The ancient fortress of the Red Keep, usually a silent sentinel under the stars, stirred abruptly from its slumber. Candles flickered vividly throughout the grand hall, casting long shadows across the stone walls as the courtiers hurried in from their chambers. The air buzzed with tension.
Jaehaerys sat heavily upon his throne, his brow furrowed in deep concern as the dragon guard delivered his report. The man's voice was grave, weighted with the urgency of what he had witnessed.
"Your Grace," the dragon guard began cautiously, "we saw Vhagar burst forth from the dragon's lair with incredible speed. But... we could only make out a blurry figure riding upon him. We cannot confirm if it was Prince Baelon."
Jaehaerys's gaze sharpened. "Are you certain it was not Baelon?"
The guard lowered his eyes, troubled. "No, my lord. The night was dark, and Vhagar moved too fast for us to see clearly. But only a Targaryen could command a dragon so boldly. And Baelon is the only candidate known to have ventured near Vhagar recently."
Since the death of Old Bael, Vhagar had become a masterless dragon, quietly dwelling within the shadows of his cavern beneath the Red Keep. His sudden and unexplained flight into the night was unprecedented—and deeply unsettling.
Vhagar was no ordinary beast. The largest and oldest dragon known to exist, he was a relic of the age of conquest, a living legend who had once flown alongside Aegon the Conqueror himself. For such a creature to vanish into darkness without warning stirred panic amongst the dragon guards. They had raced through the night to bring word to the Red Keep.
The news spread swiftly. Summons echoed through the castle, pulling the Targaryen family from their beds and drawing even Damon—who rarely abandoned his nocturnal pleasures—back from Silk Street to the Red Keep.
The dragonborn assembled hurriedly, whispering anxiously among themselves. Speculation flew like wildfire: who among them could have tamed Vhagar? Could a child truly command such a powerful dragon?
Jaehaerys scanned the room, observing the faces lit by torchlight. The adult dragon riders stood tall, brows knit with concern. Yet none claimed responsibility.
It was Emma who broke the suspense. Unable to leave her children unattended, she sent her maid to check on them. Moments later, news came that shattered the tentative calm: Prince Baelon was missing from his chambers.
A frantic search ensued throughout the Red Keep, but there was no sign of the young prince.
Jaehaerys's mind raced. The pieces clicked into place with terrifying clarity.
Daemon clapped Viserys's shoulder with a broad grin. "Brother, it seems your son has truly earned the title of youngest dragon rider in history."
Laughter rippled through the hall as the men cheered, raising their voices to echo Baelon's name.
Viserys, however, was not amused. His face darkened with worry. "Enough, Daemon!" he snapped. "This is no cause for celebration."
He looked toward his wife, Emma, who stood pale and trembling beside him.
"Is it really possible that Baelon—only four years old—has tamed Vhagar?" Viserys whispered, dread creeping into his voice. "What if he's fallen? What if the dragon throws him off?"
He squeezed Emma's cold hands in his own and forced a weak smile. "Search the castle thoroughly. Perhaps Baelon has merely wandered somewhere in the Red Keep, playing a game."
Emma smiled faintly, but her eyes betrayed her fear.
Jaehaerys rose from his throne and silenced the hall with a wave of his hand. "Enough. Return to your chambers. When Vhagar returns, we will know the truth."
His gaze lingered on Viserys, hoping against hope that this nightmare was nothing more than a child's folly.
---
Meanwhile, Baelon's predicament was far less dire than his father imagined.
Hidden beneath the great wings of Vhagar, the young prince sat cross-legged, his small frame radiating a calm focus that belied his years. His eyes were closed in meditation.
He had attempted multiple times to enter the mysterious trance-like state he had glimpsed once before, but had yet to fully succeed. Still, Baelon was patient. He had conquered it once—he could do so again.
Vhagar lay quietly beneath him, her massive body stretched across the grass like an ancient mountain range that had suddenly stirred to life.
To Baelon, Vhagar was more than a dragon; she was a living weapon. Where a sharp sword gave confidence to a warrior, Vhagar gave him the power to command kingdoms. Together, they were invincible.
Of course, Baelon understood that invincibility was an illusion in this world. Even the strongest weapons were no match for a hundred enemies, and his small stature made him vulnerable.
Yet with Vhagar's strength beneath him, he felt like the king of the world.
He dismounted carefully and led Vhagar toward the weirwood forest.
---
The heart tree stood tall and solemn, its bark pale and twisted like bleached bones. Its branches bore leaves that resembled bloody handprints, and upon its trunk were carved countless human faces, frozen in eternal agony.
Baelon reached out to touch the trunk. The faces seemed to weep dark, dried sap—like tears of blood.
The heart tree was sacred to the old gods. Legends spoke of green prophets who could enter its consciousness, glimpsing the past and future of the lands around it.
But Baelon was not afraid.
If the old gods were truly so powerful, how could the Andals have invaded Westeros, cutting down weirwoods and burning heart trees without mercy? How could they have massacred the Children of the Forest?
Now, the thousand islands lay south of the Neck Marsh, and few weirwoods remained outside the Godswood.
Baelon leaned close to one of the carved faces, curious.
"Vhagar," he murmured, "can you sense anything here?"
The dragon's amber eyes met his for a brief moment before Baelon shook his head. If the dragon truly perceived magic, surely Vhagar would have sensed it first.
He sat down beneath the heart tree, crossing his legs and closing his eyes to meditate.
---
Long ago, a man had attained enlightenment beneath a Bodhi tree. Baelon thought of that story as the leaves rustled softly above.
If meditation beneath the heart tree failed to yield answers, perhaps he would cut it down—like the Bodhi tree.
Silence settled around him, broken only by the faint rustle of leaves.
A blazing orb of fire suddenly appeared in Baelon's mind—a brilliant sun in the sky of his inner world.
He felt himself shrink beside the fireball, dwarfed by its immense heat and light.
His excitement nearly broke his concentration, but he steadied his breath and focused.
Slowly, he sent his mental power forth, reaching toward the fireball.
It did not burn or sting. Instead, it felt like slipping into warm water, his entire body relaxing as his pores opened.
Baelon felt himself merge with the fireball—and with Vhagar.
An image of a mighty dragon roared in his mind, filling him with its fierce, wild power.
He understood the emotion carried by the roar—pride, strength, and an unbreakable bond.
His vision expanded infinitely, mountains and rivers shrinking beneath him. Power surged through his veins like a tidal wave.
He clenched his fists, feeling invincible—yet he knew it was an illusion.
No matter the power of a weapon or the strength of a dragon, a small child was still vulnerable to the cruelty of the world.
---
Suddenly, the barren landscape of Baelon's inner mind shifted.
A forest of weirwoods rose around him, their pale trunks blotting out the sun.
A cold unease settled in Baelon's heart, but the overwhelming sense of unity with Vhagar and the dragon's power banished his fear.
With a single thought, Baelon teleported toward one of the trees.
The instant his hands touched the weirwood bark, his vision blurred.
The world spun and twisted into a spiraling vortex.
Endless streams of knowledge and history flooded into his mind.
Baelon felt as if he was drowning—and yet soaring—in an ocean of information.
Here, in this place, he was like a god: omniscient, omnipotent, all-knowing.
And yet a flicker of doubt crossed his mind.
Which old god was this? Could any god truly hold all knowledge?
The question lingered as Baelon's obsessed expression softened.
---
Back in the Red Keep, the night deepened.
Jaehaerys paced the halls, his thoughts heavy with uncertainty.
The fate of the Targaryen dynasty seemed to hang in the balance, resting on the shoulders of a four-year-old boy and the ancient dragon Vhagar.
If Baelon had truly tamed the beast, the legend of the Targaryens would be forever transformed.
But if not... if the dragon had chosen another, or if disaster had struck...
The foundations of their rule might crumble like the heart tree's withered bark under the weight of time.
Only time would tell.
---
End of Chapter 29