Baelon's gaze moved across the room, settling on each face gathered around the long table.
A cup of wine rested loosely in his hand, and he gave it a slow swirl, the faint, rich scent rising to meet him.
'Ah… Redwyne,' he mused, the corner of his lips twitching. 'Still the best.'
For all the reach of House Redwyne, their fleets stretching across the known world, their casks traded from one coast to another, their finest vintages had always been reserved for the Crown.
He then let his gaze drift back to the table.
At its head sat Viserys, his body as frail and diseased as ever, though there was something different now, a faint vitality beneath all that decay.
This was in part thanks to Baelon's magic, which he had used to heal Viserys earlier. Alas, it could only do so much for a body that has already sought to embrace The Stranger.
To his side sat Alicent.
Baelon's eyes lingered on her a moment longer than the others.
She looked… diminished. Not in station, nor presence, but simply in stature. Her frame had grown thinner, her face more drawn, the softness that once defined her worn away into something sharper, more brittle.
If he did not know better, he might have thought his father's illness had seeped into her as well.
Opposite them sat Aegon.
Quiet. So very quiet.
That alone was enough to unsettle Baelon more than any outburst ever could. His elder brother seemed…dulled.
Not tamed, no…there was still something restless beneath the surface, but the usual arrogance had been worn down ruthlessly.
His eyes were bloodshot, dark circles settled deep beneath them, his posture slouched just enough to betray habits that had yet to be broken.
Beside him sat Aemond.
He ate without distraction, his movements precise, his gaze rarely lifting from his plate.
Baelon could not quite place it, only that his younger brother now carried himself with a quiet intensity that had not been there before.
Then—
Baelon's attention shifted, and he paused.
A girl sat near Aegon, silent, her presence almost…misplaced?
Dark-haired. Round-faced. Young.
Cassandra Baratheon.
The name surfaced in his mind.
He studied her for a moment, noting the way she kept to herself, eating without a word, her posture withdrawn.
A poor thing.
Thrown into this den without warning.
And then…
His gaze dropped slightly.
A child. Small. Likely not even past his first nameday as he rest in Alicent's lap.
Baelon could guess he was Aegon's son as the boy was a miniature reflection of his father, though where Aegon bore silver hair, the child's was dark as night.
Finally, his eyes moved further down the table.
Rhaenyra was present, as expected.
She sat with her usual poise, though her attention flickered briefly toward him and Helaena, something unreadable passing through her expression.
Her children were with her, though not all.
The youngest, her sons with Daemon, remained at Dragonstone.
A fractured family, gathered under one roof.
How…fitting.
"Today," Viserys' voice broke through his thoughts.
Baelon's attention snapped back as his father pushed himself to stand.
"Today represents a most joyous occasion for me," Viserys continued, his voice carrying across the chamber.
He gestured toward them.
"Today's celebration is for a simple reason…my children, Baelon and Helaena, have finally returned home."
Nevertheless, the smile on Viserys' face did not last.
It faded as he reached for his cup, fingers idly turning it as his gaze swept across the table.
"For once," he began, voice quieter now, yet carrying all the same, "in a great many years, we gather as one…family. Together. This is how it ought to be."
"No more divisions, nor any petty squabbling. You all should remain united and love one another as you do me."
He raised his cup in a solemn toast.
"I would have each of you remember that," he added, his eyes passing over them one by one. "And hold it dear to your hearts."
Cups eagerly rose in response as smiles soon followed.
All polite, practised, and oh so measured.
How much truth lay beneath them…none could say.
Baelon, for one, did not linger on it. He grinned faintly as he took a sip, the wine striking the back of his throat before burning its way down, settling warmly in his stomach.
Good.
Very good.
His gaze flickered sideways.
Helaena's cup remained untouched.
His fingers twitched.
Slowly, very slowly, he reached toward it.
That, was a mistake.
A sharp kick struck his shin beneath the table.
Baelon stiffened.
"You've had enough for today, Baelon," Helaena whispered. "Need I remind you that you and liquor have never gone hand in hand?"
His eye twitched.
Ah.
There it was.
The memory surfaced…their wedding. Modest, by royal standards…and the first time he had truly drunk without restraint.
Gods.
The aftermath alone was enough to haunt him.
The vomiting. The nausea. The sheer, unrelenting misery…
Truly, he lived in a bitter world.
Baelon coughed lightly into his fist, leaning closer as he whispered back, tone laced with mock sincerity.
"Right, right…I merely wished to…offer it to you. In case you had forgotten it."
He ignored the look she gave him.
"After all," he continued, undeterred, "it would be a tragedy to leave it sitting there, forgotten."
Her response?
A simple roll of the eyes.
And then—
She picked up the cup and drank.
Slowly. Deliberately.
Making it painfully clear to him as she savoured the drink.
Baelon watched, a sense of loss settling into his soul.
Helaena did not enjoy wine.
At all.
Which meant…this was her trying to rid him of any lingering thoughts.
'Ah…what happened to the sweet, adorable Helaena I once knew…' he lamented inwardly.
Truly, the world had changed.
Still, as he sighed internally, a thought sparked.
Baelon's gaze shifted, sweeping briefly across the table before settling upon his father.
"Father," he asked casually, as though the thought had only just occurred to him, "why is it that I do not see my uncle present?"
"Daemon?" Viserys paused, swirling his cup once before shaking his head faintly. "He has made yet another…feckless decision. I deemed it best to have him expend his excess energy elsewhere. The Stepstones seemed appropriate."
A pause.
Then, a slight furrow of his brow.
"Though… I have received word that he has been plagued by rather unfortunate luck of late."
"Unfortunate?" Baelon echoed, curiosity colouring his tone.
Inside?
He was already smiling.
"Simple things, at first," Viserys continued. "Bird droppings finding him whenever he steps outdoors. A misstep upon a staircase here and there. Minor inconveniences at that."
Still, he was not done.
"And yet…even atop Caraxes, a sudden gust of wind found its way into his lungs, leaving him senseless upon his own dragon. He only regained himself upon landing."
Baelon nodded slowly, his expression settling into one of mild concern.
"Truly a tragedy," he said, shaking his head. "We can only hope his fortunes improve soon."
'Hah! What a moron.' The thought rang loud and clear in his mind.
Entirely deserved.
It seemed his little experiment had borne fruit after all. A Misfortune Hex derived from the bits and pieces he found from the ruins seemed to have borne fruit.
Kael'thir, it seemed, was proving far more useful than anticipated.
Baelon took another sip of wine, hiding the faint curl of satisfaction at the edge of his lips.
"Enough of the unpleasantness," Alicent's voice slipped into their exchange. "I suppose you are not yet familiar with your nephew?"
She smiled, softer now, as she adjusted the child upon her lap.
"His name is Jaehaerys."
At her gesture, the boy blinked up at them, wide-eyed and uncertain, his small hands clutching faintly at the fabric of her gown as though unsure what to make of the attention.
The warmth in her tone was there.
And yet—
Baelon felt it immediately, a heavy sense of wrongness.
Her warmth was not false, not entirely…but it was measured. Painfully so. As if she were not speaking to her own flesh and blood but rather some acquaintance she wished to befriend.
Still, he returned the smile, inclining his head slightly as he regarded the child.
"He seems quite… taken to himself," Baelon offered, choosing his words carefully.
Alicent gave a soft hum, her hand smoothing over the boy's hair.
"He is a quiet one," she replied. "Though I imagine that will change in time."
Her gaze lingered on Jaehaerys for a moment longer, then, almost seamlessly, it returned to him.
"And you?" She continued lightly, as though the thought had only just come to her. "Essos seems to have suited you well."
Helaena, beside him, stilled ever so slightly.
However, Alicent's smile did not falter.
"I hear…a great many things," she went on, fingers idly tracing the child's sleeve. "Of the prosperity of your realm. Dragon's Bay, I heard it was called? Trade seems to have flourished. Ships have come and gone in number." Her head tilted just a fraction. "Quite the undertaking for the two of you."
Baelon leaned back slightly.
"Ah, rumours do have a way of growing," he said lightly. "Dragon's Bay is…comfortable. Nothing more."
Helaena nodded faintly, her voice soft as she added, "We have been fortunate, that is all."
Alicent's eyes flickered between them.
"Wealth follows fortune," she said, almost idly. "And stability follows wealth." A small pause. "You must have secured quite the force to maintain such stability."
There it was.
Her intentions clear as day.
"Some men," Baelon replied with a small shrug. "Enough to keep the peace. Dragon's Bay is not as…troublesome as King's Landing."
"Most prefer trade to conflict over there, so it's rather quiet." Helaena hummed in quiet agreement, her tone so earnest that Baelon almost choked.
Quiet? Peaceful?
Baelon felt many were on the verge of rising from their graves to refute her.
The Blacksmiths from Qohor. The Good Masters. The Radiant Council. The Wise Masters. The Great Masters.
By the Seven, they had made quite a few foes during their ventures.
"Quiet…" Alicent echoed, none the wiser of the bullsh*t spewed by her innocent-faced daughter. "And yet, even quiet often requires deliberation and careful management."
Her gaze lingered just a moment longer than necessary.
"How many ships do you command now?" She asked, the question wrapped in gentleness. "I've received word from Oldtown that your ships are a common sight in Westerosi ports."
Baelon smiled faintly, learning from Helaena, and spouted nonsense without hesitation.
"Modest things have a habit of remaining so," he said. "Though I suppose we have acquired a few more along the way."
The hundreds of ships in his fleet dominating the Gulf of Grief, well, he'll pretend they don't exist.
"Just a mere handful," Helaena added, as if in afterthought. "Enough to sustain trade."
Alicent's fingers stilled briefly against Jaehaerys' sleeve.
"And soldiers?" She continued, with frustration seeping into her tone, clearly, their deflections were taking their toll on her. "Surely you have needed some measure of protection."
"A few loyal men, perhaps," Helaena said. "Though we have found that not every problem requires a blade, so soldiers have never been a great focus for us."
Hearing her words, Baelon nodded beside her in apparent agreement.
Soldiers? Never heard of them.
Instead, they had these rather quiet fellows who liked to don bronze and leather, with a penchant for naming themselves after objects.
As for their citizen army? Well...they were volunteers. Paid volunteers. Most certainly not soldiers of any kind.
Alicent watched them...quietly.
Her smile remained, but it had thinned.
"I see," she said at last.
Baelon raised a brow at his mother's oddities, but his attention was soon snatched by another happening.
His gaze snapped toward the disturbance.
Jacaerys.
His eldest nephew and Rhaenyra's eldest child.
The boy had risen halfway from his seat. One hand clawed at his throat, fingers digging into his skin as though trying to tear something free.
His other hand braced against the table, trembling violently as his goblet tipped, wine spilling across the wood in a dark, spreading stain.
His face—
Gods.
It was turning…purple.
Darkening by the second, his lips paling as his breath came in short, broken gasps, each one more desperate than the last.
The boy's face was filled with dread and panic as he tried to scream, but alas, no voice came from his lips.
Just a choking silence.
Seeing this, Rhaenyra shot to her feet, her chair screeching against the floor,
"Jace!"