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ADS 22
🕑 Added 2024-11-26 17:57:33 +0000 UTCDisclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.
Chapter 22: Peaceful Times.
82 AC
The Spring Prince
Kingslanding.
Baelon gazed at the tiny bundle of joy cradled in his arms—his second son. The child had come early, but the birth had been surprisingly easy for Alyssa. Even now, the boy bore the unmistakable Targaryen features, and Baelon knew he would steal many hearts when he grew older just like himself and his beloved wife.
He sat alone in the nursery, pondering names to discuss with Alyssa, when Aemon entered. Aemon had just returned from the Stormlands, and it was clear he had hastily cleaned up after dragon riding.
“I hear congratulations are in order, Baelon,” Aemon said cheerfully. “A second son! Perhaps now Father can stop snapping at me for not providing a second child—or anything else he can complain about.” He laughed as he reached out to take the child.
Baelon handed the baby to Aemon, watching as his elder brother’s expression softened. It didn’t take long for Baelon to realize that Aemon was lost in thought, likely about his own son.
“Aemon,” Baelon said gently, trying to draw him from his stupor.
Aemon carefully returned the baby to Baelon and sighed deeply. “You’re a lucky man, Baelon. You can love your boys freely and give them the world. Look at me—I lost my son, Daemon. Maybe it was my own fault, hating him for taking Lyarra from me. Or maybe it was the disdain the Andal lords held for bastards. I love Rhaenys more than anything in this world, but she’s not a boy. And I couldn’t always be there for her like her mother was.” Aemon paused, his voice laced with melancholy. “Sometimes, I wonder what would happen if I just flew to Bear Island and brought him home.”
Baelon’s happiness of having a second son immediately dimmed seeing the sadness in his beloved brother.
“Brother,” Baelon said softly, “it’s been nearly 15 years since that day. You were barely a man then. Now, your son has built a life for himself in the North. The lords there would beg to host him for the aid he could offer their houses. And when Cregan Stark ascends as Lord of Winterfell, he’ll call his cousin back immediately. The King would never allow Daemon to return to the South—it’s too dangerous for Rhaenys’ position. Dragons are our strength, and Balerion still lies unclaimed in the Dragonpit. I am sorry brother, but I couldn’t support you in this and I don’t think you can actually meet Daemon, after all you ran away from that meeting two years ago.
Baelon finished with a hint of reproach.
Aemon grimaced, frowning deeply. “I never told you why I returned to King’s Landing after waiting for seven days at that godforsaken wall, did I?”
Baelon raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “No, brother, you didn’t.”
Aemon exhaled slowly. “It was horrible. I spent seven nights at the Wall, and every night I had nightmares—so vivid they felt like visions. The details changed, but the last days were always the same. My meeting with Daemon would go wrong, and my punishment for him would be harsh. But the last two dreams were the worst. In them, Daemon’s words enraged me so much that Caraxes tried to kill him with fire—and he survived. Then Daemon used Ice to kill Caraxes and... me. He beheaded me with Ice.” Aemon shuddered. “After those dreams, I decided it was better to withdraw than tempt fate.”
Baelon processed the story and his mind went faster trying to decipher whether it was actually a dragon dream or just stupidity conjured by his brother’s idiotic mind.
“It’s all right, brother,” he said, attempting to soothe him. “Avoiding that scenario was wise.”
Aemon nodded, but before he could respond, the nursery door burst open. Rhaenys and Viserys tumbled inside, panting heavily, clearly trying to escape their caregivers. They leaned against the door, catching their breaths, oblivious to their fathers’ presence.
“I can’t believe we did that, Rhaenys,” Viserys said, his voice tinged with nervousness. “We should’ve waited for permission to see our new brother.”
“Oh, that would take too long, Vissy,” Rhaenys teased. “This way, we can spend more time here without them realizing.”
“Oh, is that so?” Aemon’s stern voice cut through the room like a blade.
Both children froze at the sound, stiffening visibly. When they turned and saw their fathers’ stern faces, their complexions paled.
“There’s a reason you weren’t allowed to see the baby today,” Baelon said, his tone devoid of humor. “I’ll explain it later. Ser Redwyne, escort the prince and princess to their rooms.”
The silent knight, stationed unobtrusively in the corner, immediately stepped forward, bowed, and led the children out. Baelon turned back to Aemon and noticed a thoughtful expression on his brother’s face.
“Brother?” Baelon called out.
Aemon shook his head to clear his thoughts, sighing when he saw Baelon’s questioning look. “I was just thinking about the future, Baelon. It could be glorious—Rhaenys as Queen, Viserys as king consort, and your second son as Hand of the King. Our children continuing the golden period started by our Father, expanded by us. You’re an excellent father, and moments like this make me realize how many I’ve missed with Daemon because of my hatred. I want that back.”
Baelon shook his head. “Brother, you know that’s impossible.”
Aemon’s gaze lingered on the baby in the cradle. Suddenly, a thought struck him. “Brother,” he began hesitantly, “I want to ask something of you.”
“I’m yours to command.” Baelon replied.
“Let our son and daughter be married. They’ll continue the Targaryen line. There’s no formal betrothal for Rhaenys yet, but familiarity and our encouragement will lead them to love one another. Even now, Viserys feels like a son to me, and Rhaenys like a daughter to you. Your second son is also my nephew twice over, but I am sure, he will be like a son to me as well. Name him Daemon Targaryen so I can raise a son named Daemon and forget the pain of losing the elder one.”
Baelon gasped at the request, shocked. He remembered how Aemon had named his firstborn Daemon simply because it was the only name he knew. A name Baelon himself had promised to use for his son, after his beloved elder brother. Seeing the hope in Aemon’s eyes, Baelon relented.
“I have followed you till now and I will follow in this order too, but you shall be the one informing our sister Alyssa that you have named her child after your eldest bastard or after yourself.” Baelon said without any hesitation.
Aemon immediately grimaced knowing he is in for a hard time convincing Alyssa not to turn Meleys’ fire on him.
===========================
83 AC
Small Council Meeting
"My lords, is there anything left to discuss in this meeting?" Prince Aemon asked.
Baelon realized it was time to bring up the foolish Dornish incursion heading for the Stormlands. How the Martell prince thought arriving in ships to attack the Stormlands would succeed—especially when the Iron Throne had five dragonriders—was beyond him. He was sure the king would order him and Aemon to deal with the Dornish fleet. It would be good exercise for their dragons.
Before Baelon could speak, Lord Beesbury, the Master of Coin, addressed the council.
"Your Grace," Lord Beesbury began, "there is the matter of the North."
The king’s gaze sharpened as he nodded for Beesbury to continue.
"The North’s tax revenues have stabilized in recent years. Up until 79 AC, they increased every year, but now they’ve leveled off and even decreased slightly. I suspect the northern lords may be manipulating the accounts and stealing from the crown," Lord Beesbury said.
The King looked at the Grand Maester, a position which still had a seat at small council, but was required to be silent until called upon by other members.
"My king," the Grand Maester replied, "there is no chance of manipulation. The North has refused the maesters’ services and banned us from Winterfell, but as per your orders, a maester was sent to oversee tax calculations. According to the latest records, everything is accurate."
"But how is this possible?" Lord Redwyne interjected. "Taxes have steadily increased for the past decade and have now stopped? Lord Rickon was an honorable and loyal lord, but his son... well, we all know the regent lacks his father’s loyalty, as demonstrated by his disrespect toward Prince Aemon."
Sensing an argument brewing, Baelon decided to step in.
"My lords, the explanation might be simpler than you think. Lord Rickon was known for his exceptional leadership and ability to foster growth. His passing has clearly caused stagnation. His son lacks the same skills. Furthermore, major projects, such as the repairs at Moat Cailin, have been completed. The policies Lord Rickon implemented are still being followed, but there’s been no new development or innovation to drive further growth. The taxes have stabilized as a result."
"Aye," the king said. "Prince Baelon speaks the truth. The maesters have verified that the northern lords are not stealing from the crown. The lack of new ventures supports the idea that the young lord regent is risk-averse and a miser."
“My king, there has been a new development in the north,” Lord Redwyne said immediately. “The Mormonts have started shipbuilding and even whaling in the seas. We received the first shipment last month of whale oil and other goods. Whaling has been almost entirely done by the Ibbenese on the other side of the world compared to the Mormonts, and after inquiring, the northmen spoke in revered tones about the Red Death, and his skill in building ships and even whaling in the deep, ice-cold seas, as well as taming a she-bear. I couldn't make them tell the actual name of the Red Death, but I have heard a rumor of a song in the Riverlands called "The Red Death." It talks about the red-haired Tully defeating the Ironborn and bathing himself in blood. The bards have not yet reached King's Landing with that stupid song.”
Baelon noticed Aemon grimacing at the mention of The Red Death, though his brother’s face betrayed no overt anger or any other emotions.
"Lord Redwyne," Baelon interjected, "there’s no need to waste resources investigating this figure. We know who he is. He is my bastard nephew, Daemon Snow. Regent Bennard Stark sent him to Bear Island to be fostered. He earned the name The Red Death after slaughtering wildlings in the Battle of the Nightfort."
The council exchanged surprised glances at this revelation.
"Enough," the king commanded sternly, his voice cutting through the murmurs. "This is the Small Council, convened to advise me in governing my kingdom—not to waste time gossiping about a bastard on the other side of the realm.
As I have already made clear, every lord in this kingdom is free to govern their lands as they see fit, provided they pay their taxes and abide by the laws of the crown. Let the Mormonts hunt whales or even krakens if they so choose. The Iron Throne has no interest in their pursuits, so long as they remain loyal and fulfill their obligations of fealty and taxes."
"Aye, Your Grace," both Baelon and Lord Redwyne said in unison, accepting the rebuke with bowed heads.
After the king acknowledged their obeisance, Baelon spoke. "My king," he began, his tone grave, "the Dornish have committed to attacking our coasts by sea. Their ships are said to set sail with the next moon."
Prince Aemon let out a derisive snort at the news. "They’re actually attacking us with wooden ships?" he said, incredulous. "Father, allow me to meet them when the time comes. I’ll deal with this insult myself."
"My prince," Lord Redwyne interjected, his voice steady but respectful, "your life is far too precious to risk. The royal fleet and my own are prepared to meet the Crown's enemies. Though my sailors have reported increased shipping traffic in the Dornish Sea, there has been no credible word of an attack or declaration of war." He glanced toward Baelon, his expression turning sharp and calculative.
The king sat in deliberation for a moment, his gaze heavy with thought. Finally, he spoke, his tone resolute. "I am the Protector of the Realm. Should they dare attack my kingdom, I will welcome them—not just with my sons, but with Vermithor by my side."
==============================================
84 AC
The kings solar
Baelon hurried into the solar after receiving permission, his steps brisk. Inside, he found the king seated with his mother, Queen Alysanne, and his brother, Prince Aemon.
"Baelon, I’m glad to see you out of the nursery," his mother greeted, her voice warm yet tinged with exhaustion. Baelon noted the dark circles beneath her eyes and the weariness etched into her regal features. He was certain his own face bore a similar haggardness; the loss of Alyssa Targaryen had left both of them utterly devastated.
"Mother," Baelon said softly, "I’m relieved to find you here." He turned to face the king, his voice gaining urgency. "I’ve come to ask something that might save my son, Aegon." His gaze shifted between his mother and father before he continued, addressing the king. "My king, let me go to Bear Island and bring your bastard grandson here. He has... abilities. Whether through healing or some unknown cause, people’s health improves wherever he is. Please, let me take this chance for the sake of your youngest grandson’s life."
Baelon watched his father’s face intently, searching for any sign of emotion. The king remained unmoved, his expression stony.
"Aemon," the king said finally, his tone unreadable Baelon grimaced. He understood, his father’s plan to shift the burden of saying no to Aemon, but before Aemon could speak, their mother cut in, her voice sharp.
"Baelon, what in the Seven Hells are you talking about?" Alysanne demanded. "Do you honestly believe the tales spun by smallfolk? They’ve always been prone to fanciful stories, and now you think a bastard is blessed by the gods? We are not blessed by the gods, my son. If we were, I would not have had to give my own sons and daughters to the flames." Her words carried both derision and a deep, lingering sadness.
"It doesn’t matter if the stories are true or not, Mother," Baelon snapped back, his tone fierce. "I’m willing to gamble on any chance that might save my son’s life!"
Throughout the exchange, the king’s attention remained fixed on Aemon, who had stayed silent until now.
"Brother," Baelon called hesitantly, searching for support.
Aemon finally spoke, his voice calm yet resolute. "You don’t need to worry about me, Father. Let Baelon go and bring my son here."
Baelon’s heart lifted for a moment, but his hope faltered as the king sighed, his exhaustion evident.
"Baelon," the king said, his voice firm but weary, "you know why I’ve kept him in the North after Lord Stark’s death. The maesters and healers have assured me that Aegon is healthy for a babe of his age. Any signs of illness can be treated, and he will recover within moons. I’ve seen my children at this stage, and they’ve grown into strong men—just as the two of you are sitting before me now."
My king," Baelon protested, his voice rising with desperation, "this is about my son! We lost Alyssa, and what did the healers say about her? The same assurances!" His voice cracked with emotion. "I would go beyond the Wall itself if there were even a—"
"Baelon," the king hissed sharply, cutting him off. Though his tone remained controlled, it carried the weight of authority, and Baelon felt his body tense instinctively. His muscles locked, and the momentum of his outburst faltered mid-sentence.
"Prince Aemon," the king said, his gaze now shifting to his other son, "your brother is grieving and exhausted from sleepless nights spent beside my grandson. Escort him to his chambers and ensure he rests. He may return to the nursery once he is sufficiently rested. We will discuss seeking miracles when and if they are truly needed."
Baelon opened his mouth to argue, but the king’s promise to revisit the matter stayed his words.
He was tired—so tired—and perhaps half an hour of rest would help him marshal his thoughts and prepare a more convincing argument. Perhaps, then, he could find a way to bring Daemon here.
=======================================
84AC
Bear Island.
Daemon Snow
"Up, up, up!" the crowd cheered, forming a circle around Jon, a Bear Island guard, and me as we competed in a push-up contest.
"You can do it, Daemon! Come on, it’s just the two of us on your back," Lyra teased from her perch on my back.
A low growl rumbled in agreement, and through my bond with Fenrir, I realized my direwolf was siding with her.
“Damn traitor,” I hissed under my breath as I lowered myself for another push-up.
Yes, I had introduced bodyweight exercises to Winterfell and now to Bear Island too, but it wasn’t doing me any favors at the moment. I was pushing up with my direwolf perched on my shoulder blades, and Lyra, wearing her armor, sitting across my lower back and hips.
“Look, Jon’s on his last ones! His arms are shaking, and he doesn’t even have anyone on his back,” Lyra pointed out with a laugh.
I didn’t reply. Even with my enhanced body and stamina, having 250 kilograms of extra weight on me was no joke. Balancing them both without making them topple off added to the challenge. I could feel my abs and back muscles strain as it tightened again and again to balance both of them in back.
"Daemon! Daemon!" The crowd erupted in cheers as Jon finally collapsed onto his stomach, his arms giving out. I couldn’t help but laugh at the sight, but the shaking of my body threw Fenrir off balance. My direwolf slipped from my back, and the sudden shift in weight sent me tumbling down as well, my stomach smacking against the ground with a thud.
I groaned in discomfort for a moment before laughter overtook me. Fenrir, however, was not amused. Using his paws, he smacked me square in the back as if to scold me for making him fall. The force was enough to leave bruises if I’d been a normal man. Luckily, he refrained from using his claws, though I groaned again from the pain.
“As fun as this is, it’s time to get to work.” Lady Dacey Mormont’s stern voice cut through the laughter as she entered the training yard.
Lyra, still seated on my back, quickly scrambled to her feet and stood at attention.
I shoved Fenrir off me with a grunt and rose to my feet, brushing dirt from my clothes.
“Daemon, Lyra, get cleaned up,” Lady Dacey ordered.
I was lying in bed, with Lyra hugging me as she slept, her face resting on my chest. Even though the cold didn’t bother me, having a warm body to hold was comforting. By now, I only needed two to three hours of sleep to function at my best, but there was almost nothing entertaining to do here apart from using my greensight to glimpse interesting moments from the past. Over time, I had uncovered many secrets and histories that Martin had skipped in canon.
It had been four years since my banishment to Bear Island, and it had turned out to be both a vacation and a productive time. My training in the ocean and the mysterious sensations I felt there, especially as we ventured westward, had been fascinating. However, I never dared to prod too deeply, not wanting to awaken whatever slumbered in the depths. Still, whatever it was, its presence in the west was unmistakable and not to be taken lightly, as I could feel it even from Bear Island. At-least I got the answer why the West of Westeros was left unexplored by every sailor.
It was while searching for fish in the ocean that I first encountered whales and orcas. Whaling had been a practice near Ibben for millennia, but no one had ever realized whales were present on this side of the ocean as well. This discovery led to the Mormonts initiating whaling—a monumental endeavor under my leadership. My relationship with Lord Manderly proved invaluable, as it enabled us to establish a shipbuilding process and construct ships directly on Bear Island. This development also ensured I wasn’t confined entirely to the island. Each year, I travelled across the North, recruiting people to Bear Island to support the burgeoning shipping and whaling operations.
My thoughts were brought to a halt by Lyra moving around and trying burrow deeper to my chest in her sleep. I smiled as I tightened the hold around her.
It has been almost a year since I lost my virginity in this life to Lyra. I had tried to keep my distance and even told her I wouldn’t marry or settle down with her, but she was adamant. She assured me that even if a child were to be born, it would carry the Mormont name and not be labelled a bastard, as per tradition. For now, though, she was taking moon tea, ensuring that possibility remained distant.
I have been communicating with Cregan through warging, and he has been progressing rapidly in both talent and lessons. However, the reason for my current sleepless night lies in the latest tidings from King’s Landing. My greenseeing, combined with my warging, has revealed potential disruptions to my plans.
I grimaced, reflecting on how I had never expected my own healing ability to be taken seriously enough for my father to report it to the king. Now, my aunt Alyssa has died during childbirth after weeks of fluctuating health, and Baelon has finally recalled the story Aemon shared two years ago.
I am caught in a dilemma. Saving Aegon would undoubtedly alter the Targaryen future, adding another dragonrider to their ranks. More troubling is what I foresaw—the king may see me as a resource to be controlled, a prisoner whose blood could prolong his life. Jaehaerys Targaryen is clever enough to grasp the full potential of my abilities.
This has weighed on me for days, and I can sense Baelon’s patience wearing thin. He grows desperate, enough to consider flying north without the king’s permission to ensure the survival of his third son, my cousin, Aegon Targaryen.
Jaehaerys is one of the most powerful men in the world, and his only true adversary now is time and old age. What would he do if gifted with a distant grandson whose blood could heal any wound and extend life itself? Both paths before me are fraught with danger and pitfalls. Healing Aegon would confirm my ability and surely trap me in the south, far from the safety of distance and anonymity that have protected me thus far. To lose that would spell disaster for me.
Finally, after nearly an hour of deliberation, I decided what must be done.
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Authors Note: Yeah almost 4 year time skip.. This decade should be more faster than previous one unless my muse hit me like a jackhammer and the targ family drama became too good for me to ignore.
Hit me with what you think daemon has decided. Also don’t have to wait this long for the next one. It should be a faster update. Took some time to decide whether to show the development of bear island and daemon’s sea training, but decided to skip showing them.
Comments
Mason R
So wouldn’t Daemon be able to go to the Capital now and take Balerion? It’s only 82 AC. The king can’t do shit againt Daemon if he has Balerion, Baelon and Aemon on his side
the batman
that is excellent suggestion to test out the power progression..,, unfortunately daemon will never reach that level while balerion is alive... balerion dies in 92 AC after all....
Damion Lott
I personally think that he should fight the black dread for submission it be his way of showing his progress to being the pinnacle of power. Just a thought
the batman
Will know in next chapter.. also jae is correct in the sense that, they have time to decide and see whether Aegon is becoming stronger or not... Jae doesn't want to commit and whats it worth aegon is his male grandchild after all..
the batman
Cannibal is an excellent dragon to have... rhllor is not a problem as long as daemon's blood is not sacrificed to fire again....
Abstein
The thing is, will baelon bring the mc south, giving the king the proverbial middle finger, or he will take baby Egg to bear island and risk him dying midway?
TyrantGod
Hmm. I think MC could claim the Cannibal as his dragon. Also, he could escape or hide in Essos till Aegon or Jaehaerys death. Will give him a chance to explore his Valyrian magic side. I dunno if Rhollr will be a problem though but Essos is a huge place.
the batman
getting balerion is impossible for daemon, and the dragon will not be black dread. Don't worry, i can understand the frustration of not reaching the point where daemon is in south, but the comments made me realise i couldn't just hand wave away the years ignoring the butterfly effect, which was my initial plans. for eg, the aegon was supposed to die as per canon and in this too, but since baelon now knows the rumour he will try to save him.. in my original plan the only thing in this decade was bennard rebelling just as canon. but these aegon plot line and an additional plot line came up...
Arcturus
He need go to capital and get Balerion in any case. Because otherwise it's no sense and only waisting opportunities and time... Sorry but your description of Jahaerys and Aemon are too much dramatic, they look like cartoon villains and not people. Jahaerys like evil Dumbledore and Aemon like overdramatic Dio Brande... Baelon is most sain and clever from that trio. He at least look like real person with hears, his own options and thoughts. Hope plot would move more in way of Kingdom and ambitious, because it would be too long and too much timeskiping wait till MC hind courge to fight back and put all these asshols on their places. He is demigod and he already died once, what else he afraid?! Only brave get bank and girls, losers could only cry and cocomplain. Hope Daemon is Chad and not simp, who would run away or take orders from that royal bitches of his grandparents P.S Sorry if I was improper or vulgar in my thoughts. It just from pure heart, you know. Just hope that MC and author make the their choices as they think would best for story😳🙏
