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Chapter Text

Baelor POV

239 AC

It is customary that when someone tells a story, they start from the beginning, so I might as well give some context to the present circumstances. 

My name is Baelor Targaryen. 

And no, I am not Baelor the Blessed or Baelor the Befuddled, as some, less flattering tongues might call my namesake. 

Neither am I the man known as Baelor Breakspear, another namesake, a great warrior and statesman, who died too young and whose death came at the hands of his own brother, however unwittingly and unwillingly that may have happened. 

No, I am the thirdborn son of King Aegon V Targaryen and his wife, Queen Betha Blackwood. I have two older brothers - Duncan and Jaehaerys. I also have an older sister by the name of Shaera as well as two younger siblings - Daeron and Rhaelle. 

(Also, I probably should not exist, but I hardly care anymore, considering the last 12 years have clearly proven that this is no dream, and I do in fact live in the world of Westeros, which I shall, to the end of my days, stubbornly refuse to refer to by that stupid name 'Planetos'.) 

I do enjoy my strange and inexplicable, yet very real second chance at life. I do. Very much so. 

That is why I feel a certain loathing for my older siblings. 

I mean, don't get me wrong, they aren't bad to me on purpose or anything, but they are so damn stupid. The days when House Targaryen could do as we liked and not care for the consequences are long since over. Our father, the king, had made advantageous marriage alliances in order to secure the support of the great lords of Westeros for his more controversial acts such as his 'audacious' and 'incomprehensible' desire to ease the lives of the common people. 

Outrageous! 

I actually rather admire him for it. The tales of Dunk & Egg were a fascinating account of two young men - one a highborn and the other a lowborn - going on adventures throughout the Seven Kingdoms. A tale set in the mud and not in fancy castles, concerning nothing but power-hungry intriguers, far removed from real life. They were there, walking among the smallfolk and living through similar hardships as lowest of the low. 

Not that I would ever prefer it, of course. I'd rather play the game of thrones than toil in the fields, thank you very much. I hate hard labor. Privilege all the way! Tempered with responsibility, of course, but privilege all the same. 

Doesn't stop me from admiring the man... And deplore the rest of my siblings, who thought their personal happiness came before our station and lives, as well as those of the countless innocents who would die in a real war, which would break out because of their stupid selfishness. I mean, marry who you have to and keep a lover on the side. Might make things more complicated but it's certainly better than the alternative. 

Like what my eldest brother did. Or the others will likely do in the future.

And when one thinks of that, there is no avoiding him. There - in the center of the gallery. His head held high, with just the minimum regret on his face stood our king's glorious heir, Prince Duncan Targaryen. Some would say it is fitting that a prince, named after a peasant, would fall for a peasant girl - Jenny of Oldstones, bane of my house, the local Helen of Troy (at least in Duncan's own head). Thankfully, not present here, but still within the city. The girl, for whom Duncan gave up his status as crown prince and his future as Lord of the Seven Kingdoms. 

'How romantic!' some would exclaim. 

I say it is a fucking disaster which started a bloody, if relatively brief rebellion, where thousands already died on the roads between Storm's End and King's Landing. Turns out, Lyonel Baratheon, the proud Lord of the Stormlands and father of Duncan's intended, did not take kindly to the insult against both his family and his daughter. In typical Baratheon fashion, Lyonel crowned himself as a new Storm King and rose in rebellion against the Iron Throne. 

Fortunately, the dubious laws of chivalry found a way to end the whole nonsense in the form of a simple, one-on-one trial by battle. 

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, (also Duncan's namesake) Ser Duncan the Tall vs the lordly father of the scorned bride, Lord Lyonel Baratheon. 

A dance of swords where the righteous party shall be blessed by the Gods with victory. Tells you something about the Gods, doesn't it? 

"The fate of your family's dynasty at stake, all because your brother uses the wrong head to do the thinking." Harrumphed my own intended, the one and only, the future Queen of Thorns, Lady Olenna Redwyne. "If I were queen, I would have had someone kill the peasant chit and drag him to the sept with a rope, if I had to." 

Somehow, even at the age of 11, she was still a rather intimidating sight. Cuter than intimidating, maybe, but compared to my own person, she was the more formidable one. At the grander age of 12, I was just a somewhat handsome boy, not even an outright teenager, with silver hair and deep purple eyes. I may become someone, whom teenage girls will masturbate to in a few years, but at this stage in my life, I was only somewhat adorable. 

She was a cute, smug little devil with a killer glare, a mouth she rarely kept in check and opinions about pretty much anything. It didn't help matters that I told her to always be honest with me and tell me what she thinks without fear of reprisal. 

Or that I acted like a smitten, lovesick boy, who blushed at her slightest, hard-earned compliment. 

What?! I blame it on the hormones. Besides, after having to grow up all over again, pampered by two, honestly great parents and living like a king... or at least a prince, I've already forgotten what it was like to live any other way. For all intents and purposes, I am regrettably just a child with some extra memories of what may or may not happen. 

Besides, there are infinitely worse matches that Westeros could provide. Father could have still arranged for her betrothal to Daeron, as they were in canon, and give me to a weasel-like Frey or a Bolton girl with a blood fetish. Or a Florent with those long ears of theirs. Don't joke with Westeros genetics, folks. House Targaryen will need a thousand years to fix the genetic pool, if we can last that long.

Oh well, time to respond to my opinionated betrothed. 

"Have no fear, my Sour Grape. Ser Duncan will do his part and clean the shit after his namesake." 

"Is that so, oh Prince of Lizards? The outcome of this trial is far from certain, unless someone has stabbed Lord Lyonel in the abdomen, while no one was looking?" 

Two brats talking like adults. We get along like a house on fire. 

"Nothing so nefarious. Lord Lyonel is the older man and Ser Duncan is stronger, I believe. He is a sword wizard, besides." 

"Oh, I wasn't aware that such an esteemed order of knighthood exists. Do tell, is his magic staff hidden somewhere?" 

"Sword wizards are born, my lady, not made. They are magical creatures, like the Giants or the Children of the Forest. So long as our lord commander has his sword arm and a good blade in it, he will prevail against an army all on his lonesome!" I declared with all the pomp expected of a prince. Hey, I have a cape. Capes give courage. Hopefully.  

After the customary nonsense by the High Septon, where he pleaded with the Gods to make their will known through the loser's spilled guts, the dance of swords began. It appeared even at first, both men trading blows and for a moment there, as I watched from the gallery, I started praying to whatever Gods were actually listening that my existence did not derail canon so much as to cause my death before I could even lose my virginity. 

My right hand shivered involuntarily. Olenna caught it, her fingers firm. 

"I am glad you aren't as befuddled as your brother... or your namesake come to that." She said softly and my lips almost curled into a smile. "If things turn badly, there is a Redwyne ship in the harbor. The guards can escort us to safety." 

I glanced at her, 11-years-old and bold, her hair a warm orange tone and her eyes brown; and smiled. 

"Thank you, but I would much rather think of something nicer than being potentially butchered or forced on the run over my older brother's inability to keep his cock in his pants. What would you like to have for lunch?" 

She snorted. "Lemon cakes, obviously. Cheese too, perhaps." 

"I wouldn't mind a slice myself. I'd rather have some fries, too." Let the introduction of French fries be my greatest accomplishment in this world and I would be content! 

"Lunch might became a rather joyous affair, my Prince and Lady." Stated a voice from behind us and I turned around to face Ser Gerold Hightower, the future White Bull. Right now, a knight of the Kingsguard, aged 20 years and my personal bodyguard. "Your faith in Ser Duncan seems to be paying off." 

I glanced back to the duel and saw Ser Duncan going on the offensive, the elderly Lord of Storm's End having lost steam and pushed on the defensive. The entire crowd held its breath in silence as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard forced his opponent to fall on his back. Ser Duncan kicked away Lyonel's sword and pointed his own at the enemy's neck. 

One tense, seemingly endless moment later and Lyonel yielded. 

I exhaled. 

It is over. 

My knees suddenly felt like jelly. Strong hands kept me upright.

"Steady there, young prince. It's all over now." 

"For a moment there, I thought we might actually have to run to that ship. You know I am not a good runner, Ser Gerold." 

"True, but you are light. I could easily carry you and your little lady in my hands and make a run for it." 

After a snort at the mental image of that and Olenna's "I am not little", which she hissed through her teeth, we joined the crowd of loyalists cheering for Ser Duncan, which was soon to be joined by the Stormlanders who relaxed, following King Aegon signaling Ser Duncan to spare Lyonel's life. 

The brief Storm King was offered the services of the Grand Maester and given bread and salt, which he accepted. The conflict appeared to be over, but the whole thing was only concluded on the next day, when King Aegon gathered the whole court in the throne room. 

After being forced to once again publicly choose between Jenny and the throne, the other Duncan confirmed his choice of Jenny of Oldstones over the Iron Throne and was permanently relieved of his status as Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne.

Aegon's second son, Prince Jaehaerys was formally invested with his older brother's titles.

Lyonel was understandably salty about it, but still somewhat mollified when the king offered the hand of his youngest daughter, Rhaelle to his heir, Ormund. The Baratheons had been promised a queen and got a princess instead, but that was a more or less fair exchange. Lyonel accepted the new circumstances with relative dignity and took Princess Rhaelle as his wife's cupbearer and ward (aka hostage). 

Still, that particular marriage would come to bite House Targaryen in the ass a few decades later, but that's a problem for another time.

So were any other future problems. 

I've finally managed to relax after three months of stress. My appetite is back at last and there is a plate with fries and my name on it.  

Chapter Text

Betha POV

240 AC

"Those damnable children of ours!" 

The sound of breaking glass was heard through the queen's ballroom as King Aegon, the Fifth of His Name, raved and ranted against his sons. 

Betha watched in silence, while her ladies gasped at the king's language. The softspoken man's anger was a rare thing to behold and thus whenever it was seen it was natural to draw more stares.

And her husband was such a man. 

It might sound somewhat hypocritical of them to berate their children for breaking their betrothals in order to marry for love, as their second son had put it, but the situation was completely different. Neither Aegon nor Betha had been betrothed before they eloped. As a Targaryen, Aegon was expected to marry either his sister, the Princess Daella or Princess Rhae. And yet, he had been promised to neither and, as a Blackwood of Raventree Hall, Betha was more than a worthy match for the forthborn son of Prince Maekar, who was not yet king at the time. 

They married for love and had six beautiful children together. They were a happy family too. Aegon wanted to improve the lives of the smallfolk throughout the realm and Betha supported him in that. The opposition of the lords could be balanced out by strategic alliances, which could be readily made, since Aegon had little care for the Targaryen custom to marry brothers to sisters. Many great lords had children that could serve as consorts and husbands to their own. Everything seemed perfect.  

Alas, this was coming to bite them in the ass.  

It all began when their eldest, Duncan broke his betrothal to Lady Cassandra Baratheon, the daughter of Lord Lyonel Baratheon of Storm's End. And for what? The love of a peasant girl, Jenny of Oldstones. 

A simple peasant girl had bewitched her son's heart. It was plain as day. Why else would Duncan break his betrothal and even give up on the Iron Throne for this Jenny? It made no sense. 

"First Duncan and now both Jaehaerys and Shaera! Pampered, irresponsible little shits!" Aegon grabbed a chair from near the table and tossed it out the window. Betha took a peek and saw the seat broken on the ground below. Fortunately, no one was hurt.

And now, not one but two of her remaining children had followed in her eldest's path. Jaehaerys had been betrothed to Lady Celia Tully, the daughter of Lord Edmund Tully. Their elder daughter, Shaera had been betrothed to Lord Luthor Tyrell. 

The royal couple just received the news that both of them had broken their betrothals to marry each other. A marriage already consummated, if her children and that bloody sheet they presented them with were true. 

"Perhaps by not being harsher with Prince Duncan, you have let left your remaining children with the idea that they could get away with doing the same." It was Ser Duncan the Tall who spoke those words. The only man who would dare talk so bluntly to the king.

"If they can't keep their word on marriage alliances, then how can I expect them to rule? That is three great houses we have offended. Three!" Aegon kept ranting. "What do they think?! The days we could reason ourselves by just saying 'dracarys' are long since over." Betha wasn't convinced that a couple of dragons would make the situation better or worse, so she kept her opinion to herself. "Would the others follow? I'd rather they just say so now! Let's just get it over with." Her husband asked. 

"They wouldn't." Betha responded. "At least Baelor wouldn't. He seems infatuated with his betrothed and she with him, even if they pretend otherwise in public. The two are rather sweet actually." Betha was happy that at least one of their children seemed content with their choice for spouse. Although, she thinks they are lucky that Olenna Redwyne had been a constant at court even prior to the betrothal due to her father's position as Master of Ships. While the Velaryons might have been the traditional holders of that office, Lord Runceford Redwyne commanded four times the ships that the Velaryon fleet could boast.

At least they won't have a lack for navy. That and those lovely wines from the Arbor.

"Daeron has yet to meet the Lefford girl we chose for him." She added. "We are still in early talks with Lord Lefford, but we shouldn't rush to make anything official yet." 

Their youngest son was barely old enough to be a page and at least seemed disinterested in the other girls at court, so she doubted they would have a problem there.

Aegon shook his head and sat himself down. A grunt to the servant signaled the man to pour more wine, which her husband gulped down eagerly.

At least it's one of the weaker ones. 

He put the cup on the table. He stared at the half empty glass for a while and then looked at her. 

"I would have us dine with them." He said. "Baelor and Lady Olenna." 

Betha narrowed her eyebrows in thought.

"Are you-" 

"No. Not yet. I've always been more concerned with Duncan and Jaehaerys who were closer to the throne. My attention on Baelor has been lacking. I wish to hold a serious conversation with him." 

"Shouldn't we invite the rest of our children?" 

"No. Just him and his betrothed. Daeron is too young for this and, as for the others, I have not the patience for these irresponsible brats tonight." 

Olenna POV

At first, Olenna didn't know what to think of the boy her father had gleefully said would be her husband one day.

Baelor was nowhere near as befuddled as his more famous namesake and yet...

A third son rarely amounted to much, even a prince, since he would inherit nothing. Everything for the eldest, the second born may aid him in his tasks but the rest always had to find their own way in life.

Or so she thought.

While she wouldn't admit it out loud, she's grown rather fond of her intended. She found that silver hair of his ridiculous and he was neither that handsome nor good with a sword but unlike his older brothers, he had a good head on his shoulders.

As it turned out, both of Baelor's older brothers were about as emptyheaded as that pious fool of a namesake of his.

The crown prince, who was named after a peasant, became himself enamored with one. Some would call it fitting, many did in fact do so privately, but to Olenna it was a great bout of foolishness. It started a rebellion, which might well have ended the Targaryens. She couldn't understand how the king could remain so soft to his son even after that.

Had Duncan been her son, she would have had him beaten and that girl sent far away. Or killed. Probably killed, just to be sure. 

Then again, she would never raise such foolish children to begin with.

And if her instincts told it true, and they were very good, those two silver-haired nitwits Jaehaerys and Shaera might just get the boldness they lacked before to elope. Stupid, the pair of them, if they tried such a thing, but she wouldn't be surprised.

Baelor was probably the only one among his siblings, who had more than mutton in his head. It was truly lucky for her, since she couldn't bear the thought of being married to an oaf. He wasn't the bold and fearless man most women preferred to marry but that was fine by her. Those men died young and she liked him enough not to want to become a widow early in her life.

If only the king had the sense to name him heir instead of that selfish fool Jaehaerys. Alas, seniority would likely prevail unless the man proved himself the fool, she strongly suspected him to be.

What she didn't expect was the invitation for supper she received from the king and queen.

It would only be the four of them, with Baelor and herself the only others in attendance. Needless to say, she was quite surprised, since this has never happened before. 

Has something happened? Olenna felt it was some sort of a test for Baelor and herself. 

It was quite pleasant, the food was good, but the entire time, Olenna couldn't shake the feeling that this was about something else entirely. She could occasionally catch the king eyeing his third son curiously and asking him various, seemingly random questions about the state of the realm and his views on his brother's actions.   

"What he did was stupid and wrong, Your Grace. Plain and simple. Our house's power and the realm's stability are infinitely more important than some random girl he chance met near a ruin and fell for." He replied to that in an even tone.  

And as the king kept badgering his son with further questions, most of which concerned family and Baelor's desire to marry her, Olenna started to understand what all of this was about.

She allowed herself to smile a bit as Baelor stuttered out that he would indeed marry her when the time came.

She couldn't help but wonder what face her prince of lizards will make when he learns he will be king one day.

Baelor POV 

Yet another round of child disappointment for poor King Aegon. 

I literally heard that coming out from the mouth of Lord Mooton, the master of coin and I figured out what the fuss was about.

Jaehaerys and Shaera have done it. They've eloped and left two disappointed great houses in their wake. Honestly, this was starting to feel less like the political thriller Westeros was known for and more like a soap opera.

Aegon brutally chastised them but it was clear to me that all the bluster and lecturing about responsibility was for show this time around. 

Oh, he is angry, that's certainly true, but the punishments didn't seem too awful. Jaehaerys was going to go on a pilgrimage to Oldtown's Starry Sept and then study in the Citadel for five years, while Shaera will serve in a mother house in Maidenpool for the same amount of time.

These were punishments, true, but also not particularly so, since the two of them will get their wish and remain married.

Moreover, the king appeared more resigned than angry. Almost as if he was just going through the motions and wanting to get on with something more upbeat. I doubted it was whatever compensation he was about to give to houses Tully and Tyrell.

Is he going to forward the wedding between Olenna and me? 

I wouldn't mind that. I've grown rather fond of the uncrowned queen of thorns and was not going to be the one to break the betrothal. Hopefully, neither will she.

I told mother and father as much during that strange dinner we had two nights ago.

Distracted by my musings, I almost failed to notice when the king deviated from what I assumed was the script.

"On account of your irresponsible actions, detrimental to the well-being of House Targaryen, I strip you of your status as Prince of Dragonstone and my heir. Any children and descendants produced from your union, as well as that of your brother Duncan with the Lady Jenny, will be removed from the line of succession."

My eyes widened as all the gathered courtiers gasped in semi unison. This, I didn't expect.

Jaehaerys isn't going to be king?!

If that's true, then...

Doesn't that mean that....

"I name my son, the Prince Baelor Targaryen as the new Prince of Dragonstone and Heir to the Iron Throne!"

Everyone's eyes were on me.

My jaw dropped to the floor.

I handled it pretty maturely in my view.

"What the f---?"

Chapter Text

Baelor POV

244 AC

Four years have passed since I was declared Prince of Dragonstone by my father. 

An odd transformation that - for both me and the entire court. 

At first, the reactions were understandably muted, since this was the second time the king had replaced one heir with the other and many waited for the other shoe to drop and for me to fuck things up by doing something stupid. 

When that didn't happen and people began to realize I was likely to remain the heir, things naturally shifted in a predictable direction. 

The first thing that happened was that Lord Runceford Redwyne, Olenna's father and the Master of Ships, began to appear more cheerful throughout the day, assuring me that he would be my most loyal servant one day, when I took the throne. He also became unbearably smug as the father-in-law of the future king. 

That's Reachmen for you. 

As for the would-be queen, Olenna seemed to only grow bolder. Prior to the proclamation, she would mind her tongue in front of people of superior station like my siblings, the small council members and even my parents. Now... there was no stopping her from saying exactly what she thinks about pretty much anything. 

Gods save us all! 

When it came to me, things took a drastic turn for the worse. Father forced me to attend small council meetings with him and see how 'the hard part of ruling' happens. It took me weeks until I stopped falling asleep during sessions. 

It's not my fault! These things can last hours and most of the time they are really dull. Maybe that's a trick to lull kings into a false sense of security. 

Still, at least I was going to be king. Yay.... maybe? I still wasn't entirely sure why my presence here altered things like that and let me displace Jaehaerys as heir. The man himself was surprisingly bitter about it, but what did he expect? The only reason I thought he was going to get off with a slap to the wrist was due to my canon knowledge, now officially useless. 

It was somewhat relieving to know that Aerys would never rule, even if he is born one day. A time, which may well be approaching since, in honor of my upcoming wedding, father lifted his potential parents' semi-exile and allowed them to live in Summerhall. All that happened a few months ago and if Lord Brynden Blackwood, the current Master of Whispers was to be believed, Shaera might be pregnant already. 

Another curious thing that happened was me getting knighted. I am not at all ashamed to admit that the reasons were as vague as they usually are for highborn knights. It was considered improper for the heir to the Iron Throne to marry without having been knighted first. In my defense, I was decent with a longsword and a shield in hand. Above average, Ser Gerold said once. I don't know if I can believe it or not, but given I am going to be king one day, it would be bad if I ever actually have to fight for my life in the future. So, three months ago, without any other outward reason or some great act of bravery, father had me knighted himself in full view of the whole court and bestowed upon me the Valyrian steel sword Dark Sister. 

It was all very formal. 

If you are wondering how Dark Sister came into the picture, that was all me and might actually count as a good enough reason to get a knighthood. On one of the endless council meetings, during a discussion concerning the Blackfyres (who are still a thing), I reminded father that we hadn't actually lost both Valyrian steel sword that had once belonged to our house. For some reason, beyond my understanding, Bloodraven had been allowed to take Dark Sister to the Wall with him, when he was sent there by dad for breaking his word and inviting and executing Aenys Blackfyre.

He was now the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch there, so good for him. One thing I never understood was why a man renowned for being a bowman, rather than a swordsman, would even need a Valyrian steel sword. I may or may not have made these musings out loud and asked father to request the return of the blade. 

And he did that. A bird was sent, and a bird flew back. In a surprisingly Night's Watch way, Bloodraven responded that he would return the sword in exchange for 500 prisoners to be sent to the Wall to fill the ranks of the dwindling order. While they weren't the paltry 1000 men from the books, there fewer than 3000 black brothers at the Wall, by last reports, so that would be a substantial increase. 

Aegon didn't hesitate long. 

Ser Duncan the Tall himself was sent together with a thousand knights to escort 500 (un)lucky prisoners from the Crownlands and the Riverlands north to join the Night's Watch and bring back Dark Sister. While I requested to join him north, the king wasn't very eager to have his heir leave the capital... much less go anywhere near Bloodraven. 

One meeting of a legendary figure got cancelled. 

One Valyrian steel sword was acquired. 

Not bad for a day's work. 

And here I was now, in all my splendid glory, being prepared for my wedding day. I was dressed in fancy clothes in black and red, the colors of House Targaryen. There was plenty of jewelry on me, including a pendant with a ruby on it as well as some silver and gold rings. Dark Sister was attached to my belt. The smoky black blade, typical of Valyrian steel, was hidden by the sheath, but the handle was visible enough - the cross guard shaped like a dragon in flight was dead giveaway of the sword's identity. 

The only other Valyrian steel blade around here was Aegon's dagger, which his namesake carried. I was actually surprised he didn't know of the hidden message within, given his own interest in prophesies. To King Aegon V, it was nothing more than a keepsake and until recently, the last Valyrian blade remaining in our possession. 

I'd rather not tell him. Last thing I needed was an expedited Tragedy of Summerhall, something I was still wondering how to avoid. 

Or make it successful and actually hatch those damn eggs. A few dragons would definitely solve a lot of problems, but the problem was hatching them. I tried placing my own egg, a red one with black swirls, over a fire and bleeding into it, but nothing happened. 

What? I thought it could work. All self-respecting protagonists owe it to themselves to see if there is an easy way to achieve their goals.

Nope, there won't be one here. 

Either way, there are other potential 'events' to deal with, such as the future War of the Ninepenny Kings and what would hopefully be the last Blackfyre Rebellion. With any luck, I might be able to retrieve Blackfyre. The sword should still be with the Golden Company, considering I distinctly recall that idiot Daemon Blackfyre №3 waving it about during his pathetic excuse for a rebellion. Or invasion, if we are to be more accurate. I was just dad's squire back then, barely old enough to be there for it and not actually participating the decisive battle. 

Not that it was much of a battle. We crushed the Fourth Blackfyre Rebellion, Ser Duncan made quick work of the would-be king, and we sent the Golden Company running for the coasts. 

Unfortunately, Ser Duncan was wounded in the aftermath and both the dead Blackfyre and his sword were taken by that old cunt Aegor while he did what he was best at - running away with his tail between his legs. 

Oh, well... I have my own battle to fight today. 

"You look splendid, my son. A Crown Prince and a future king. Just like my uncle Baelor." 

I rolled my eyes. "Not the best comparison, given how he ended up." 

"He was a great man, my uncle." The King Egg ignored me and continued. "Had the gods not taken him so early, he would have been a splendid king." 

"Or he would have died during the Great Spring Sickness, alongside his sons." 

"Stop with that doom and gloom, my boy. You have nothing to fear. it is your wedding day. A great feast after the ceremony. Food and wine tasters will be present. Today is your big day." He shut up for a moment, putting me in blissful delusion that there won't be any more awkward father-son conversation about the wedding. Sadly, the awkwardness was just beginning. "If you want to ask anything about instructions, I will gladly tell you." 

"I know the words for the ceremony, father. 'I am hers and she is mine.', some kissing and then the cloak around her shoulders." 

"The maiden cloak is removed by the father of the bride, Lord Runceford Redwyne, while you will place a Targaryen cloak around her shoulders and THEN the kissing part."

"Alright." Stupid ceremonies. The High Septon will likely be droning on for hours. 

"I meant questions about what happens after." 

Uh oh. I don't like where this is going. 

"What you mean 'after'?" 

"I meant the wedding night." 

Oh, hell no. Not the birds and bees talk. 

"I know how that's done father." I groaned.

"Really?! Because I don't think you have ever been with a woman before." 

Please, make it stop! 

"You wait till it gets hard and you put it in slowly, and then in and out again and again until the white stuff comes out." I hissed out through my teeth. "I know the basics, so you can stop."

"That's all well and good. You are a learned boy, but what about delivering pleasure to your bride? Do you know anything beyond the very basics of copulation? The marriage bed is not just for duty, it can also be for pleasure."

What have I done to deserve this? 

Please Gods! Make him stop! 

My agony continued..., my prayers unanswered... 

After my new father explained to me his own version of the Kama Sutra, the wedding day continued.

The ceremony itself went pretty much as you would expect. The bride looked resplendent in her white wedding dress. Her cloak depicted countless grape clusters, embroidered upon it. 

The queerest thing about it was Olenna herself, whose smile both warmed something within and filled me with dread. 

The woman rarely smiles, but she smiled plenty today. I was happy for it. If I was the only one smiling at the blushing bride, she would forever hold it against me. 

After the endless droning by the High Septon was finished, he pronounced us “one flesh, one heart, one soul, now and forever”. 

It was nice. Almost as nice as kissing her. 

After that came the wedding feast and the entertainment. 

One by one, the various guests began lining up to deliver their presents to the happy couple i.e. us.

The presents were extravagant as well. Golden cups, silks, jewels, cloaks, weapons... 

That last one amused me a bit. What use would I have for a spear, regardless of its decorations?!

Especially with Dark Sister around. Everyone talked about how sharp and unbreakable swords like that are, but no one talks about how light they are. Dark Sister is a thin blade already and its lightness made it as if I was swinging a stick. A rather useful detail, especially in protracted battles where each and every move made, likely dressed in metal clothes, tended to exhaust you and make you slower.

That and its invaluable ability to kill the local zombies and their masters.

Regardless of my interest in the gifts, we thanked each and every guest for their generosity and well wishes. 

From Dorne to the North, all the Seven Kingdoms made their appearance. All but the Greyjoys and their Ironmen, but that was hardly surprising. The royal family were first, as was expected, followed by the bride's family, House Redwyne. Lord Runceford has given us my favorite gift so far - ship of our own. Of course, he couldn't quite bring the ship to the feast and instead presented us with a model of it and asked us to give it a name. 

I called it Queen of Thorns and the look on Olenna's face was priceless.

My favorite guests were the recently ascended to lordship Lord Tytos Lannister, his bride Lady Jeyne Marbrand and their two-year-old son, Tywin. 

He is so cute. I want to pinch those frowning cheeks.

No! Bad Baelor! Don't pinch Tywin Lannister's cheeks.

He will remember it and plot revenge. I just know it. 

"And who might you be, little lord?" I greeted the future terror. 

"I am Tywin of House Lannister, Your Grace." He spoke... In full sentence. Is it just me or isn't it a bit early for that? Must be a Tywin thing. "I offer my congratulations for your wedding." The boy continued, somewhat miffed that he struggled with the word 'congratulations', but otherwise standing as tall and proud as a man can be... at age 2. And what's with that serious look in his eyes?

Adorable... and foreboding. 

"Thank you, little lord." I turned to the beaming parents. "You must be very proud of your son, Lord and Lady Lannister. Tell you what! When he grows up, send him to the capital. I shall make him my own squire, so he can learn the fine arts of ruling and knighthood. What do you say?" 

"Thank you, Your Grace. A great honor. What do you say, Tywin?" 

"Thank you, Your Grace." The boy parroted after his parents.

The Lannister left and were followed by the Reynes. The Lord of Castamere, aged 24, glanced at his lieges with a look of thinly veiled spite. If only you knew what awaits you, Reyne. Roger Reyne and his wife delivered their congratulations and presents and left quicker than expected. 

"What was that all about?" Olenna questioned. 

"The Reynes and the Lannisters haven't been on the best of terms ever since this one's sister tried and failed to seduce Lord Tytos and convince him to set aside his wife for her. All that after marrying both of his older brothers and outliving them. Old Lord Gerold forced her to marry the elderly Walderan Tarbeck to get her off his hair and out of Casterly Rock."

"House Tarbeck's sigil is that stupid silver and blue star. Like that walrus over there?! That man is so fat he might as well have eaten all the food for the feast." 

"A distinguished warrior too, apparently. Back in the old days." 

"When did he distinguish himself? During the Dance of Dragons?" I disguised a snort with my glass. "Well, that is one bit of interesting gossip. I must say, you are better at all of this than I thought you would be."

"What with?" 

"The game of thrones. Dealing with your future vassals. You are handling these boring fools rather well. The Lannisters especially. Those overgrown cats hold most of the gold in Westeros under that rock of theirs." 

"That they do." 

The gold would be a nice bonus to making sure Tywin Lannister grows up loyal to me and commits war crimes only against my enemies.  

That said, I didn't care if Tywin drove the Reynes to extinction or not. While having them like a knife in the back to the Lannisters might be useful, I disliked their arrogance. Not to mention the messy state that the Westerlands were in right now, partly because of those cunts shitting all over the authority of Tytos, whose own incompetence in handling them didn't make things easier. 

A problem for another day. 

Many men and women bearing familiar surnames passed before my eyes. There were the Velaryons, who were somewhat bitter at no longer having their semi-hereditary position as Masters of Ships, judging by the looks they threw the Redwynes. The Tyrells were represented by Lord Luthor Tyrell, a nice enough man who in another world would have been married to Olenna, but this time around was married to her sister, Viola. The Starks were represented by Lord Edwyle Stark, who was as jovial as can be expected from a Stark, but still respectful.

Lord Lyonel Baratheon also came, accompanied by my sister and his son Ormund. In a not so veiled way, Lyonel congratulated me on 'keeping to my oaths, unlike some people he knew' and then all but stormed off back to his table, which was on the other side of the venue from Prince Duncan's. Ormund was more relaxed and approachable than his old father, even apologizing for his behavior. 

"Think nothing of it, my lord. Family matters tend to make emotions burn hot. I for one would like to warn you that if you ever mistreat my little sister, they won't even find what's left of you." 

He took my not so veiled threat with a smile and a laugh and so did Rhaelle herself, but I was pretty serious. She is my favorite sibling after all. 

"How is life treating you, little sister?" 

"Very well, brother. You have nothing to fear for me. House Baratheon is most kind to me, as is Ormund himself. Our own wedding is not too far into the future, and we would most pleased if you would attend." 

"It would be a pleasure." 

A face I didn't expect to see was Jon Arryn. 

That Jon Arryn, who was in his early twenties. 

Gods, that man grew to a ripe old age, didn't he?! 

Another person to keep an eye on, I suppose. 

After the other guests came the Dornish, led by one Princess Miria Martell, who I assumed to be the mother of Doran, Oberyn and Elia. A charming woman, who is my age. 

I tried not to stare for too long, so that Olenna doesn't decide to poison her. 

As I relaxed into my seat, I realized it wasn't so bad. The event was rather bearable now - music, food and everything. The entertainment was nice too. Father must have hired an entire circus or whatever they call it around here. The whole family was gathered for the first time in years. 

The feasting and entertainment went on into the evening. We even cut that massive cake, which is a tradition around here. Upon being cut open, pigeons flew out of it, which is by far the second most ridiculous part of the wedding tradition. 

The №1 most ridiculous part followed not long after. 

"After the wedding comes the bedding!" My father announced, looking slightly drunk, no doubt from celebrating the successful marriage of at least one of his children. 

I braced myself as we were surrounded by drunk guests, who picked us off the ground and began to undress us, while taking us to the marriage bed. 

I don't know about Olenna, but I am traumatized already. 

You think being carried and stripped by a bunch of drunken men is bad. 

Try being carried and stripped by a bunch of drunken women, who are just as touchy. 

After this horror train came to an end, we were both tossed inside the chamber of the newlyweds, where the bed awaited us, while the wedding guests outside were giving us 'pointers'. 

Okay, enough of this. 

"Ser Duncan! Remove our honored guests from here, if you would!" 

The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, who was keeping a semblance of order during the whole 'process', barked a few orders and I heard the Peeping Toms leave. 

Both of us stood there as naked as the day we were born, staring at each other. I noted she was quite pretty naked, even if she appeared even smaller than before. By all the laws of the land, we were both considered adults and yet we were still teenagers. She is 16 years old, and I am 17. Back where I was from, in my past life, this would be considered underage, and my parents would have been thrown in prison for arranging it. 

Even if we were both more mature than your average Westerosi is at this age, this still feels a bit weird. 

When I was seventeen in my past life, I was still in high school, having never even kissed a girl yet. Here, I am already a married man and the future ruler of an entire continent. 

Life is weird. 

Not necessarily a bad weird, but still weird.

Olenna was the first to speak.

"It's bigger than I thought it would be."

So, that's how it is going to go, huh?

I didn't remain in her debt.

"Your attributes also appear larger when you are undressed, oh Queen of Thorns."

"Was that meant as a slight or a compliment?"

"I am not entirely certain to be honest... Shall we get to it?"

"I suppose we should..."

We went under the covers and had one unforgettable night. 

Chapter Text

Baelor POV

My life as both the Prince of Dragonstone and, more dauntingly, the husband of one Olenna Redwyne was surprisingly... peaceful. 

Peaceful was perhaps not the best word for it, but it wasn't as hard as I had once thought it would be. 

We consummated our marriage often and with vigor... For procreation purposes, of course. The fact that we both seemed to enjoy it had nothing to do with it. 

Gods, that woman certainly knows some things. Life will never be dull ever again.  

Anyways... 

Less than half a year after the wedding, Olenna announced that she was pregnant and that I was responsible for it, so I now had to cater to her every need. 

Nothing new there. Olenna does tend to command all around her. 

As her belly grew in size, I began to worry over her health and was somewhat fussy, at least according to some people around me. I don't think I was that much of a worrier, and it wasn't unreasonable either, considering the high mortality rate of this place. 

Olenna became even more insufferable than usual. Those were some hard months for all of us who lived in the Red Keep, but we survived her. Barely. 

No one jumped out of the windows. Although several of her servants begged me to place them in someone else's service. 

Nine months passed and her waters broke. I made the mistake of being a gentleman about it and held her hand during the rather Lovecraftian process of giving birth and she almost broke it.

A few agonizing hours later and we became parents to a healthy boy with dark orange hair with an odd silver streak running through it as well as a pair of violet eyes.  

My parents were beyond ecstatic. The bloodline was secured. The whole court rejoiced for at least one of the fifth Aegon's sons procreated and gave birth to a new generation of dragons. 

(Baby Aerys came along a few months prior to that but nobody counts him. I most certainly am not.) 

We called the child Maekar and the birth of Prince Maekar Targaryen was eventually followed by those of Princess Rhaenys, Prince Aemon and Princess Baela. A whole army of children. 

It's rather nice to be a parent. Especially when money is not a concern, and caretakers are aplenty for the long hours when dad is working. 

Dad being me in this scenario and work being my role as the Prince of Dragonstone which involved long hours at small council meetings and keeping up with the discussions while offering good ideas of my own. One had to be careful with these people who handled the details of ruling. I had no desire to become a puppet of my own small council like so many of father's predecessors. 

Recently, I achieved a victory on that front that I could boast about. 

Father's policies about the smallfolk were decent, especially from someone from what accounted to the Middle Ages, but most lords were not very ecstatic about it. That in turn made me cautious since it was the great lords of Westeros who could make themselves the biggest problem we have. That is why I did my best to point his enthusiasm to more "reasonable" endeavors. 

In this case, I proposed a plan to revitalize King's Landing, which conveniently included improving the lives of the smallfolk. Flea Bottom would be built into a proper neighborhood as opposed to a slum and the sewage system of the city will be improved into something proper and the city's rising stench will be taken in hand. Among other things. 

A good reason to spend money, in my view. We lived here after all, and King's Landing was the face of Westeros and our regime. It wouldn't do for it to be anything less than the best we could build. 

It was slow-going and a rather messy process, but the city improved remarkably by the end of it. 

Meanwhile, as part of my responsibilities, I took it upon myself to oversee the upbringing of the next generation of medieval nepo-babies. 

And not just my children, whose upbringing both Olenna and I took very seriously. 

Maekar was growing up to be a responsible young man and I was rather proud of that. Aemon looked up to his big brother, so he was no trouble either. Rhaenys and Baela were two adorable girls with silver hair and violet eyes who were bound to break many hearts over the years and so Olenna mentored them in how to do it without getting into trouble along with probably other life lessons, she would have given to Margaery Tyrell in an alternate reality. 

Among my charges were people like Tywin Lannister and Steffon Baratheon - two people who could potentially bring me a lot of trouble. 

Steffon Baratheon was a decent enough kid. My nephew looked nothing like Rhaelle and everything like Lord Ormund Baratheon - tall, strong, blue eyes and black hair. A bit rowdy but nowhere near as his potential future son would be. He was a responsible kid and the easier of the two by a lot.

The other was one Tywin Lannister, who had grown into a handsome and solemn teenager, who was fond of brooding about each and every slight imaginable and likely plotting the downfall of those who ever wronged him. And there were candidates, considering that his father's reputation for incompetence was a serious problem. 

In fact, the warden of the west was an often-seen topic during small council meetings. 

Lord Farman of Fair Isle began to build warships to defend his coasts from ironborn raiders despite Tytos' opposition, as the Warden of the West feared offending House Greyjoy of Pyke. Three landed knights and a petty lord whose lands bordered The Reach renounced their allegiance to Casterly Rock and swore fealty to Highgarden arguing that House Tyrell guaranteed more protection than House Lannister. Meanwhile, Lords Jast and Falwell, instead of seeking a ruling from their overlord, chose to settle a private quarrel with a melee that led to the deaths of nine men and twenty-seven being maimed or wounded but didn't settle the quarrel. For his part, Lord Stackspear doubled the taxes on his smallfolk, despite that Lord Tytos had forbidden it, and even hired a company of Volantene sellswords to enforce his edict.

Father sent the forces of the Iron Throne to intervene and restore order to the west twice so far, but conflict resumed after the king's knights departed. 

I was not at all envious of Tywin Lannister right now as I could observe firsthand the events which shaped him into the man he would become. 

That is why I took some steps to repair that. 

It all started catching him beating up his sparring partner, some Piper boy, who had the misfortune of insulting his father and house to his face.

"Remember the slight but ignore it for it is just words. Words are wind, if you feel inclined to respond, then do so in kind and not with steel. I thought you Lannisters were supposed to be more cunning." I said to Tywin and then I turned to the other one. "As for you, Piper, you would think a man, hailing from a house with a naked woman on their shields would know not to throw insults so carelessly." 

I took him as my squire then and did the same for both Maekar and Steffon. It would do my heir good to befriend two future lords paramount. It all went rather well really. I took them with me as I travelled between Dragonstone and King's Landing, teaching them this and that about swinging a sword and occasionally imparting words of wisdom. 

"Power resides where men believe it does. Often enough, the highborn have the benefit of a good structure that people understand well. The peasants obey the knights, who obey the lords, who obey the great lords, who obey the king. And yet, often enough, we need to remind people of their position in the hierarchy." I said, while looking at Tywin. "You will have your work cut out for you, when you grow old and experienced enough to be able to do that with your vassals. And yet, I believe you will rise to the challenge." 

"Thank you, Your Grace." He replied stoically, but a small upturn on his face spoke that the little lion could still smile.  

"I shall even add a bit of an incentive." I added, having discussed it with Olenna the day before. "Should you successfully do so, I will betroth your sister to Maekar." 

"You would... but my father..."

"Your father has already been informed that the betrothal of his daughter to Emmon Frey has been broken. The boy will be marrying a girl from House Bracken instead. Your sister's betrothal to Maekar will be announced when she comes of age... should you succeed in restoring the West to right by then. Don't rush it though. I'd rather you didn't get yourself killed. You are in the presence of some of the greatest schemers in Westeros. You will find inspiration for a plan, I am sure." 

What? 

I liked the young Tywin Lannister. He is adorable and potentially invaluable. Plus, from what I could recall of Genna Lannister's personality from the books, I think she would make a good queen one day.

Maekar had agreed to it, but I had informed him that should he follow in his uncles' footsteps, it would be his mother to whom he will answer to, and Olenna was very good at playing the bad cop. 

There is a certain benefit to telling scary stories to kids and teaching them responsibility. Especially when they were going to become responsible for an entire continent. 

As the years passed, I got rather comfortable in my position and saw to multiple successes on political level. 

And yet, as the years passed peacefully, it was easy to get lulled into a false sense of security. 

While Westeros itself was calm, the east was less so. 

In 258 AC, nine outlaws, merchant princes and mercenaries banded together under what became known as the Tree of Crowns and forged an alliance. The Band of Nine they called themselves, but my oldest brother dubbed them otherwise. 

The Ninepenny Kings. 

The House of the Dragon wouldn't have cared for their affairs were it not for one member of that alliance - Maelys the Monstrous, self-referred to as King Maelys I Blackfyre, Captain-General of the Golden Company and the man who is to become the final Blackfyre pretender.

His family's cause was as dead as the first Daemon Blackfyre, but I knew that if he landed in Westeros and started winning battles, the lords of Westeros, sheep that they are, may well flock to his banner. 

It was hard to affect the Free Cities from Westeros, so all we did for now was keep watch over them and hope they turn on each other as sellswords often did. 

These ones won't but that is a problem for another day. 

Right now, I was more concerned about a mandatory family gathering at Summerhall, ordered by my father for the 259th year after Aegon's Conquest. 

I have been expecting that 'event' for many years now. The Tragedy of Summerhall is well known to me. 

Despite my entreaties, there was no reasoning with King Aegon the Unlikely, who was desperate to try to restore the dragons of House Targaryen and the dynasty's diminished power back to what it used to be. Father was adamant that they gathered the dragon eggs remaining to their house at Summerhall and proceed with his plan to attempt their hatching. 

I wasn't entirely aware of the finer details of what was to happen, but I knew of the involvement of the Alchemist's Guild and it filled me with dread. The so-called Wisdoms of the guild were nowhere near as wise as they claimed. Their only ability that could be confirmed was to produce wildfire.

I tried telling him as such, but... 

After our shouting match was done and over with, I had at least secured Olenna and the kids to be away from it, on the reasoning that a Targaryen must always be present at King's Landing. Should the worst happen, at least they would be alive and well. Olenna pleaded with me to sneak away from it, but I couldn't do that. I had to go and hopefully prevent any tragedy from occurring. 

Even if there were some tensions there, all of them were my family. Even Jaehaerys and Shaera, whose thinly veiled comments about blood purity vexed me to no end. Or that little shit Aerys, who was yet to become someone deserving of his canon fate. 

Besides... I have a few ideas I wish to try and maybe succeed in hatching a dragon or two...

Madness, some would call it, and I knew it was true. The pursuit of power was a dangerous thing, but I still wanted to try. 

Yet, I also knew how useful they would be in the future, not just to secure House Targaryen but also Westeros itself from the wars to come - be they against foes living or dead.

What if I could actually hatch dragons?