I am Baelon, you are Baelon, everyone is Baelon!
But if none of these Baelons had surnames, how were they supposed to tell one another apart?
“From this day forward, he may call himself ‘Number Two’ Baelon!”
Baelon Targaryen broke into a delighted grin.
“I am ‘Number One’ Baelon.”
He gave a sly wink as he spoke.
Today, he was going to open an entirely new branch in House Targaryen’s Baelon lineage!
Defy the traditions of his ancestors?!
Sorry.
He had done it without a second thought.
From this day onward, beginning with him, the name Baelon would be passed down from Number One all the way to Number Ten Thousand!
The sturdy woman was beside herself with joy, her round eyes widening.
“‘Number Two’ Baelon!”
She had never imagined her child would be granted such a noble name.
Her powerful arms began to tremble.
The middle-aged woman’s knees went weak, and she nearly fell prostrate on the ground.
Beaming with delight, she cried out in a strong, booming voice, “Prince Baelon, I swear I shall pray for you before the Seven day and night!”
“May the Seven watch over you!”
Baelon did not even need to bend down to gently help the woman back to her feet.
He politely thanked her in return.
Then he looked around.
Many eyes in the crowd were fixed eagerly upon him.
Baelon promptly climbed onto the front of the carriage.
He raised an arm and proclaimed, “From this day forward, in the name of Baelon Targaryen, I grant every subject of Westeros the right to bear this name!”
The crowd erupted at once.
An excited bard pulled out his lute, ready to compose a song about the scene on the spot.
“Then can I call myself ‘Number Two’ Baelon too?!” shouted a thin man.
The sturdy woman drove an elbow into him and roared, “Like hell you can! My child is ‘Number Two’!”
Most of the common folk had little skill with numbers, and soon quite a few of them were arguing over what “number” they or their children ought to be.
Baelon waved a hand, and the carriage slowly began moving again.
He remained standing at the front, smiling and waving to the crowd.
This time, no matter how loudly the people called his name or reached their hands toward him, the horses did not stop.
The carriage crawled forward.
Though the River Gate had been only a short distance away, it took half an hour to force a path through the packed crowd.
Once through the city gate, the road opened up.
The fine horses stretched their legs and picked up speed.
The noisy crowd gradually fell behind, then dispersed in twos and threes.
At the roadside stood a finely dressed man wearing a blue wool cloak and a goatee.
The impressive column of knights gradually vanished into the distance.
Baelon tossed the coin purse back to Ser Uther.
Ser Uther caught it neatly and laughed.
“Prince, you now owe me three silver stags, seven copper stars, and three pennies!”
“Put it on the account. I’ll pay you at the end of the month!”
Baelon rarely found himself in situations where he needed coins, so he disliked carrying a purse with him.
The Iron Throne did not yet possess enough credibility to issue paper currency, and the people of Westeros were accustomed to metal coinage.
A pouch filled with gold dragons and silver stags constantly clinked and knocked together.
Whether it hung from his belt or was stuffed into a boot, it inevitably bumped against his stomach or calf and made him uncomfortable.
So whenever he happened to need money, he simply borrowed some from one of the knights guarding him.
“Still, Prince…” Ser Uther frowned, his voice full of concern.
“Once word of what happened today spreads, I fear the lords will speak poorly of you in private.”
The life of a hedge knight meant traveling from one castle to another.
Ser Uther had served no fewer than five minor lords and knew perfectly well that nobles and knights were not nearly as noble as they claimed.
At times, they could be crueler and more frightening than beasts.
They would break into a farmer’s home, slaughter his cattle and sheep at will, seize his chickens and ducks, violate his wife and daughters, and if the family offered even the slightest resistance, stab them, hang them, or strangle them to death.
Once they had eaten and drunk their fill and had nothing better to occupy them, they would freely gossip about the scandals of those above them.
A great lord’s daughter pregnant with a bastard.
Their liege lord’s cowardice.
And the most enduring and beloved topic of all, the Targaryens.
The incestuous, adulterous Targaryens.
The Targaryens who produced endless white-haired bastards.
Ser Uther could almost hear the way they would speak.
“The lower classes are greedy, ignorant, and uncouth. For the Prince to treat them with such softness is a disgrace to the nobility!”
Baelon merely smiled.
“They’re nothing but rats who dare only whisper behind my back.”
“For as long as I can remember, aside from my uncle, no one has ever dared say a single unpleasant thing to my face.”
“I don’t care about them.”
In truth, there was very little for Baelon to worry about.
His life had gone remarkably smoothly.
As far as the legitimacy of his inheritance was concerned, his position was impeccable.
His mother, Aemma Arryn, was the daughter of the former Lord of the Eyrie.
The current Lady of the Eyrie, Jeyne Arryn, was effectively his cousin.
To secure her own rule, Jeyne Arryn had no choice but to align herself with the Iron Throne.
The Vale would undoubtedly stand behind him.
His marriage to Laena Velaryon had also secured the support of House Velaryon and House Baratheon.
The Vale, the Crownlands, and the Stormlands together. Follow the newest chapters on novelping.com.
South of the Neck, more than half of Westeros stood behind him.
And with Dragonstone allied with Driftmark, they controlled the sea routes through the Narrow Sea leading to King’s Landing.
Then there was the even more important source of strength.
Dragons.
Baelon closed the window and began counting them off on his fingers.
At present, there were not many dragons he could be certain would stand on his side.
The largest and oldest dragon, Vhagar.
The fastest dragon, “the Red Queen” Meleys.
And two smaller dragons.
His sister Rhaenyra’s Syrax and Laenor’s Seasmoke.
Only four dragons.
One more than Aegon the Conqueror had possessed when he conquered the Seven Kingdoms.
Daemon…
Daemon’s cold, dissatisfied, mocking face flashed through Baelon’s mind.
Daemon would not become one of his supporters, but he was unlikely to become his enemy either.
Not much of a problem.
If it came to that, he could simply persuade Viserys to send Daemon off to Harrenhal.
Let him stay there for an entire season and allow Harrenhal to keep him thoroughly occupied.
Most importantly, Baelon still had his cheat!
Defeating just three white wolves in the first trial had granted him such a powerful boon.
Once he tamed Vermithor, man and dragon could charge straight into the Trial Realm and slaughter everything before them.
He would collect every boon he could in one sweep, then crush everything in his path.
Baelon was firmly convinced of one thing.
If he were the protagonist of a webnovel, he’d undoubtedly be one of those ridiculously overpowered wish-fulfillment heroes who steamroll everything in their path.
Everything was going far too smoothly!
The more he thought about it, the more his blood began to race.
Convinced that he was the invincible protagonist, Baelon set himself a modest little goal.
First, he would remake Westeros and Essos in his own image.
He would reshape this world according to his will.
“Knock, knock.”
Ser Uther knocked on the carriage door.
“Prince, we’ve arrived at the Dragon Paper Mill!”
Baelon pushed open the door.
“How many times have I told you?!”
“It’s toilet paper! Toilet paper!”
“Stop putting ‘dragon’ in the name of everything I invent!”
Especially paper meant for wiping arses and cleaning up shit and piss!