Viserys Targaryen (124 AC)

The first that came to mind, as he had discovered just were his eldest son had run off to and what he was doing to the Free Cities was... a part of him wanted to say that it was impossible as he stared at the messenger who had brought word of the submission of what remained of Tyrosh and Myr as well as the capitulation of Lys. A part of him was appalled at the tales of butchery, of the sheer scale of the carnage that his son had delivered, even going so far as to hold court on a throne made of the ashes of the dead.

And the dragons that rose from the dead, dragons that could speak with the tongues of men and had the full measure of a mans cunning when combined with a dragons power. Dozens of them, all of them obeying his son without struggle, without protest as he held court and decided the fates of the cities, even as they delivered the tribute to the Iron Throne. All with the undertones of being terrified of his heir to the point of freezing in place. Which was... not ideal. He would need to impress on his son that peace was better than terror.

Though of course, there was the delightful fact that apparently his son was a sorcerer, having somehow recovered the ancient arts of Valyria to a great degree. To say nothing of calling dragons back from the dead... though as his gaze looked over the dragon pit... perhaps giving them the minds of men would be a mistake. Or perhaps, as he frowned, the crown on his brow weighing heavily, there was substance indeed to the thought that his little Baleon was more dragon than man himself, despite being born of his lady wife.

There could indeed be something to the rumors, quickly squashed but sprouting like damnable weeds according to his master of whispers, to some of the darker tales of sorcerers and monsters. Tales that he had previously dismissed out of hand, as while he did not interact with his eldest son as much as he should, he had not seen anything amiss when he did do so either. To say nothing of the fact that he had apparently suborned the alchemists guild to the point of them having apparently swearing to him personally. He wondered how he earned that devotion.

Still, he gave a forced smile, a speech on how he was so glad that his son was proving himself leaving his lips, his thought on questions of if he and his court had missed this in the works, what else of his son had they ignored or overlooked? What other secrets did his child have, that could have terrible impacts on the kingdom? It was something that he would have to settle as quickly as possible, even as he wanted to sigh and laugh at this. His son, ten and one name days old and doing deeds that would defeat men thrice his age.

And yet, while he had not given any commands to his son otherwise, he was the crown prince. Surely the maesters had taught him what this would look like politically, even if they now had enough dragons to force the issue. Perhaps too many dragons to keep fed, which would be a terrible and ironic thing indeed, to suddenly have so many dragons in the families possession, enough that they could in theory do as they wished, only be drained of wealth to keep them fed and happy.

He was not sure if he was going to laugh or cry.

Otto Hightower

Hos blood froze in his veins as he looked over the note that came on the raven, at the fact that all of his plans, all of his ambitions were ashes. That monstrous boy, already an obstacle, had been one that could be worked around, even as he had prepared to remove him in time. Nothing painful or dramatic, just one of those many childhood fevers that carry away far too many, even with the most skilled maesters on hand to offer their healing expertise. Or rather, in this case, because of those wise men.

He had talked with them, and they agreed that they did not want to see a beast in human shape take the throne and would have acted. Had been moving to act in fact, before Baleon had slipped away, only to appear in fire and ruin. And with an army no less! That made things both more and less difficult, as he considered what to write to his old friend, and now his good son. Along with of course, a separate letter to his daughter. Because the prince had his own forces that had been unknown to him, and likely to the crown as well.

Which meant that there was more hidden inside of the alchemists guild halls. Which had suddenly gone from the dens of a diminished order to enemy fortifications inside of their domains. Or worse, locales were spies could listen and gather information before it was sent to their master. Because yes, Baleon was a mere boy, and so there was likely someone using him as an obvious figurehead, and yet the boy was likely more than just a freak, just a monster. No, the boy was likely dangerous, but still able to be removed.

Cregan Stark

He looked at the man across from him, an emissary of the Crown Prince and who had apparently just won a series of mighty battles in Essos. "And so, the Prince, on accepting the surrender of the masters of Tyrosh and Myr," those that had survived echoed silently and clearly heard, "were given the choice of the surrender of half of their fortunes, or to surrender only a tenth, the rest going to their heirs, before they were shipped to take the black. Along with these recruits for the Nights Watch, my prince sends the following, nine parts to the wall and one part to be dispersed among the citizens of The North."

What followed was a great list of supplies, taken from the slavers across the sea. To be sure, as his lips curled in a smirk, it would make some trade with them more difficult... but at the same time, he would shed no tears and waste no breath on them, as his uncle seemed to take their measure. Honestly, this was more than they expected from the south, and he would be thankful for it, as these supplies would help many of his people through the winter that may not have otherwise made it.