The salty wind swept across the shoreline, carrying with it the rhythmic crash of the waves. On the beach, a ring of attendants had formed. They bowed in unison as Belron approached, their respectful gestures accompanied by curious glances.
Word had spread quickly—Prince Baelon was attempting to create a legendary Valyrian seasoning. In a place where such novelties were rare, the spectacle was enough to draw anyone without urgent duties. Soon, a crowd had gathered, murmuring among themselves as they tried to guess the outcome.
Among them, Baelon spotted Maester Arlin, his aged frame standing out even in the throng. Arlin's hair was silvered with years, yet his eyes still held the sharp gleam of a man whose mind missed nothing. Baelon knew that with such a keen mind present, it wouldn't take much for Arlin to deduce the truth—especially since news of him hiring workers to gather oysters was already circulating.
Still, Baelon wasn't concerned. Yes, anyone could guess that oysters were the base ingredient, but the true craft of oyster sauce—at least his version—was beyond ordinary reach. Without dragon flame and the precise "spells" of Valyrian heritage, no one could reproduce it.
After exchanging a few pleasantries with his brother Viserys, Baelon clapped his hands, giving the signal. "Light the fire."
Torches flared to life, their flames fighting against the sea breeze that danced and teased them. The cooks worked quickly, rinsing plump oyster meat in seawater before dropping it into large iron pots. Clear water was added, and the whole mixture was left to simmer over a gentle flame.
Within minutes, the surface rippled with tiny bubbles, and the briny scent thickened in the air. For over an hour they cooked, the oyster meat gradually shrinking to tight, rubbery morsels.
"Take them out," Baelon instructed.
The cooks obeyed, lifting the oyster meat from the pot, leaving behind a broth tinged with an unappealing green. Baelon knew this step was both delicate and tedious. The broth had to be stirred constantly to prevent it from sticking and scorching at the bottom—a mistake that would ruin the batch entirely.
The sun dipped low, shadows stretching long across the sand as the liquid thickened. Yet, the color stubbornly remained green. Baelon frowned but quickly adapted. "Flour water," he called out.
In his past life, starch water from potatoes would have been ideal for thickening. But here, potatoes didn't exist, and flour would have to suffice. The kitchen boy hurried over with a basin of pale flour-water mixture, which Baelon poured in slowly, stirring all the while.
Gradually, the sauce took on a silkier consistency, clinging to the spoon when lifted. Then came the scent—rich, savory, and layered—rising in waves with the steam.
This was the moment for the most dramatic step.
"Clear the area," Baelon ordered.
The cooks, attendants, and onlookers shuffled back in confusion. Then a deep shadow swept over the beach, and the air seemed to grow heavier.
Gasps broke out among the crowd. From the sky descended Vhagar, the great dragon, scales glinting in the dying light. Old Baelon—known affectionately as "Old Bay"—sat astride the mighty beast, his posture regal even in casual dismount.
For many, the sight was overwhelming. The crowd stumbled backward, some tripping in the sand, others clutching each other for support. They retreated a long way, yet no one left. No matter the danger, curiosity outweighed fear.
Vhagar stepped closer to the first pot. The iron vessel looked comically small compared to the dragon's massive head.
"At my mark," Old Bay said firmly.
A flash of intense orange erupted from Vhagar's jaws, a stream of dragonfire engulfing the pot. The glow outshone the horizon's last streaks of crimson cloud.
"Enough!" Baelon shouted after less than a second. The fire was for show and precision—too much would char the contents beyond saving.
Now came the secret touch. To each pot, Baelon added: one piece of monster meat, one spider gland, and a vial of squid ink.
A whisper of game mechanics floated in his mind:
> Monster Meat: -20 Spirit, -10 Health.
On paper, monster meat was dangerous—it sapped mental clarity and health. But Baelon knew how to wield its effects to his advantage. Mental dulling could be turned into relaxation; danger could become luxury.
The moment the ingredients touched the sauce, they seemed to melt instantly, dissolving into the mixture. The squid ink bled into the green broth, transforming it into a deep, smoky black. Baelon stirred methodically, his hands steady, and muttered a string of elaborate nonsense in Valyrian—a theatrical "spell" for the benefit of the crowd.
"It's done!" he declared.
Viserys and Old Bay stepped forward eagerly. Baelon ladled a small spoonful from the pot, blowing gently before offering it to them. The others watched hungrily but dared not step closer with Vhagar looming over them.
Viserys tasted it first. His brows furrowed for a heartbeat—then his expression slackened into awe. The flavor was the same as expected, but something far stranger happened.
The tension in his body melted away. A weight seemed to lift from his chest, and his vision blurred into swirls of vivid color. He felt as if he were drifting, untethered from his body, floating toward a gentle, radiant warmth. It was… bliss.
Old Bay experienced much the same, and Baelon knew he had struck gold.
This was it. The recipe was set.
A single pot, using around 200 pounds of broth, could be made potent with just one piece of monster meat and two spider glands—enough to reduce Spirit by ten points while restoring fourteen points of Health. Pain relief, healing, and mental calm all in one product.
"The craftsmanship of Valyria!" Old Bay exclaimed when the haze cleared. "There's no doubt in my mind now. This is the prophecy fulfilled."
Baelon couldn't help but smile. His father's belief in Valyrian supremacy was unshakable, and this magical sauce only reinforced it. If this was the result of one simple condiment, what wonders must Valyria have held before the Doom?
That night, with Old Bay set to leave for King's Landing the next morning, Baelon worked tirelessly with the fishermen and cooks. By dawn, they had prepared four full pots—nearly 900 pounds of oyster sauce.
As the first rays of sunlight bathed the beach in gold, Old Bay took his share of the sauce, mounted Vhagar, and soared into the sky. The sight was breathtaking, the dragon's wings cutting across the rising sun.
Baelon and Viserys stood together, watching in silence. Perhaps this would be their last glimpse of Old Bay. Baelon almost called out—but the words never left his throat. The wind off the sea swept away the moment, leaving only resolve.
Turning back, Baelon oversaw the distribution of rewards. Each fisherman received four times the usual bread ration, plus a bag of dried meat—payment calculated according to the day's work.
"Go home," he said. "You won't be needed tomorrow or the day after."
The fishermen, initially delighted, now shifted uneasily. Work this profitable was rare, and the thought of its sudden halt worried them. Had they offended the prince somehow?
Then Baelon clarified, his voice carrying across the sand. "Two days' rest. On the third day, gather at the castle for more oyster collection."
The mood shifted again—shock, disbelief, and finally joy. Paid rest days were unheard of.
Next, Baelon turned to the cooks. They were promised 600 copper cents a month—20 per day—but today they would be paid quadruple: 1.5 silver deer each, plus the same two-day vacation.
The work done, the remaining sauce was carried back to the castle. Baelon returned to his chambers with Viserys, muttering something about "catching up on sleep."
Yet, when the door closed, Baelon's mind was elsewhere. The island was too crowded during the day for his next move. Instead, he turned his attention to the Bachelor's Tower.
Hiding behind a heavy curtain, he waited for the sound of footsteps to fade. Then he slipped free, testing the door—it was shut, but the silence inside suggested Maester Arlin was absent.
Baelon remembered how quickly Arlin had disappeared after the first batch of sauce was finished. Whatever the old scholar was up to, Baelon intended to find out.