When King Viserys returned to his chambers, he found Queen Alicent already waiting for him, their little Helaena asleep against her shoulder. The child's pale-gold curls clung to her mother's gown, tiny fingers twitched as though she dreamed of butterflies. Alicent's presence softened the air, and his heart eased at the sight of her.
For the woman who had borne him two children and shown him only devotion, his trust in her was almost absolute.
He dismissed the servants, closed the door, and spoke quietly.
"Baelon has begun mustering men," he said. "He means to sail for the Stepstones."
He expected her to pale or beg him to forbid it. Instead, her brows drew together with a different question entirely.
"Was this Baelon's own will?" she asked.
Viserys hesitated, then nodded. "He chose it himself."
Alicent shifted Helaena gently, humming once to keep the babe calm. "Our house words are We Light the Way," she murmured. "When I was young, I scarcely understood them. With time… I began to see their meaning."
Viserys blinked, unsure where she was leading.
She continued, her voice level. "The Triarchy stretches its tentacles across the Stepstones. That strait guards the sea routes of the realm. If they choke it, every vassal who lives by trade will suffer."
Her eyes lifted to him, steady, and unwavering. "If Baelon chose this path, then it is not my place to oppose it."
Viserys frowned. "What are you trying to say?"
"Daemon and Lord Corlys defied your command," Alicent said softly. "Yet they fought for the realm. You know this, though you rarely admit it." She paused, then spoke with careful weight. "As king, you must uphold law and crown. But as family… there are things you may choose not to see."
Her meaning landed with quiet force.
Let Baelon go.
Viserys' temper stirred. "You're not afraid he'll face danger? Alicent, it is a battlefield! He is a child!"
"How could I not be afraid?" she answered, her voice tight with her own fear. "But would you stop him? This is his choice. We should aid him, not bind him with our terror."
She took a breath, her composure slipping. "He is Daemon's son. His father lies wounded on that field. If you bar his way, if you refuse even to help him-"
She broke off, trembling.
Viserys realized then that she was as frightened as he, but she understood the boy's nature better. Once Baelon set his mind on something, not even ten dragons could pull him back.
Better to guide the storm than stand against it.
Silence thickened between them.
At last, Viserys sank onto a chair, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of the Iron Throne pressed upon him even here.
A long time passed before he whispered, "I know nothing… He may do as he wishes."
He rose unsteadily. "I need rest. And you should rest as well."
He shrugged off his cloak. Weariness poured from every movement; the king looked like a man caught between two swords... realm and kin.
"If it were Daemon," he muttered bitterly, "he would have sent the fleet at once. He's always so bold. And I… I do nothing but strive to please others."
Alicent's heart clenched. She stepped forward and wrapped her free arm around him, holding him as one might hold a wounded thing.
"That is why you are king," she whispered. "The realm chose you, Viserys. You are the one most suited to rule."
Viserys closed his eyes, leaning briefly into her warmth.
With his silent consent, the great houses began their quiet work. King's Landing sold warships at generous discounts. White Harbor contributed men. Oldtown, Greenstone, and several lesser ports offered supplies.
House Hightower even went so far as to pay from their own coffers for a hardened sellsail company famed for naval warfare, a gesture that spoke not only of duty, but of Alicent's influence.
That same night, Baelon stood alone before the window of his chambers in Harrenhal, staring toward the dark waters of the Gods Eye. Moonlight silvered the lake's vast surface. Far in its center lay the Isle of Faces, a shadow hunched upon the water, watchful.
There, Tyraxes slept.
The young dragon had become strangely lethargic since Baelon's arrival at Harrenhal. In the Dragonpit, Tyraxes was a restless flame, hunting, flying, burning off his endless vitality. But here, through their bond, Baelon sensed something different. A peaceful stirring beneath the surface. A warmth turning inward, as if the dragon were undergoing some hidden metamorphosis.
Rhaenyra, during her last visit, had narrowed her eyes and said Tyraxes looked longer than before. Baelon could not deny it.
"The Gods Eye…" he murmured. "What sleeps beneath it? Tyraxes was born of fire... he should hate water. Yet every night he curls on that island as though drawn to something there. Something is wrong with this lake."
His words drifted into the stillness.
Footsteps approached outside.
"Come in," Baelon called before the knock.
The door opened and a thin, middle-aged man stepped inside. His face was pale; his hands clasped and unclasped at his sides.
Illis Dantell.
Once, he had been second only to Harwin Strong in Harrenhal's order. When Baelon divided the castle's authority into eight parts, Illis' influence had fallen like a stone.
Tonight, he dropped to his knees the moment he crossed the threshold.
"My lord…" His voice cracked. "I have come to confess my crimes."
Tears streaked down his cheeks as he bowed his head to the floor.
Baelon turned from the window, walked to his chair, and sat, calm, and unsurprised. He folded his hands, watching the man tremble.
Illis began to speak.
"My lord… you may not know. House Dantell, though richest among the lands around Harrenhal, is but lowborn nobility. For the sake of our survival, we have long sent certain… gifts to the great houses."
He swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at every word.
"When House Strong was declared traitor, my family offered a vast sum to House Tully, ruling lords of the Riverlands. Even after you took Harrenhal, I continued to contact them in secret."
Baelon's face betrayed nothing.
Illis wept openly now. "My lord, I beg you, grant me a chance to atone. I have served Harrenhal for twenty years. I know every hall, every cellar. I have written proof of every knight's bribery and corruption."
He pressed his forehead to the stone. "Spare me… spare my family."
The previous night, he'd received word that his family vault had been robbed. Yet nothing of value was missing, no gold, no jewels. Only the letters between himself and Riverlands nobles, particularly the Tullys, had vanished.
He understood instantly who had taken them.
If those letters were revealed, he would not have ten heads enough to sever. His house would be wiped from the earth.
And those letters… Gods help him, those letters were damning. He had written that House Tully were the rightful rulers of the Riverlands... and Harrenhal. Merchants said what their audience wished to hear, and he had been no different. Seeking favor. Seeking a future. Seeking protection from the storms that forever broke upon Harrenhal's black walls.
Now all of it was ash.
He trembled, knowing Baelon had orchestrated everything.
Baelon rested one ankle across his knee, regarding the kneeling castellan with detached interest.
"So," he said quietly, "you are telling me that you possess evidence of corruption for every knight in this castle?"
Illis dared not lift his head. His voice was barely a whisper.
"Yes, my lord. Every one of them."
"And you offer it to me," Baelon said, "in exchange for sparing your life."
Illis' breath hitched. "And my family's, my prince. I beg you. I will serve you unto death."
The chamber held its breath.
Baelon leaned back, eyes narrowing. Shadows from the firelight flickered across his face, throwing sharp lines beneath his cheekbones. A prince born of dragonfire looked down upon a man who had lived his whole life twisting like a reed in the wind.
"You betrayed your liege," Baelon said softly. "Then betrayed your king. Then sought favor from the Tullys when the winds changed again. You bartered loyalty as though it were coin."
Illis flinched.
"Tell me, Illis," Baelon continued, "why should I believe that you will not betray me once more?"
Desperation cracked the man's composure. He crawled forward until his hands nearly touched Baelon's boots.
"Because you have taken everything from me," he sobbed. "Because you have left me no other lord to turn to."
Baelon's expression remained unreadable.
Fire popped in the hearth. Outside, the wind sighed across Harrenhal's vast, ruined courtyards.
At last, Baelon stood. His shadow fell over the kneeling man.
"Rise," he said.
Illis trembled, uncertain.
"I said rise."
He obeyed, legs shaking.
Baelon stepped close enough that Illis could see the cool, precise malice behind the prince's calm eyes.
"You will give me everything," Baelon said. "Every ledger, every letter, every scrap of wrongdoing in this castle. You will tear Harrenhal open from foundation to battlement."
He paused.
"And if you lie- once- you will pray for a death as swift as the one you fear tonight."
Illis swallowed, then fell again to his knees, not in terror now, but in fervent gratitude.
"Yes, my lord. I swear it. By the Seven, I swear it."
Baelon watched him without speaking.
In that silence, Illis knew his fate was sealed, not by mercy, but by usefulness.
And Baelon Targaryen did not waste what was useful.
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A/N:The war begins here. If you think you know what comes next, you don't. BUT It's already waiting in the chapters ahead.
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