Inside the tent, the maesters from the Citadel began their examination of the prince.
First, they used a small knife to draw blood from Baelon, carefully observing its color and viscosity.
Then they collected samples of his urine and feces, sniffing and examining them with both eyes and nose.
They had even prepared a large bucket of bubbling green liquid, claiming that they intended to administer it to the prince as an enema.
Had Baelon not cried out for help and summoned Ser Erryk and Rhaenyra, the young prince would almost certainly have fallen victim to the Citadel’s “medical expertise.”
“How did the examination go?”
Rhaenyra kept Baelon close beside her as she questioned the maesters.
The senior-most maester stepped forward first.
“Princess, the prince’s blood appears completely normal.
As for the remaining examinations, we will not be able to reach a definite conclusion until tomorrow at the earliest.”
Rhaenyra visibly relaxed.
“Very well.
If there is nothing else, I will take Baelon back to rest.”
The maesters bowed slightly as they saw the princess and prince off, then returned to their examination of the urine and feces.
After leaving the tent, Rhaenyra and Baelon returned to the royal family’s private pavilion to rest.
Rhaenyra helped her shaken little brother sit down on the bed and waited until his breathing had steadied before finally speaking.
“Baelon, Ser Erryk told me that you never actually saw the White Hart.
What happened?”
Baelon did not hide anything from her.
He told her everything he had experienced, from beginning to end.
“Sister, I don’t believe it was a dream.
The moment I touched the White Hart, everything felt completely real.”
Rhaenyra’s brows furrowed deeply.
She knew better than anyone about Baelon’s nightmares and the years of poor health they had caused him.
They had even sought treatment from maesters of the Citadel, but none had been able to offer a truly effective solution.
“Perhaps we should ask Father.”
Rhaenyra remembered that, once when Viserys had been drunk, he had told her that House Targaryen had once produced people known as dreamers.
Baelon’s condition seemed remarkably similar to what her father had described.
Unfortunately, too much time had passed, and she could no longer remember the details clearly.
Baelon himself was not particularly concerned.
His body was healthy now.
All he needed was to find a knight capable of providing him with proper physical training, and he believed that before long, he could become a worthy heir to the Iron Throne.
“Don’t think about it so much.
I’ve been wandering around outside for almost an entire day.
I’m going to sleep now, Sister.”
Baelon waved his hand, removed his shoes, and climbed into the comfortable bed.
“Good night, Baelon.
May you have pleasant dreams.”
Rhaenyra sat beside the bed.
Then she leaned down and kissed him gently on the forehead with a smile.
The following morning, after receiving the raven’s message, King Viserys finally returned to the royal encampment before the maesters had finished their examinations.
“How is the prince?”
The maesters had spent the entire night examining Baelon’s urine and feces.
Under the king’s watchful gaze, they finally delivered news that brought relief. This story is hosted at g.com.
“Your Grace, I must congratulate you.
Every one of the prince’s examinations has yielded remarkably healthy results.
His body is still somewhat weak, but with proper nourishment and rest, we believe he will soon become a perfectly healthy child.”
The sudden good news left the emotional Viserys momentarily unable to react.
He stood there stunned for quite some time before finally ordering the guards to escort the maesters away.
He also rewarded them with several gold coins.
“Where is the prince now?”
Viserys turned to one of the servants.
“Prince Baelon is resting in the royal pavilion.
Princess Rhaenyra is with him.”
Upon hearing that, Viserys immediately hurried over with several guards.
When he reached the pavilion, he ordered the guards to remain outside and entered personally to see his son.
“Rhaenyra, how is Baelon doing?”
The moment Viserys entered, Baelon stopped eating his bread.
His eyes lit up, and he eagerly began telling his father about the dream he had experienced the previous day.
“Father, I’m fine.”
“Yesterday, while I was in the Kingswood, I dreamed about the White Hart.
It personally blessed me and gave me a healthy body!”
The instant Viserys heard the word dream, his expression changed.
His excitement was unmistakable.
“Tell your father.
What kind of dream did you have?”
Baelon did not hold anything back.
He repeated everything he had already told Rhaenyra.
When Viserys heard the full story, he became so excited that he placed both hands on Baelon’s shoulders.
“If I’m not mistaken, your dreams possess the power to foresee the future!”
Rhaenyra immediately spoke up.
“Father, is the reason Baelon’s dreams can foresee the future connected to those dreamers you once told me about?”
Viserys looked at Rhaenyra in surprise.
But surprise was quickly overwhelmed by wonder and excitement.
The White Hart, symbol of royal authority, had never appeared before him, despite his being king.
Yet his eldest son, Baelon, had entered the Kingswood for the first time and not only seen the legendary creature with his own eyes, but received its blessing.
What an extraordinary destiny!
The thought reminded Viserys of an ancient legend that had been passed down within House Targaryen for generations.
In front of his children, Viserys drew one of the three great treasures passed down through the family from his belt: a dragon-horn dagger.
He placed it in the hands of his eldest son.
“Tell your father.
What do you see?”
Baelon raised the dagger slightly.
He immediately noticed countless tiny letters carved into its surface.
“This is High Valyrian.”
Baelon had studied in Oldtown since childhood, and High Valyrian was one of the languages he knew best.
He carefully examined the inscription before translating its meaning in his own words.
“The Prince That Was Promised…” Read this novel at g.com for the best experience.
“The savior spoken of in legend will once again wield the power of flame…”
Baelon summarized the words engraved upon the dagger.
Viserys looked deeply pleased.
Both the maesters of the Citadel and Rhaenyra had told him more than once that Baelon was an exceptionally studious and hardworking child.
“You are quite right, my son.”
“The words written upon this dagger describe the prophecy of the Song of Ice and Fire, the vision Aegon the Conqueror himself saw in his dreams.”
“I want you to understand something.
The moment you learn of this prophecy, you also inherit the responsibility and burden that come with it.”
Viserys spoke each word carefully, staring solemnly at Baelon.
Baelon froze.
For perhaps the first time, he looked genuinely at a loss.
He turned toward Rhaenyra.
Rhaenyra tightened her grip around his hand.
“Father, isn’t the Song of Ice and Fire merely an old tale sung by singers?”
Viserys shook his head gravely.
“It is not a song.
It is a prophecy.
A prophecy that truly exists.”
“I want both of you to remember it.
And when you have children of your own, tell them as well.
They must never forget the long night and the winter that will come.”
“I understand, Father.”
Baelon lowered his head, deep in thought.
The moment Viserys mentioned the Long Night and the cold of winter, Baelon could not help thinking of the words of House Stark:
Winter is Coming.
Could there be a connection between the Stark words and the Song of Ice and Fire?
Rhaenyra did not think as deeply about it as Baelon did.
She was simply astonished that her father, the king of the Seven Kingdoms, carried such an immense responsibility upon his shoulders.
Seeing the solemn expressions of his two children, Viserys removed the dragon-horn dagger from his belt.
He sheathed it once more before placing it in Baelon’s hands.
“Now your father gives this dragon-horn dagger to you.”
“It is not merely a blessing to mark your rebirth.
It is also a reminder of the responsibility you will one day bear as king.”
“Remember this: being king of the Seven Kingdoms is not a reward to be enjoyed.
It is a trial, a test of character given by the Seven.”
Baelon accepted the dragon-horn dagger.
He was just about to say something when he realized that his father had already walked out of the pavilion.
For a moment, Baelon remained completely still.
Then he drew the dragon-horn dagger from its sheath and quietly studied the words carved into the blade.
Or perhaps he was not looking at the inscription at all.
Perhaps he was looking at his own reflection in the cold gleam of the steel.
Am I the one foretold in the prophecy of ice and fire?
Baelon silently asked himself.