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The calm and sunny countryside of the Reach grew disquiet.
As the farmer diligently worked the fields, drawing in the harvest, he suddenly felt a sense of unease when a vast shadow engulfed him and his fellow workers. Acting quickly, they all took cover, unsure of what was causing the ominous darkness to fall upon them.
The loud screech alerted the sentry east of Highgarden's outer wall. Dragon sightings have become somewhat common with Prince Daeron and his young dragon at Oldtown, but this one wasn't blue; it was pitch black as obsidian.
Archonei descended gracefully into the courtyard of the grand estate belonging to House Tyrell. Her rider affectionately patted her on the back, murmuring, "Sagon iēdrosa, Archonei (Be still, Archonei)," before dismounting from the majestic dragon's back.
At the entrance of the grand keep in Highgarden, Lord Leto Tyrell and his pregnant wife, Lady Annara Redwyne, walked out.
Leto, once a stout man of twenty-five, was left with a crippled left leg after a horseriding accident. He now moves with the support of a cane, much like his father's Justiciar, Lord Larys Strong.
Annara Redwyne was a doe-eyed beauty with long golden brown curls. Her ample breasts were filled with milk for the child she had inside her swollen belly.
Lord Tyrell met him on the last step, "Prince Baelon Targaryen! Welcome to my humble castle." Humble doesn't do the place justice.
Highgarden was immense—larger than the Red Keep and even larger than Storm's End. He admired the flowery hills of wheat and grass. It's undeniable that the capital could not survive without the crops and meat that the Reach provides.
"I am glad you allowed me a place at your court, My Lord." Baelon said with some gratitude, "Highgarden is truly a marvelous seat."
"Thank you, my Prince."
He has been traveling, or rather, flying, for nearly two years. Leaving home has done wonders for his sanity, and the freedom has been incredibly invigorating for both him and his dragon.
Archonei's form seemed to expand in size as she emerged from the confines of the dragonpit, her powerful wings unfurling and flapping thrice. With a graceful movement, she shook her head from side to side, causing her large, shimmering scales to glint in the sunlight. Suddenly, a bright yellow bird strayed too close, and Archonei snapped at it with lightning speed, her giant jaws shutting in the avian creature.
"Your beast is beautiful! Does he have a name?" Annara asked.
"It's a she, and I call her Archonei after one of the few dragons my house brought from Valyria before the Doom." The three entered the castle and found leisure in the main hall, which was magnificent, with rose vines painted all across the walls and the ceiling.
House Tyrell was his latest stop on his journeys; he's been to a dozen more keeps, both small and large, in the Riverlands, Westerlands, and Stormlands.
Baelon disguised these impromptu visits as such to sift for allies that aren't intent on keeping their oaths to Rhaenyra or ambitiously aligned with Aegon, who has since become somewhat active in his absence, such as attending council meetings and taking his martial training and time with Sunfyre seriously.
"Tell, how was the Stormlands, I hear Lord Baratheon knighted you in his third granddaughter's name day tourney." Wasn't that a day for him?
He had gone to the Stormlands three moons ago and got acquainted with Lord Boremund, an old man now, six and seventy, with a son, Borros, who is seven and thirty with children of his own. Four daughters, Cassandra, Maris, Ellyn, and Floris.
Baelon didn't enjoy it in Storm's End. Lord Boremund was possibly his sister's biggest supporter and, due to Princess Rhaenys, was tied with blood to House Velaryon.
Borros seemed reasonable. Despite the age difference, they enjoyed hunting, riding about the Rainwood, and training in the yard.
During Lady Cassandra's sixteenth name day, he participated in a tourney melee where he bested two grand nephews of Lord Boremund and an older knight named Walter Brownhill who vied for the lady's hand. Borros would knight him with his father's sword.
He and Lady Cassandra courted in his time. She wasn't a beauty by any means, but she was clever and as blunt as he was.
"It was certainly an experience though I enjoyed the Marches more than Storm's End." He did, having found a common-minded ally in Lord Allard Dondarion, the young Lord of Blackhaven, and Lord Royce Caron of Nightsong. "I am sure to count Highgarden above them all in due time."
Leto let out a hearty laugh. "A toast to you, Prince Baelon, and to his Grace, King Viserys I Targaryen." Baelon hummed and raised his cup in response.
Baelon was given a room near the castle godswood, Lord Leto moved all of his horses to freely graze in the field while Archonei made the stable her lair.
A window lent him a perfect view of the Three Singers.
It was a great weirwood tree grown and entangled from three heart tree plants, seeded by Garth Greenhand when he raised the seat of Highgarden. Baelon thought it looked so ancient.
Getting up, he meant to leave and see it for himself, but the moment he opened his door, he was met with a pretty woman. "Apologies, my Prince."
"No need, my Lady... ?" He started and asked who she was.
The girl had brown hair and doe eyes like Lord Leto. "I am Margaery, Margaery Flowers." Flowers? A bastard, then. Baelon internally groaned as he thought about the weeks following his scarring by his sister's children.
Laena Velaryon hadn't been dead for a year before her brother, Laenor, would be murdered in Spice Town by his protege, Ser Qarl Qorrey. There were rumors they were lovers, and perhaps Laenor tried to end things, though some believe Ser Qarl was paid to slay his lover by word of Prince Daemon.
It lent some validity as not more than a moon after her husband's passing, Rhaenyra, and their uncle would marry in secret on Dragonstone with naught but their children, a few servants, and men at arms in witness.
Baelon remembered the news coming to the Red Keep; his father ranted and raved but refused to do anything as usual, and his siblings (Aegon and Aemond) made their jokes while Queen Alicent denounced it as a disrespectful act.
Just last year, they welcomed a son named Aegon, or Aegon the Younger.
"Might I ask why you are at my door?" he asked the woman before him. She blushed and folded her hands together.
"Well, my cousin wants you to be as welcome as possible, my Prince," she said in a sultry tone. She entered his room and turned to undress.
His young urge called to be sated as he looked up and down her bodice. A moment's hesitation before he closed the door and joined her by undressing as well.
In his mind, he thought... It had been some time since he felt the embrace of a woman.
Dawn would rise, and Baelon would feel the soft caress of Margaery's lips on his neck and a hand on his cock; he groaned as a dragon being roused from slumber. "Keep that up, and you'll be with child, my Lady."
She had no reaction to the possibility. Instead, the beauty smiled and kissed his lips once before rising from the bed and straddling his member. "So be it, my Prince."
Just as they were about to get busy, a knock on the chamber doors halted their passion. "What is it?"
A boy entered, a scrawny child with sandy brown hair and pale blue eyes. "Apologies, My Prince but Lord Tyrell has asked you to join him on a hunt in the wood, if you please."
A hunt? It was a good chance to speak with the man. Baelon nodded and said, "Tell Lord Leto I shall be along shortly; it will take a moment to dress myself." He looked at Margaery and quietly closed the door. Now... Where were we?" he asked with a smirk shared by his newest paramour.
The pair gave in to the throws of pleasure.