A Different Song (ASOIAF- OC/Reincarnation)

Chapter 18: King Jaehaerys 'The Wise' Targaryen

79 AC

King's Landing

Baelon Targaryen

It had been nearly two years since the infamous tourney of Princess Rhaenys, an event that sent shockwaves through the realm. The repercussions were still felt, with the Citadel particularly outraged by the Iron Throne's new orders, which diminished their influence over the lords of Westeros. Yet, their complaints were swiftly silenced by a single visit from Baelon himself, flying on Vhagar as the Iron Throne's official representative. Confiscating two of their prized dragonglass candles and all the Valyrian tomes on magic had felt like bullying in Baelon's eyes, but the King had been adamant.

At least one benefit had come from his brother, Vaegon, who had joined the Citadel before the turmoil began. The archmaesters had been arrogant enough to flaunt their knowledge of Valyrian history and magic in front of a Targaryen prince, because of the Royal family's notorious loss of ancient knowledge after the Doom. Baelon was certain that Vaegon's innocent thirst for learning had helped deflect their suspicions, as they failed to notice the contingency laid out by the King. Baelon was satisfied the overt issues with the Citadel were now behind them, especially with Lord Hightower's support of the Throne, allowing him to return to King's Landing in time for the birth of his son, Prince Viserys, that same year.

Both the King and his brother Aemon were thrilled with the birth of Viserys, already planning to wed him to Rhaenys, ensuring a Targaryen would remain King Consort. However, Aemon had made it clear after Viserys' birth that he would not risk having another child himself, fearing for Jocelyn's life after a difficult labor. Despite Jocelyn's attempts to persuade him otherwise, Aemon remained firm, insisting that she take moon tea to prevent any future pregnancies. Baelon knew the King wasn't pleased with this decision but had accepted it reluctantly, content in the knowledge that Baelon had a healthy son and would likely have more children in the future.

Small Council meeting.

Baelon was surprised to find two letters from Winterfell on the agenda of the Small Council meeting. He had sent two letters to Winterfell himself after recent events, addressed to his bastard nephew, but had received no reply. The lack of response from a mere bastard, a snub to a prince and rider of Vhagar, had enraged him. However, the King had ordered him to let it go. The King was happy that there have been no complaints from north since then and it surprised everyone now when the Grandmaester revealed the letter with the snarling direwolf seal of House Stark.

"Prince Baelon, read the first letter," the King ordered.

Baelon broke the seal and began to read aloud:

To King Jaehaerys Targaryen, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm

Your Grace,

It is with deep sorrow that I write to inform you of my father, Lord Benjen Stark's death. He was ambushed by traitors within the Night's Watch and 2,500 wildlings while leading an army to avenge my elder brother. Witnesses say my father moved to shield my bastard nephew from arrows, saving his life. Upon realising what happened, Snow became mad with grief, took our ancestral sword Ice without permission or any right to it and went on a mad slaughter of our enemies. The use of Ice at that time could be forgiven, but he has ignored the commands of Lord Karstark, Lord Umber and swore revenge on the King beyond the wall and took the Stark army and Ice with him, which is unforgivable as they must obey my commands, as I am regent.

I humbly ask your permission for punishing your grandson for Usurpation of Stark men and using our ancestral sword without Lord Stark's permission.

Lord Bennard Stark

Regent for Cregan Stark

Warden of the North.

"Lord Benjen is also dead?" Aemon whispered, a look of sorrow crossing his face.

"I am sorry, brother. I know you had a good relationship with Lord Stark," Baelon said, trying to console him, though his mind raced to make sense of his nephew's involvement. Baelon noticed the king deep in thought, likely considering the consequences of this death.

"Well, it seems the gods have decided to punish House Stark for their trickery, even after the King was gracious enough to forgive them. Even House Stark cannot escape the consequences of violating the King's laws," Lord Manfred Redwyne, the Master of Ships, remarked snidely.

Baelon scoffed. "Lord Redwyne, the gods had nothing to do with this. This is the work of men. Betrayal and treachery are not the victim's fault. If the gods intended punishment, it would have been my nephew who fell, as this was his idea in the first place."

Aemon snarled in response, but before he could say anything, the king interrupted. "Enough. There is another letter from Winterfell. Read it aloud, and let us see what my errant bastard grandson has done to be accused of usurpation."

Baelon nodded and began to read the second letter.

King Jaehaerys Targaryen

King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men

Lord of the Seven Kingdoms

Protector of the Realm

My King,

It has come to my attention that my co-regent, my brother-in-law, has hastily sent a letter requesting punishment for your grandson, Daemon Snow, over the use of a large sword and for hunting down traitors to the crown with loyal Stark men. I am writing to plead his case and not allow Lord Bennard's foolishness, driven by sorrow and anger, to cloud your judgment. He wrongly blames Daemon, a 12-year-old boy, for the death of Lord Benjen Stark, just as he has blamed him for the death of his beloved sister for all these years.

In fact, Daemon should be recognized, for according to the reports we have received, it was only because he picked up Ice, making it burn and went on to kill hundreds with it like a hero from the Age of Heroes, that our decimated army turned to victory. Nearly 1,200 Northmen survived, while 3,000 of the enemy were slain, even as 1,000 Night's Watch traitors attacked us during the night, with wildlings ambushing from the sidelines. Despite this, the North lost 1,500 proud warriors. Lord Karstark and Lord Umber had no right to command men sworn to Winterfell, and they chose to follow a Stark to avenge my husband and father-in-law.

I plead that you hear this and absolve Daemon. He has promised to return with the head of the King Beyond the Wall as a gift for my son, Cregan Stark.

Your loyal vassal,

Lady Giliane Stark (née Glover)

Lady of Winterfell

Co-Regent of Cregan Stark.

"This doesn't make any sense, Your Grace," Lord Lyman Beesbury, the Master of Coin, said. "Lord Bennard's letter made no mention of a co-regent or the true actions of Daemon Snow. And what does she mean by a 'burning sword' and a boy killing hundreds with it?"

Baelon noticed the air of disbelief among the council, save for his family.

"The Stark sword is a greatsword, nearly my height, called Ice—and it is Valyrian steel," Prince Aemon explained.

"There are tricks in Essos that allow a sword to be set aflame. Perhaps my nephew used one of those tricks to burn the ambushers," Baelon speculated.

Lord Lyman furrowed his brow, but the king responded with a thoughtful look. "You missed the crux of the matter, Lord Lyman. Both the mother and the uncle are vying for regency of Cregan Stark. The uncle believes he is the only rightful choice, while Lady Stark knows it will be difficult for her to be the sole regent as long as an adult Stark lives."

Baelon spoke up. "So, what shall be our reply, Your Grace? Does my nephew deserve punishment for his apparent heroic actions—or, as Lord Bennard claims, usurpation?"

The king pondered the question, then turned to Aemon. Baelon immediately felt a sense of unease as an unsettling thought crossed his mind.

"Prince Aemon," the king commanded, his voice cold and firm with the ever present Kingly Mask that Baelon almost considers the true face of the King, "you shall leave for Winterfell tomorrow on Caraxes to pay the crown's respects to Lords Benjen and Rickard Stark. You shall also investigate the truth of the matter and determine whether Lord Benjen left any instructions regarding Cregan's regency. If there is proof, follow it to the letter; otherwise, let the mother and uncle share the regency. The haste and vagueness in Lord Bennard's letter, along with his request for punishment without explanation, give me pause regarding the long regency. You will also decide the matter of Daemon once the truth is revealed."

Baelon watched as disbelief washed over Aemon's face, slowly transforming into anger.

"My king, I have duties here. Baelon is the Master of Laws; let him fly with Vhagar and handle this matter. I do not wish to return to Winterfell, where only painful memories await me," Aemon said respectfully, and Baelon sighed in relief. His brother had managed to conceal his anger and sadness while offering a reasonable excuse.

"Yes, my king," Baelon added quickly, "it would be an honor to oversee this legal matter. Vhagar is far larger and faster, enabling me to reach Winterfell sooner." Baelon tried to support his brother, but even before finishing he could see carefully hidden anger and disappointment in King's face.

"Prince Aemon," the king said sternly, "Baelon may be the Master of Laws, but he has no authority to enact any law without my leave. You, however, are the Crown Prince and Hand of the King. Only you have the authority to handle this matter. This is not a request; it is an order."

Baelon sighed inwardly, knowing defeat.

Aemon, his rage carefully hidden, bowed respectfully. "Of course, my king. I am your loyal heir, first and foremost."

The king scrutinized his brother for several heartbeats, then declared, "This council is dismissed."

Baelon noticed that the other masters had several topics they wished to discuss, but no one dared speak, sensing the king's tense mood.

As the council rose to leave, the king called after them. "Prince Aemon, Baelon—come with me to the Dragonpit. It has been too long since we flew together."

Baelon saw Aemon tense further and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Brother, let's enjoy the flight.

Knowing he couldn't refuse the king, Aemon nodded.

"Sers, dragonhandlers—everyone—evacuate the Dragonpit. Let us spend time with our own dragons and the unclaimed ones. Alone," the king ordered as they reached the inner courtyard of the enormous Dragonpit.

Baelon swallowed hard, sensing that whatever was about to happen would be painful for both him and Aemon. He understood now—the king brought them here so no one could overhear what was about to be said.

"Come, sons," the king commanded, walking briskly through the cavernous halls as though he knew every turn by heart.

As the king veered away from the usual path leading to Vermithor and the other dragons, Baelon initially thought, maybe, The King, had lost his way. But soon, it became clear—they weren't heading toward their own dragons at all. They were walking toward the Black Dread. Baelon glanced at Aemon, noticing his brother's growing impatience with the king's dismissive attitude.

The vast cave loomed before them, darker than any other in the pit. A low, rumbling vibration from the very ground beneath them and the increased heat, signalled the presence of the greatest living dragon, Balerion the Black Dread.

Though bonded to Vhagar, the second-largest war dragon, Baelon couldn't suppress a shiver as they entered the cave. The Black Dread's malevolent eyes watched them, glowing in the shadow. It left him awestruck—and terrified—when the king approached Balerion without a hint of fear, whispering in Valyrian as he patted the dragon's snout. Both Baelon and Aemon exchanged disbelieving glances. Balerion allowed their father to come this close, but they had never been granted such proximity, even as children except for his foolishness once.

"Father—" Aemon began, but the king ignored him, still whispering to the Black Dread.

When the king turned around, Balerion's massive head loomed behind him, so large that Baelon could barely see his father, as though the king were nothing more than a tooth in the dragon's mouth. Baelon felt Balerion's gaze bore into him, rooting him to the spot—a primal terror only those who have faced a dragon understand. It surprised Baelon and his brother that they felt terror similar to that non-dragonriders probably feel before a dragon.

"Aemon, you will never repeat something like this again. If you dare to question my order on such an important matter and try to escape from your duties, then I will have to reconsider who my heir should be." The King said.

Baelon's shock came not from the words, but from the way the king delivered them. There was no anger, no disappointment—just cold indifference. For the first time, Baelon felt like he was seeing Jaehaerys Targaryen without the mask of a King.

Baelon saw Aemon begin to recover from his shock, his expression hardening as he prepared to step forward and argue. But before he could make the mistake, Baelon acted swiftly, gripping Aemon's right hand in a vice-like hold. Aemon jerked back, glaring at his brother in confusion. Baelon quickly shook his head and nodded toward Balerion.

The Black Dread, who had been resting his massive head on the ground, was now rising. In one fluid, silent motion, Balerion's face loomed above the King casting a massive shadow over the king. The sheer size of the dragon, combined with the eerie stillness—no growl, no sound of movement—sent a chill down Baelon's spine. It was as if the great beast had become one with the very darkness of the cave, its ancient eyes unblinking, watching everything. The absence of noise made the presence of the Black Dread more terrifying than any other Dragons.

Aemon gulped, his earlier anger replaced by fear. "Father, please... That place haunts me. I lost her there, to him. I don't know what I'll do if I see Daemon again. Please, understand—"

"Oh,for the sake of your mother, shut up Aemon and get over it." The King snapped, his voice echoing with passion and anger.

"It has been 12 years since that bastard girl died in childbirth and you are still blaming my grandson for it like an imbecile Andal lord that I have to suffer for the last several decades. You are my elder son, Prince Aemon Targaryen, my Heir, Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and moreover a Dragonlord. Act like it."

Baelon was lost for words by the raw fury in the Kings words and he saw Aemon gaping like a fish in land, his eyes travelling from the King to the towering presence of the Black Dread. Before Aemon could say anything, The King continued;

"For 12 years, I have indulged your idiosyncrasies and I will not do it for one more day. You will get over your… your, your whatever it is and will do as I ordered regarding Winterfell and Daemon. You can't hide from this anymore, if you want to rule this Kingdom and be the King after me. If you can't, then abdicate your title—and that of Rhaenys — and not be a headache for me anymore."

Baelon still had a firm grip on Aemon, but he knew it was no longer necessary. Aemon was paralyzed, both in awe and terror, beneath Balerion's gaze.

"Father... I... I..." Aemon stammered, his voice strained and broken, a vulnerability in him that Baelon had not seen in years. The sound of his brother's voice cracking ignited a fire in Baelon's chest—a burning fury toward their King. How could the king force this upon Aemon, when he knew the pain that place held?

But then Aemon lowered himself, slowly and deliberately, to one knee. "I will do as you ordered, Father. I will not escape from my responsibilities," he said, his voice steadier now, but the defeat in it was evident for everyone.

Baelon stood stiffly beside him, every muscle tense. His heart raced, and he could feel his bond with Vhagar becoming taut as his own fury roused the old war dragon. Fury coursed through his veins, hidden beneath the surface, but it was there—a rage so deep that Baelon wondered if the king could sense it. And for a fleeting moment, he was certain that Balerion, the Black Dread, did. The dragon's fiery eyes, fixed upon Baelon, seemed to burn through him, searing into his soul for just an instant.

And…

For a single heartbeat, Baelon's mind was filled with a single haunting vision.

He saw a lone dragon, its scales black as night, unleashing all its fury upon Harrenhal, the largest and most fearsome castle in the realm. The night sky was illuminated by the beast's fire and Harrenhal, a fortress so vast it dwarfed even Balerion and Vhagar combined, stood defiant against the onslaught—but only for a moment.

The enchanted stone walls, said to be protected by sorcery, began to tremble under the relentless assault of dragonflame. The heat was unimaginable, turning stone to slag, Baelon could almost hear the crackling of the stones as they shattered, see the molten rivers of rock pouring down the once-mighty battlements. The towers of Harrenhal, which had loomed like giants over the land, crumbled and collapsed into themselves as if they were no more than kindling before a bonfire.

The dragon's fire raged with such intensity that even the magical protections woven into the stone faltered and disintegrated, leaving nothing but ash in its wake. In the distance, Baelon could almost hear the desperate screams of men, their voices lost beneath the roar of flames and the terrible, earth-shaking bellows of the Black Dread.

And Baelon lost all his rage.

The king had a curious yet threatening glint in his eyes.

"Baelon, Aemon, let me be clear with you both today: if you ever think of betraying me by attempting to usurp my throne before my natural death, believing that Vhaghar and Caraxes can overcome my Vermithor, know that you will face the full fury of the Black Dread."

For the first time since entering the cave, a low growl emanated from the Great Dragon, as if in approval of the king's words, making Baelon tremble with terror. Aemon gaped in pure disbelief, as if the very thought was a foreign concept to him.

"Father, what? What in the name of Doom are you talking about? Betraying my father and my liege? How could you even think of me like that?" Aemon said, outrage clear in his voice. "And how could you even consider Baelon might betray you? He has worked harder than anyone else, yet you never acknowledge him in front of me. How could you?"

Baelon closed his eyes in defeat, knowing the truth of the matter: he would always stand by Aemon's side. The king scrutinized his eldest son, searching for any trace of insincerity, but ultimately sighed, defeated.

"You are a fool, Aemon, if you believe Baelon's loyalty to his king surpasses his love for his brother. I lost his loyalty and love a long time ago," the king said, a hint of sadness in his gaze as he looked at his second son.

Aemon turned to Baelon in surprise, his eyes widening. Baelon could only nod in response.

Aemon's expression brightened, a pure smile breaking through the tension and reminding Baelon of their happier times before their fateful journey to the North. "Thank you, Valanquor!" Aemon exclaimed, before turning back to their father. "But even then, Father, it's still insulting for you to even consider it. How could you?"

The king sighed wearily, closing his eyes briefly before turning to Balerion. He unsheathed Blackfyre from the scabbard at his hip, the smoky steel reflecting the flickering torchlight around them.

With a silent command, he gestured for his sons to follow as he moved sideways along the enormous dragon's body, his left hand raised as he searched for something among Balerion's scaled hide.

"Aemon, it doesn't matter whether one is a father, son, brother, or uncle; first and foremost, we are Dragonlords, bound by the blood of Old Valyria, where might makes right. I know this from experience; my own uncle's family caused the death of my elder brothers. Rage is in our blood, and when we burn, it is with fire that cannot be smothered until our enemies are reduced to ashes. There's a reason the forty in Valyria sent off their deaths by dragonfire. You burn as brightly as any of us, Aemon, and I understand where foolishness may lead in dire circumstances. I want to curtail any such foolishness before such thoughts even enter your minds."

The king finished speaking just as he reached the spot he sought. He turned and passed the torch to Aemon.

"Perhaps King Maegor should have done something like this for my own foolish elder brother before he faced the Black Dread," the king added with a grunt, seizing the hilt of Blackfyre with both hands and driving the sword into the dragon's side with a forceful stab.

Both Baelon and Aemon immediately panicked as their king attacked the greatest dragon in existence. They glanced nervously at Balerion's head, bracing for fire, but instead were met with a sound that resonated as a mix of pain and relief.

Aemon drew closer, fire in hand, and Baelon gasped at the sight of black pus oozing from the wound, thick, smoking blood pooling on the ground. The area around the sword's piercing was marred by healed stab wounds, while decayed, pus-filled scales marred other spots.

"Baelon, come. Use Dark Sister and shave off the decayed scales and flesh," the king commanded.

"Yes, your grace." Baelon acquiesced, drawing Dark Sister from its sheath, the blade's unsheathing causing Balerion to glance back at them, a small fire flickering in his open throat.

"Lykiri, Balerion," the king said, stabbing Blackfyre into another spot. "He is only helping, my son Baelon, rider of Vhaghar."

Balerion emitted a sound Baelon interpreted as a snort, the fire in his throat momentarily dimming.

Baelon exchanged glances with his brother, a look of clear wonder etched on his face, while Aemon shrugged in surprise. He returned the gesture and began working on the decaying scales within reach, his strength required to pierce the tough, resistant hide even with Valyrian steel.

It took them hours of effort to finish, and eventually, the king passed Blackfyre to Aemon, resting against Balerion's head while Aemon took over the task.

Both Aemon and Baelon were soaked in sweat, the heat of the dragon and the weight of their labor pressing down upon them.

The king nodded in approval as they stepped back from the Black Dread.

Baelon exhaled in relief as they exited the stifling heat of the Great Dragon's lair, the burden of the king's and dragon's scrutiny lifting.

"And Aemon," the king continued, "when you find my wayward bastard grandson, tell him he shall not humiliate a Prince of the Blood by ignoring his letters again, especially not a Dragonlord. Warn him that he will be burned if he pulls the dragon's tail one too many times, and remind him he has lost his greatest protector since he lost Lord Stark. I don't think Regent Bennard will value Daemon's ideas or defend him as much. Also, Aemon, ensure that Daemon's actions are not judged by Bennard or yourself, and reward him for his service, if the second letter proves truthful. After all, it hasn't even been two years since I announced House Targaryen's generosity and rewards for services to the realm and our own house."

"I understand, Father," Aemon replied, discomfort evident as the reminder loomed over him—he would soon visit Winterfell and see his son after twelve long years.

Authors Note: This was supposed to be a short 1000 word Kingslanding session, but the targ family drama got out of hand... it would be in next chapter we return to The Wall and with our hero Daemon Snow!!

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