“I accept your wager, Your Highness.”
Erryk agreed without the slightest hesitation.
For one thing, Baelon was the king’s eldest son.
Refusing him outright would be tantamount to publicly slighting the future king.
But there was another reason as well.
Erryk simply did not believe Baelon could win.
His reasoning was straightforward.
Bastards might occupy one of the lowest positions in Westerosi society, but they were also a group of desperate men who would do almost anything for a chance to rise.
In King’s Landing, one could even find bastards frequenting underground gambling dens, hoping to become rich overnight.
For the sake of that dream, some were willing to risk broken limbs, ruin their lives, and sacrifice everything they possessed.
Erryk’s reasoning was sound.
Unfortunately, he had bet on the wrong man.
That afternoon, while Baelon was studying the dragonkeepers’ records, Aston appeared before him.
The little finger of his left hand was gone, yet he approached the prince with utmost respect and carefully presented him with a written report detailing everything that had happened in the Dragonpit that day.
From beginning to end, Erryk saw no trace of anger in Aston’s eyes.
There was only respect.
And fear.
The shadow Baelon had left over the bastard was simply too deep.
Whenever the two met, Aston could barely find the courage to raise his head.
“Hmm.
You may leave.”
Baelon remained completely absorbed in the Dragonpit records, not even bothering to look up.
Aston bowed deeply and departed the prince’s chambers with perfect obedience.
“Well, Ser Erryk?
You lost the wager.”
Baelon finally closed the journal, a rare look of childish triumph appearing on his face.
Erryk was still utterly bewildered.
“Your Highness, I don’t understand.”
“You cut off Aston’s little finger.
Why does he still treat you with such complete respect?
He hasn’t shown even the slightest resentment.”
Baelon calmly explained, “In Westeros, a bastard’s existence is little better than that of a slave in the Free Cities.
If they want to climb the social ladder, their only real opportunities are war and earning the favor of someone powerful.”
“In Aston’s eyes, I am the king’s eldest son and future heir to the Iron Throne.
As long as I have some use for him, he would willingly continue serving me even if I had taken his leg instead of his little finger.”
Nearly six years spent in Oldtown had given Baelon a sharp and perceptive mind.
It constantly told him when to act and helped him make the most decisive judgment possible.
There was no escaping it.
Human nature simply worked that way.
Give someone a desire, and they would be willing to sacrifice almost everything to obtain it.
Cold sweat instinctively appeared on his forehead.
He had thought Baelon’s decisive act in the Dragonpit, personally cutting off Aston’s finger, was already shocking enough.
He had never imagined that the prince’s greatest strength wasn’t his decisiveness.
It was his understanding of human desire.
And the terrifying way he could manipulate it.
He was only six years old!
At that age, most noble children in Westeros were still obsessed with fighting their peers and rebelling against their tutors.
Yet Prince Baelon could already make people dance in the palm of his hand like trained pets.
“Your Highness, I, Erryk, am thoroughly convinced by your methods.
And here, upon the honor of my white cloak and my own life, I swear this!”
“Not a single word of what was said today will ever leave my lips!”
Erryk dropped to one knee before Baelon, placing his right hand over his chest as he solemnly made his vow.
As a member of the Kingsguard, he could not pledge himself to Baelon alone without reservation.
But he could give the prince something equally valuable: his solemn word.
“I believe you, Ser Erryk.
You may rise.”
Baelon smiled and gently raised a hand.
From this moment onward, Baelon had eyes and ears within the Small Council, the Dragonpit, and even the Kingsguard.
The next step was to claim a dragon.
That evening, the entire family gathered around the dinner table.
Baelon formally asked Viserys for permission to travel to the Dragonmont on Dragonstone and tame a dragon of his own.
Viserys lowered his knife and fork and looked seriously at his eldest son.
“My child, taming a dragon is no game.
And taming a mature dragon is especially dangerous.”
“Vermithor and Dreamfyre are both dragons of extremely fierce temperaments.
One careless mistake, and their flames could take your life.”
“I remember there is a young dragon in the Dragonpit of King’s Landing, Sunfyre, whose age is not much different from yours.
The dragonkeepers say that his temperament is relatively gentle.
He would be a much more suitable choice for you.”
Viserys had finally been blessed with a healthy eldest son.
He had no intention of allowing Baelon to lose a limb, or worse, simply because he wanted to tame a dragon.
“A Targaryen does not fear a challenge!”
Baelon’s voice was firm.
“Besides, Father, I am not trying to tame a dragon for myself.”
“The royal family needs a dragon powerful enough to deter every enemy who wishes to undermine or invade Targaryen rule!”
Baelon grasped Viserys’s rough hand.
From the mouth of a six-year-old child came words that left everyone at the table stunned.
Rhaenyra was the first to react.
“Well said, Baelon!
I support you!”
“If those dragons dare hurt you, Syrax and I won’t let them get away with it!”
There was genuine admiration in his eyes.
Yet there was also something else.
He clearly didn’t want Baelon to achieve such an accomplishment.
Across the table, Alicent and her three children wore expressions that were equally fascinating.
Alicent was smiling on the surface, while secretly digging her thumbnail into the flesh beneath another fingernail.
Aegon, meanwhile, visibly relaxed, evidently relieved that Baelon had no interest in Sunfyre.
Helaena simply continued playing with the insects inside her jar.
Only when Baelon spoke did she lift her head, sincerely offering her older brother encouragement.
Seeing everyone unexpectedly standing on the same side, Viserys could only sigh in exasperation.
“Oh, this is a disaster!”
“My child, I will allow you to tame a dragon.
But you must promise me that you will first approach Silverwing, the gentlest of them all.”
Since there was no way to win an argument with his stubborn eldest son, Viserys was willing to compromise.
Silverwing was indeed an excellent choice.
She had a gentle temperament and was surpassed in size only by Vhagar and Vermithor.
“I promise, Father.”
Baelon nodded.
Of course, traveling to Dragonstone to tame a dragon was merely his excuse.
The dragon he truly wanted was Cannibal.
A wild dragon that had never been tamed, possessing extraordinary strength, immense size, and exceptional evasiveness.
With enough patience and careful nurturing, Baelon was confident he could make Cannibal surpass Vhagar in combat ability.
He would create the second Balerion the Black in Targaryen history.
“My child, get a good night’s rest tonight.
Tomorrow at noon, we’ll depart King’s Landing on a ship for Dragonstone.”
Viserys gently patted Baelon on the shoulder.
“Understood, Father.”
Baelon hugged his father lightly in gratitude.
After dinner, everyone returned to their respective chambers.
Baelon, however, remained awake late into the night.
The cool summer breeze of King’s Landing drifted through the window as he continued studying the dragonkeepers’ records concerning the habits and customs of dragons.
“Food…
consumption…
growth…”
Baelon carefully marked several key pieces of information with his pen.
Just then, a raven suddenly landed beside the window.
A letter was unmistakably tied to its leg.
Baelon recognized it immediately.
It belonged to Larys.
He walked over, untied the letter from the raven’s leg, and unfolded it.
There was only one brief sentence written on the page.
Prince Daemon has disguised himself and gone to Queen Alicent’s chambers.