Baelon sauntered about their solar deep within the Great Pyramid, their bedchambers lying even further within the massive structure.
Nevertheless, a harsh, agitated buzzing soon caught his attention. Turning, he found a locust trapped within an intricate copper cage.
A cage no doubt forged from what his men had mined in the vast copper mines that lay dormant around Mereen.
Truly, Baelon was appalled at the slaver's stupidity. Natural resources were set around them, and yet they instead focused on putting people in chains.
Regardless, in the cage, the locust was a large specimen. Its segmented body is a dull burnished gold, wings beating frantically against the bars.
Its many legs clung desperately to the metal, while its faceted eyes reflected the lamplight in fractured glimmers.
"Well, looks like someone's most recent journey has borne some fruit." Baelon crouched before it, tilting his head as he regarded the little thing. "What in the Seven makes her so interested in you lot. Tsk!"
For any soul inclined to claim Baelon felt jealous of Helaena's attention for the things, he would have been the first to denounce them outright.
It was clear he was merely…curious.
That was all.
Curious.
Rolling his eyes, Baelon rose and passed through the solar into their bedchambers, where he soon found himself leaning against the balcony's carved stone railing.
He gazed below where Meereen sprawled beneath him, the city's many-coloured bricks catching the dying light of the sun.
Smoke curled lazily from hearths and forges, carrying the scents of spice, salt, and the sea from Slaver's Bay beyond.
Whilst the streets pulsed with life. A life that was once long absent in Mereen.
When they had first taken the city, it was all but a corpse. Starving slaves and refugees. An economy that had been stripped to its bones. A people who had been ripped of all hope.
Thankfully, with some effort from him and Helaena, the city had regained its vibrancy following the war.
They eased food shortages and focused on each city's strengths when they had conquered it.
Astapor held true to its first business, where skilled workers were trained and introduced to a variety of clients.
Yunkai was used as a mercenary hub, where businesses could hire men to guard them on journeys or ships to transport goods.
For Mereen, Baelon exploited its vast copper mines that had once lain untapped, using them in conjunction with Elyria's thriving artisans to develop even more exquisite artefacts.
Admiring the fruits of his achievements, Baelon could not help but smile.
Freedmen and merchants mingling, Unsullied patrols marching in solemn silence and former slaves that now walked with a smile on their faces.
Beyond the city's walls, the waters of the bay darkened to deep indigo, ships bobbing gently as their lanterns flickered to life like fallen stars upon the waves.
From this height, Meereen seemed almost peaceful.
Tolos, Elyria, New Ghis, Slaver's Bay, even the Isle of Cedars…
He had truly carved out a small kingdom for himself.
A quiet sense of pride washed over him as he closed his eyes, allowing the warm breeze to brush against his face.
Even dragons were not invincible; their dreams all but screamed that, but with this kingdom, Baelon was certain that no one was foolish enough to challenge him outright.
Still, it had been scarcely a year since the conquest had ended, much of that time spent not in battle, but in the far more tedious work. Stabilising their realm.
Astapor had been easy. Most of the Good Masters there had seen their wealth eroded long before his arrival, and wealth was power in these cities.
Even its population had thinned, tens of thousands of slaves had fled the city of bloody bricks following the riots.
Yunkai and Meereen, however, had proven far more stubborn. Even in defeat, certain stubborn elements lingered. Festering in the gutters where even light disdained to touch.
Alas, he was not able to immediately rout them.
Even the Blood Oath had been useless. These people despised him too deeply. The moment the ritual concluded, they would have died regardless, their oaths already broken by their hatred alone.
Thankfully, after today, most of that resistance will be no more.
Before long, the soft patter of footsteps sounded behind him. He did not open his eyes; he knew all too well who approached.
As expected, a pair of dainty arms slipped around his waist, warmth blooming instantly against his back, burning enough to render his fire resistance entirely worthless.
"Are you satisfied, putting yourself in danger like that?" Helaena whispered, her voice muffled as she pressed her face against him.
"Come now," Baelon said as he opened his eyes, though his usually confident voice faltered as he spoke. "We both know full well it is impossible for them to harm me…surely?"
"Oh?" Helaena released her hold on him and stepped to his side, resting her hands against the balcony's stone as she gazed out over the city below. "Then why did you choose to act while I was away?" She asked mildly. "If there was truly no danger, why the haste?"
Baelon's eyes flicked to her, catching the way the evening wind teased loose strands of her silver-gold hair before he looked away,
"Well…" He hesitated, searching for an answer he knew would not come. "I'm sorry. I thought I could see it done without troubling you." He exhaled slowly. "We have remained here for far too long. The war in the West is beginning to settle; we need to bring our realm firmly under our grasp before it does. Otherwise, their attention would turn eastward."
The 'their' Baelon had mentioned referred to the warring Free Cities. Whilst their battles had calmed, each one licking their wounds, Baelon did not wish for them to turn their attention to him.
Helaena merely hummed in response. Whether it was agreement or disapproval, Baelon could not tell. Her face remained fixed in that distant, dreamlike calm she so often wore, as unreadable as prophecy itself.
"I…had them hanged." She said at last.
Baelon paused, the meaning of her words taking a moment to settle before memory stirred, those who had conspired against his life.
"Of course," he replied at once. "I trust you. If you believe it to be reasonable, then you have only my full support." A breath he had not realised he was holding slipped free.
It seemed, then, that she was not harbouring resentment over his earlier recklessness.
That relief, however, was short-lived.
"Alas, dear brother," Helaena said softly as she turned toward him, a glimmer of mischief igniting behind her eyes. "I am still sorely wounded by you taking matters into your own hands."
"And…?" Baelon winced as she took his arm, as she guided him away from the balcony.
Before he could protest, the doors to the balcony slid shut behind them, extinguishing the last of the fading light.
Thump.
Understanding dawned a heartbeat too late as he was cast backwards onto the bed.
A few moons prior, when they both had reached 5 and 10 years of age, they had undergone a simple wedding ritual back in Tolos.
Thus, he was by no means ignorant of what was to come.
"Is this truly punishment?" Baelon's eyes widened.
If this was her idea of retribution, he could scarcely complain.
Mercifully, he never found the chance to voice such scandalous thoughts, for her lips claimed his in one fell swoop.
And so, beneath the dusk-laden sky of Meereen, deep within the Great Pyramid, a most ferocious battle was waged.
***
"Fancy meeting you here."
Baelon's eyes shifted from the graceful figure before him and swept across the land beyond. Even within a dream, he knew this place.
He could taste it in the air. The smell of mud, piss and shit…
It truly was the Riverlands.
Sarcasm aside, Baelon focused more on the rolling hills that sagged beneath a grumpy sky.
Patches of mist clung low to the ground, weaving between ancient oaks and half-flooded clearings. It was fertile, yes. Lush, in its own way.
But it was also sodden. Mud upon mud, and more mud besides.
He had flown over these woods many a time at his father's command.
Still, the scenery did little to ease the awkwardness settling in his chest.
"Why do you still seem so shy?" Helaena tilted her head, silver hair slipping over one shoulder. "You bedded me. That was all. We have done so many a time before."
"Doesn't make it less odd," Baelon muttered, rolling his eyes. "One moment we're tumbling in the sheets, the next we're neat and clean, wandering through dreams as if nothing happened."
A soft giggle escaped her whilst Baelon rolled his eyes.
"Say," he murmured, glancing toward the tree line, "what could this dream be about?"
Almost in response to his own words, birds in the distance took flight all at once, a flurry of wings bursting upward in frantic alarm.
Then came the sound.
It was faint at first, a distant sound at that, carried on damp air.
But Baelon was certain that was the sound of men shouting. Steel clashing.
A battle perhaps?
Baelon closed his eyes, straining to listen.
A roar tore across the sky.
His eyes snapped open.
Helaena was already staring upward, her expression heavy.
Another roar answered the first.
Dragons.
Immediately, wings emerged from the break in the clouds as a familiar crimson figure burst into sight.
Meleys, the Red Queen, cut through the sky in a blaze of scarlet, flames licking from her maw as she wheeled above the treetops.
A bitter taste crept onto Baelon's tongue as he watched the crowned beast dance past him overhead in blinding speed.
In one dream, this beautiful beast was merely a head without a body.
Here, she breathed yet.
Unfortunately, Baelon had a sneaking suspicion that this dream would reveal how Meleys had ended up paraded through King's Landing.
He huffed a faint laugh. "So be it. Let them tear each other apart. As long as it does not trouble us."
All this dream would do is enlighten him to how depraved the coming war would be; it had little to do with him.
"What are you waiting for?" Helaena sighed, tugging him forward in pursuit of Meleys. "This dream might yet hold something worthwhile. No need to waste it in your brooding."
"Of course, O' mighty sage Helaena. Let your light of wisdom shine down upon this most humble soul." Baelon smirked as he ambled forward, and he felt his heart relax.
Thankfully, they still had each other.
A sudden tug nearly sent him stumbling. He glanced at her, but Helaena's face was serene, unreadable. Wisely, he kept his tongue.
They broke into a jog. The shouts soon grew louder. Less distant. Steel rang against steel in a chaotic rhythm. Beneath it all lay a heavier sound, the wet thud of bodies meeting earth.
Next, a foul stench reached them.
Ash.
Burnt flesh.
Iron.
When they burst from the forest, the world opened into carnage.
Men clashed in a sprawling field of churned mud and trampled grass. Banners sagged, half-burned, their sigils smeared beyond recognition.
Knights in dented plate swung longswords with desperate fury, while levies in mismatched mail shoved forward with spears that splintered on impact.
Shields cracked. Helmets split. A mace came down with a sickening crunch, and a man vanished beneath boots before he could even scream.
Blood ran freely, bright at first before darkening as it mixed with the mud that drank it greedily.
And looming ahead, jagged against the smoke-choked sky, stood Harrenhal.
Its blackened towers clawed upward like some spiteful beast. Melted stone bent and twisted where dragonfire had once kissed it.
Even from a distance, it felt oppressive...watchful even. As if the castle itself remembered every scream ever uttered in its shadow.
But this was no ordinary battle.
A vast shadow rolled across the field.
Above the chaos, another dragon arrived, immense, easily rivalling the size of the current Vermithor.
Her wings were broad and scarred, her flesh sagging with age, yet no less terrible for it.
As she descended, fire followed.
She…was Vhagar.
This ancient behemoth stormed the battlefield, culling the men holding black and red banners.
Lines of men vanished in torrents of fire. Armour glowed red before melting into the flesh it encased. Screams rose and were swallowed in seconds.
Baelon sighed faintly. Even during the conquest of Tolos or the riot of Astapor, his dragons had seldom been used so…intimately. They shattered gates. Burned supply lines. Broke formations.
They were usually tactical heavyweights.
Here, Vhagar hunted men as one might thin cattle.
"They gathered here as though their numbers mattered," Helaena murmured. "A shame. Dragons don't count."
"A prophecy?" Baelon arched a brow.
She shook her head. "An observation."
He shrugged. For dragonriders, the men below were seldom the deciding factor. War between dragons and men was not a question of if victory came, but when.
Their conversation died as a streak of red tore across the sky.
She came like a falling star.
Meleys.
Wherever she passed, flame poured from her jaws in sweeping arcs, turning clusters of soldiers into pillars of ash.
Men who moments before had fought bravely now fled in blind terror as her shadow passed overhead. Screams and weeping were all that remained in her ashy trail.
Meleys did not slow as she closed upon Vhagar. Instead, she climbed higher, banking sharply before diving with startling speed.
Unfortunately for the grandmother of Targaryen dragons, she turned a fraction too late.
Meleys struck.
Her claws sank deep into Vhagar's flank, rending through scale and flesh without mercy. Dark blood burst forth, smoking as it met the cooler air.
Where those heavy drops landed, they hissed and spat, searing through armour and skin alike.
Unfortunate souls who looked up at the wrong moment found themselves branded or worse, their screams cut short as dragon's blood burned into them.
Vhagar roared, the sound shaking banners from their poles. Her massive jaws snapped backwards, teeth clashing shut where Meleys had been a heartbeat prior.
Too slow.
The Red Queen twisted away with serpentine grace.
CRASH!
Vhagar's immense form slammed into the earth, the impact sending a tremor through the battlefield. Men lost their footing as dust and shattered stone erupted outward in a choking wave.
Yet the ancient she-dragon did not remain grounded for long. With a furious bellow, she heaved herself upright, shaking soil and corpses from her scales before launching skyward once more.
What followed could only be described as a dance of Fire and Blood.
Flesh against flesh.
Flame against flame.
Meleys darted in swift passes, slashing and retreating before Vhagar could fully turn.
The older dragon answered with sweeping bites and crushing charges, her sheer mass forcing Meleys to yield space lest she be pinned and mauled.
Speed against size.
Fury against experience.
For long moments, neither gained a clear advantage.
Alas, their battle did not last before another roar burst through as a second crimson figure streaked through the smoke.
His elongated neck twisted as he descended like some bloodied spear.
Caraxes.
The Blood Wyrm had entered the fray.
Its snake-like neck writhed as it plunged from the smoke-choked sky, coils twisting with unnatural grace before snapping tight around Vhagar's throat.
Caraxes clung to Vhagar like a crimson parasite, his elongated body binding and constricting.
His jaws snapped near her face, teeth scraping against scales older than most kingdoms. Baelon could almost hear his uncle's unhinged laughter carried upon the wind.
Seizing the opening, Meleys surged forward once more. She slammed into Vhagar's wounded flank, claws sinking deep into torn flesh as more of that dark, smoking blood erupted into the air.
Baelon winced.
For a fleeting moment, he mourned, not only for the beast being torn apart before him, but for his younger brother who rode her.
"Vhagar ought not fall here. Surely?" Baelon tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed upon the brutal struggle above.
"It seems so…" Helaena murmured, melancholy threading her voice. She shook her head faintly. "Why bring dragons into the wars of men?"
"Why indeed."
His mind drifted to the smoking ruins of Valyria. To the long treks through broken stone and half-sunken towers. Oros. Tyria. Draconys and beyond. Cities swallowed by ash and time.
Only when one walked those dead streets did the truth become clear.
Dragons were no mere weapons.
They were history made flesh. A reminder of an age when the world was wider and stranger still. A reminder of what men of old once commanded and what they destroyed.
If dragons vanished, so too would the last living breath of Valyria.
However, Baelon's musings were cut short as Helaena's grip tightened suddenly.
As he focused his gaze upward, he almost could not help but let out a string of foul curses.
The situation above had undergone a wild change.
There were no longer three dragons in the sky.
There were five.
A radiant shape streaked from the clouds, scales flashing molten gold even through the smoke.
Beside it, a sleek blue form cut a colder arc across the battlefield.
Sunfyre.
Tessarion.
Their names surfaced in Baelon's mind at once.
The tide shifted almost instantly.
Sunfyre slammed into Meleys from above, golden claws raking across her already wounded side as he cheered with the energy of a newborn pup.
Tessarion followed with a precise torrent of flame that engulfed the Red Queen's back. Yet, the Red Queen twisted, using its wings to block the flames that threatened to devour her rider.
Unfortunately, protecting Rhaenys cost Meleys her wings, as Tessarion ripped into them without mercy.
Caraxes released Vhagar as it rushed in to intercept, twisting mid-air to lash out at the newcomers.
His jaws clamped onto Sunfyre's shoulder, and the golden dragon recoiled with a bitter screech.
Tessarion wheeled sharply, fire forcing Caraxes to disengage lest Daemon be burned by flame.
The sky fractured into chaos as the bloodied Vhagar climbed once more in hot pursuit of her foe.
Meleys attempted to rise higher, to regain advantage through speed, but her injured wing betrayed her as her ascent faltered.
She dipped and fell…just enough for Vhagar to strike.
Vhagar crashed into her with overwhelming force, jaws closing around Meleys' neck. Meleys clawed desperately at Vhagar's face, ripping free scales, drawing yet more blood.
Caraxes tore at Sunfyre and Tessarion alike, driving them back in a frenzy of slashing bites and snapping coils.
He tried to break free, tried to reach her, but the golden and blue dragons harried him relentlessly, claw and flame forcing him to defend rather than advance.
No amount of skill could allow Daemon to best his two foes in the short term. And, for that, it cost him. It cost…Rhaenys.
Meleys screamed. Again and again she screamed. Baelon and Helaena could not help but close their eyes as they saw this.
They may have experienced war, but this just felt wrong on an even deeper level.
Alas, Baelon knew he could not avoid this. He cracked open his eyes as Meleys' screams died down.
Then—
There was a sickening crunch.
With a violent wrench of her massive head, Vhagar tore.
The Red Queen's body fell one way.
Her head, severed and still crowned in crimson flame, tumbled from the sky.
It struck the ground before Baelon and Helaena with a thunderous crash, spraying mud and blood outward in a grisly storm.
Silence fell around them.
They stared.
Meleys' great eyes, that once blazed with grace and wrath, flickered faintly. The fire within them dimmed with each passing moment.
Then slowly…they stilled.
Their light had faded.
Her lids slid shut as the last breath of heat left her.
From the ragged stump of her neck, blood poured in endless rivulets, snaking through the churned battlefield.
It smoked as it spread, grey tendrils rising where it licked the cold mud. The earth hissed beneath it.
Above, Caraxes let out a scream that was more grief than fury. He broke away at last, battered and bleeding, but it was too late save Meleys. Far, far too late.
Vhagar circled once, triumphant and terrible, while Sunfyre and Tessarion flanked her like loyal hounds.
On the ground, men who had paused in stunned awe slowly returned to their slaughter.
Steel rang once more. Shields splintered. War resumed its rhythm as though a goddess had not just fallen from the sky.
Yet those beneath the black and red banners fought with dulled spirit. Their strikes lacked conviction. Their eyes flicked skyward as if expecting further ruin.
Baelon exhaled softly.
What once would have filled him with dread now left only bitterness.
He looked toward the distant silhouette of Harrenhal, then upward to the circling dragons.
"To what end," he murmured, voice low, "will they go for that ugly old chair?"