisoner whose blood could prolong his life. Jaehaerys Targaryen is clever enough to grasp the full potential of my abilities.
This has weighed on me for days, and I can sense Baelon's patience wearing thin. He grows desperate, enough to consider flying north without the king's permission to ensure the survival of his third son, my cousin, Aegon Targaryen.
Jaehaerys is one of the most powerful men in the world, and his only true adversary now is time and old age. What would he do if gifted with a distant grandson whose blood could heal any wound and extend life itself? Both paths before me are fraught with danger and pitfalls. Healing Aegon would confirm my ability and surely trap me in the south, far from the safety of distance and anonymity that have protected me thus far. To lose that would spell disaster for me.
Finally, after nearly an hour of deliberation, I decided what must be done.
--------------
84 AC
The Spring Prince
Bear Island.
Baelon Targaryen's mind was in turmoil as he landed Vhagar on Bear Island. After weeks of struggle, the King had finally relented and agreed to bring Daemon south to save his son. Aegon's health had been gradually declining.
As Baelon surveyed the area, he noticed ten ships docked in the newly built port near Mormont Keep. The people looked up in awe, many shouting in surprise as he flew overhead. However, the Mormont guards were made of sterner stuff. Baelon could see their expressions as they stared at his massive dragon—fear and awe mingling before giving way to respect for its overwhelming power.
Perhaps hunting whales in the oceans has tempered their fear of large creatures? Baelon mused.
He dismounted as a figure—likely Lady Mormont—hurried toward him. The lady bowed deeply before speaking.
"Prince Baelon, forgive me. We did not receive a raven from you and were unprepared for your arrival."
Baelon studied the lady before him. She was neither beautiful nor plain, but there was a certain charm in her broad shoulders and the warrior's confidence she exuded.
"Apologies are unnecessary, Lady Mormont, as I sent no raven to announce my arrival," Baelon replied firmly. "I am here to collect my nephew, Daemon Snow, and escort him to King's Landing. The King requires his service."
As he finished speaking, Baelon noticed Lady Mormont's face pale visibly, a reaction that immediately filled him with unease.
"Please forgive me again, my prince," she said carefully. "Daemon left four days ago on his annual travels. He ventures out to recruit—"
"What?" Baelon snapped, his voice sharp. "Isn't he fostered with you? Why is he out there?"
"My prince," Lady Mormont began cautiously, "Daemon is not someone we can impose strict rules upon. He is perfectly capable of surviving on his own, and his work benefits my house's prosperity. it must be a long flight for you to arrive here and a storm is coming. Please accept our hospitality and stay the night. Perhaps, if you would share the nature of the service required, we may be able to offer some guidance."
Baelon took a few deep breaths, reigning in his sudden anger.
"I will accept your hospitality and stay the night," he said curtly.
===================
Baelon was escorted to a small room that would pass for a solar in these modest keep by Lady Mormont.
"Your Grace, please inform me of the purpose behind your need for Daemon's presence," Lady Mormont asked politely.
"As you may have heard, my beloved wife died in childbirth, and my third son, Aegon, has been battling Balerion, the God of Death, for the past two moons," Baelon said, his voice heavy with emotion. "I have heard that Daemon is god-blessed or something akin to it. In fact, since his exile here, I've known that the number of deaths from sickness and disease has significantly reduced, even on this island. I need his abilities to save my child."
Despite his best efforts, Baelon could not entirely mask the desperation in his voice.
"Losing a beloved partner and a child is a pain I would not wish upon my worst enemy, my prince," Lady Mormont said softly. "You have my condolences, and I will pray for your third son. While I acknowledge that my people have indeed seen improvements since Daemon's arrival, he has not shared anything about his abilities with me. However, I will summon my daughter Lyra. She is Daemon's closest companion, aside from our lord Cregan and Aethan Reed."
Baelon nodded, appreciating her effort.
A short while later, Lyra entered the solar and bowed deeply.
"My prince," Lyra said.
Baelon waved his hand dismissively, eager to get to the matter at hand.
"Daughter, you are the closest companion of Daemon Snow," Lady Mormont began. "Do you know anything about his abilities or any way he might help save Prince Baelon's third son?"
Baelon noticed Lyra hesitating briefly before sighing in defeat.
"My prince," Lyra began, "I have not asked, and Daemon has not shared the secrets of his abilities. I do not know when he will return or where he has gone. If you seek answers of this nature, I suggest you visit Winterfell and speak with Cregan Stark. According to Daemon, Cregan would know as much as if he had been present himself."
Baelon scrutinized her carefully but saw no hint of deceit. He nodded, acknowledging her advice.
"That is valuable information, Lady Lyra. I thank you for sharing it. When the Mormont ships land in King's Landing with their whale products, they will be exempt from port taxes for five years."
Both mother and daughter looked pleased, and Baelon understood the importance of rewarding service if he hoped for loyalty in the future.
"Thank you, my prince," Lady Mormont said with a respectful nod.
Baelon returned the gesture, acknowledging her gratitude.
===================
As he flew toward Winterfell, Baelon reflected on the two days he had been stranded in the North due to a relentless storm. The shoddy keep on Bear Island had provided little comfort, but at least Vhagar had been content, having hunted and consumed nearly an entire whale during their stay.
Baelon couldn't shake his curiosity about why the Mormonts had pointed him toward Cregan Stark. During his short stay, he had observed something about the Mormonts—they may offer polite words and formal courtesies to those of higher station, but their true allegiance was clear. They acknowledged no king but the one named Stark, and their loyalty to the crown only extended as far as Winterfell's loyalty to it.
His thoughts were interrupted as Winterfell came into view. The sight of the gigantic castle still mesmerized him. It was hard to fathom that the First Men had possessed the power to create such a bastion 8,000 years ago.
===========================
Baelon was surprised as he accepted guest rights and the full traditional greeting afforded to him by Bennard Stark. He had not expected such formality, especially since the last time, Bennard had disrespected Prince Aemon.
So, Bennard's issue is with Aemon only, Baelon noted, deciding to keep an eye on Bennard should he become a threat to his brother.
Baelon was escorted to the lord's solar, where he exchanged greetings with Lady Giliane, the co-regent of Cregan Stark.
"My Prince, it is surprising to hear rumors of a giant dragon flying above the northern skies," Bennard said casually. "I was even more surprised to hear that it flew to Bear Island without any warnings from the Crown that a prince would be arriving."
Baelon's shoulders tightened at the implicit question: What the fuck are you doing in our lands?
"Co-Regent Bennard," Baelon replied curtly, "the northern sky also belongs to my house, just like the northern land. I have no need to inform any of my vassals of my arrival."
"Of course, my prince," Lady Giliane interrupted, shooting Bennard a glare to stop him from replying. She continued, "If you inform us of your aim, we will, of course, be glad to assist."
Baelon noticed the condescending smile on Bennard's face as he nodded at the co-regent's words. Deciding to let it go for now, Baelon explained his purpose.
"I was at Bear Island to take my nephew south to heal my third-born son. I had heard rumors, even from Aemon himself, about his supposed abilities. Unfortunately, he left four days before my arrival for his annual tour of the North. I came here to inquire about any techniques that Daemon may have shared with House Stark to improve health," Baelon said.
Baelon noted the irritation on Bennard's face as he mentioned Daemon.
"My prince," Bennard said, "you have been misinformed. It was my father who implemented the system of drinking only boiled water throughout Wintertown and ensuring even the smallfolk bathe at least every other day. Our improvements are due to that—not the bastard."
Baelon grimaced.
"We apologize that we cannot provide the answer you are looking for, my prince," Lady Giliane said.
Baelon sighed in defeat. "I am tired and will be using your hospitality for three days."
Both regents accepted the implicit order.
==================================
Winterfell
Cregan Stark.
Cregan Stark was excited as he saw Vhagar from afar, the great dragon flying over Winterfell. The beast was majestic, and he could understand why his ancestor knelt, avoiding the unnecessary spilling of northern blood while securing the benefits of peace.
He had been expecting Vhagar, especially after his brother Daemon informed him of the impending visit.
It saddened him to see his brother still estranged from his father's family. He had tried to convince Daemon to mend fences, but his efforts had been in vain.
In their meeting through their animal bonds, Cregan had asked the golden question.
"Daemon? Why are you avoiding the royal family? You were banned from entering the South, but now you are being invited. You could go and heal the prince yourself and earn great rewards. The king would grant any wish for saving his grandson," Cregan asked hopefully.
"Do you know why I never went south in the last four years—or before that?" Daemon replied. "You think it's because of the king's order, to whom I owe no loyalty? Fear of consequences, if caught? No, Cregan. I never ventured beyond the Neck because I didn't want to visit the South yet. I am not some eager grandchild for the king to command to the South, no matter the rewards or dangers. I will go there when I want to—not for anyone else."
Cregan was surprised by the arrogance in his brother's response.
"Yet you are in Bear Island, by my lord regent's order, Daemon," Cregan snipped back.
Daemon laughed before answering. "Your wit is sharp, Cregan. I am in Bear Island because I will it. I wanted to improve my physical abilities with the help of the ocean, and I wanted to strengthen Bear Island, the most loyal house to House Stark and one of our first defenses against the enemy beyond the Wall."
Cregan's respect for Daemon increased at the foresight displayed, even in such small matters.
"Daemon, what should I do about Prince Baelon? He may try to find you in the North on his dragon," Cregan asked.
Daemon laughed at the absurdity of the idea before replying, "He will not find me. I will ensure he arrives at Winterfell and comes to you asking about my secrets. You can, of course, reject the offer and opportunity, but I suggest you follow my advice to extract benefits from the royal family…"
=======================
"Lord Cregan Stark", Baelon called as he entered the private training yard near the godswood.
Cregan was sparring with Daemon's sworn shield, Brandon, but both immediately stopped and turned to face the prince. Cregan offered a slight bow, while the sworn shield gave a deep one.
"My Prince," Cregan said.
As Baelon approached, Cregan studied his face, looking for any resemblance to his cousin. Even with the similarities, it was clear to him that Daemon's handsomeness surpassed even that of most Targaryens.
The prince glanced at the sworn shield standing behind Cregan, prompting Cregan to look at Brandon. Brandon understood the unspoken command and stepped aside, far enough to avoid overhearing but close enough to intervene if necessary.
Baelon's expression turned incredulous, his hand tightening on the hilt of Dark Sister. The audacity of the sworn shield, assuming he would break guest rights—or that Brandon could stop him if he tried—was almost laughable.
"Your Grace, what do you require of me?" Cregan asked.
Baelon sighed, a weariness evident in his tone. "Of course, you know why I am here, and yet you make me repeat myself? I want a cure for my boy, and I don't care what I have to do to obtain it. So I ask you, as the representative of your liege: do you know the secret of Daemon Snow's ability?"
Cregan remained calm under the prince's intense scrutiny and replied evenly, "My Prince, I will not lie to you. I know the secret of my brother's ability, but let me tell you this: force is not something you wish to employ when dealing with my brother. I know of your loyalty and love for Prince Aemon, I feel the same for Daemon, my elder brother. I will not divulge his secrets, nor do I even know where he is now."
Baelon's grip on Dark Sister tightened, but he restrained himself. Even under the stress and anger, he knew he needed Cregan Stark's cooperation.
"This is your King asking you, yet you would remain silent for a mere bastard with no lands? Are you willing to suffer the consequences?" Baelon demanded.
Cregan smiled faintly. "What consequences? Even my uncle, who has known Daemon since his birth, refuses to believe he is god-blessed because of his hatred for him. So, what could the King—known as the Conciliator—do to the ten-year-old heir of House Stark without tarnishing his own reputation as Good King and appear as honoring the legacy of King Maegor? His Grace would lose his image, as no one in the South would believe Daemon has any gifts. Perhaps the Andals would rejoice in our misfortunes, but as a Valyrian steeped in magic, you should be wary of aligning too closely with the Faith and the Andals."
Baelon was so surprised by the boy's candor that he fell silent for a moment.
He shook his head and replied calmly, his anger vanishing as he realized he was speaking to an unknown player in the game of thrones and not a 10 year old boy.
"Cregan, you are more mature than some of the foolish southern lords in the court. It was unbecoming of a royal prince to get angry, assuming you were refusing simply out of childish loyalty to your brother. Now I know better. We are in a negotiation, and you have a solution for me—and want something in return. What is it?"
Cregan smiled, silently thanking Daemon for almost correctly guessing how Baelon would behave.
"Since Daemon was banished, every year he secretly comes to Winterfell and delivers a potion he created to heal any disease or injury. It is a gift he gave me personally, and I can do with it as I please. I have two doses left. It will, of course, strengthen Prince Aegon if you follow the instructions precisely. Provided, of course, you buy it from me for a price."
Baelon gritted his teeth. "You are selling something your brother gifted you to save your life, to me, to save your so-called brother's cousin—all the while profiting from it? What a tremendous display of loyalty to your so-called brother and even your sworn king. What will Daemon say when he hears about this? Or about the lost opportunity for a reward from the royal family?"
Cregan momentarily appeared struck before answering.
"I am of House Stark, and we ruled these lands for thousands of years, not by gifting miracles freely but by ensuring our house remained strong while others benefited from our strength. My grandfather taught this to Daemon, and he taught it to me. He will understand. If not, I will sacrifice that relationship for my house."
Baelon looked impressed. He could relate, having sacrificed much for his brother and the continued strength of House Targaryen. He nodded, and Cregan continued.
"I want double the amount of tax increased by the Iron Throne due to the Gift leasing incident to be discounted for the next ten years. Also, I want a marriage between our houses during His Grace's reign itself," Cregan stated.
Baelon smirked at the apparent ambition of House Stark. "You are far too ambitious for a ten-year-old boy. You want two things for a single boon?"
"Prince Baelon, I want two things for the two doses. Even then, this is a minor matter for your house. Even with the discount, the Iron Throne will receive more than it did before 70 AC. His Grace has no reason to deny the marriage, as he has already secured both the Baratheons and Arryns. The only remaining relevant Great House is mine. The Tullys and Tyrells are houses raised by the Iron Throne itself and not suitable prospects for a royal marriage. The Lannisters, for all their wealth, are cats more than lions. As for the Ironborn—there is nothing to be said," Cregan finished, his anger flaring at the mention of the Ironborn.
"I see," Baelon said, pondering any counterarguments. The king might sacrifice his grandson rather than acquiesce to vassals' demands, depending on his mood. But Baelon had no such luxury. His son, the last piece of his beloved Alyssa in this world, was in danger. He didn't mind granting such minor terms.
"I agree to this, provided your cure works," Baelon said.
"Oh?" Cregan asked.
"Many healers are trying to restore his health, and the Grand Maester has succeeded in buying time. How do we know it is your dose that works and not a combination of all the cures?" Baelon asked.
"I see," Cregan replied. "Then let us write and sign a pact of our agreement along with my instructions for its usage. Prince Aegon will be a healthy babe and one of the most energetic children if you follow the instructions."
"A pact?" Baelon asked, intrigued.
"Yes, a Pact of Ice and Fire. For healing a prince of the blood and grandson of the king, the reward will be as I said. After your return to King's Landing, stop all other cures and stopgap measures for a day. The maester will warn you of danger to the prince, but the cure will be more effective when the first dose is administered during a health decline. The second dose should be given the next day at the same hour."
Baelon looked helpless as he considered the danger to his son if the medication was stopped. Even though he had seen the improvement in the people of Bear Island through his spies, he hesitated to believe in such a miraculous cure.
"Prince Baelon, look at me. I have never suffered any diseases. The cure will work, but you must stop all other medications. It is far too easy for someone to poison the child and damage our reputation and strength," Cregan said.
Baelon was startled for a moment, then enraged at the suggestion that his son could be poisoned.
After taking a deep breath, Baelon smothered his rage, knowing it was useless here.
"I will be careful. If anyone dares to poison a Targaryen, they will be food for Vhagar. Let's write the agreement and sign the Pact of Ice and Fire."
=========================
84 AC
Daemon Snow
I sighed in relief as I fully left my eagle behind, as Cregan and Baelon came to agree on the Pact of Ice and Fire. Even though I had coached Cregan about the various reactions of Baelon, I was paranoid enough to hide just outside the trees of the Godswood. I stayed close enough so I could arrive to save Cregan if Baelon succumbed to madness due to the loss of his sister-wife and the sickness of his son. I started walking through the forest, deep in thought.
In canon, according to my memories, there were many situations where Baelon became an entirely different man after the death of his wife and son. I was paranoid enough about the Targaryens' pride and love for their beloved. I had no guarantee that Baelon would not break guest rights and threaten Cregan for the two doses of potion, which were nothing but my diluted blood mixed with some beneficial herbs.
I had felt proud when Cregan suggested the marriage clause to me for the second boon, and I was surprised that, even in this AU, Cregan's desire for a royal match remained the same.
I was about to start running back to where my Fenrir was when a sudden roar echoed, and a gigantic green head came breaking through the trees, sniffing the air. It was the head of Vhagar, and its one eye was locked on me. For a moment, just like the Night King's presence beyond the Wall, I froze in terror as my muscles coiled in tension, and the snow beneath my feet sank lower due to the pressure from my body.
I tried to sense what the dragon was thinking and whether I should start running when only curiosity brushed against my senses.
"Lykiri, Vhagar," I said as I started walking toward the dragon.
The dragon snorted as I got near, and heat, like the deep waters of a hot spring, hit my body. Seeing no reaction from me to the heat, Vhagar roared at me, and I was almost deafened in the process. Only my own healing ability assured me that I still had my hearing. Sensing no panic from me, the dragon lowered her head to my raised hand. Then and there, I understood that Vhagar could sense that I was the nephew of her rider and the son of a beloved of her rider, and attacking me would make her rider unhappy.
I just scratched the face as I thought about my first contact with a dragon.
Balerion the Black Dread in vision and I was attacked immediately by the monster.
If Vhagar can recognize me, why did Balerion attack me on sight in that magical vision?
Suddenly, Vhagar turned her head and looked at Winterfell, as if someone had called her. As if not caring what happened to me during her takeoff, she took two steps forward and jumped, flapping her bat-like wings.
Only my own reflexes helped me jump sideways, avoiding a painful few days of healing.
Well, even though the targs are not wargs, the bonds of a Targaryen are similar enough that they can contact the dragons from a distance. There goes my final hope of sneaking into the Dragonpit to see Balerion before its death.
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11th Moon, 86 AC
Daemon Snow
Bear Island.
I looked upon the little bundle of joy that somehow fell asleep on a creature big enough to swallow her whole.
Fenrir looked at me with a pleading face, silently asking to free his whiskers from the fist of Lyanna Mormont, officially the daughter of Lyra Mormont and a bear in the woods. But just one look at how Fenrir behaved with her was enough for anyone with any sense to see I was her father.
I simply expressed my amusement at Fenrir, and he looked at me in betrayal. The girl was almost one and a half years old, and more energetic than any child I had seen. The answer to my question of whether my own enhanced body would be inherited was answered. Lyanna had shown more strength and intelligence than any child. I was sure she even had some enhanced healing, as there was no disease that affected her for more than a few hours, but I wasn't absolutely sure, as I wasn't insane enough to cut her like I did to myself at age four.
"Daemon, how many times do I have to tell you that Fenrir is not a good bed for our little girl?" Lyra hissed lowly, not to wake the girl.
Fenrir looked at Lyra as if she were a god in disguise. Lyra was amused by the expression as she freed Fenrir from Lyanna.
Fenrir immediately moved away, looked at me with a snarl, and jumped to attack.
I caught the weight and force of the angry wolf, and only my own strength kept me from falling and hitting my head on the floor. I pushed Fenrir away, and he landed on all fours. I could feel the annoyance from him, as I hadn't suffered the punishment he deemed fit.
Fenrir just woofed and walked away.
"Sometimes I wonder whether that is actually a direwolf or a cat," Lyra said to me.
I just laughed in amusement.
"You were in deep thought as I entered," Lyra said after a couple of moments. "What is it?"
I sighed in tiredness as I wondered how to express what I was trying to say to a woman who loved me.
"Lyra, the time has come," I whispered barely.
Lyra looked confused at me before she recognized what I was saying. Both sadness and anger passed across her face.
"But you are still banished from the South, and you are still in fosterage here."
"I am here because I wanted to be. There is much to accomplish, and only seeing my first child till age two has stopped me until now. If I stay here any longer, it will not be possible for me to leave her. I must start my work now. You know the truth about the enemy beyond the Wall and their abilities. I must make sure the Northmen improve, just like the people of Winterfell and Bear Island."
Lyra nodded reluctantly.
Even though I was calm on the outside, I was cursing myself for lying to Lyra. She might believe I was only going to try and improve the people through the usual methods. But the truth was, I was going to pull a Garth Greenhand on the smallfolk. With my looks, even with dyed hair to disguise me, I was warrior incarnate, and seducing noblewomen was easy for me. So, there was nothing to say about the smallfolk. I was going to try and have as many children among them as I could. I could try to spend as much time in the North and improve others, but it would be too little and time consuming.
Sowing wild oats was the best method, as their children would inherit the enhanced physique. Only then would the bulk of the Northmen actually be more powerful by the time of the Second Long Night. I had to stop myself from laughing at the absurdity of it as I registered the fact that this would be a perfect story for a popular smut in my previous life.
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It has been a long-debated topic in the Citadel whether the miracle Stark cure that Prince Baelon brought from a young Cregan Stark originated from the bastard son of Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen. Whatever it was, it was effective beyond anything seen by the Citadel, and Prince Aegon grew to be more energetic than even Prince Daemon who was turning out to be quite a rogue. The most important event was the signing of the Pact of Ice and Fire. For a time, the nobles in the court whispered that Prince Baelon had been fleeced by the northern barbarians, but the recovery of Prince Aegon and the health he had over the last six years shut their mouths. This is the first time there has been visible proof of knowledge in medical matters that trumps the Citadel, and it grinds my pride that I had to write this down.
'Grand Maester Allar, it seems to me that your own ignorance and disdain towards magic blinds you to the possibility that the cure may have been magical in nature.' Otto Hightower thought as he read the personal journal of Grand Maester.
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