Chapter Text
Baela Targaryen, First of her Name, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lady of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm, was going to murder her husband.
Alyn Oakenfist, Lord of the Tides and Prince Consort, had run into bad weather off the coast of Dorne and tarried for two months while his ships were repaired, during which he no doubt sampled all the pleasures Sunspear had to offer. Including, rumor said, Aliandra Martell herself. These rumors preceded him to court, though he was now due to return on the morrow, giving the queen not even a full day to prepare for her consort’s return.
Baela cared not what Alyn did, except when it put them in danger. A woman ruling was still a precarious thing, and to be so slighted by her consort? That Baela would not have. Their children—Laena, Princess of Dragonstone, and Lucerys, heir to Driftmark—would not be endangered as her siblings had been. She would not stand for it.
Not even a full day’s notice, she thought again, and why must it be this day?
She had been queen for three years. Rhaena and Morning hadn’t had to burn any keeps to keep her on the throne, much to her surprise. She had a council she did not like, but that was both loyal and mostly competent. What fools in Kings Landing spoke against a woman on the Iron Throne were swiftly put down by the Gold Cloaks, whose loyalty to Daemon’s daughters had not once faltered. And with the aid of the Dragonkeepers, she had hatched an egg of her own not four moons before, the last from the clutch Syrax had delivered before the Dance. It remained to be seen if this one would survive. They’d had little luck with dragons of late.
The hatchling coiled around her neck let out a whistle-click screech of displeasure, as though he could feel Baela’s anger, and Munkun shied back a half step. Baela stopped herself from smirking at his fear, but only just. “Thank you, Grand Maester. Lord Rowan, Ser Corwyn, please ready keep and court for Prince Alyn’s return tomorrow.”
Thaddeus Rowan did not like her—Thaddeus Rowan likely hated her, in fact—but he bowed his head and acquiesced to her command. They did that easier, she realized, now that she had a dragon again. Corwyn Corbray never needed her to have a dragon to respect her, and for that, her goodbrother was Baela’s favorite member of her council, save for her sister, of course.
Rhaena had taken ill this morning, else she would have walked with Baela to the altar of Balerion. They had done this together each year on the anniversary of what most in the Seven Kingdoms believed to be Aegon’s death. She would return with Rhaena later, but there had been something pulling her here since the moment she woke up, and after hours with her council, she could not fight it anymore.
Only when she arrived at the altar, someone else was there.
That had never happened before. There were but two Targaryens left, save their little ones, and no one else in Kings Landing worshiped the Fourteen Flames, nor prayed at Balerion’s skull. But sure enough, there was a woman before the skull, her head bowed, candles lit before her. There was something strange about the light they gave off, but she could not quite place what.
“Who are you?” Baela demanded, striding forward. There was a Kingsguard in shouting distance, but she had trained with her father and brothers and did not think she’d need him, not for this.
The woman turned around. She was petite and shapely, with black hair that curled around her shoulders and enchanting moss green eyes. She wore a form-fitting dress the color of blood, too low cut at the bust for courtly wear. Had she come to seduce the queen? Baela was not opposed in principle, but…
“My queen, I am Lady Nerinne of the Red Temple of Volantis.” The woman dipped her head in a bow. “I have a message for you, and a journey you must take.”
Baela’s eyes narrowed. “A journey? You think to lead me away from my throne?”
Lady Nerrine gave a smirk. “Daughter of chaos, you are, and yet you wish to stay steadfast on a throne?”
“I will protect my family,” Baela replied sharply.
The priestess bowed her head. “The blood of the dragon runs thick.” Her Valyrian was as pure as Baela’s father’s had been, saying words that he had told her more than once. “The fires showed me the eight hatchlings there once were. But only three remain in this domain, dragon twins twined together and the little lost boy, drawing ever closer.”
Three remain…
Her heart gave a throb. Aegon, she thought for the thousandth time.
She and Rhaena had tried to get him back. Had tracked down glass candles and woodswitches and the priest from Dragonstone that had bound her blood with Alyn’s. But no one could say whether the spell Alys Rivers had cast had sent him where he wanted to go, or whether he still lived. There had been so much blood. Rhaena had eventually made her stop. She was queen, Rhaena said, and a queen must look forward.
Rhaena had been right—mostly—but Baela had never quite given up.
“Not all journeys are by sea, and not all messages are written. The words I have for you come on icy winds, and the journey need not take us from this castle.”
She moved a step to the side, and Baela could see what it was that was off about the light—it came not from flame, but from glass.
A glass candle.
“Will you accept these gifts of the Lord?”
Chills prickled across Baela’s skin, and she could not look away from the steady, unflickering candle light. “I accept.”
The words Nerrine spoke made little sense, but their truth cut into Baela like Valyrian steel. The song of ice and fire. She shivered against an imagined cold. Words passed from ruler to heir. Had Jace known? Had Aegon? No one had told Baela, but she knew now, and though her father might have laughed at such tales, Baela had watched her brother and a woodswitch disappear, leaving only a pool of blood. She would not discount the magic of their gods.
The journey… the journey was what Baela had wanted since the moment Aegon disappeared.
“You cannot speak to him,” Nerrine said gently, as though she knew the blow that would land. “The Lord’s gifts are great, but I have not the power that sent him into the stream of time. I can show you where he is now. For good or ill.”
Baela’s stomach churned. “Can we—” A deep breath. “I must call for my sister.”
Nerrine nodded graciously, as though anything could have stopped her from doing so.
Rhaena met them at Baela’s chambers, her hands clasped over the swell of her stomach. She came alone, which Baela found a miracle, as Corwyn had not stopped fussing since he found she was with child again, and Baela expected him to start carrying her about any day now.
Rhaena gave a skeptical glance to the priestess and Baela too, but conceded to listen. When Baela was done explaining, Rhaena looked at her as though she was half-mad, but then gave a sharp nod of agreement.
Baela looked to Nerrine.
“Please begin.”
When the glass candle lit once again and the priestess said her words, suddenly they were somewhere else. Between one blink and the next, her chamber was gone and instead they were surrounded by leafy trees and prickly hedges and the smell of the sea.
Dragonstone, she realized. Aegon’s Garden.
Baela took a step forward, turning in a circle, her eyes searching. “Where is he?” she asked. The priestess gave no answer.
Rhaena said, “The queen asked you a question.” Her voice was smooth, but with a cool edge, like a blade.
She was glad for once that someone did not listen, for if Nerrine had spoken, Baela may not have heard the rustling. She looked up quickly, into the tree.
There was a boy in the tree, maybe seven or eight. He had Targaryen silver hair and wore fine clothes but with a rip in one knee of his breeches. He looked so much like little Viserys, with silver-gold hair curling around his ears.
“I know I said we would play, but I meant after the wedding, darilaritsos.”
Baela spun around to see—her father, she thought, for a single beat of her heart, and then realized no, it was Aegon.
Aegon, older than she was now. She had thought of him on each of his namedays. He should have been fourteen, but instead, he looked more than thirty, and so like the father she remembered when she thought back to her childhood. He wore black, as was his custom, and his eyes darted around the garden, never landing on the tree that held the boy. Clearly that was part of the game.
But they also didn’t land on her. He could not see her, she remembered, and wanted to cry.
“Aegon?” Rhaena asked, her voice shaky.
Aegon could not see her either.
Aegon walked closer to the tree, absently. The second he stood below the branches, a blur of black, red, and silver-gold leapt from the tree onto his back.
Beside her, Rhaena failed to hold back a sob.
“I got you, Egg!” the little boy cried, wrapping skinny arms around Aegon’s neck and skinny legs around his waist.
“So you did, valonqar.”
Valonqar. This little boy was his brother. Was her brother, Baela thought, in this other world.
Aegon swung the boy around and set him on his feet. “Now, tell me, is this where you should be, Baelon?”
The little boy looked down at the ground. “No. Muña told me not to wander off.”
“Do you think the queen might call it treason to ignore her orders?”
Baelon jerked his head up. “I would never.”
“Why did you run off?”
“Visegon and Tion said I was in the way.” The little boy’s shoulders slumped. “I only wanted to spar with them.”
Aegon pulled him close. “I shall tell you a secret. Visegon wants kepa to knight him before the tourney next moon so he can ask the favor of a girl he fancies.”
“Who?” the boy asked. Aegon leaned in and whispered a name to the boy. Baelon reared back eyes wide. “Truly?”
Aegon nodded sagely.
Baelon’s crestfallen look returned but a moment later. “When he is knighted, he will go off on adventures until he weds his lady love and I will be alone.”
“Little prince, you will never be alone.”
“You’re going off to the Riverlands! Visenya and Rhaelor will stay here on Dragonstone after they are wed, and Aemma will leave us for her betrothed on Driftmark. Saera ignores me. Visegon will travel the kingdom, slaying enemies in our lady mother’s name with Tion at his side. I am his brother! He should want me there, not a Lannister.”
“That Lannister is your cousin.”
Baelon pulled a face at the same time Baela did, and beside her, Rhaena let out a laugh.
“I like it better when we are all together.” The princeling waited a moment before adding, “Even with Tion there.”
Aegon studied the boy before speaking again. “You know I did not meet our kepa until I was two and ten. Before that, I had another family.”
The boy’s eyes went wider at that than they had when Egg had whispered the name of the girl. “We are your family.”
“You are, and I love you all dearly. And I love them too.”
Baelon’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Did kepa take you away from them?” He said it the same way Baela herself might have—as though to take him from his family would have been a worse crime than murder.
“No, little prince. Something bad happened and I had to leave to fix it. But though we are apart, it does not mean they are not my family.”
Baela felt the tears spill from her eyes. She’d screamed at Aegon after he left them, the same way she’d screamed at Jace, at Joffrey, at Rhaenyra and even her father. There was no one there to hear her, save Rhaena sometimes, and that was the problem. They’d all died trying to do some damn foolish thing that hadn’t even worked—Rhaenyra returning to Dragonstone for an egg to hatch, Joffrey trying to save the dragons in the pit, Jace trying to save Viserys. And then Egg…
But Egg had done it, hadn’t he? He’d saved them, even though Baela would only ever see a glimpse of it.
The boy seemed to mull his words over for a long moment. “Will you tell me about them sometime?”
Aegon smiled. “I will. But now I have a question for you.”
Violet eyes widened. “I didn’t hide the wedding chalice!”
Aegon laughed. Baela found herself creeping closer, trying to memorize each detail of his face.
“No,” he said, “that was Saera. She confessed.” Baela wanted to hear that story, but instead of telling it, Aegon said, “I would ask you to me my squire, Prince Baelon, and come with me to the Riverlands.”
The little boy blinked. “Me? You want me to be your squire?”
“I do. If you want to.”
Baelon looked as though he was about to accept, when doubt stole across his face. “But who will stay with Muña and Kepa?” A quick pause. “Saera doesn’t count.”
“Saera does count.” Aegon sounded as though he’d said it a dozen times. “There is no shortage of family in the Red Keep, darilaritsos.”
No shortage of family. Baela remembered days spent chasing her siblings through the halls of Dragonstone, remembered standing beside her grandmother at High Tide. She thought of Rhaenyra’s smile and Luke’s laugh, and the way Viserys would giggle when she swung him around. She remembered stealing a kiss from Jace as the others searched for them. Her first kiss. His, too. Family. They were gone but they were still her family. She’d always have her father’s strength and her mother’s kindness, Joffrey’s wildness and her grandfather’s daring.
Baela reached for Rhaena’s hand and it was right there for her to grasp. Alyn would be back tomorrow, and at home in the Keep, she had her little ones, and Rhaena’s daughter, and Corwyn, who had always stood by them. No shortage of family, she repeated to herself.
“I accept,” Baelon said, looking up into their brother’s face.
Aegon nodded. “Back to our family then, little prince. I hear Lady Laena will be arriving any moment.”
Lady Laena. Her mother. Her mother had survived too.
The princeling’s eyes widened. “Vhagar!” he exclaimed and ran for the castle, his eyes already on the skies.
Aegon huffed a laugh. Then he put a long-fingered hand against the trunk of the tree the boy had leapt from and closed his eyes. “I hope you’d be proud of me,” he said into the empty air. “I miss you both so much.”
Baela threaded her arm through Rhaena’s and pulled her sister close. “We are proud of you,” she said, even though Aegon couldn’t hear her, and meant it.
After the spell ended, Baela and Rhaena slept tangled together in Baela’s bed, both tear-stained and heart-sore, and when they awoke, the Red Priestess was gone.
There was a rap at the door. Baela’s extricated herself from Rhaena’s sleepy embrace and called, “Come!”
Ser Robin Massey, the Lord Commander of Baela’s Kingsguard, entered with a bow. “My queen, Prince Alyn’s ship has just docked.”
After she dismissed Ser Robin, she turned to find Rhaena sitting up in bed, her hands in her lap. “Was it real?” she asked, her voice smaller than Baela had heard it since they were children.
Baela crossed to her, took her hands. “I think so.”
“He set things right. The kingdom stable, the dragons living… Our mother living,” Rhaena murmured quietly. “Do you think that means we can too?”
They’d fought for years to save the throne of their family, since the day their grandmother had brought word of the Usurper’s crowning. Baela would never forget the pain in her soul as Moondancer died, never forget the fear of being captured by the enemy, her very home made a prison. And she would never, ever let it happen again.
“Yes,” she said, not missing a beat. “We can set things right.”
Baela’s hatchling coiled around her neck as they walked to meet her consort, newly arrived from Lys, which had been his destination after the detour to Dorne. The hatchling’s red scales were warm against her skin. She had yet to name him, too afraid he might die like the last. But perhaps it was time to move past fear.
The hatchling hissed into the air as they stepped into the yard, no doubt at the sight of so many unfamiliar people in the prince consort’s party. Rhaena and Ser Corwyn stood on either side of her. Rhaena’s eyes were a little red-rimmed, but her smile was steady and her hands were warm. The three of them walked down to meet Alyn together.
Alyn looked dashing and handsome in the Velaryon house colors, his long silver hair in tight locs like their grandfather had worn. He grinned to see her, a genuine smile, as he always had when he returned.
“My queen,” Alyn said with a sweeping bow.
“My prince,” she replied, a little less harshly than she’d intended. He was her family, sweet Alyn, even when she wanted to throttle him. “I welcome you home.”
“I bring you a great treasure I found in the Free Cities.” Alyn always brought back gifts when rumors arose. Hopefully this was a good one.
“I eagerly await it,” she said with a smile.
Alyn’s eyes were not just bright with playfulness as he turned to the carriage behind him. There were tears there too, and she took a step forward, his name on her lips. What had happened?
But then the carriage door opened, and a boy hopped down, and Rhaena was gripping Baela as hard as she was gripping back.
“Viserys,” Baela breathed, rushing forward, clasping her baby brother tight in her arms and kissing the silver-gold hair that was so like Rhaenyra’s.
Three remain, the red priestess had said. The little lost boy, drawing ever closer. Viserys.
She held him tighter, and Rhaena’s arms came around them too. The three that remained held tight to each other. There would be issues to face, troublesome lords who would want to play them against each other, set the dragons dancing again. But Baela had no fear of it. The blood of the dragon runs thick, she thought, and nothing would ever bring them down again.