The winds of Driftmark snarled against the cliffs that morning, sharp with the bite of salt and storm, as the procession gathered above the roaring sea.
King Viserys had brought nearly the entirety of his royal court. Dark cloaks snapped in the wind; veils whipped against pale cheeks; and the colours of court and crown were muted into the same mourning grey beneath the iron sky.
Both factions, the Blacks and the Greens, stood assembled beside the king, grim faces set against the cold.
Baelon kept to Helaena's side, swallowed among the Greens, though every part of him wished he could fade into the background and be done with these factions.
Still, he had no desire to cause a scene. Not here. Not on this day.
Better to stand still, silent and unnoticed. A funeral was no place for posturing.
House Velaryon had ever been loyal, wealthy, and proud, the mightiest house in the realm after the crown itself, yet Fate had turned her back on them of late.
Corlys Velaryon had brought his fleets to glory, his Driftwood Throne to splendour, his name to heights unmatched… yet none of that could shield him from this blow.
His only daughter had passed away in childbirth.
Laena's stone sarcophagus, its lid carved in her likeness with hands folded across her chest, hung suspended from thick ropes, held aloft by Velaryon retainers.
A deep rumble clawed through the sky.
Baelon's head jerked upward.
Dragons circled the funeral cliffs, numerous great shadows wheeling between the sombre clouds above.
The most radiant among them was Sunfyre, the pride of his elder brother Aegon. Golden scales caught what little light pierced the overcast sky.
Not far from them perched Vhagar, dwarfing its younger kin in size. Even Vermithor and Silverwing nearby could not match Vhagar in raw size.
Yet, this formidable beast had its wings hung heavy; her neck dropping as she regarded the procession below.
Those vast, time-worn eyes, eyes that had seen the even conquest of Westeros, now held something Baelon had not known dragons could possess: confusion, and an old beast's slow, aching sorrow.
Even dragons mourned, it seemed.
Near the sarcophagus stood Vaemond Velaryon, his cloak billowing behind him like a torn sail. He spoke words in High Valyrian as the retainers positioned the ropes for the final descent.
Corlys Velaryon stood nearest the edge, his jaw clenched. His eyes were red-rimmed, whether it was from wind or weeping, everyone present knew.
Princess Rhaenys stood beside him, shoulders rigid, her tears streaming silently down her cheeks. There was no crying. No screaming. Just silent mourning.
A little way off, Laenor Velaryon stood with Rhaenyra. He looked thinner than Baelon remembered, face hollowed, lips parted in a dazed half-breath.
His gaze never left the sarcophagus. For a fleeting moment, Baelon wondered if Laenor might leap after his sister, driven by some wild grief.
Then, the wind shifted. Vaemond's final words rang, and the retainers released the ropes.
The sarcophagus descended, swaying gently at first, then dropping more swiftly, disappearing into the frothing surf where waves surged upward to claim Laena Velaryon.
Stone met sea with a muted crash, and then… she was gone. Returned to the deep. Like her ancestors before her.
Baelon exhaled slowly, though he had not realised he'd been holding his breath.
Another life lost.
He lifted his gaze, and there, at the fore of the gathered kin, stood Daemon Targaryen.
Black-clad, pale-haired, and calm as ever.
Baelon felt his stomach twist.
Though his uncle seemed to have been in mourning, Baelon could not help but remember the rumours still surrounding Ser Lyonel's death, the traces of dragons that had been found.
Baelon only hoped his uncle truly had no part in it. That Daemon did not leave his pregnant wife behind to eliminate his niece's lover.
Glancing above at the overcast sky, Baelon watched the funeral end as the congregation dispersed.
He locked eyes with Helaena beside him as they shared a nod, stealing a glance at their younger brother Aemond beside them.
'It seemed we could test our theory here.' Baelon pondered. 'The time has come. Is the future really so hard to resist?'
***
Everyone had congregated in High Tide. The hall was alive with the clatter of plates and the hum of conversation, but Baelon and Helaena stood apart, pressed against the corner window, their eyes drawn to the tumbling waves below.
"The pieces are falling together…" He muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the din of the banquet.
His gaze flicked back to the table, where Aemond's face was turning a shade redder with every passing second as a roasted pig was set before him.
Near him, Jacaerys leaned forward, a mocking grin playing on the boy's lips as he mocked Aemond.
But as he scanned the hall, Baelon's brow furrowed. Something was off.
"Where did Rhaenyra go?" He turned to Helaena as he asked.
Her two sons, Jacaerys and Lucerys, sat near the table, hissing their jibes and smirks at Aemond, yet their mother's absence was conspicuous.
Helaena's voice drifted over as she muttered, "Blood of blood, uncle and niece, entwined in the dragon's shadow, where salt and ash mingle; from grief springs desire, and from desire, ruin"
Baelon's eyes twitched at the words. He glanced quickly around, only to notice another absence...his uncle.
"There is no way they would…?!" Baelon muttered, shaking his head.
Helaena looked up at him, puzzled, but he said nothing. The truth was vile, and she had already forgotten her words; there was no use corrupting her with such foul knowledge.
"Another small prophecy," Baelon answered her confused glance, to which she nodded and said nothing more.
Shouts erupted suddenly, cutting through the hall. Aemond's fury was unrestrained as he stormed from the table.
Baelon could already guess the intent behind his younger brother's blind rage. He could even guess what Aemond was off to do.
After all, he had just been mocked for not having a dragon, and there happened to be two riderless dragons on the island. One of which was the largest dragon under House Targaryen.
Baelon grasped Helaena's hand, their fingers intertwining, and they slipped from the banquet, following the trail of shouts.
From a distance, they saw Aemond's fist collide with Joeffry, Rhaenyra's youngest, sending the boy tumbling into a pile of dragon droppings.
Baelon's eyes flashed with disgust, yet he hesitated, calculating, wondering how, or if, they could intervene.
In dreams, he and Helaena had only seen Aemond fighting Jacaerys and Lucerys, ending in his injury.
This was something their visions had not prepared them for. His mind churned as he watched Aemond's retreating silhouette and Joeffry groaning in the dirt.
And then it clicked. He understood, finally, why his two older brothers might have known of Aemond's attempt to claim Vhagar.
But time was short, and reason gave him little respite. From the gates of High Tide, two dark silhouettes emerged, moving quickly to surround Joeffry before giving chase after Aemond.
Baelon and Helaena promptly followed, skirts and tunics brushing against the stone of the courtyard.
After several winding turns, the three boys they were trailing happened to meet a returning Aemond.
Baelon met Helaena's gaze. "Fetch our father," he said, eyes still locked on the confrontation ahead. "Or at the very least, alert him to what is happening."
Helaena nodded, picking up her skirt and sprinting toward the castle, leaving Baelon and four young boys who were already on the verge of open confrontation.
Baelon then walked toward the group, with the four boys were already on the verge of coming to blows, their faces flushed, wooden swords raised.
"What are you all doing?!" Baelon shouted as he rapidly approached the scene of confrontation.
All four froze mid-motion and turned toward him, eyes wide with surprise.
Jacaerys scoffed at him, a defiant look on the boy, but Baelon ignored him. His gaze settled on Aemond, who looked as though the storm in his chest might erupt at any second.
"Older brother!" Aemond exhaled sharply, relief flickering across his features. "I had managed to claim Vhagar… but then these three began to confront me."
Lucerys's eyes blazed, outrage distorting his features.
"DAMMIT!" Lucerys shouted, his voice cracking. "You! You stole my aunt's dragon! Of course, we would confront you!"
"She was my aunt too," Aemond shot back, his tone filled with a triumphant spite. The words were like sparks to tinder.
Baelon's nephews immediately tightened their grips on their swords as they stepped closer to Aemond, to which Aemond much obliged by doing the same.
"ENOUGH!" Baelon shouted as he shook his head, frustration wrinkling his brow.
"Put down your swords, all of you. Cease this petty squabbling. If you truly believe you are right, explain it to your parents."
"Of course you would say that," Jacaerys snarled, eyes narrowing. "You side with him, don't you? You're his older brother, are you not?"
Baelon rubbed his temples, the weight of his frustration pressing on him. "Then what would you have me do, my dear nephew? Kill my own brother to let Vhagar be free again?" Baelon's voice was quiet, but the underlying anger made it ring in their eyes.
"Ridiculous." He muttered, drew his own sword, its steel glinting under the pale moonlight.
Unlike the boys' wooden practice blades, this was real steel, forged in King's Landing by the finest smiths and given to him by his father a year ago.
"If you truly wish to fight," he said, shrugging his shoulders, "then come." He flourished the blade, pointing it toward them.
The boys exchanged glances. Pride warred with caution. Slowly, one by one, they lowered their weapons, swallowing as they glanced at Baelon's blade.
Despite this, the sound of hobbling footsteps reached them next, followed by the click of a cane against stone.
The king appeared, flanked by his entourage, face creased with age and shock. "What has happened here?!" Viserys demanded.
Seeing this, Baelon sighed a breath of relief. To him, it seemed this night would go well.
He had truly managed to change the future.
'Maybe those visions weren't so scary after all?' His eyes brightened as he exchanged a knowing glance with Helaena, who trailed behind the arriving entourage.
Baelon stepped forward, lowering his voice so that only the king could hear. He whispered a concise account of the events, the confrontation and the claim on Vhagar.
Viserys's gaze swept over the boys, then lingered on Baelon and Helaena.
He muttered under his breath, a faint smile breaking through his weariness, "Thank the gods there are at least two sane minds amid my offspring."
"The matter is settled," he announced louder, lifting his cane with effort, emphasising his words. "Vhagar has already been claimed. There is nothing anyone can do now."
But just as the tension began to ebb, movement at the edge of the courtyard drew Baelon's attention.
Rhaenyra and Daemon appeared, their clothes untidy, hair seemingly wind-tossed.
Baelon's gaze flicked to his father. Viserys gripped his cane tightly, knuckles white, eyes narrowing as they took in the sight of the pair.
The king's jaw tightened, every line of his face carved with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation.
Even amidst the resolved quarrel of his sons, the arrival of this pair, untidy and unrestrained, clearly weighed on Viserys far more.
Daemon walked forward, a sardonic smile tugging at his lips. Satisfaction glowed in his eyes as he approached his brother, every step radiating quiet arrogance.
The Kingsguard immediately stepped forward, unsheathing their blades in a synchronised display of readiness, forming a protective barrier around Viserys.
Daemon raised a hand casually, as if dismissing the steel surrounding him, and fixed his trademark smile on the king.
"Your Grace, surely that cannot be all?" Daemon asked with a raised brow.
"What in the Seven Hells do you mean by that?" Viserys growled through gritted teeth.
Daemon ignored him, turning his attention to the four boys. He circled them with slow, deliberate steps, eyes finally locking on Aemond.
"In my eyes, my wife's dragon, which was to be bonded to our daughters, has been stolen from us," he said smoothly, each of his words sheathing a dagger.
"Daemon, you know well that dragons are not property," Viserys replied, voice hard as iron, his glare cutting into his own brother. "Vhagar chose Aemond. Do you wish to slay your own nephew to reclaim what you cannot have? Absurd!" The king slammed his cane against the ground.
"Father… uncle is right," Rhaenyra spoke, voice quiet but firm.
She did not meet her father's eyes, instead keeping her gaze fixed on the ground between the dragons' shadows. "Vhagar was to bond with either Baela or Rhaena. What Aemond has done is an insult to Laena, the crown, and House Velaryon."
"Insult?" Alicent's voice interrupted her as the queen parted the crowd, the guards and retainers instinctively stepping aside to let her through.
Alicent laughed, though her words were anything but pleasant. "Do you truly believe that? The only insult here is you and Daemon! To desecrate your wife's memory with your niece's body mere hours after her funeral?"
"ALICENT!" Viserys cried, closing his eyes as he tried to stabilise the situation. "Please stop this. Aemond already has Vhagar. There is no need to insult your family like this."
Amid the chaos, Baelon's eyes stayed fixed on Daemon. The rogue prince had gone silent, his violet eyes reflecting the silver glow of the moon above. Baelon's stomach tightened.
He had a faint guess at what this insane uncle of his was planning to do. Slowly, he approached Helaena, gripping her hand, then slinking into the crowd unnoticed.
His mind raced as he reached out to feel the bond with Vermithor, urgently trying to communicate with his dragon.
"Just to be safe, summon Dreamfyre too," Baelon whispered to Helaena. She gave him a hesitant look but obliged.
Daemon's voice rang out again. "If you cannot return us Vhagar, the least you can do is compensate us."
"With what?" Viserys demanded, voice rising.
Daemon shrugged, as though the answer were obvious. "Is it not simple? Dissolve Rhaenyra's marriage with Ser Laenor and wed her to me."
"Y-YOU INSOLENT BASTARD!" Viserys roared, wobbling slightly on his cane, fury eclipsing his earlier composure. "Do you wish to see our house burn?"
A deafening roar cut through the courtyard, shaking the crowd and halting every conversation.
Dust swirled as Caraxes appeared, perched on a jagged rock formation behind Daemon. The dragon's wings flexed as it twisted its long neck, menacingly staring at the crowd beneath it.
Baelon closed his eyes for a brief instant, a chill crawling up his spine. His worst fears had come true: his uncle, truly, was a madman.
"What are you doing, Daemon?" Viserys demanded, eyes never leaving his brother, ignoring the blood wyrm looming before him. "Do you wish to take your own brother's life?"
"Release her, brother. I will not stop," Daemon said calmly, voice almost gentle, as if the Blood Wyrm wasn't behind him. "If it is shame you fear, unchain her from a marriage neither wished for. Ignore the cries of the sheep below, for we are the blood of the true dragon. If Rhaenyra and I unite, it will benefit both you and this realm."
A thick silence fell over the courtyard. Even Alicent remained still, her anger momentarily suspended by disbelief and fear.
Every soul present felt the weight of Daemon's audacity and ruthlessness. He was trampling both House Velaryon and the memory of his late wife without hesitation.
Then, one by one, the dragons answered. A deep roar from Vermithor shook the ground, followed by the silver gleam of Silver Wing and the long, elegant rise of Dreamfyre.
Soon, Meleys arrived, soaring alongside Seasmoke. Together, the dragons fell opposite Caraxes, their roars filling the night, wings beating, tail swipes kicking loose stones into the crowd.
Seeing this, Baelon breathed a sigh of relief. 'Well, at least I'm not completely helpless should the situation truly turn for the worse.'
Baelon watched Daemon closely, reading the subtle crease of his brow, the slight tightening of his lips.
'If he doesn't act soon… he will likely be captured,' Baelon mused grimly.
Whilst Daemon being captured would likely result in nothing actually befalling the pompous moron, Baelon refused to believe his uncle would oblige to such humiliation.
Daemon exchanged a glance with Caraxes, with the dragon already understanding the wishes of its rider.
Caraxes roared, its maws opening wide as flames erupted within, throwing a cloud of dust and debris into the courtyard.
Amid the smoke, Baelon could vaguely make out a silhouette dextrously climbing atop Caraxes.
Then—
Caraxes beat its wings. Rocks and stones tumbled into the already panic-stricken crowd as the Blood Wyrm and its rider swiftly departed the scene.
Baelon scooped Helaena up, sprinting toward the other dragons for cover. He was not about to sit and wait to be hit by the falling rubble.
With a daring glance behind, helplessness washed over him.
Baelon remembered what the old book had whispered to him all those years ago.
Nevertheless, while these dreams can be misinterpreted or perhaps are wholly incorrect…you ought not change what is foreseen; any attempts will lead to tragic consequences, a truth learned through bitter pain and experience….