The moment Baelon entered the hall with his followers, the swagger the Hightower faction had worn all evening faltered and collapsed.
A hush rippled outward from the doors. Cloaks of deep crimson moved like a tide behind him, boots striking stone in measured unison. Baelon did not pause to survey the room. His gaze fixed on a single figure at the dais.
"Rhaenyra."
He crossed the floor without ceremony. Nobles stepped aside, some bowing belatedly, others simply staring. When he reached her, he set one hand at her back and drew her into a brief, unmistakable embrace, open and unhidden, before the eyes of the entire court.
Princess Rhaenyra Targaryen stiffened for half a breath, then relaxed. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve before she let go.
The tension that had gripped the hall loosened, like a breath finally released.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Applause broke out, hesitant at first, then spreading quickly among the benches of black-clad lords. Faces that had been tight with worry softened. A few exchanged relieved glances.
For weeks, whispers had circulated that the princess and her cousin had quarreled. That Baelon had begun to pull away. That the blood of the dragon was fracturing once more.
Yet here he stood, at her side, plain as day.
A united royal house. That was what the realm yearned to see.
Baelon leaned closer, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "Do not trouble yourself," he said. His hand rested steady at her elbow. "I will not allow House Hightower to stand above House Targaryen."
Rhaenyra turned her head slightly, studying his face. There was no softness there, but neither was there coldness. Only resolve.
He did not support her claim to the Iron Throne. That truth stood between them, unspoken. Yet there were lines he would never allow crossed.
As a Targaryen, it was his duty to guard the authority and dignity of their house.
And as Targaryens, they would present unity to the realm, no matter what rivalries simmered beneath the surface.
From the high seat, Viserys I Targaryen watched with a troubled gaze. His fingers tightened around the arm of the throne. After more than a decade upon it, he understood the language of banners and colors all too well.
Baelon had come in red not by chance.
It was a declaration.
No longer merely an extension of Rhaenyra's influence, he now stood as a power in his own right.
Until this night, nobles and smallfolk alike had believed Baelon to be her unshakeable shield, inseparable from her cause. That belief had dissolved with the sound of his followers' boots on stone.
Viserys felt a dull ache bloom behind his ribs.
Does power truly change men so completely?
He closed his eyes, breath catching in his throat. When he opened them again, the hall had resumed its noise. Music rose. Cups were refilled.
"…Ah," he murmured, the sound no more than air.
A thousand thoughts collapsed into a single, weary sigh.
Still, there was comfort to be found. Baelon had not turned on Rhaenyra. He had chosen the family over factions. He had upheld the dignity of House Targaryen.
That mattered. It eased something tight in Viserys's chest.
When the banquet finally ended, nobles departed in clusters, voices animated, hands gesturing sharply as they dissected what they had witnessed.
By the time the doors closed, three factions had names once more.
Rhaenyra's Blacks, dressed in somber hues.
Baelon's Reds, unmistakable in crimson.
And Queen Alicent's Greens, gathered close together, their smiles brittle.
Any lord with sense knew what lay ahead.
King's Landing stood at the edge of a gathering storm.
The banquet had been nothing more than the stillness before it broke.
The following morning, the Small Council chamber felt colder than usual.
Baelon did not waste time.
He stood with both hands braced against the table, fingers spread atop a neat stack of parchment. His eyes were fixed on Otto Hightower.
"House Hightower has overreached," Baelon said. His voice was calm, but his jaw was set. "You have gathered power beyond what is proper for a servant of the crown."
Otto's lips thinned. "Those are serious words, my prince."
Baelon slid the first document forward. "These were compiled by the Bloodsworn Guard. Records of suppressed rivals. Of loyalists placed carefully, patiently, into positions of influence."
He turned a page. "This concerns Dick, captain of the Dragon Gate."
A murmur moved around the table.
"You raised your own men to command the City Watch," Baelon continued. "You dismissed watchmen without cause. You reshaped the Watch to answer to you."
He straightened, eyes hard. "Lord Hand, are you preparing for rebellion?"
The accusation struck like a hammer.
The City Watch was no minor institution. It was one of the few standing forces in King's Landing, its loyalty vital to any Targaryen king. Its commanders had always been chosen from those the crown trusted without reservation.
Even Harwin Strong, before his fall, had held that trust.
Otto had reached into that body.
That alone was enough to chill the room.
"Otto," Viserys said, lifting one of the parchments with trembling fingers, "explain this."
He read. His brow furrowed. His breath slowed.
Nearly half of the city's seven gates were under Otto's indirect control.
"I…" Otto swallowed. Sweat beaded along his temple. "This is… a misunderstanding."
Baelon watched him closely, head tilted slightly, as if weighing each flicker of expression.
"And there is more," he said, tapping another sheet. "Three thousand gold dragons withdrawn from the treasury. Listed as rewards for the City Watch."
He looked up. "The full sum never reached the men. Instead, it was diverted. Payments to Gold Cloak captains. Gifts to servants within the Red Keep."
Otto's chair scraped back as he rose halfway. "I distributed the gold to every captain," he snapped. "They were charged with rewarding their own companies. They can all attest to it."
He turned toward Viserys, hands spread. "As for the servants, I merely aided the queen in rewarding diligence. Is generosity now corruption?"
To his credit, Otto recovered quickly. His spine straightened. His voice steadied.
Baelon inclined his head slightly. "Then I stand corrected."
Otto let out a sharp breath.
"In that case," Baelon continued smoothly, "the fault lies with the Gold Cloak captains. They embezzled funds meant for their men. Such corruption cannot be ignored."
Otto's eyes widened. His finger jabbed toward Baelon, trembling with fury. "You dare twist my words."
Viserys raised a hand.
Silence fell.
After a long moment, the king spoke. "The City Watch has grown lax."
He turned his gaze to Baelon. "This matter will be entrusted to you. As of today, you are Commander of the City Watch. The office once held by Daemon is yours."
Baelon bowed.
Viserys's eyes shifted back to Otto. "You will oversee sanitation reforms within King's Landing. The city stinks. My daughter has complained often enough."
Viserys's voice hardened.
"Fail. And return to Oldtown. You will not leave it again."
The decision was final.
After the previous night, Viserys's patience with Alicent and her faction had worn thin. Baelon still stood beside Rhaenyra. The Greens no longer bothered to hide their hostility.
For a king who prized family unity above all else, that was unforgivable.
Had Aegon and his brothers not already grown, Viserys might have crushed House Hightower outright.
Now, with Baelon willing to bear the weight, the choice was clear.
As for whether this would swell Baelon's personal power, Viserys had plans of his own.
Truthfully, those thoughts had not begun today. They had taken root long ago, after his last great quarrel with Rhaenyra.
With the king's decree, the first clash between Baelon and Otto Hightower ended.
Decisively.
And Baelon had won.
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A/N: If you think you know what comes next… you don't. The answers are already waiting ahead.
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