Meanwhile, Baelon was occupied with gentler duties. Seated among the children, he listened to their lessons and corrected their recitations with patient firmness, unaware that Queen Alicent had stood unseen in the corridor and witnessed the quiet warmth he showed them.
When their tasks were assigned and the maester dismissed, Baelon withdrew to his solar and sent for parchment and seal. Ravens soon took wing from Harrenhal, their black forms scattering across the pale sky, bound for every corner of the Seven Kingdoms.
In his titles as Prince of Harrenhal and Warden of the Wall, Baelon summoned the lords of Westeros to attend two solemn ceremonies at Castle Black. The first would mark the completion of the Wall's great restoration. The second would proclaim the founding of the Dawn Watchers. Both were to be held at the ancient seat of the Night's Watch.
The date was fixed one month hence.
Yet Castle Black was no longer the bleak and crumbling stronghold remembered in old accounts.
Months of unrelenting labor had reshaped it. Where once there had been little more than timber palisades and frost-choked stone, four immense curtain walls now enclosed the fortress. Arrow towers rose at measured intervals along the battlements. Murder holes and narrow slits for crossbows pierced the ramparts, so that the whole seemed a colossal beast crouched at the edge of the world, its teeth bared against the cold.
It bore a new name.
Dawnstar.
Beyond its walls, the settlement raised upon the bones of old Mole's Town had grown swiftly, though not perfectly. Many of its central towers still relied upon ancient foundations, strengthened rather than replaced. Time had been scarce, and even the North had limits to what it could give.
For three relentless months, every able-bodied man Baelon could command had labored in frost and wind. Eighteen additional castles along the Wall had been restored or rebuilt. Even with levies drawn from across the North, the work had pressed the bounds of endurance.
At Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, the harbor had been expanded to twice its former size, its docks thrusting deeper into the Bay of Seals. Timber, stone, iron, and men had been consumed in staggering measure.
As the appointed day drew near, Baelon ordered a final mobilization. Garrisons were reinforced. Fresh levies were called. Patrols along the Wall doubled in number.
Nothing must mar what was to come.
One month later, Baelon rode through the northern sky upon Tyraxes, the great dragon's pale wings beating against the wind. Beside him flew Aegon, Helaena, and Aemond.
Aegon's dragon had grown with startling speed. Its time at Harrenhal had strengthened it greatly, and it now bore its rider with effortless grace. Like Helaena, Aegon no longer required guidance in the air.
Baelon watched him for a moment, eyes narrowed against the wind. He felt no concern. Few dragons in Targaryen memory had shown such fierce devotion. The beast seemed to sense Aegon's youth and inexperience, adjusting its movements with instinctive care.
Aemond's mount was another matter. Though steadied by Harrenhal's strange vitality, its growth was steady rather than exceptional. Early neglect had left its mark. Compared with others of its clutch, it lagged behind.
Still, it grew stronger with each passing year. That was enough.
Above Dawnstar, the three dragons wheeled through the frozen air. Their roars rolled over the rebuilt city, sending men rushing into courtyards and onto battlements. Cloaks snapped in the wind as lords of the North gazed upward, shadows sweeping across stone and snow.
After a long circuit, Baelon guided Tyraxes closer to Aegon. The wind tore at his silver hair as he leaned slightly in the saddle, voice raised but steady.
"Look well upon this," he called.
Aegon turned his head, eyes bright, one hand tightening on the reins. Snowlight flashed across his features.
"A dragonrider may look down upon the world whenever he wills," Baelon continued, his gaze sweeping over the gathered nobles below. "From this height, the lords of the Seven Kingdoms seem small. Remember that."
Aegon's mouth curved into a grin. He straightened in his saddle, pride evident in the lift of his chin.
"I understand, brother," he replied. "Those who command dragons stand above all others in the realm. We must never allow the weakness of lesser men to divide our house."
Baelon regarded him for a long breath. Then he inclined his head slightly.
"You have listened well."
Aegon laughed, the sound carried away by the wind. "I have heard it so often I could speak it before you."
Baelon's expression grew grave. He drew Tyraxes closer still, until the two dragons flew nearly wing to wing.
"In all the Seven Kingdoms," he said quietly, "only one force can bring down House Targaryen."
Aegon's smile faded. His brows knit, and he waited.
"House Targaryen itself."
The wind howled around them, cold and relentless.
"So whatever may come," Baelon continued, his voice steady despite the gale, "we remain united. No division. No quarrels among ourselves. Nothing that weakens the blood of the dragon."
He had spoken those words so often they rang hollow in his own ears. Yet repetition was the chisel that carved truth into stone.
Across Westeros, family was not sentiment. It was survival.
Queen Alicent had never once objected to this lesson being pressed upon her sons.
Baelon shifted slightly in the saddle and gestured with a gloved hand toward the world below.
"But remember this as well. Dragons wield fire. Ants wield patience."
Aegon frowned faintly, leaning closer to hear.
"Some will kneel when they learn they cannot defeat us," Baelon said. "They will smile. They will swear oaths. And then they will wait."
His gaze dropped to the nobles gathered far beneath them, their banners bright against snow and stone.
"When the dragons are gone, what then?" he asked quietly. "When the very weapon that forged the Seven Kingdoms into one no longer exists, what do you imagine will follow?"
The question lingered between them.
Only the wind answered.
"Do not grow arrogant because you ride a dragon," Baelon went on. "And do not grow ashamed because yours is smaller, or because you were last to mount one. You are Targaryens. The noblest blood in the realm flows in your veins."
His eyes settled briefly on Aemond.
The boy's jaw tightened. He sat straighter upon his dragon, gloved fingers clenched around the reins. His mount was smaller, its wings narrower than Aegon's, and he had not taken to the sky as early as the others.
"I understand, cousin," Aemond said at last, his voice low but firm. "I will not think myself lesser. I have a dragon. It will grow." His chin lifted, pale eye bright with fierce resolve. "One day it will be very large."
Baelon held his gaze for a heartbeat longer, then inclined his head once.
"See that it does."
With that, they angled their dragons downward.
Tyraxes folded his wings and descended in a measured spiral. The other two followed, shadows racing across Dawnstar's walls. Snow swirled as talons struck stone.
Below, the assembled lords stepped back from the downdraft, cloaks snapping sharply. The banners of the North dominated the field. Direwolves of House Stark flew high above grey battlements. The sunburst of House Karstark gleamed near them. Men of House Glover stood in mailed ranks, axes at their sides.
The Westerlands had come in strength as well, crimson and gold bright against the frost.
From the Reach, only a scattering of lesser banners had answered the summons.
Dorne had sent none.
The Riverlands and the Vale had dispatched modest delegations, careful and measured. Enough to avoid giving insult. Not enough to proclaim devotion.
Baelon saw every gap among the standards. Every absent sigil.
His face did not betray the reckoning in his mind.
Once, at a royal hunt, he had stood at the edge of the gathering, overlooked and unregarded.
Now, as he swung down from Tyraxes and boots met stone, the murmurs stilled. Lords bowed their heads. Even the wind seemed to falter for a breath.
He had become one of the most formidable men in the Seven Kingdoms.
With a single step, he could shake the realm.
His gloved hand rested briefly against Tyraxes' warm scales, eyes sweeping the gathered nobility.
And soon, he thought, he would.
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A/N: Advance chapters available on Patreon,
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