Faced with Ser Swann’s mad display of muscle-flexing, Baelon found himself recalling that distant evening when he had first met him.
It had been Baelon’s nameday.
As usual, the nobles presented him with gifts.
House Velaryon offered a string of 308 natural seawater pearls, while House Hightower presented a lavishly illuminated manuscript of the Seven-Pointed Star…
Deep blue sapphires that gleamed crimson in the firelight, crystals streaked with interwoven layers of red and green, golden-red sunstones, milky moonstones, great chunks of turquoise…
Merchants vied with one another to offer him gifts.
Myrish tapestries, screens from the Summer Isles, brocades from Norvos.
Diamond-studded horse tack, pearl-covered robes, gilded vases, enameled ornaments…
Countless rare and precious treasures were laid out before him, piled high like mountains, glittering beneath the lights.
As for gold coins, there were so many that even the long tables could not hold them all.
They clattered against one another and spilled over the edges like waterfalls.
The coins rang crisply as cascades of gold poured down.
Hundreds of torches illuminated the feast hall, while nobles and knights filled every bench.
Golden platters and silver dishes were stacked across the tables.
Roast boar, swan, peacock, and venison weighed them down until they seemed to sag.
Spiced wine never ran dry in goblets of gold and silver.
The noblewomen’s brightly colored skirts bloomed like summer flowers, dazzling the eye.
Laughter and music filled the hall.
Baelon scooped up a handful of gold coins and let them trickle through his fingers.
Beside him sat his father, Viserys, looking deeply pleased, and his sister Rhaenyra, smiling as she applauded him.
And, of course, there was Daemon with his cold expression.
Below the dais stood the nobles who had sworn allegiance to him.
A loving family, boundless wealth, a throne that would surely be his one day, and the power of dragons.
Baelon had been an ordinary man in his previous life, and his will had never been especially firm.
From the moment he was born into this life, every weakness he possessed had been relentlessly tested.
When he raised his golden goblet, everyone in the hall raised theirs to toast him.
At that moment, Baelon could not help feeling slightly intoxicated, even though it was not the wine.
Everything had simply gone too well for him.
Of all the gifts at that feast, those from House Lannister and House Tyrell pleased him the most.
House Lannister presented him with a ceremonial ship model.
Cast from forty-three pounds of gold, it was exquisitely crafted, every sail and every part of the rudder rendered in remarkable detail.
House Tyrell was more straightforward.
They offered five thousand gold dragons, along with five thousand Greenhand gold coins minted in various years.
Among them was exactly what Baelon had spent years searching for: a Greenhand gold coin minted one year before the Conquest.
A discontinued gold coin!
Before Aegon the Conqueror united the Seven Kingdoms, each kingdom had minted its own currency.
The Storm Kingdom had its lightning-and-storm coins, the Kingdom of the Rock its lion gold coins…
To Baelon, coins that had long ceased to be minted and had vanished into the dust of history held considerable value as collectibles.
The Seven Kingdoms simply had not tried hard enough.
Yes, Aegon the Conqueror had arrived with three dragons to slaughter you all, but that was no excuse to grow lazy and stop minting new coins!
The Greenhand, meanwhile, had been the sigil of House Gardener, the royal house that had ruled the Reach a century ago before its entire bloodline perished on the Field of Fire.
House Tyrell had served House Gardener for generations.
Baelon remembered that the King of the Reach at the time, Mern IX, had even appointed Harlan Tyrell as his steward.
But after the Field of Fire…
Harlan Tyrell surrendered Highgarden without a fight and swore allegiance to Aegon the Conqueror.
In return, House Tyrell inherited everything House Gardener had once possessed: its castle, lands, and vassals.
And supposedly eight or nine million Greenhand gold coins stored within the castle as well!
Eight or nine million gold coins?!
Sigh.
Aegon the Conqueror had truly been far too generous.
Then, of course, there was House Greyjoy of the Iron Islands.
They had managed to leave a deep impression on Baelon through a rather unconventional method.
He could not remember everyone who had sent him gifts, but he remembered perfectly well who had not.
Five years!
He had already celebrated five namedays.
House Greyjoy had never sent him a single gift!
They had not even presented anything on Viserys I’s nameday!
At major feasts, presenting gifts to the king was the duty and obligation of every noble who held lands from the crown.
The treasure itself hardly mattered.
What mattered was the noble’s attitude.
The Iron Throne merely wanted a show of respect!
And House Greyjoy would not even give them that!
As Baelon saw it, the Greyjoys had grown remarkably bold.
Once the presentation of gifts was over, everyone settled in to feast and drink.
The nobles took the opportunity to toast the king and speak with him, and among them was Lady Alicent Hightower.
Yes, Lady Hightower.
Viserys had not married Alicent Hightower as his queen, as he had in the original story.
In fact, he still had not taken a new queen at all.
Baelon had done nothing to prevent it.
Quite the opposite, he was actually looking forward to having a few younger brothers and sisters.
There were plenty of riderless dragons in the Dragonpit.
A few more siblings would mean a few more dragonriders to accompany him on campaigns across the realm.
Under Westeros’s inheritance customs, where the eldest son took everything, his place as first in line to the throne seemed as firm as a mountain.
Both custom and ironclad precedent stood on his side.
He had no reason to fear a younger brother usurping his throne.
Baelon studied Alicent Hightower.
Dressed in green, Alicent Hightower was beautiful, speaking to Viserys with a gentle smile.
Baelon was rather looking forward to meeting the younger siblings from the original story, the ones who, together with Rhaenyra, would unleash the calamity of the Dance of the Dragons.
Aegon, Aemond, Helaena, and Daeron.
How he hoped to have so many wonderful younger brothers and sisters!
Back when he had been bored in his cradle, Baelon had even come up with a new name for Aegon.
Aegon was not a good name.
Too many troubles had arisen because of that name in the past.
It would be better to rename him Aemon.
Aemon meant “beloved.”
More importantly, the last pair of brothers named Baelon and Aemon had enjoyed a very close relationship.
Unfortunately, poor little Aegon…
no, little Aemon, was still nowhere to be found.
After Baelon turned three, his health gradually improved.
With diligent study and relentless training, he had acquired martial skills that, while hardly outstanding, were at least respectable enough not to shame him.
Even the Small Council had stopped frequently urging Viserys to take a new queen.
A queen had two principal purposes: bearing a male heir and securing a diplomatic alliance through marriage.
Queen Aemma had already left behind a healthy male heir, and Baelon’s betrothal had united House Targaryen and House Velaryon, making royal power stronger than ever.
Viserys faced no practical pressure to remarry.
Suddenly, Alicent said something that made Viserys burst into hearty laughter.
Baelon raised an eyebrow.
It seemed that although there was no practical need for another marriage, it remained entirely possible if the king himself wished to wed again.
Hearing the laughter, Rhaenyra curiously moved closer and affectionately linked arms with Alicent.
Baelon slowly swept his gaze across the feast hall.
Not far away, Daemon sat with his head lowered, drinking sullenly.
Every so often, he glanced at Viserys before fixing Otto with a cold sneer.
In a corner, Ser Criston Cole’s gaze remained fixed on Rhaenyra.
How interesting.
Baelon leaned back in his chair, idly turning a gold coin between his fingers.
He had always said he liked feasts.
And it was at that very feast that he first met Ser Samwell Swann.
He was a young knight nearly two meters tall, broad and powerfully built.
He sat alone in a corner, quietly keeping his head down as he ate the food before him.
But when there was a little Mountain sitting among the crowd, towering over everyone around him, it was rather difficult not to notice.