Baelon’s first flight on dragonback had been carefully prepared.
Daemon strapped him tightly into the saddle, thick leather belts locking him in place.
Special reinforced gloves let his weak hands grip the saddle handles with what little strength he possessed.
Viserys stood on the ground below, unable to hide his fear.
He pleaded with his son to abandon the idea.
“Child, you’ve already proven you’re an exceptional prince. There’s no need to risk your life on dragonback just to prove it again!”
Baelon looked down at his father from the saddle.
“Father, every dragonrider belongs on his dragon’s back—even if it’s only once.”
“I’m not trying to prove anything. I was born longing for the sky.”
“Ignir and I share a deep bond. We’re the closest of partners. If I die because of this, then it was meant to be. You don’t need to worry about me.”
He was certain he hadn’t crossed into this world for nothing.
He had no cheat-like golden finger—only a perfect memory, like a memory palace—but he carried some purpose here.
He would not die on this flight.
That conviction had burned in him since the first moment he laid eyes on Ignir.
He had waited six long years for this day.
Viserys saw that pleading was useless and gave in, but he insisted Daemon and Rhaenyra fly alongside with their own dragons to keep Baelon safe.
So when Baelon and Ignir rose into the air above King’s Landing, they were joined by Rhaenyra on Syrax and Daemon on Caraxes.
The three dragons circled and soared under the eyes of countless watchers.
Syrax flew close beside Ignir while the much larger Caraxes glided protectively beneath them.
Ignir kept glancing back to check on his rider, showing none of the wild excitement of a first flight.
He flew with careful precision, terrified of jostling Baelon even slightly.
Seeing the perfect trust and coordination between dragon and boy, Viserys finally let out the breath he had been holding.
From that day on, flying became Baelon’s only real pleasure.
Every day he took to the skies with Ignir, soaring over King’s Landing, the Crownlands, and the Blackwater Rush.
He didn’t fly just for fun.
From the air he studied the land below, mapping out the arable fields around the city and refining his next move to improve the smallfolk’s lives.
Over the past two years the plan had taken shape.
Once the renovation of King’s Landing was finished, he intended to clear the city of vagrants and have the crown lead them in clearing and farming the open land outside the walls.
It would ease the burden on the city while increasing food production and tax revenue.
But just as the city renovation was nearing completion, a scholar from Essos arrived and upended everything.
113 AC.
Baelon was eight years old.
Rhaenyra was about to celebrate her sixteenth nameday and formally take possession of Dragonstone.
On an ordinary day, Baelon had Cole and the dragonkeepers help him into Ignir’s saddle as usual.
Ignir lifted off smoothly and headed toward the edge of the Kingswood—the stretch of land Baelon wanted to survey today.
As soon as they had enough men free from the city works, he planned to launch his colonization project: clearing the vagrants while expanding farmland and tax revenue near King’s Landing.
But the moment Ignir flew beyond the city walls, Baelon spotted a lone figure standing at the crossroads where the Roseroad met the Kingsroad.
The man was staring up at them, unmoving.
At first Baelon paid him little mind—probably just some outlander who had never seen a dragon before.
He had Ignir begin a low sweep to study the open land between the Kingswood and the city.
As they flew lower, Baelon was surprised to see the cloaked figure waving at him and shouting something.
Curiosity won.
He had Ignir land right in front of the man.
The instant Ignir touched down, the dragon’s head rose high, wings half-spread, guarding Baelon behind him.
A low growl rumbled in his throat.
His jaws parted, ready to unleash dragonfire at the first sign of threat.
The stranger showed no fear.
If anything, excitement lit his eyes.
Baelon’s voice came clearly from behind the dragon’s bulk.
“Who are you? Were you calling to me?”
The man inclined his head slightly.
“Are you the great Prince Baelon Targaryen, Your Grace?”
“I am. What do you want?”
“Oh, how fortunate. I was wondering how I would even find you once I entered the city.”
“Please allow me to introduce myself. I am Auris Daeneris, a scholar from Valantis on the continent of Essos.”
He pulled back his hood, revealing silver-gold hair and pale violet eyes exactly like Baelon’s own.
Baelon studied the name and the coloring.
Something about the surname felt familiar.
He signaled Ignir to lower his head. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
When he saw the man’s features clearly, understanding dawned.
“You’re a descendant of old Valyria?”
Auris switched smoothly into High Valyrian, pride coloring his voice.
“Indeed, Your Grace.”
“And I am no ordinary Valyrian orphan. I am a member of House Daeneris—one of the three great ruling families of the Valyrian Freehold, keepers of the strongest blood magic and sorcery.”
Baelon looked at the proud man and couldn’t help a short laugh.
He answered in the same ancient tongue.
“And?”
Auris’s pride only deepened.
“Perhaps I can heal your affliction and let you run free.”
Baelon’s expression changed in an instant.
His eyes narrowed.
Ignir felt the shift in his rider’s mood.
The dragon’s head snapped higher, shielding Baelon completely.
His jaws opened wider and a fierce red glow kindled in his throat, ready to unleash dragonfire.
“Auris Daeneris,” Baelon said coldly, “state your true purpose plainly, or you will face dragonfire.”
Auris raised both hands quickly, showing he meant no harm.
His voice was urgent.
“Prince Baelon, I came all the way from Valantis specifically to heal you!”
“Your reputation reached Valantis with the merchant ships, along with news of your poor health. I couldn’t bear the thought of a prince like you spending his life trapped in a chair. That’s why I crossed the sea.”
Baelon gave a short, humorless laugh.
“Auris, you have one minute left. I suggest you tell the truth.”
Auris glanced at Ignir’s open maw and the glowing fire within, and cursed inwardly.
“Prince Baelon, I truly am here to help you stand on your own two feet!”
Baelon leaned sideways so he could see the man’s face clearly.
“Then let me ask a different question. Why travel so far to help me? Don’t feed me any nonsense about being moved by my character. We’ve never met. Give me one good reason to believe you.”
“Free things are usually the most expensive. Compared to some vague hope, staying alive matters more to me.”
“Stubborn little brat,” Auris thought, but kept his face respectful.
“If I can restore your health, I ask only one thing in return—a dragon. So I can restore my family’s glory.”
“Your condition and your deeds convinced me that you are the one who needs my help most… and the one most likely to pay the price I require.”
“Of course, if you refuse, I will leave at once.”