He embarked on a journey lasting for ten days, with one of those days being spent at sea. He had encountered a powerful storm that came close to sweeping his dragon into the treacherous waters of the Narrow Sea... Despite all these challenges, he persisted through wind and rain that may have battered Archonei, but she's used to such hellish weather.
Seeing his Baelonfort come into view, a smile grew on his face, and Archonei landed right in front of the main gate. She was tired and he felt terrible for making her go as hard as he did, "Kesan tepagon ao iā kisalbar (I will give you a feast)." Archonei shook her head back and forth, excitement in her hiss.
The construction of a sturdy stone foundation had commenced at the base of the fort's walls, marking a significant step in the fort's transformation into a formidable and defensible stronghold.
A man marched over and greeted him. "My Prince, welcome back." He continued into the fort, with the man following behind. "All is well, my Prince, Ser Jon, is currently patrolling the western islands."
Baelon stopped, groaning in annoyance. "I don't care," he barked and eyed the man down. "I have been in the sky and sleeping in dirt for days. Have two oxen brought to my dragon for feed, I am in need of a bath."
Entering the hall, he removed his gloves, and his expression softened at the sight of his paramour, whose belly had grown in the time he had been gone.
Margaery sweetly attended to him, "What's happened? You look troubled." He grabbed her hand sharply before it touched his cheek. She didn't wince or shy away.
"I mean to send a raven to your cousin; I need the Tyrell army marshaled by the next moon." It was all she would say on this matter, "Gather Ser Quenton and Ser Jon and Ser Jonothor Flowers to my solar."
"Baelon!" Margaery called, and he stopped, turning only slightly to eye her, "My cousin cannot help you, not now."
It was a tragedy to his morale when he heard that Leto had passed when he was away, a fortnight from a heart attack during his son's third name day, and though he counts on Annara remaining faithful to his cause, the Hightowers won't balk at taking them hostage.
Quenton, Walder Redwyne, Jonothor Flowers, and Jon Roxton entered his room, along with a few other captains and trustworthy commanders in his fleet.
He laid a hand on Blackfyre, which rested on his hip. "My father is dead. And with his passing, we will put our plans into motion." Baelon grabbed a larger map of Westeros. "We have 80 ships in the Stepstones belonging to House Redwyne. The 20 ships my father sent before his death must be brought into the fold, adding our total number near seven thousand soldiers."
He took a red seashell and placed it on the Gullet, stating, " We will block all seaborne travel going to the Gullet."
He would starve his sister and brother, and Rhaenyra no doubt plans to do the same with the Velaryon fleet. "Keep a keen and prepared eye for any Velaryon attack on our lines."
Quenton nodded, "I shall send word to the Arbor; my father will ready the rest of the Redwyne fleet and blockade Oldtown, starve them as we starve King's Landing."
Baelon leveled his eye on Quenton, "I want Martyn Hightower brought here as a hostage. He is Lord Ormund Hightower's son and a valuable piece on the board." Quenton stifled a little on the order.
"Martyn is a loyal lad, Your Grace. He is sure to serve you well- "
"Otto served my father well for more than twenty years, and he made his grandson the King over myself. My command stands, Ser." He said, and Quneton nodded and said that he would make it so when he returned to his ship, Baelon then turned to Leto's brother. "Ser Jonothor, I want you to go to Highgarden." Leto's half-brother nodded as Baelon continued, "I need her encouraged to flee with her son, bring them here, and raise the Tyrell hosts for battle."
"It will be done, Your Grace."
There was silence as he considered their hopes: "The Lannisters will side with my usurping little brother, and it's possible that the Riverlands and Vale will raise their banners for my sister." He paused for a moment before continuing, "We will need numerous allies for the battles to come."
Jon Roxton sighed and touched the Stormlands. "House Baratheon could be brought on side, with some sweetened milk, Your Grace."
"I don't know... Borros was good company, but he is vastly proud, prouder than his father." No ravens or envoys will be enough to treat with Borros; the Lord doesn't read, and he doesn't trust an envoy to do the job right. "I will fly there myself and entreat him, a proposal of marriage, perhaps."
He has several daughters to choose from, Cassandra comes to mind, and they are fond of one another.
There are more allies, friends of House Redwyne, Roxton and Tyrell. He is sure that the Reach will follow their liege for their true King and not some up-jumped boy who cared little for duty or a daughter who would seat bastards on the throne after her.
Baelon was finally able to rest and bathe before the morrow when he would leave for the mainland once again.
Margaery Flowers entered and knelt beside his tub, her eyes never leaving him. "What is it, Sweet Flower?" He asked and she didn't answer for a long moment.
"I had thought after the years we spent together that one day I would be your Queen. Your wife, as I am already soon to be the mother of your first child." A folly, how could she ever believe he would do that?
Part of his cause is due to his nephews being false, bastards born from Harwin Strong.
Baelon sighed and rose from the tub, and she awaited his answer as he dried himself off and dressed. When he was decent, he approached her and helped her to her feet, her gentle hands tenderly taking his own and rising from the floor.
"You are my first love, Margaery Flowers... But you are a bastard, and the Lords of the Realm will not nor ever accept a bastard as King... Or Queen."
Within five days, his one hundred ships were docked, and his army stood before where Daemon won his victory on Bloodstone. He smiled and patted Archonei on the neck.
He meant to encourage them, to address his force for the first step into their arduous journey against the greater odds stacked against them.
Baelon took a deep breath. "My loyal men who have served me and my aims for three years, hear me well... King Viserys is dead." There were murmurings, "You may hear rumors of how, but know of whom these rumors come from. The Hightowers have usurped the crown and put my brother up as their puppet." He started walking down, face to face with his men.
"As my father's firstborn son, I am duty-bound to reinforce the precedent of my great-grandfather, Jaehaerys the Conciliator!" His voice raised, he unsheathed Blackfyre, "This is Blackfyre! The Sword of Kings! The Sword of the Conqueror, and with it, I shall rip the skies asunder to restore the peace to the Realm!"
Now, the men started to cheer, and hope filled the men's eyes and faces.
"Are you with me?" he asked, and the cheers got louder. "Are you with me?" he shouted from the top of his lungs. The cries of seven thousand men echoed across the beach, and his dragon screeched alongside them and flapped her wings with pride.
His siblings will be ordained by Septons and crowned in ceremony, but he will take his crown as the Conqueror had done in old, and if the Lords of the Realm won't bend, then they will break in fire and blood.
His crown was crafted from a sturdy iron band, embellished with an intricately designed dragon coiling around itself from head to tail. The dragon's wings were elegantly folded in, and its eyes were carefully inlaid with a glistening red ruby.
Baelon's banners flew bright on the masts of his fleet. He had them commissioned over three years for this day, and they were the Targaryen colors reversed, with a black dragon on a red field of blood.
Two days later, he escorted Jonothor Flowers to the Rainwood, where they would part ways. He would continue on his way to Storm's End, and the knight would ride with a steady guard to the Reach and Highgarden.
Archonei spotted another dragon in the distance. Baelon tried to see, but the creature was small. He assumed it had to be one of his sister's sons... But it wasn't the only dragon there.
A storm was beating down on the Baratheon castle, but even he could see Vhagar's massive head peaking up from beyond the castle walls in the distance, and he grimaced, wondering when Aemond had arrived.
Baelon landed far from what he noticed was Arrax and patted Archonei's neck, whispering comforting words so she would calm.
Storm's End was truly a wondrous castle. He smiled and whipped his hair, which had gotten wet on the flight over. "Prince Baelon, welcome." Gerold Selmy greeted him, and Baelon shook the knight's hand.
"I am here to see Lord Baratheon." The knight escorted him inside, and he was nearly down the hall when he heard.
"WHERE IS THE BLOODY MAESTER?"
Entering the hall, he was announced, "Prince Baelon Targaryen, son of King Viserys Targaryen." Borros turned sharply and rose from his throne, ignoring the maester for the moment.
"It's been a long time, Prince Baelon." Lucerys turned when Borros greeted him, and not far away, Aemond stood next to Floris.
"It's King Baelon, now. King of Westeros and the Stepstones." Baelon had expected to be greeted with respect, but the Baratheon Lord only burst into a hefty laughter that echoed through the drum room of the main tower of Storm's End.
Borros sat back down, then handed a scroll to his maester. "Truly, the House of the Dragon is incapable of choosing who their ruler is, first Prince Aemond came on behalf of Aegon II Targaryen, and then Prince Lucerys Velaryon came on behalf of a Queen, Rhaenyra I Targaryen." His one-time companion chuckled, "Now there is Baelon I Targaryen... The wonders never cease."
After being told what Lucerys delivery was, it infuriated the Lord of Storm's End. "Remind me of my father's oath? Is that the respect owed to me by Rhaenyra, who is kin to mine own blood?"
Baelon chuckled at his nephew's nervous shifting of feet, "Is Rhaenyra so incompetent, Lord Strong?" Lucerys turned and wanted to say something, he didn't.
"I am under siege with incompetence; at least Aegon came with an offer of marriage." Baelon looked and saw Aemond's lilac eyes express his ego rather than saying a word. "Tell me, Prince Lucerys, King Baelon... Who shall you marry for my army?"
"I am not able to negotiate such things. I would need to consult with my mother, the Queen." Fool boy, Baelon thought.
"If I am given support, then I will take Lady Cassandra, Lord Baratheon. She would be my Queen, something Jocelyn Baratheon should have become." Borros looked to consider it, and for a moment, Baelon was sure of victory.
He would have the Reach and Stormlands on his side, and he would have the men and food to combat even Vhagar.
Alas, his brother, Aemond, finally spoke up: "If I were you, Lord Borros, I wouldn't consider either match as one of those boys is a bastard of House Strong... and the other is a Kinslayer."
"Lies!" Lucerys shouted against the insults levied on him.
Borros was perplexed and turned to Aemond, looking for the truth, "Before his flight from the city, my dear elder brother went to the King's side and killed him. He even stole my father's late wife's ring and Blackfyre." Aemond then turned his eyes on Luke, "And the whole of the realm knows of Rhaenyra's bastards who aren't any real blood of yours, Lord Borros."
There was a long moment as, from the window leading outside, a flash of lightning lit up the chamber more than the torches and hearths.
"Baelon... "Borros started and, after a pause, continued, "I don't know if it is true, so I cannot support you. And you," Borros then addressed Lucerys, "Tell your mother that I am not some dog she can whistle up and set against her foes."
Lucerys left the hall, and Baelon remained, staring daggers at what was once his favorite brother. "Is this how you repay me, Aemond?" His brother had no response, "Lord Baratheon, I plead to you not to believe the vile lies pushed by the false crown." Borros was quiet, uncaring to his denouncing of the crime he knew he was going to suffer.
He had known, and yet he hoped his siblings, who he was so close with, would besmirch his name; they knew father wasn't going to live past the next year or so and had placed a horrendous act on his honor.
Anger flashed in Baelon's eyes; he would not suffer the decision made by his family, no... His enemies, "I will be coming with my army; I hope you join me then, and if not... Then let it rain fire and blood."
He turned to leave and return to Archonei until he heard Aemond call to him, "Eminna ñuha lēkia's egros, rōva lēkia (I will have my brother's sword, elder brother)." Baelon stopped in his tracks and turned with a hand on Blackfyre's handle then unsheathed it and pointed it at Aemond.
"Kostā emagon va ñuha morghon, zaldrītsos. Konir sagon lo kostā ossēnagon nyke... (You may have it on my corpse, little dragon. That's if you can kill me)." His taunt made Aemond flare with anger and unable to speak back.
Borros roared about having blood spilled beneath his roof, so he sheathed Blackfyre and briskly left the hall with haste.
Arrax and Luke were gone already; he shamefully hoped the brat would get struck by lightning, him and his dragon falling into the sea and being lost forever and later forgotten. Baelon, mounted on Archonei, took flight and started heading south back to the Stepstones.
He wouldn't be flying alone, as he heard a rumbling. It was unnatural, and he turned his head back and saw Vhagar's maw chomp at Archonei's tail.
Archonei steadied and swiftly dove to avert the larger dragon as it chased them. Baelon had flown in storms before this, gaining practice, and he was sure that if his dragon was younger, then he'd surely have been caught.
Aemond seemed to be toying with him. Baelon knew this because he heard laughter as the older she-dragon drew close and nearly nicked Archonei in the left wing.
Taking Archonei up into the clouds and above the storm, he saw the sun, but Vhagar jumped from under and again, nearly with his dragon in her jaws.
Archonei took a chance, locking her own maw on Vhagar's lower neck. She dug her claws deep into her chest before pushing off Vhagar, she shredded and took skin off and made minimal bleeding injuries on the older dragon. "Drakarys!" Baelon said and the hot fire of Archonei hit Vhagar's left wing and cinged her a little.
After this, he and Archonei dove back into the storm, and thankfully, Vhagar stopped giving chase.
Baelon returned to Bloodstone and remained seated on his dragon. "Damnit!" he seethed, angry that Aemond stupidly gave chase and was fine with killing him. Perhaps he was truly an imbecile, ignorant of the uncontrollable power in his hands.
Then he was proud, proud of Archonei, who went toe to toe. He trusted her to make the attack and only aided with the last command before escaping.
House Baratheon is a loss. However, the vassals of the Stormlands can be pacified and added when he is ready, but he needs more men and a fresh army to fight against the Hightowers and Borros' army.
Archonei hissed, and he looked out at a ship in the distance. "Soves." He commanded and flew to get a look.
The ship wasn't a pirate or war galley; it was mercantile and flew the banner of House Martell.
The Martells...
It was a foolhardy idea before going home; he was deterred as the Dornish rarely wished to work with his family and the nearly two centuries of bad blood between the Realm and the Southernmost region since the conquest, and that isn't counting their neighbors whose feud spanned thousands of years.
Deciding on what to do, Baelon started flying towards Sunspear; he hoped the Martell and its Princess were willing to hear him out.