Forged in Fire: A Targaryen's Redemption- Aerys SI

by Mtle232

When William Thompson dies saving his girlfriend in NYC, his story doesn't end - it begins anew as he's reborn as Aerys Targaryen. Armed with the knowledge of a dark future and born into a dynasty on the brink, William must navigate his new life as a Targaryen prince while trying to prevent the realm's descent into madness.

7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7: Paths of the Realm (Part 1)

---

255 AC, Red Keep

The morning sun had barely crept over the walls of the Red Keep when I found myself surrounded by my family in the courtyard. The excitement that had kept me awake most of the night now thrummed through my veins like wildfire, making it nearly impossible to stand still as the final preparations were made. Nearby, Ser Duncan oversaw the loading of our supplies, his towering form making even the other Kingsguard look small in comparison.

"You have everything?" Mother asked for what must have been the tenth time, her hands automatically smoothing my collar despite its perfect arrangement. "The weather can be unpredictable, even in the Crownlands..."

"Yes, Mother," I assured her, catching her restless hands in mine. "Ser Duncan has checked the supplies three times. I think we have enough clothes to outfit half the Kingsguard."

"Better too much than too little," she insisted, though I caught the slight tremor in her voice. This would be the longest we'd been apart since my birth, and I could see how hard she was trying to maintain her composure.

Father stood nearby, his breathing steady today despite the early hour. "Remember what we discussed about Rosby and Duskendale," he said quietly. "Their rivalry may seem minor, but..."

"But small grievances can grow into large problems if not properly addressed," I finished. "I remember, Father. I'll pay special attention to how they interact at the feast Lord Rosby is hosting."

"And I'll make sure he doesn't miss any important details," Ser Duncan added, joining us. "Though keeping up with this one's observations is a challenge even for my old eyes."

Grandfather's hand came to rest on my shoulder, his grip firm and reassuring. "You'll do fine," he said simply, but his eyes held volumes of pride and trust that meant more than any lengthy speech could have conveyed. "And with Ser Duncan along, at least someone can keep these three from getting into too much trouble."

"Three?" Ser Duncan raised an eyebrow. "Your Grace, I fear you overestimate my abilities. Keeping Prince Aerys and Lord Steffon from their adventures is like trying to catch lightning in a bottle. Though at least Lord Tywin provides some balance..."

"Aeys!" Baelon's voice cut through the moment as he and Alyssa broke free from their septon and septa respectively, no doubt that they had been very happy to have squirmed their way out of a lesson about the Seven to be here, charging across the courtyard with all the energy of their five years. "You can't leave yet! You haven't seen my new sword move!"

"Or my jumping form!" Alyssa added, already eyeing a nearby mounting block with dangerous intent.

I caught them both before Alyssa could demonstrate her latest attempt at "flying," pulling them into a tight hug. "I'll see all your new tricks when I return," I promised. "But only if you practice properly and listen to your new instructor while Ser Duncan's away with us."

"But I want Ser Duncan to teach me!" Baelon protested. "He knows all the best stories about knights and dragons!"

"And I'll tell you plenty more when we return," Ser Duncan assured him, ruffling the boy's hair. "Though perhaps you could save some of your energy for your new teacher? My replacement already looks nervous enough."

Indeed, the newly appointed master-at-arms was watching Baelon with an expression that suggested he was reconsidering his life choices.

"We'll be good!" Baelon declared, though the mischievous glint in his eye suggested otherwise. "I'll protect everyone while you're gone. Like a proper castellan!"

"And I'll help!" Alyssa insisted. "I'll even wear shoes... most of the time."

"Your generosity knows no bounds, little dragon," Rhaella laughed, though I could see the tears she was fighting back. My sister had always been the emotional heart of our family, feeling everything deeply even when she tried to hide it.

"Rey..." I started, but she shook her head.

"Don't. If you start being nice to me now, I'll cry, and then Mother will cry, and then we'll never get you out of here." She managed a watery smile. "Just... write often? And try not to let Steffon talk you into anything too ridiculous?"

"That's what I'm here for, Princess," Ser Duncan said dryly. "Though I make no promises about complete success."

Uncle Duncan and Aunt Jenny approached next, their hands clasped as always. "The woods whisper of changes coming," Jenny said in her dreamy way, though her eyes were sharp as she studied me. "Remember that even the smallest stream can change the course of a river."

"I'll remember," I promised, having learned long ago that Jenny's cryptic warnings often held more wisdom than most people's direct advice. "And I'll pay special attention to how the smallfolk fare in each holding."

"Good lad," Uncle Duncan approved. "Though perhaps try not to reform the entire realm in one tour?"

"Where would be the fun in that?" I grinned, earning a laugh from my uncle and a long-suffering sigh from Ser Duncan.

"Aerys," Grandmother's voice drew my attention. She stood with her usual quiet dignity, but I could see the emotion she held carefully in check. "Come here, child."

I went to her automatically, as I had since I was small enough to hide in her skirts. She cupped my face in her hands, studying me with those knowing eyes that had seen so much of our family's history.

"You look so much like your grandfather at your age," she said softly. "The same fire, the same determination to make things better." Her thumb brushed my cheek gently. "Just remember that not everything needs to be fixed at once. Some changes need time to take root properly."

"Yes, Grandmother," I nodded, leaning into her touch for a moment before she released me.

Aemon approached last, still slightly flushed with happiness from the betrothal announcement but trying to maintain proper princely dignity. "Try not to have too much fun without me," he said, then added in a lower voice, "And when you reach the Rock... tell Genna..."

"I'll tell her how much you miss her already," I promised, clasping his arm. "Though perhaps work on expressing that yourself in your letters?"

His blush deepened, but he nodded determinedly. "I will. I want to do this right."

A shout from the gates drew our attention – Steffon had arrived with his usual impressive timing, his horse prancing as he waved enthusiastically. "Come on, Aerys! The realm won't explore itself!"

"By the Old Gods and the New, does that boy ever do anything quietly?" Grandmother muttered, though her fond smile betrayed her true feelings about my boisterous cousin.

Tywin, already mounted and waiting with characteristic patience, merely raised an eyebrow at Steffon's enthusiasm. The contrast between my two closest friends never failed to amuse me – Steffon all infectious energy and booming laughter, Tywin with his controlled precision and careful observation. But that contrast is precisely what made us brothers in the first place.

"We should go," I said reluctantly, feeling the weight of all these goodbyes even as excitement pulled me toward adventure. "The tide will be perfect for crossing Blackwater Bay in an hour..."

One last round of hugs, kisses, and somewhat tearful farewells followed. Mother held me longest, whispering a prayer of protection in my ear before finally letting go. Father's embrace was careful but firm, his quiet "Make us proud" carrying all the faith I could ever need.

I couldn't hold it in any longer. With a grin that probably made me look more like five than my physical eleven, I broke away from the family group and ran toward my horse. The words burst out of me with all the enthusiasm I'd been trying to temper with princely dignity: "I'M GOING ON AN ADVENTURE!" And gods, it was real - actually real. After eleven years of being confined to the Red Keep, I was finally going to see the realm with my own eyes, walk its paths with my own feet.

A ripple of delighted laughter spread through the gathered crowd. The smallfolk had been gathering since dawn to see us off, and now they pressed closer to the walls, children hoisted onto shoulders for a better view. I caught snippets of their excited whispers - "Look how eager he is!" and "Just like his grandfather at that age!" Even the guards couldn't help smiling at my obvious enthusiasm.

"By the gods, little prince!" Ser Duncan called after me, his armor clanking as he mounted his own massive destrier. The morning sun caught his white cloak, making it seem to glow. "These old bones may not be what they used to be, but don't think that means you can outpace me!"

Behind him, I could see Mother trying to hide a smile while Father shook his head fondly. Baelon was bouncing with excitement, clearly wishing he could come along, while Alyssa had somehow already managed to lose one of her shoes despite the special occasion.

"Come now, Ser Duncan," I laughed, swinging into my saddle with perhaps a bit more flourish than strictly necessary. The crowd's energy was infectious, making me feel like I could take on the whole world. "Surely the greatest knight in the Seven Kingdoms can keep up with one excited prince?"

"Greatest knight who's seen more years than you've had hot meals," he retorted, though his eyes twinkled beneath his bushy eyebrows. "And who remembers carrying you on his shoulders not so very long ago."

"That was at least a few months ago," I said innocently, making him snort and several nearby guards chuckle. They'd all seen me perched on Ser Duncan's massive shoulders at one point or another, usually while trying to get a better look at something I wasn't supposed to be investigating.

"Impudent little dragon," he said fondly, adjusting his sword belt as he settled into his saddle. "Though I suppose I should be grateful you're not trying to bring a dragon egg along this time."

"That was one time!" I protested, feeling my face heat slightly as the memory resurfaced. From the courtyard, I heard Rhaella's distinct giggle. "And I was six!"

"Yes, and it took three servants to convince you that the egg wouldn't hatch just because you carried it around in your pocket for a month." He turned to Tywin and Steffon with a long-suffering expression. "Had to check his pockets every morning to make sure he hadn't found another 'egg' to adopt."

Behind us, I could hear Steffon's booming laugh echoing off the castle walls, startling a few birds into flight. Even Tywin's usually stern expression cracked into a slight smile at the memory. They'd both been there for the Great Egg Incident, as the servants had taken to calling it. The sound of their amusement mixed with the calls of farewell from my family and the excited murmurs of the crowd, creating a moment I knew I'd carry with me throughout the journey ahead.

Grandfather's voice carried clearly over the general commotion: "Try not to adopt any more rocks on this journey, grandson!" This set off another wave of laughter, though his eyes held nothing but pride and affection when I turned to look at him.

"No promises!" I called back cheerfully. "There might be very egg-shaped rocks in the Crownlands!"

Mother looked like she couldn't decide whether to laugh or sigh, while Father was openly grinning now. Uncle Duncan called out something about checking the saddlebags for suspicious stones, making Aunt Jenny give her dreamy laugh.

As our small party prepared to ride out – Ser Duncan's white cloak brilliant in the morning sun, Steffon still barely containing his excitement, and Tywin's quiet presence steady as always – I took one last look at the Red Keep. At my family gathered in the courtyard, at the towers reaching toward the morning sky, at the home I'd grown up in but was now leaving for the first time.

The guards were opening the gates, and I could hear the crowd beyond cheering as they caught sight of us. Merchants had paused in their morning routines to watch, craftsmen stood in their doorways, and children darted between adults' legs trying to get a better view. This was what I'd been waiting for - a chance to see the realm as it really was, to understand the people I would one day rule.

"Ready?" Tywin asked quietly from beside me, his voice pitched low enough that only I could hear.

I nodded, feeling the perfect balance of excitement and purpose settle in my chest. "Ready. Let's go see what the realm has to show us."

---

The Kingsroad stretched before us like a river of packed earth and stone, winding through the bustling countryside of the Crownlands. We'd barely cleared the city gates when I noticed a farmer struggling with a broken wagon wheel, his produce threatening to spill across the road.

Without thinking, I dismounted. The man's eyes widened as he recognized the dragon sigil on my cloak, but before he could drop into a bow, I was already examining the wheel. A perfect opportunity to show that this journey wasn't just about observation - it was about truly understanding and helping our people.

"My prince, you shouldn't—" Ser Duncan started, but I waved him off.

"The axle's just slipped," I said, getting my shoulder under the wagon's edge. "If someone could help lift while I guide it back into place..."

Steffon was off his horse in an instant, his enthusiasm finding a new target. Even Tywin dismounted, though more carefully and after ensuring there were no hidden threats nearby.

The farmer kept trying to protest that this wasn't work for a prince, but I just grinned at him. "What kind of prince doesn't help his people? Besides," I added as we successfully repositioned the wheel, "my arms were getting stiff from riding already. Needed to stretch them somehow."

"Didn't expect to handle wagon repairs on the first day," Tywin observed dryly as we remounted, but I caught the slight approval in his tone.

"Expect the unexpected, my friend," I replied cheerfully. "That's what makes it an adventure, isn't it?"

The morning passed in a blur of new experiences. We stopped at a small village where the sight of a prince, the heir to Casterly Rock, and the future Lord of Storm's End helping repair a leaky roof nearly caused the septons to faint. Steffon's booming laugh and easy manner won over the initially overwhelmed villagers, while Tywin's practical questions about local governance revealed several issues that needed addressing.

"The tax collectors are overcharging?" I asked one elderly goodwife who'd finally been convinced to speak freely. "Show me their records."

The documentation revealed a pattern of petty corruption that had the smallfolk paying nearly double what they should. I made careful notes, already planning how to address this without causing too much disruption to the local system.

"You can't fix everything," Ser Duncan reminded me gently as we rode on. "Some problems need more than just a prince's attention."

"No," I agreed with Ser Duncan as we helped an elderly farmer repair his fence, "but I can make note of what needs fixing. Small changes, properly applied, can make big differences." And sometimes, I added silently, preventing small injustices now could prevent larger ones later.

Our journey to Duskendale had taken longer than strictly necessary, but I wouldn't have had it any other way. Each stop, each interaction with the smallfolk, taught us more about the realm than any number of formal reports could have done.

"You know," Steffon commented as we rode, his horse dancing sideways with characteristic energy, "when I imagined a royal progress, I pictured more feasts and tournaments, less manual labor."

"Disappointed?" I asked, grinning at my cousin.

"Are you kidding?" He laughed that booming laugh of his. "This is way better! Though I could have done without that thing with the sheep yesterday..."

"You're the one who insisted we help round them up," Tywin reminded him dryly.

"How was I supposed to know they'd try to eat my cloak?"

The easy banter helped mask the growing tension I felt as we drew closer to Duskendale. We'd been traveling for three days since leaving King's Landing, taking our time to really see the countryside and its people. But now, as we crested a hill and saw the town spread out before us, all my carefully buried anxiety threatened to surface.

The proud banners of House Darklyn snapped in the sea breeze, and for a moment, I was hit with a wave of memories that weren't mine - or rather, weren't this me's. The Defiance, the madness, the burning... I forced the thoughts away. That future would never happen. I wouldn't let it.

"Impressive view," Ser Duncan commented, pulling his horse up beside mine. His keen eyes studied my face. "Though something seems to be troubling you, little prince."

"Just thinking," I replied, trying to keep my voice light. "About opportunities and obligations."

"Hmm." He didn't sound entirely convinced. "And does this thinking have anything to do with why you insisted on stopping at every village between here and King's Landing?"

I shot him a quick smile. "Can't I just be interested in my future subjects?"

"You can be interested in whatever you like," he said carefully. "But I've known you since you were in swaddling clothes, lad. You never do anything without multiple reasons."

Before I could respond, Steffon called out from where he'd ridden ahead: "Gods, look at all the ships! I've never seen so many different flags in one harbor!"

Indeed, the port of Duskendale was impressive - vessels from across the Narrow Sea crowded the docks, their various banners creating a colorful display against the blue sky. Braavosi purple, Pentoshi stripes, even the tiger of Volantis... Duskendale's wealth and importance were on full display.

"Smart positioning," Tywin observed quietly as we rode closer. "Deep enough harbor for the larger trading vessels, but with natural protection from storms. No wonder they've grown so prosperous."

"And proud," I added, watching the bustling activity along the waterfront. Merchants haggled over goods, sailors loaded and unloaded cargo, and everywhere there was an air of prosperity and ambition. "Perhaps too proud?"

Tywin's sharp eyes caught mine, reading more in my tone than I'd meant to reveal. But before he could comment, we were approaching the town proper.

The streets were well-maintained, I noted, with proper drainage systems and even some attempts at organized waste removal - quite progressive for Westeros. The buildings showed signs of recent improvements, and the people seemed well-fed and reasonably content. All signs of good governance, and yet...

"The guards are well-armed," Tywin murmured, ever observant. "More so than strictly necessary for a peaceful trading port."

"And positioned rather strategically," I agreed, marking how they controlled key intersections and approaches to the harbor. "Though given their wealth, some caution is understandable."

"Still," Ser Duncan added softly, "there's caution and there's preparation. These men drill regularly - you can tell by their stance and discipline."

He was right. The Darklyn guards moved with the precision of well-trained soldiers, not mere watchmen. Another detail that could be either commendable or concerning, depending on how you looked at it.

As we made our way through the town, I couldn't help but notice how the people reacted to our presence. There was respect, certainly - they knew who we were despite our relatively informal appearance. But there was also a certain... reserve. Pride, maybe even a touch of defiance. These were people who saw themselves as special, different from the rest of the Crownlands.

"They say Duskendale's nearly as rich as Lannisport these days," Steffon commented, waving to some children who were staring at us wide-eyed.

"Not quite," Tywin corrected automatically, though without his usual edge when discussing challenges to Lannister preeminence. "But they've certainly prospered under Lord Darklyn's governance."

That was the crux of it, wasn't it? Duskendale had grown wealthy and powerful, but that very success could become dangerous if not properly channeled. I'd seen it before, in another life - how prosperity could breed ambition, and ambition unchecked could lead to disaster.

"Look there," I pointed out as we passed the customs house. "See how they've organized their inspection stations? Efficient, but also easily converted to defensive positions if needed."

"You see fortifications in a customs house?" Steffon laughed. "Only you, cousin."

"He's not wrong though," Tywin noted. "The whole town is designed with defense in mind, despite its peaceful appearance."

"The best defenses are the ones you hope never to use," Ser Duncan added wisely. "Though I wonder what they feel they need defending against?"

The answer to that was complicated, tied up in pride and ambition and a future I was determined to prevent. But before I could formulate a response, we caught sight of the Dun Fort rising ahead of us.

Lord Willem Darklyn and his son were waiting at the gates, having obviously been warned of our approach. As we drew closer, I studied them carefully - the father tall and shrewd-looking, the son barely contained energy and ambition.

Young Denys couldn't have been more than twelve, I realized with a start. Just a boy, not yet the man who would make that fatal mistake, one that would cause the bloody massacre of his house and ravishing of his holdings, break the King I had taken the place off, shatter the promising monarch he could have been and replacing it with a madman that would cause the downfall of his dynasty and condemn westeros to decades of misery, instability and decline. But there was still time to direct that ambition down better paths.

"My prince," Lord Willem bowed perfectly as we approached. "Duskendale is honored by your visit. Though I confess, we did not expect you to arrive so... informally."

Indeed, our small party - dusty from the road and bearing evidence of our various good deeds along the way - hardly looked like a proper royal procession. But that had been partly the point.

"The best way to know the realm is to see it as it truly is," I replied, dismounting smoothly. "Not just from the high towers, but from the streets and fields as well." I turned to young Denys, who was watching everything with barely contained excitement. "Your city is impressive, my lord. Especially your port – I counted ships from Braavos, Pentos, even what looked like a trader from Volantis?"

The boy's face lit up at the attention, reminding me painfully of Baelon. "Yes, my prince! Father says our harbor is the finest in the Crownlands, save for King's Landing itself. And our customs house..." He caught himself, clearly remembering some lesson about proper dignity, but I encouraged him to continue.

As Denys enthusiastically detailed Duskendale's trading operations, I watched his father's reactions carefully. There was pride there, yes, but also something else – a hunger, a desire for more than just merchant wealth. The same ambition that, in another timeline, would lead to disaster that neither he nor his son could have possibly begun to imagine.

"Perhaps young Lord Denys could show us the harbor tomorrow?" I suggested. "I'd be particularly interested in seeing how you manage the customs house. The crown is always looking to improve our own procedures."

Willem's eyes sharpened with interest, while Denys practically bounced with excitement. "It would be our honor, my prince."

As we were shown to our chambers to refresh ourselves before the evening feast, I caught Tywin's questioning look. He'd noticed my particular interest in the Darklyns, especially young Denys.

"There's potential there," I said quietly. "But also danger, if not properly guided."

"You see something," Tywin observed. It wasn't a question. He knew me too well by now, could read the tension beneath my casual interest.

"Many somethings," I admitted, watching as our belongings were brought up by servants. "But mainly an opportunity to prevent problems before they start. Sometimes the best way to avoid a fire is to cool the embers before they can spark."

Tywin nodded slowly, understanding as always. He'd seen how I'd watched young Denys, how carefully I'd gauged both the boy's enthusiasm and his father's ambitions. "And how do you plan to cool these particular embers?"

"By showing them a better path," I said, watching Denys chattering excitedly with his father down in the courtyard. "One that leads to glory through loyalty rather than rebellion." I smiled slightly. "After all, isn't that what this journey is really about? Understanding the realm so we can help it grow stronger, together?"

"Together," Tywin agreed softly, the word carrying weight between us. He understood better than most the importance of unity, of channeling ambition in constructive ways. "Though perhaps we should clean up before attempting any major diplomatic initiatives? You still have straw in your hair from that roof repair."

I laughed, brushing at my hair. "What, you don't think the dusty traveler look adds to my princely mystique?"

"I think it adds to Ser Duncan's grey hairs," he replied dryly, nodding to where our protector was already doing his customary security check of our chambers, despite his obvious fatigue.

"It's good for him," I grinned. "Keeps him young, having to adapt to unexpected situations."

"Is that what we're calling your impromptu stops to help every struggling farmer we passed?" But Tywin's tone held more amusement than criticism. He'd been right there beside me for most of those stops, after all.

"Just practicing good lordship," I said innocently. "Like you did with that tax collector's records."

"That was different. That was..." He paused, realizing I'd trapped him into admitting he'd been just as involved in helping the smallfolk as I had.

"That was being a good lord," I finished for him, enjoying the rare sight of Tywin Lannister caught out. "Which is exactly what we're here to learn to be. Even if it means getting our hands dirty sometimes."

From down the hall, we could hear Steffon regaling someone with the tale of our morning's adventures, his booming voice carrying clearly: "And then Aerys just walks right up to this ship's carpenter, asks about the best way to seal hull planks..."

"Speaking of getting hands dirty," Tywin sighed, but I caught his hidden smile. This was what we were here for, after all – not just to observe the realm, but to understand it, to help it, to make it better.

And maybe, just maybe, to prevent some of the tragedies I remembered from another life. Starting with a young boy who didn't yet know the dangerous and utterly catastrophic path his ambitions might lead him down.

"Come on," I said, clapping Tywin on the shoulder. "Let's get cleaned up. We have a feast to attend, and I want to hear more about Duskendale's trading operations. You never know when understanding a port's customs procedures might come in handy."

"You have something specific in mind," he noted as we headed to our chambers.

"I always have something specific in mind," I grinned. "That's what makes it an adventure."

"Come on," I said, clapping Tywin on the shoulder. "We should probably get cleaned up before the feast. Though I have to admit, the look on that dockmaster's face when he realized who was asking about his cargo manifests was priceless."

"You mean when he nearly fell into the harbor trying to bow?" Steffon chuckled, his booming laugh echoing through the stone corridors. "I thought the poor man was going to faint when Aerys started asking about their inventory tracking systems."

"It was a legitimate question," I protested, though I couldn't help grinning at the memory. "Their current method seems needlessly complicated. No wonder they have delays during peak trading seasons."

"Only you would spend your first visit to Duskendale examining their bookkeeping practices," Tywin remarked dryly, though I caught the slight upward tick at the corner of his mouth that passed for a smile.

"Knowledge is power, my friend," I replied cheerfully. "Besides, I want to hear more about their trading operations during the feast. Particularly that new tariff system they're implementing with the Free Cities. Something about it doesn't quite add up..."

"You have something specific in mind," Tywin noted as we climbed the stairs to our chambers, his keen eyes studying my expression.

"Let's just say I noticed some interesting patterns in their shipping records," I said carefully, mindful of the servants bustling around us. "Things that might be worth discussing in more detail later."

Ser Duncan, who had been following us with the patient resignation of a man well used to my curiosity-driven detours, cleared his throat meaningfully. "Perhaps such discussions could wait until after you've all made yourselves presentable? Unless you plan to attend Lord Darklyn's feast still smelling of fish and seawater."

"What, you don't think it adds a certain authentic maritime charm?" I joked, ducking the half-hearted swat he aimed at my head.

"The only thing it adds is more work for the laundresses," he retorted, but his eyes twinkled with fond amusement. "Now go on, all of you. And try to stay out of trouble for at least the next hour?"

"No promises!" Steffon called back cheerfully as we headed to our respective chambers.

Once in my room, I found a hot bath already waiting, along with fresh clothes laid out by the servants. As I scrubbed off the salt and sweat of our harbor exploration, my mind kept turning over what I'd observed during our tour. Something about the way Lord Darklyn had emphasized certain trade agreements while glossing over others...

A knock at the door interrupted my thoughts. "Decent?" Tywin's voice called.

"As I'll ever be," I replied, having just finished dressing. "Come in."

My friend entered, immaculate as always in Lannister crimson and gold. He raised an eyebrow at my still-damp hair. "The feast begins in ten minutes."

"Plenty of time," I waved off his concern, running a hand through my silver-gold locks. "Help me make sense of something? Those Pentoshi trade agreements Lord Darklyn was so proud of showing us..."

"Seemed rather one-sided," Tywin finished, confirming my own suspicions. "The tariffs heavily favor Pentoshi merchants, far more than necessary for maintaining good relations."

"Exactly," I nodded, pulling on my boots. "And did you notice how young Denys kept glancing at that Pentoshi merchant during the harbor tour? The one with all the gold rings?"

"The same merchant who's been here three times in the past month, according to the harbor records," Tywin added. "Far more frequently than normal trading patterns would suggest."

"My thoughts exactly." I stood, adjusting my doublet. "Something's brewing there, and I'd rather head it off before it becomes a problem."

A sharp knock interrupted us. "If His Grace and Lord Tywin are quite finished plotting," Ser Duncan's amused voice called through the door, "the feast awaits."

---

The Dun Fort's great hall was a symphony of sounds and smells as we entered - the clinking of cups, the murmur of dozens of conversations, the rich aromas of roasted meats and fresh-baked bread. Tapestries depicting Duskendale's history hung from the walls, while the light from hundreds of candles made the gold and silver plates gleam.

Lord Willem Darklyn sat at the high table with his son Denys at his right hand, both resplendent in their house colors. I noted how the seating had been carefully arranged - prominent merchants from across the Narrow Sea interspersed with local nobility, creating a subtle display of Duskendale's international connections.

"My prince," Willem rose as we approached, bowing with perfect courtesy. "I trust you found your chambers satisfactory?"

"More than satisfactory," I assured him, taking my assigned seat. "Though I must admit, I'm even more impressed by what I saw at the harbor today. Your new customs house, in particular, seems very efficiently organized."

Willem's chest puffed slightly with pride. "You honor us with your interest, my prince. Perhaps after the feast, I could show you some of our recent improvements to the system?"

"I'd like that," I said sincerely, noting how young Denys leaned forward eagerly. "Actually, I had some thoughts about your inspection procedures that might help reduce delays during busy periods..."

The feast began in earnest then, a parade of dishes showcasing both local specialties and exotic fare from across the Narrow Sea. I found myself drawn into fascinating conversations about trade routes and customs regulations, my genuine interest seeming to surprise and please our hosts.

"Most nobles don't concern themselves with such details," the Pentoshi merchant - Magister Nestoris, I'd learned - observed silkily. "They care only for the profits, not the process."

"Then they're fools," I replied bluntly, earning surprised looks and a few appreciative chuckles. "Understanding how things work is the first step to improving them. Take your new arrangement with the Dornish wine merchants, for instance..."

As the evening wore on, I watched the interactions around me carefully. Denys hung on every word of the trade discussions, his sharp intelligence obvious despite his youth. But there was something else there too - a hunger for recognition, a desire to prove himself that could either be channeled productively this time around or lead to disaster like it had done in canon.

"You know," I said during a lull in the conversation, "your father's customs reforms remind me of something my grandfather implemented in King's Landing a few years ago. The key was finding ways to make everyone feel like they were benefiting equally..."

I caught Tywin's approving nod from across the table as I carefully steered the discussion toward ways Duskendale could improve its operations while working more closely with the crown. Steffon, bless him, kept the mood light with his booming laugh and easy charm, while Ser Duncan watched it all with the quiet pride of a teacher seeing his student put lessons to good use.

By the time the sweet courses arrived, I'd laid the groundwork for several subtle but important shifts in how Duskendale handled its trade relationships. More importantly, I'd given young Denys a glimpse of how he could achieve the recognition he craved through cooperation rather than competition with the crown.

"A productive evening," Tywin murmured as we finally retired to our chambers, the sounds of the feast still echoing behind us.

"More than you know," I replied quietly. "Did you see how Denys lit up when I suggested he might visit King's Landing to study our harbor operations? Sometimes the best way to prevent future problems is to show people a better path early on."

Tywin's sharp eyes studied me for a moment. "You're playing a longer game than just improving trade relations."

"I'm always playing a longer game," I admitted with a slight smile. "But in this case, I truly think everyone could benefit. Duskendale gets the recognition and respect it deserves, the crown gets a more efficient and loyal port, and young Denys gets a chance to prove himself in constructive ways."

"And if it helps prevent certain potential... complications in the future?"

"Then that's just an added bonus, isn't it?"

We reached my chamber door, where Ser Duncan waited with his usual patient expression. "I trust today's lessons in trade and diplomacy were satisfactory, my prince?"

"More than satisfactory," I grinned. "Though I still think their inventory system needs work. Tomorrow I want to look more closely at their..."

"Tomorrow," he interrupted firmly, though his eyes twinkled, "you can continue your investigation of Duskendale's fascinating bureaucracy. For now, bed."

"Yes, yes," I sighed dramatically. "Though you have to admit, it's better than my old habit of trying to climb the walls to get a better view of the harbor?"

"Don't remind me," he groaned, while Tywin actually cracked a small smile. "I still have nightmares about finding you halfway up the sea tower, claiming you were 'just checking the masonry.'"

"Well, I was! And I found that crack in the eastern wall, didn't I?"

"To bed, my prince," Ser Duncan said firmly, though his fond smile took any sting from the words. "Before I'm forced to remind you of the incident with the fishing nets."

"That was one time!" I protested as Tywin's smile grew slightly wider. "And we did figure out a more efficient way to repair them, didn't we?"

"Bed," both Tywin and Ser Duncan said in unison, making me laugh.

"Fine, fine. But tomorrow we really need to look at those shipping manifests again. Something about those Pentoshi numbers doesn't quite add up..."

Tywin shook his head slightly as he headed to his own chamber. "Always another puzzle to solve."

"That's what makes it an adventure!" I called after him, earning a snort from Ser Duncan.

---

Our stay in Duskendale stretched to three days, each filled with careful observation and subtle guidance. Young Denys proved to be far more than just the ambitious lord-to-be I remembered from another life. He was sharp, genuinely curious, and surprisingly thoughtful when given the chance to really engage with ideas rather than just chase status.

"The trade routes to Pentos are well-established," he explained eagerly as we walked the docks on our second morning, "but I think we could expand further. Maybe even establish direct connections with Volantis?"

"An interesting thought," I nodded, watching him carefully. "Though what makes Duskendale valuable isn't just its location, but its reliability. The Free Cities have dozens of ports competing for their trade. They choose partners they can trust."

Denys's brow furrowed thoughtfully. "Like how Braavos keeps sending their ships here even though Maidenpool is technically closer?"

"Exactly!" I felt a surge of satisfaction at his quick understanding. "They know what to expect here - fair treatment, consistent customs procedures, reliable infrastructure. That's worth more than just a shorter sailing time."

We spent hours like that, discussing everything from harbor maintenance to diplomatic protocols. I made sure to praise his good ideas while gently steering him away from the more aggressive ambitions that could lead to trouble. The key was showing him how cooperation could bring more benefits than competition.

"The key to true power," I told him during one walk along the harbor, watching trading ships glide past, "isn't in competing with the crown, but in making yourself indispensable to it. Look at the Hightowers - they don't need to challenge anyone's authority because everyone already knows how valuable they are." The Hightowers had well and truly learned their lesson in humillity after the Dance, Otto and Alicent's names forever a black stain in their history that they'll keep themselves from repeating.

"Is that why you're so interested in our customs procedures?" he asked shrewdly. "To help make Duskendale more... indispensable?"

I grinned at his perception. "Smart lad. Why fight over scraps when we could work together to make the pie bigger for everyone?"

The next few stops along our journey proved less politically charged but no less interesting. Lord Staunton's hospitality was warm if somewhat rustic, while the Brunes of Brownhollow shared fascinating tales of their First Men ancestry that had Steffon completely enthralled. But it was when we reached Claw Isle that my excitement truly peaked. As our ship prepared to set sail for Driftmark, I found myself practically bouncing with anticipation.

"I've never seen you this excited about a sea voyage before," Ser Duncan observed dryly. "Usually you're too busy with your books to notice the waves."

"This is different," I insisted, watching the crew prepare the sails with probably embarrassing enthusiasm. "We're going to see High Tide!"

"Or what's left of it," Tywin noted, though he seemed amused by my barely-contained excitement.

"That's exactly the point!" The words tumbled out before I could stop them. "Do you know what High Tide represented before the Dance? It wasn't just a castle - it was a symbol of what the Velaryons could achieve. The richest house in Westeros, with a fleet that could challenge even the Free Cities..."

"Someone's been studying their history," Steffon grinned, reaching out to steady himself as the ship caught a wave.

"Someone's always studying their history," Tywin corrected with a slight smirk.

The journey across the waters was mercifully smooth, and as Driftmark came into view, I felt my heart speed up. The island's rocky shores and deep harbors had featured in so many of the histories I'd devoured, both in this life and my previous one. This was where the Sea Snake had built his trading empire, where dragons had once nested alongside the greatest fleet Westeros had ever seen.

The docks of Hull were busy with fishing boats and trading vessels, but what caught my attention was the crowd gathering as word of our arrival spread. These weren't just dockworkers and merchants - it seemed like half the town had turned out. Their excitement was palpable, and I caught snatches of their conversation as we drew closer:

"A true Targaryen, here!" "Not since before the Dance..." "Look at that silver-gold hair - just like the old tales..."

"They act like they've never seen a Targaryen before," Steffon commented quietly.

"They probably haven't," I replied, remembering my history. "Not since the Dance of Dragons. We haven't exactly been frequent visitors."

The realization sobered me. These were people who had once been among House Targaryen's closest allies, who had shed blood alongside us countless times. And we'd let that bond wither through simple neglect.

Lord Daemon Velaryon and his son Lucerys met us at the dock, both sharing the traditional Valyrian looks of their house. Daemon's hair had more silver than gold, marking him as one of the older bloodlines, while Lucerys, who looked about my age, had the pure silver-gold that spoke of careful marriage alliances maintained through generations.

"Welcome to Driftmark, my prince," Lord Daemon bowed gracefully. "Though I fear you may find us less impressive than in the days of old."

"History ebbs and flows like the tides, my lord," I replied, falling easily into the formal courtesies while trying to convey sincere warmth. "What was once can be again, with the right vision and support."

I saw both father and son straighten slightly at that, hope flickering in their eyes. The Velaryons had never truly recovered from the Dance, their power and wealth a shadow of what it once was. But that could change, with the right push they could recover a great part of it. Although I would make sure that they never grew so arrogant as the Sea Snake once did, thinking he could take the throne away from us. The iron throne will ALWAYS belong to the Dragons, never to sea horses or anyone else for that matter. And also they would NEVER get dragons again, that Laenor and Laena got them was a HUGE mistake, especially considering that Laena was allowed to claim the greatest living dragon at the time: Vhagar herself. That was poised to open a huge can of worms, since if a Targaryen princess married outside the family like Rhaenys TQWNW did then she would also expect her own children to have dragons. If I managed to bring the Dragons back, then I'll definitely ensure that they'll stay in the family and in the direct line of succession.

The ride to Castle Driftmark was filled with Lucerys pointing out various landmarks, his enthusiasm matching my own when it came to the island's history. He proved to be an excellent guide, his knowledge impressive for his age.

"The old shipyards were there," he gestured to a sprawling complex near the water. "Grandfather says they used to build three ships at once in the peak seasons. Now we're lucky to complete one a year."

"But the infrastructure is still there," I noted, studying the cranes and drydocks. "The knowledge too, I'd wager? Ship-building isn't something that's easily forgotten."

"No, but..." he hesitated, glancing at his father who rode ahead with Ser Duncan. "But who would trust a Velaryon fleet these days? After the Dance..."

"After the Dance, the Velaryons still commanded enough respect that Alyn Oakenfist could lead the royal fleet," I reminded him. "One war doesn't define a house - look at the Tullys, who sided with the losing side in the Faith uprising but still rule the Riverlands."

We spent that first day exploring Castle Driftmark itself, which was impressive in its own right though clearly showing signs of reduced circumstances. The Velaryons had maintained it as best they could, but you could see where repairs had been postponed or scaled back.

What truly caught my attention though was the library. Shelves upon shelves of books and scrolls, many dating back to Old Valyria itself. Trading records, ship's logs, diplomatic correspondence - a treasure trove of information that had my inner scholar practically salivating.

"You actually want to read these?" Lucerys asked incredulously when he found me poring over an ancient manifest. "Most visitors just want to see the Valyrian artifacts."

"Are you kidding? These records are incredible!" I held up the manifest I'd been studying. "Look at these trading patterns from before the Doom. The routes, the cargo distributions... you could reconstruct entire economic systems from these!"

He stared at me for a moment before breaking into a genuine smile. "You really mean that, don't you? You actually care about this stuff?"

"Of course I do! This is your history - our history, really. The Velaryons and Targaryens built something amazing together. Who says we couldn't do it again?"

We ended up spending hours in that library, with Lucerys showing me record after record while I shared theories and observations. Tywin joined us after a while, his practical mind immediately grasping the potential applications of the historical data. Even Steffon wandered in, though he spent more time admiring the detailed ship illustrations than reading the actual texts.

The next day dawned bright and clear - perfect weather for visiting High Tide. The ruins were a short ride from Castle Driftmark, and I felt my excitement building with every step of my horse's hooves.

"I should warn you," Lucerys said as we approached, "there's not much left. The Dance..."

"Sometimes what's left is enough," I replied, though my heart ached at the sight of the once-magnificent castle reduced to tumbled stone.

But as we explored the ruins, I found myself seeing not just what had been lost, but what could be rebuilt. The foundation was still incredibly solid - Valyrian engineering at its finest. The harbor infrastructure, while damaged, could definitely be salvaged. And the location...

"The foundation's still solid," I noted, examining the base of what had once been the sea tower. "And the harbor infrastructure could be salvaged. With the right investment and planning..."

"You sound like you want to rebuild it," Lucerys said softly, hope warring with caution in his voice.

"Why not?" I turned to face him, feeling that familiar excitement that came with planning something big. "Think about it - Driftmark's position is perfect for controlling trade through the Gullet. High Tide could be more than just a symbol of the past - it could be the key to the future."

"The cost alone..." Lord Daemon started, but I was ready for that.

"Would be offset by the increased trade revenue," I argued, warming to my topic. "The Free Cities are competing with each other as much as with us. With the right facilities and connections, we could position Driftmark as a crucial stopping point for ships from both sides of the Narrow Sea."

I caught myself before I could go full MIT student and start talking about optimal port designs and efficiency metrics. Instead, I focused on what would matter most to them - restoration of their house's pride and power.

"The Dance took much from House Targaryen and Velaryon both" I said carefully, "but it didn't take your location, your knowledge, or your potential. High Tide could rise again"

"And the crown would support this?" Lord Daemon asked cautiously.

"The crown benefits from strong allies," I replied. "Especially ones with naval expertise and trading connections." I smiled slightly. "Besides, my grandfather has always said that a rising tide lifts all ships."

Lucerys snorted at the pun, while his father looked thoughtful. "You've given this considerable thought, my prince."

More than you know, I thought, remembering countless hours spent studying port operations and maritime trade in my past life. But I just smiled. "I believe in learning from history without being bound by it. The Velaryons helped build the greatest dynasty Westeros has ever known. Why shouldn't you rise to those heights again?"

As we made our way back to Castle Driftmark, discussing possibilities and potential plans, I caught Tywin studying me with that penetrating gaze of his.

"What?" I asked when we had a moment alone.

"You're planning something bigger than just rebuilding a castle," he observed.

I grinned. "I'm always planning something bigger. But in this case..." I glanced at where Lucerys was enthusiastically showing Steffon some old trading maps. "Sometimes the best way to prevent future problems is to give people better opportunities in the present."

Tywin nodded slowly, understanding as always. "And a restored House Velaryon would be a powerful ally."

"Exactly." I clapped him on the shoulder. "See? This is why you're my best friend. You always get it."

"Someone has to keep up with your schemes," he replied dryly, but I caught his slight smile.

---

The fortress of Dragonstone was unlike anything I'd ever seen, even in my previous life's most elaborate fantasy films. As our ship approached the harbor, I could make out the massive dragon statues that seemed to grow organically from the black stone walls. Gargoyles perched at every corner, their twisted forms casting eerie shadows in the dying light.

"Home to House Targaryen for centuries before the Conquest," Ser Duncan explained as we prepared to disembark. "The only piece of Old Valyria to survive the Doom."

I nodded, though my mind was racing with everything I knew about this place. Dragonstone wasn't just the ancestral seat of House Targaryen; it was a place of power, of magic. This was where Aegon had planned his conquest, where Daenerys would eventually be born during a terrible storm. And somewhere on this island, dragon eggs had been hidden and forgotten.

As we made our way up the winding path from the harbor to the castle proper, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was being watched. Not by the guards who escorted us or the servants who scurried ahead to prepare for our arrival, but by something older, something embedded in the very stone itself.

Uncle Daeron was waiting to greet us in the castle's main courtyard, a familiar figure in dark clothing with the Targaryen sigil embroidered subtly on his doublet. Beside him stood Jeremy Norridge, his ever-present companion and, as I well knew from both canon and family whispers, considerably more than that. Even at eleven, I understood what had driven my uncle to his self-imposed exile six years ago, how his refusal to marry Lady Olenna had created the rift that still hadn't fully healed.

"My nephews!" Daeron's face lit up as he embraced first me and then Steffon, genuine warmth in his voice. Though I'd seen him several times over the years at various family gatherings, his visits to the Red Keep had grown increasingly rare since the uncomfortable dinner the night before he left for Dragonstone. "Welcome! It's been too long since I saw you both. I swear you've grown a foot since the Harvest Feast."

"It's good to see you, Uncle," I replied, returning his embrace with equal warmth. Despite the circumstances of his exile, Uncle Daeron had always been kind to me, sharing his love of books and history during those quiet moments away from the more formal gatherings.

"Father and Mother send their regards," Steffon added cheerfully, his Baratheon exuberance a stark contrast to the somber atmosphere that often surrounded our uncle. "Mother says you should visit Storm's End soon. Father's built a new library wing she thinks you'd appreciate."

A shadow of something—regret, perhaps—crossed Daeron's face at the mention of his sister Rhaelle, before his expression warmed again. "I'd like that. It's been too long since I've seen your parents." He turned to Tywin with a gracious nod. "Lord Tywin, welcome to Dragonstone." Then to Ser Duncan: "And Ser Duncan—always a pleasure to see you again."

Jeremy Norridge stepped forward with a warm smile. "We've prepared chambers for all of you. If you'll follow me, I'll show you where you can refresh yourselves after your journey. The sea between here and Driftmark can be quite choppy, despite the short distance."

As the others followed Norridge, Uncle Daeron kept a hand on my shoulder. "I thought you might appreciate a small detour first, nephew. Something few visitors get to see." He glanced at Steffon. "You too, if you're interested. Though I warn you, it involves more history than swordplay."

"I'll come!" Steffon declared immediately, never one to miss any new experience. "Is it something secret?"

Daeron's lips twitched with amusement. "Not secret, precisely, but special. Something every Targaryen and Baratheon should see."

Curious, we both nodded, allowing him to lead us through a series of twisting corridors. The architecture was unlike anything in King's Landing—all flowing lines and strange angles that seemed to defy conventional building techniques.

"The Valyrians didn't build like other men," Daeron explained, noting my fascination. "They used dragonfire and sorcery to shape the stone, creating structures that would be impossible with traditional methods."

"It's beautiful," I said softly, running my hand along a wall that seemed to ripple beneath my touch. "Like it's still alive somehow."

"It looks like it's breathing!" Steffon added, pressing his palm against the undulating surface with characteristic enthusiasm.

Daeron's eyes sharpened with interest. "Most people find it unsettling. 'Grotesque' is the word I hear most often."

I shook my head. "They're missing the point then. It's not meant to be conventional—it's meant to echo the essence of dragons. Powerful, otherworldly, beyond the rules that bind lesser creatures."

A smile played at the corners of my uncle's mouth. "You remind me so much of your father at your age, Aerys. He always understood what others missed." He pushed open a heavy door, revealing a circular chamber dominated by a massive table carved in the shape of Westeros. "Behold, the Painted Table."

We stepped into the room, momentarily speechless. I'd read about the Painted Table, of course—the enormous map of Westeros where Aegon the Conqueror had planned his invasion of the continent. But seeing it in person was something else entirely. Every mountain range, every river, every castle was rendered in exquisite detail, the wood itself seeming to flow like the landscapes it depicted.

"This is where it all began," Daeron said softly, watching our reactions. "Where Aegon I looked at a divided continent and envisioned a unified kingdom."

I walked slowly around the table, trailing my fingers lightly over familiar landmarks. "The North," I murmured, touching the carved Winterfell. "The Riverlands. The Reach." My hand came to rest on King's Landing. "Home."

Steffon had immediately located Storm's End, his eyes bright with excitement. "Look how perfectly they captured the cliffs! And there's Shipbreaker Bay!" His natural exuberance was tempered by genuine awe as he studied the intricate carving of his ancestral home.

"For now," Daeron agreed, coming to stand beside me. "Though one day, this will be your seat, Aerys."

I glanced up at him, puzzled. "What do you mean?"

"When your father becomes king after my own father, you'll be named Prince of Dragonstone—the traditional title for the heir to the Iron Throne." He gestured to a strange, flowing chair made of dragonglass that sat at the head of the table. "That will be your seat, just as it was Aegon's before the Conquest."

The dragonglass throne seemed to absorb the light rather than reflect it, its surface deep and fathomless. I approached it cautiously, almost afraid to touch it.

"Go on," Daeron encouraged. "It won't bite."

Gingerly, I placed my hand on the armrest. Despite the cool air in the chamber, the dragonglass was warm to the touch—not hot, but definitely warmer than it should have been.

"It feels... alive," I whispered.

"Can I touch it too?" Steffon asked, already moving forward. When Daeron nodded, my cousin placed his hand next to mine on the strange throne. "It's warm! Like it remembers all the people who sat here before."

"The smallfolk say it absorbs the essence of those who sit upon it," Daeron explained. "That Aegon's spirit and those of all the heirs who followed him still linger within the stone."

"Do you believe that?" I asked, looking up at my uncle.

Daeron's violet eyes were thoughtful. "I believe there are more mysteries in this world than most men are willing to acknowledge. Especially here, on Dragonstone." He smiled suddenly, breaking the solemn mood. "But enough history for now. You must be hungry after your journey, and I've had the cooks prepare a feast for your arrival."

As we made our way to the great hall, I couldn't shake the sensation I'd felt when touching the dragonglass throne—a kind of resonance, as if something within the stone had recognized me. It was probably just my imagination, fueled by Daeron's stories and my own knowledge of what this place represented. Still, the feeling lingered.

The feast was a jovial affair. Uncle Daeron proved to be a charming host, regaling us with tales of Dragonstone's history that made even Tywin forget his usual reserve. Steffon, predictably, wanted to hear about the dragons.

"Is it true that Balerion the Black Dread could swallow a mammoth whole?" he asked excitedly, waving a chicken leg for emphasis.

"So the stories say," Daeron nodded, his eyes twinkling. "Though I'm not sure who was measuring the mammoths."

"And did the dragons really sleep in those huge caves we saw on the way up?" I asked, genuinely curious despite having visited the island before.

"The dragon mounts, yes," Daeron confirmed. "The Dragonmont is riddled with caverns and tunnels, many of which were home to dragons before the Dance. Some say there are chambers deep within the mountain that no man has seen since the Doom of Valyria."

"Filled with gold and jewels, no doubt," Jeremy Norridge added with a laugh. "At least according to the fishermen's tales."

"Or eggs," I suggested quietly, which earned me a sharp look from Uncle Daeron.

"Dangerous things to look for," he said, his tone carefully neutral. "Many have tried over the centuries. Few have returned."

The conversation moved on to lighter topics, but I caught Ser Duncan watching me with that too-perceptive gaze of his. I needed to be more careful with my "insights"—the old knight had already caught me in too many moments of unexpected knowledge.

That night, as I lay in the grand guest chamber Daeron had assigned me, sleep proved elusive. The castle seemed to breathe around me, the ancient stones settling and creaking in ways that the Red Keep never did. Outside my window, the Dragonmont loomed like a sleeping giant, its silhouette black against the star-studded sky.

I must have dozed off eventually, because suddenly I was awake again, sitting bolt upright in bed with the fading notes of a song echoing in my ears. For a moment, I was disoriented, uncertain whether I'd dreamed the melody or actually heard it.

Then it came again—soft, distant, but unmistakable. A woman's voice, singing a lullaby that struck me with an almost physical force of recognition.

" Little dragon, close your eyes,Let your wings now softly fall,Mother's love will guard your dreams,Until morning's gentle call... "

My breath caught in my throat. It was the lullaby Mother had sung to me on the night of my birth and countless times since—a melody I'd heard Mother's gentle voice sing through fevers and nightmares over my eleven years in this life. But this voice wasn't hers. It was higher, clearer, with a quality to it that seemed to bypass my ears and resonate directly in my chest.

" Stars will guard your peaceful rest,While the evening shadows fall,Safe beneath your mother's wings,Until dawn's first gentle call... "

Without conscious thought, I found myself pulling on my clothes and slipping out of my chamber. The corridor outside was deserted, lit only by the occasional torch that cast long, flickering shadows on the walls. The singing grew slightly louder as I moved, drawing me like a compass needle to true north.

" Sleep my precious dragon child,Let your dreams take gentle flight,Mother's love will keep you safe,Through the peaceful, starlit night... "

I followed the voice through the sleeping castle, past silent guards who didn't seem to hear the haunting melody that guided me. Out into the cool night air, across the courtyard, and toward the looming shadow of the Dragonmont. A cold breeze ruffled my hair, carrying the scent of salt and sulfur, but I barely noticed. All my attention was fixed on that voice, that impossible, wonderful voice.

Some distant part of my mind knew I should be afraid, or at least cautious. Following mysterious voices in the night was rarely the beginning of a happy story. But there was something about this particular voice that filled me with an overwhelming sense of comfort and safety. It felt like home in a way I couldn't quite explain.

The path up the mountain was steep and treacherous, especially in the dark. I slipped several times on loose shale, scraping my hands and knees, but the song kept pulling me onward and upward. The rocks grew warm beneath my palms, heated from within by the volcano's fire. Occasionally, small vents in the ground released puffs of steam that swirled around me like ghostly dragons in the night air.

" Little dragon, spread your wings,Soar above the world below,Mother's voice will guide you home,Where the ancient embers glow... "

This verse was new, not part of the lullaby Mother had sung. It sparked something deep in my memory—not from this life, but from before. A woman's voice, singing me to sleep after a nightmare. Warm arms holding me close, the scent of vanilla and jasmine. My mother—my first mother—from that other life that sometimes felt like nothing more than a rapidly fading dream.

"Mom?" I whispered, the English word strange on my Westerosi tongue.

The singing paused for just a moment, then continued, softer but more urgent. I climbed faster, ignoring the burning in my legs and the thin air that made each breath a labor. Higher and higher, following a path that seemed to appear just as I needed it, winding toward one of the smaller peaks that jutted from the Dragonmont's main mass.

The mountain itself seemed to be guiding me, revealing handholds exactly where I needed them, offering flat stretches just when my legs were about to give out. Or perhaps it was the voice, somehow affecting more than just my mind. Either way, I found myself climbing with a surety that should have been impossible in the dark.

Finally, the path ended at the mouth of a cave. The singing was clear now, emanating from somewhere within the darkness. I hesitated at the threshold, suddenly aware of how foolish this might be. I had no torch, no weapon, not even a clear idea of where I was on the mountain. The stories of people venturing into the Dragonmont's caves and never returning flashed through my mind.

" Follow now my guiding song,Ancient secrets wait within,Trust the fire in your blood,Let your destiny begin... "

The voice—so achingly familiar, so impossible—gave me courage. I stepped into the cave, expecting darkness, but found instead that the walls themselves provided a faint, pulsing glow—just enough to see by. The stone seemed almost alive, with veins of what looked like molten fire running through obsidian walls, casting a ruddy light that made shadows dance along the passage.

The tunnel twisted and turned, sometimes so narrow I had to turn sideways to squeeze through, other times opening into chambers large enough to house a dragon. In one such space, I noticed strange marks on the walls—deep gouges in the stone that looked unsettlingly like claw marks. Something massive had scratched at these walls, something with talons harder than the volcanic rock itself.

The air grew warmer as I ventured deeper, carrying with it an ancient, musky scent that reminded me of the dragon skulls in the Red Keep, only stronger, more primal. The singing grew louder too, pulling me onward through passages that sometimes seemed to shift and change behind me.

And then suddenly, the tunnel ended in a perfectly circular chamber with a high, domed ceiling. The song stopped, leaving me in a silence so profound I could hear my own heartbeat.

The chamber was massive, easily large enough to house a full-grown dragon with room to spare. The walls pulsed with that strange inner light, more intense here than in the tunnels, throwing grotesque shadows across the floor. But what stole my breath wasn't the size of the chamber or its strange illumination—it was what lay scattered across the floor.

Bones. Enormous bones, some half-buried in the volcanic soil, others jutting from the walls themselves. It took me a moment to understand what I was seeing, but when I did, a chill ran down my spine despite the chamber's heat. These were dragon bones—not arranged neatly like the displays in the Red Keep, but sprawled out in their final resting position.

A massive skull dominated one side of the chamber, larger even than Balerion's in the Red Keep. Its eye sockets were as big as shields, its teeth longer than long swords. Most impressive of all were the heavy ridges above its eyes and the thick, curved horns that jutted from its skull—features I'd only seen described in one dragon from the histories.

"The Cannibal," I whispered, my voice echoing strangely in the chamber.

The wild dragon had disappeared after 132 AC, around the time of Corlys Velaryon's death. Many had assumed it had flown away to die somewhere remote, as dragons were wont to do. But it had come here instead, to this hidden chamber deep within the Dragonmont.

As I moved carefully through the bone-strewn chamber, I noticed patches of scales scattered among the remains—black as night, with an oily iridescence that caught the pulsing light. The Cannibal had been aptly named, known for devouring other dragons, even hatchlings still in their eggs. It had been the largest and most fearsome of the wild dragons, notorious for attacking even dragons with riders.

And there, at the center of the chamber, on a raised platform of worked stone that seemed out of place among the natural formations, sat a single egg.

The platform itself was curious—clearly crafted by human hands, with strange symbols carved into its base that were neither Valyrian nor any script I recognized from my studies. Yet everything else about this chamber suggested no human had set foot here in generations, perhaps centuries.

Had the Cannibal found this egg elsewhere and brought it here? Had it somehow recognized the platform as a proper place for a dragon egg? Or had it been guarding this egg all along, protecting it from those who might exploit it—even others of its own kind?

I approached slowly, drawn by something I couldn't explain. The egg was beautiful—larger than I'd expected, about the size of a football in my old life. Its scales were a deep, midnight blue that seemed to shift and shimmer in the faint light, with swirls of silver that spiraled across its surface like frozen lightning.

Looking closer at the chamber, I noticed other bones scattered among the dragon's remains—human bones, blackened and charred. Some still wore fragments of armor, melted and warped by dragonfire. The Cannibal had clearly defended this place fiercely, killing anyone who came close to the egg. A chill ran down my spine as I realized I was standing where men had died, burned to cinders by the massive beast whose bones now surrounded me.

Yet I felt no fear. Whether protected by the voice that had led me here or simply destined to succeed where others had failed, I knew with absolute certainty that this egg was meant for me.

"It's warm," I whispered in surprise as my fingers made contact with the shell. Despite having sat in this cold cave for who knew how long—decades, certainly, perhaps even centuries—the egg radiated heat like a living thing. The sensation was nothing short of miraculous, like touching a beating heart encased in stone.

I lifted it carefully, cradling it against my chest. It weighed less than I expected, and seemed to pulse slightly against my hands, as if something inside was stirring. The warmth spread through my palms and into my arms, a comforting sensation that felt like recognition.

"Hello there," I murmured, feeling slightly foolish talking to an egg, but unable to resist the impulse. "You've been waiting a long time, haven't you?"

A soft, faint echo filled the chamber, not quite a voice but somehow a response nonetheless. The egg seemed to pulse once more against my chest, the blue-silver scales catching the strange light that emanated from the walls. For a moment, I could have sworn the swirls of silver moved across its surface, like miniature lightning chasing through midnight clouds.

I stood there for a long moment, holding the egg, struck by the enormity of what I'd found—and what it might mean. Dragon eggs hadn't hatched in generations. The last dragons had died during the reign of Aegon III, long before this egg could have been laid. Which meant it had been here for at least 120 years, preserved somehow despite the passage of time.

Was it the volcano's heat that had kept it viable? Or had the Cannibal somehow known this egg was special, worth protecting beyond all others? The wild dragon had been known for devouring clutches of eggs, not preserving them. Yet here was an egg, seemingly alive, guarded by the most feared of all the wild dragons.

My eyes were drawn back to the massive skull of the Cannibal. Even in death, there was something majestic about the ancient predator. Those massive teeth, some as long as my forearm, spoke of a power long vanished from the world. One tooth in particular caught my eye—slightly longer than the others, with a distinctive curve and a deep, oily-black sheen that matched the scattered scales across the chamber floor.

"I should take something to remember you by," I said softly to the skull, approaching it with care and respect. "Not as a trophy, but as acknowledgment of your guardianship."

With gentle pressure, I tested the tooth, surprised to find it shifted slightly in its socket. The ancient dragon had been dead long enough that its remains had begun to loosen. Carefully, reverently, I worked the tooth free from the massive jaw, silently thanking the beast for its years of vigilance.

"Thank you for guarding this egg," I whispered to the silent bones. "I promise to protect it as fiercely as you did."

The tooth was heavier than it looked, its surface smooth and cool to the touch, unlike the warm egg. I slipped it inside my tunic, securing it against my side. A dragon's tooth—a piece of history, a connection to this ancient guardian. My fingers lingered on its surface, feeling the ridges and grooves that had once torn through flesh and bone.

Turning back to the center of the chamber, I gazed once more at the strange platform where the egg had rested. Those mysterious symbols carved into its base seemed to pulse with their own inner light, though perhaps that was just a trick of the chamber's strange illumination.

"I'll take care of you," I promised softly to the egg, still uncertain whether I was speaking to the egg itself or just expressing my own thoughts. "Whatever happens, I'll keep you safe."

Before leaving, I knelt briefly in the center of the chamber, overcome with a sudden need to express my gratitude—not just to the Cannibal, but to whatever force had guided me here.

"Thank you," I whispered, my words echoing softly against the ancient stone. "Whether you were truly my mother from another life, or some magic of this place, or something else entirely... thank you for bringing me here. For trusting me with this."

The chamber remained silent, the only response the steady pulsing of the light from the walls. Yet somehow, I felt a sense of acknowledgment, of completion. Whatever had called me here had accomplished its purpose. The rest was up to me.

As I retraced my steps through the tunnels, I realized I would need something to carry the egg safely down the mountain. My thin sleep clothes weren't sufficient, and I couldn't risk damaging it during the descent. Scanning the chamber one last time, my eyes fell on one of the human remains—a knight perhaps, or some brave fool who had sought dragon eggs centuries ago.

Among the charred and melted armor, I spotted a partially preserved cloak, its fabric blackened but still surprisingly intact where it had been sheltered beneath the body. The material was thick and well-made, the type carried by nobility or wealthy adventurers. Whatever crest it once bore had long since burned away, but its purpose now would be more noble than its owner could have imagined.

"I hope you don't mind," I said to the anonymous remains as I carefully extracted the fabric. "Your quest failed, but in a way, you'll help complete it after all."

The cloak was in better condition than I'd expected, with only a few holes and scorched patches. I carefully wrapped the egg in the ancient fabric, creating a protective bundle that distributed its weight more evenly. The Cannibal's tooth I kept secured against my side, its presence a reminder of the ancient guardian whose lair I was leaving.

The return journey through the tunnels seemed faster, as if the mountain itself was now eager for me to leave with my prize. The strange illumination faded behind me, plunging me back into darkness as I reached the cave entrance. Outside, the sky was just beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn. I'd been inside longer than I'd realized.

Making my way back down the mountain with the precious egg was considerably more challenging than the climb up had been. The bundle of cloak and egg required one arm to hold it securely, leaving me with only one hand for the descent. The path that had seemed to guide me upward now appeared treacherous and unpredictable, loose rocks shifting under my feet with almost every step.

Halfway down, disaster nearly struck. A seemingly solid foothold crumbled beneath my weight, sending a cascade of small stones clattering down the mountainside. I lurched sideways, my body tilting dangerously toward a steep drop. The bundle containing the egg slipped in my grasp, nearly tumbling from my arms.

"No!" I gasped, clutching the egg tighter even as I felt myself sliding. In that heart-stopping moment, I cared more about protecting the egg than my own safety. I twisted my body, absorbing the impact of the fall with my shoulder and back rather than risk crushing my precious cargo.

Pain shot through my side as I slid several feet down the rocky slope, the rough stone tearing through my clothes and into my skin. The Cannibal's tooth dug painfully into my ribs, but thankfully didn't pierce the skin. Somehow, I managed to keep hold of the egg, cradling it against my chest even as my body tumbled.

A jutting rock finally halted my descent, knocking the breath from my lungs as I collided with it. For several moments, I simply lay there, gasping for air, my heart pounding wildly. When I finally dared to check, I found the egg still intact within its wrappings, seemingly unharmed by our near disaster.

"That was too close," I muttered, carefully readjusting my grip on the bundle. My right side ached fiercely where I had scraped against the rocks, and I could feel warm blood soaking through what remained of my shirt. The Cannibal's tooth had shifted but remained secure against my left side.

More cautiously now, I continued my descent, testing each foothold before committing my weight. The mountain seemed to have exhausted its hospitality, becoming just another treacherous volcano rather than the mystical guide that had led me upward.

The sky continued to lighten as I picked my way down, casting the landscape in a pearly gray light that revealed just how dangerous my climb had been. Sheer drops and unstable slopes surrounded the narrow path I'd somehow followed in the dark. By daylight, I would never have attempted such a climb—especially not alone and without proper equipment.

"We're almost there," I whispered to the egg, unsure whether I was offering reassurance to it or to myself. The burden felt heavier with each step, not just physically but with the weight of responsibility. I now carried something that could change the course of history—a potential dragon in a world that had lost them generations ago. An Egg that held the promise to giving my family back the power and prestige it had long lost.

Dawn was breaking by the time I reached the base of the mountain, casting a pale, pearly light over Dragonstone's twisted towers. I paused to catch my breath and plan my next move. I couldn't simply walk into the castle with a dragon egg in my arms—too many questions would be asked, too many eyes would turn toward my prize.

Not to mention the state I was in—clothes torn and bloodied, dirt and volcanic ash coating my skin, carrying a wrapped bundle and with a dragon's tooth concealed in my tunic. I needed to hide the egg somewhere safe until I could figure out what to do next.

After a moment's thought, I made my way to a small cove I'd noticed during our arrival, where weathered rocks created natural hiding places above the tide line. The cove was sheltered from view of both the castle and the harbor, accessible only by a narrow path that wound between jagged black rocks.

The morning light revealed the cove to be even more perfect than I'd hoped. Volcanic activity had created numerous small caves and crevices in the rock face, many of them dry and protected from the elements. I found a particularly deep crevice, well above the high tide mark, invisible unless you knew exactly where to look.

Carefully, I lined the crevice with the ancient cloak, creating a nest of sorts for the egg. The fabric, though centuries old, would provide additional protection from the damp and cold. I nestled the egg within, making sure it was secure and wouldn't roll or shift if the island experienced one of its frequent minor tremors.

"I'll come back for you," I whispered, feeling strangely reluctant to leave it even for a few hours. My fingers lingered on its warm surface, still marveling at the life I could feel pulsing within. "I promise."

The Cannibal's tooth I decided to keep with me. Unlike the egg, it could be explained away if discovered—a souvenir found while exploring, nothing more. I repositioned it more comfortably against my side, then took a moment to wash the worst of the blood and dirt from my skin in the seawater. It stung fiercely, but at least I wouldn't look quite so battered when I returned to the castle.

My clothes were beyond salvaging—torn, bloodied, and covered in volcanic dust. There was nothing to be done about that. I would have to face the consequences of my nighttime adventure, though hopefully with the egg safely hidden, those consequences would be limited to a scolding.

With one last glance at the hidden crevice, I turned and made my way back toward the castle, trying to work out a plausible story that would explain my appearance without revealing the truth. The Cannibal's tooth pressed against my side with each step, a tangible reminder of what I'd discovered—and what still waited for me in that hidden cove.

When I finally slipped back into the castle, I discovered that my absence had not gone unnoticed. The courtyard was buzzing with activity, guards forming search parties while Ser Duncan issued tense commands. Tywin and Steffon stood nearby, both looking uncharacteristically worried.

"There he is!" Steffon shouted, pointing in my direction. "Aerys!"

Ser Duncan spun around, his weathered face showing equal parts relief and fury. "Prince Aerys! Where in the seven hells have you been?"

Uncle Daeron pushed through the crowd, Jeremy Norridge close behind him. "Nephew! We've been searching for hours. Are you hurt?"

I hadn't realized how disheveled I must look—my clothes torn and dirt-stained, my hands scraped raw from the climb, my face and hair coated with a fine layer of volcanic dust.

"I'm sorry," I said, trying to sound appropriately contrite. "I couldn't sleep, so I went for a walk. I ended up climbing partway up the mountain to watch the sunrise, but I lost track of time."

"The mountain?" Daeron looked horrified. "Do you have any idea how dangerous that is? There are sheer drops, unstable ground, sulfurous vents—"

"Not to mention the risk of falling and breaking your royal neck," Ser Duncan cut in, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. "What were you thinking, boy?"

"I wasn't thinking," I admitted truthfully. "I just... felt compelled to climb. Something about the mountain called to me."

Ser Duncan's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Called to you?"

"It's the Targaryen blood," Uncle Daeron intervened before I could respond. "The Dragonmont has that effect on some of us. I felt it too, when I first came here." He turned to me, his expression softening slightly. "Though that doesn't excuse wandering off without telling anyone, especially at night."

"I'm sorry," I repeated, lowering my eyes. "I didn't mean to worry anyone."

Jeremy Norridge placed a calming hand on Daeron's shoulder. "The important thing is that he's safe. Let's get him inside and cleaned up. He looks like he could use a hot meal and some rest."

Tywin had been watching silently, his green-gold eyes studying me with unsettling intensity. "You went quite far up," he observed. "What did you find?"

I met his gaze, keeping my expression neutral. "Just caves and rocks. Nothing special."

"Must have been something worth seeing to keep you out all night," Steffon pressed, his usual cheerful demeanor tinged with suspicion.

"The view was spectacular at dawn," I shrugged. "Worth the climb, though I admit I should have waited for daylight and told someone where I was going."

Uncle Daeron sighed, then nodded toward the castle. "Come. A bath and breakfast, and then perhaps you can show us where exactly you went. The Dragonmont isn't a playground, nephew. Some of those caves contain toxic gases that can kill a man in minutes."

As we walked back to the castle, I caught Ser Duncan watching me with that penetrating gaze again. The old knight had survived countless battles and political intrigues—he knew when someone wasn't telling the whole truth. I would need to be more careful around him.

I hesitated a moment, then reached into my tunic. "I did find something, actually." I pulled out the Cannibal's tooth, its oily-black surface gleaming in the morning light. "I think it might be from the Cannibal."

The reaction was immediate. Uncle Daeron froze mid-step, his eyes widening as he stared at the massive dragon tooth in my hand. Even Jeremy Norridge, usually so composed, let out a low whistle of surprise.

"By the Seven," Daeron breathed, reaching out a trembling hand toward the tooth but stopping just short of touching it. "Where did you find this?"

"In a cave high up the mountain," I explained, embellishing my story with enough truth to make it believable. "There was a chamber with dragon bones—massive ones. I think it might have been the Cannibal's final resting place."

"The Cannibal..." Ser Duncan's voice was hushed with wonder. "The wildest of the wild dragons. It disappeared sometime after Lord Corlys Velaryon died."

"Let me see that," Tywin said, his usual reserve forgotten in the face of such a discovery. He examined the tooth with careful scrutiny, turning it in his hands. "The accounts say the Cannibal's scales and teeth had an unusual black sheen, unlike other dragons. This matches the description."

"You shouldn't have taken it," Daeron said, though his voice held more awe than reproach. "Dragon remains are sacred, especially in their final resting place."

"I know," I admitted. "But I felt like I was meant to have it. Like it was... calling to me, somehow." I looked up at my uncle. "I was respectful, I promise. I said words of thanks to the dragon's spirit before taking it."

Steffon could barely contain himself, bouncing on his toes as he waited for his turn to examine the relic. "Did you see the whole skeleton? How big was it? Were there any eggs?" The last question made my heart skip a beat, but I kept my expression neutral.

"Just bones," I said, shaking my head. "And they were scattered, not a complete skeleton. But from the size of the skull, it must have been enormous. Bigger than Balerion's skull in the Red Keep, I think."

"That's consistent with the accounts," Daeron nodded thoughtfully. "The Cannibal was said to be the largest of the wild dragons, even bigger than Vermithor or Silverwing."

"Was it worth risking your life for?" Ser Duncan asked gruffly, though I could see the wonder in his eyes as he studied the tooth.

I glanced down at the massive fang in my hand, thinking of the egg hidden in the cove and the voice that had guided me to it. "Yes," I said softly. "It was worth it."

The remainder of our stay at Dragonstone passed in a blur of activity. Uncle Daeron insisted on sending a small expedition to verify my discovery, though I carefully led them to a different cave system than the one where I'd found the egg. The presence of scattered dragon bones—leftovers from the Cannibal's meals, perhaps—was enough to convince them they'd found the right place, especially with the sulfurous vents making extended exploration dangerous.

I spent the final evening before our departure carefully wrapping the dragon's tooth in a piece of soft cloth, securing it in my travel trunk. The egg remained hidden in the cove, its presence a secret I carried in my heart. I'd managed to visit it twice more during our stay, each time finding it warm and pulsing with what felt like life. Before leaving, I constructed a more permanent hiding place, using stones and driftwood to create a secure, hidden chamber that would protect it until I could return.

"I'll come back for you," I whispered on my final visit, my fingers lingering on the warm surface of the egg. "I don't know when, but I promise I will."

---

The journey back to the mainland was uneventful, our ship cutting smoothly through the calm waters of Blackwater Bay. As Dragonstone faded into the distance, I felt a strange tugging sensation, as if some part of me remained on the island with the hidden egg. Steffon and Tywin noticed my distraction, but attributed it to tiredness after our adventures.

"Where to next?" Steffon asked eagerly as we disembarked at Maidenpool, the first stop on our mainland journey. The pink stone walls of the port city gleamed in the afternoon sun, the smell of salt and fish heavy in the air.

"The Riverlands," Ser Duncan answered, consulting a scroll bearing the royal seal. "Your grandfather wants you to visit the major houses—starting with the Tullys at Riverrun, then making our way to Raventree Hall to pay respects to the Blackwoods."

"My grandmother's family," I nodded, genuinely looking forward to meeting the Blackwoods. Queen Betha had told me stories of Raventree Hall since I was small, of the massive dead weirwood and the ancient feud with the Brackens. "Will we visit the Brackens too?"

"Not if we want to keep peace in the realm," Ser Duncan said dryly. "One does not visit both Blackwood and Bracken in the same journey, unless one enjoys being the target of mutual suspicion."

Our journey through the Riverlands was a revelation. After the volcanic austerity of Dragonstone and the urban bustle of King's Landing, the lush fertility of the region was almost shocking. Fields of golden wheat stretched to the horizon, punctuated by orchards heavy with summer fruit. The roads were busy with merchants and farmers, their carts laden with produce bound for markets throughout the Seven Kingdoms.

"It's like another world," Steffon marveled as we rode alongside a tributary of the Trident, the water so clear we could see fish darting beneath the surface. "Everything's so... green."

"The most fertile land in Westeros," Tywin observed, his analytical mind already calculating yields and taxes. "Though also the most contested. Every major war has been fought across these fields."

"It's a beautiful land caught between powerful neighbors," I agreed, thinking of the devastation that would come to these peaceful fields in another timeline. The War of the Five Kings would turn these bountiful plains into a charred wasteland, its people scattered or dead, its wealth plundered by armies from north and south alike. Looking at the prosperous smallfolk working the fields, their children playing near the riverbanks, I silently vowed that such a fate would never befall them in this timeline. Not if I could help it.

The journey to Riverrun took us through several small holdings and villages. At Ser Duncan's insistence, we stayed at local inns rather than imposing on minor nobility, giving us a better sense of the region's character. The food was a revelation—hearty stews thick with vegetables and river fish, crusty breads still warm from the oven, and pies filled with summer berries.

"This reminds me of Belgium," I said without thinking one evening, as we dined on a particularly good meat pie in a riverside inn.

"Where?" Steffon asked, looking up from his third helping.

I froze, realizing my mistake. "Belgos," I recovered quickly. "A region in Essos known for its cooking. I read about it in a book."

"You and your books," Steffon snorted affectionately, returning to his meal without further questions.

But I caught Ser Duncan's thoughtful gaze across the table, his eyes narrowed slightly. The old knight missed nothing.

"Speaking of cooking," I continued, eager to change the subject, "have you ever thought about putting meat between two pieces of bread? With maybe some cheese and vegetables?"

"You mean a trencher?" Steffon asked, confused.

"No, not using bread as a plate. I mean a..." I hesitated, not wanting to say 'sandwich' outright. "A bread-meat-bread creation. You could eat it with your hands, make it in advance for traveling."

The innkeeper, who had been hovering nearby, looked intrigued. "Never heard of such a thing, m'lord, but it sounds practical for travelers. Would save on plates and washing up, too."

"Exactly!" I said enthusiastically. "You could prepare them quickly for large groups—thin slices of meat, maybe some cheese, all between two slices of bread."

"Might be worth trying," the innkeeper mused. "Got some roast beef left from midday, and fresh bread just out of the oven..."

Within half an hour, the first sandwiches in Westeros had been prepared and distributed among our party. Steffon declared it a "revolution in eating," while Tywin, ever practical, immediately noted its potential for military applications, allowing soldiers to carry prepared meals easily during marches.

"You have the strangest ideas sometimes, Aerys," Ser Duncan commented, studying his sandwich with a mix of suspicion and appreciation. "But I must admit, this one has merit."

Our arrival at Riverrun was met with all the ceremony appropriate for a royal visit. Lord Hoster Tully, a young man of sixteen, greeted us at the gates of the impressive castle, his younger brother Brynden at his side. Despite being just eleven—the same age as me—Brynden already showed signs of the tough, capable warrior he would become, standing tall beside his brother with a confidence that belied his years.

"Prince Aerys," Hoster bowed formally, every inch the Lord Paramount of the Trident and Head of one of the Great Houses of Westeros despite his youth. Their father, Lord Robard Tully, had passed away just months earlier, leaving Hoster to manage the vast responsibilities of Riverrun and the Riverlands as a whole under the guidance of his uncle until he adapted to his new responsibilities fully. "Riverrun is honored by your presence."

"The honor is mine, Lord Tully," I replied with equal formality, before breaking into a more genuine smile. "I've been looking forward to seeing Riverrun. The castle that can become an island—it's unique in all of Westeros."

Hoster seemed pleased by my knowledge of his home. "Perhaps you'd like to see the water gate? The mechanism for raising the portcullis is quite ingenious."

The castle itself was a marvel of engineering and strategic design. Built where the Tumblestone and Red Fork rivers met, it could be turned into an island fortress by opening the water gates—a defensive advantage that had kept the Tullys secure for generations.

"The Freys might have their bridge, and the Mallisters their tower, but only Riverrun can create its own moat at will," Brynden told me proudly as he showed us around the battlements. The younger Tully proved to be excellent company—sharp-witted and refreshingly direct compared to his more diplomatic brother.

"You should see it during spring floods," he continued. "The whole lower bailey becomes a proper lake. We once sailed a skiff right up to the Great Hall steps."

"Must have given the servants fits," Steffon laughed.

"That's putting it mildly," Brynden grinned. "Especially since we'd filled the boat with frogs we'd caught. Let them loose during dinner."

"Which is exactly why you'll never be trusted with diplomatic missions," Hoster sighed, having joined our tour. Despite his exasperation, I could see the deep affection between the brothers—so different from the estrangement that would develop in that other timeline and hopefully would be averted here.

Over the next few days, I found myself growing genuinely fond of both Tullys. Hoster, despite being only sixteen, already displayed the political acumen and sense of duty that would make him a great ally in my plans. He spoke passionately about his plans to strengthen the Riverlands' defenses and improve its internal trade networks.

"The problem with the Riverlands," he explained as we pored over maps in Riverrun's library, "is that we're bordered by too many powerful regions, with rivers providing easy access for armies from any direction."

"Have you considered defensive chokepoints?" I suggested, pointing to several key river crossings. "Small fortifications at these junctions could control movement along the waterways. Not full castles, but strong enough to delay an invasion and provide warning."

Hoster's eyes lit up at the suggestion. "That... could work. Especially if we established a system of signal fires to quickly communicate between them."

Brynden, who had been listening quietly, leaned forward. "A chain of small garrisons would be cheaper to build and maintain than trying to fortify the entire region. If we positioned them strategically..." He began marking potential locations on the map.

"You'd need to ensure the loyalty of the houses where these fortifications would be built," Tywin noted, joining our planning session. "Some of your minor lords might see such garrisons as a check on their own power."

"True," Hoster conceded. "Though if the crown were seen to support such measures..."

"As a matter of realm security, the crown would certainly have an interest in strengthening the defenses of the Riverlands," I confirmed, already thinking of how I could present this to Grandfather when we returned. "After all, a secure Riverlands benefits everyone."

Our discussions expanded over the following days, encompassing not just defensive strategies but also improvements to road networks, river navigation, and trade policies. I introduced the concept of standardized weights and measures across the region, which Hoster immediately recognized would reduce disputes between merchants.

"The problem is getting all the lords to agree," he sighed. "Some have been using their own local measures for generations."

"Start with the markets directly under Tully control," I suggested. "Once merchants see the benefits of standardization in Riverrun's markets, others will follow out of practical necessity."

Even these relatively minor reforms could help strengthen the Riverlands, making it more resilient to the shocks that had devastated it in that other timeline. Proper defensive networks, more efficient trade, stronger internal cohesion—these could all help prevent the region from becoming the ravaged battleground I remembered.

Meanwhile, Brynden appointed himself our guide to the more adventurous aspects of Riverrun. He taught Steffon and me how to fish using Riverlands techniques, took us riding through the surrounding countryside, and even showed us the secret passages that honeycomb the castle's older sections.

"Not supposed to know about these," he admitted as we crawled through a narrow tunnel that connected the Great Hall to an exit near the stables. "But Uncle Edgar let slip about them when he'd had too much wine, and I spent half a year finding them all."

"Does Hoster know?" Steffon asked, his voice echoing in the confined space.

"Of course," Brynden snorted. "I told him immediately. These are defensive assets—knowledge that should be passed down through the family line."

I was struck by his instinctive understanding of security, even at such a young age. This was the man who would become the Blackfish, one of the most capable knights and military commanders in Westeros. And here he was, covered in cobwebs and grinning like any other eleven-year-old boy, but already showing the strategic mind that would make him legendary.

"You should visit the Red Keep sometime," I told him as we emerged, blinking, into the sunlight. "I've found similar passages there. We could exchange notes."

His eyes lit up. "I'd like that. From what I've heard, the Red Keep has even more secrets than Riverrun."

Our time at Riverrun concluded with a grand feast, where I introduced another culinary innovation—the hamburger. Using ground beef formed into patties and served on bread rounds, it was an instant hit, especially when paired with fried potatoes cut into strips.

"You need to tell me where you're getting these ideas," Brynden demanded as he devoured his third serving. "First the—what did you call them—sandwiches at the inn, and now this? Are you secretly a cook disguised as a prince?"

I laughed, deflecting the question with a joke about spending too much time talking to the castle kitchens in King's Landing. But I made sure to share the technique with Riverrun's head cook, hoping this small piece of my old world might spread throughout the Riverlands.

As we prepared to depart for the next leg of our journey, Hoster presented me with a beautifully crafted map of the Riverlands, complete with detailed notations about the defensive improvements we'd discussed.

"For your consideration, and perhaps to show His Grace," he said formally, though I could see the hope in his eyes. "The Riverlands have always been loyal to the crown, and with these improvements, we can be an even stronger bulwark in times of trouble."

"I'll make sure Grandfather sees it," I promised, genuinely impressed by the work he'd put into it. "And I hope we can continue our discussions by raven. Your ideas about river trade regulations were particularly interesting."

We left Riverrun with promises to visit again, having formed bonds that I hoped would serve both our houses well in the years to come. Hoster Tully would be a valuable ally as Lord Paramount of the Trident, while Brynden's friendship could prove equally important in different ways.

---

Our journey continued eastward, taking us through a patchwork of Riverlands territories. We stayed briefly with the Vances at Wayfarer's Rest, whose castle guarded the western approach to the Riverlands from the Westerlands. Lord Vance, an elderly man who had served as a squire during the First Blackfyre Rebellion, regaled us with tales of those turbulent times.

"Your Great-great-grandfather Daeron the Good showed remarkable restraint," he told me over dinner in his drafty hall. "Many wanted him to execute the defeated rebels, but he chose mercy instead. It was a wise decision, though not all understood it at the time."

"Sometimes mercy can achieve what force cannot," I replied, thinking of how different Westeros might have been if canon Aerys II had understood that principle. "Though I imagine it's a difficult balance to strike."

"Indeed, my prince," the old lord nodded thoughtfully. "Too much mercy can be seen as weakness, too little as tyranny. Finding that middle path is the mark of a great king."

From Wayfarer's Rest, we traveled to Acorn Hall, seat of House Smallwood. The modest castle was perhaps the least impressive of our stops, but Lady Smallwood compensated with the warmest hospitality, insisting that we join her family for an afternoon of hunting in the surrounding woods.

"These oak forests have been in our care since before Aegon's Conquest," she explained as we rode beneath ancient trees. "The Smallwoods may not rule vast territories, but no one knows these woods better."

The hunt proved successful, with Steffon bringing down a fine buck that became the centerpiece of that evening's feast. I noticed how Lady Smallwood expertly directed the conversation throughout dinner, managing to extract news and gossip from our party while sharing seemingly innocent stories of her own. It was a masterclass in the kind of subtle information gathering that lesser houses often employed to stay abreast of the larger political currents that might affect them.

Our next stop was Raventree Hall, ancestral seat of House Blackwood and home to my grandmother's family. As we approached, I could see why the castle had featured so prominently in Queen Betha's bedtime stories. Built of pale stone that contrasted sharply with the dark woods surrounding it, Raventree Hall had a haunting beauty, dominated by the massive dead weirwood that rose above its godswood like a petrified giant.

Lord Edmund Blackwood, my grandmother's nephew and the current lord, awaited us at the gates. A tall man with the characteristic dark hair and sharp features of the Blackwoods, he greeted us with unrestrained enthusiasm.

"Cousin!" he clasped my arm warmly, protocol forgotten in the moment. "Finally, we meet! Aunt Betha writes often of you, but letters are a poor substitute for meeting in person."

"Lord Blackwood," I smiled, genuinely pleased by the warm reception. "It's an honor to finally see Raventree Hall. Grandmother has told me so many stories about this place."

"And all of them true, I assure you," he laughed, before turning to greet Steffon with equal warmth. "Lord Steffon! Another cousin through Aunt Betha. The blood of both Baratheon and Blackwood flows in your veins, young man—a powerful combination."

The welcome feast at Raventree Hall was unlike any we'd experienced so far. Where the Tullys had been formal and the Smallwoods intimate, the Blackwoods transformed their great hall into a celebration that seemed to include half the countryside. Singers performed ancient ballads of the First Men, while dancers whirled to music that felt older and wilder than the more refined southern styles I was accustomed to.

"We keep the old ways here," Lord Edmund told me proudly as we watched the festivities. "Not the Old Gods, precisely—most Blackwoods follow the Seven these days—but the old traditions, the old songs and stories."

"Grandmother sings some of these same songs to my little siblings," I replied, recognizing a particularly haunting melody. "Rey especially loves the one about Jenny of Oldstones."

"Ah, little Princess Rhaella," Edmund smiled. "Aunt Betha writes that she's the image of you at that age."

The conversation turned to family matters, with Edmund eager for news of his aunt and the other children. I found myself warming to this boisterous, open-hearted man who seemed genuinely interested in me as family rather than just as the second in line to the throne.

"Tomorrow, you must see the weirwood," he insisted as the feast began to wind down. "And Missy's statue. No Blackwood visit is complete without paying respects to both."

The following morning, Lord Edmund personally led us to the godswood, where the massive dead weirwood dominated the landscape. Despite being dead for thousands of years, the tree remained standing, its bone-white branches reaching toward the sky like skeletal fingers.

"Poisoned by the Brackens during the Age of Heroes," Edmund explained, his voice dropping respectfully as we approached. "Or so the legends say. Yet still it stands, refusing to fall even in death."

Up close, the weirwood was even more impressive—easily the largest I'd ever seen, its trunk wide enough that ten men holding hands could barely encircle it. Ravens perched among its branches, hundreds of them, their black feathers stark against the white wood.

"Our sentinel ravens," Edmund said, following my gaze. "They've roosted here for as long as anyone can remember. Legend says they're the souls of Blackwoods long dead, watching over their descendants."

"And keeping an eye on the Brackens, no doubt," Steffon joked, earning a surprisingly hearty laugh from our host.

"Indeed! Speaking of which, I trust you've not been deceived by any Bracken nonsense about the Teats during your journey?"

"The Teats?" Tywin asked, his eyebrow arched in polite inquiry.

"Two hills that mark the boundary between our lands," Edmund explained, his good humor giving way to a more serious expression. "The Brackens claim they're still named for Barba Bracken, but they're Missy's Teats, named for Melissa Blackwood who was the most beloved of Aegon IV mistresses and gave birth to one of the Targaryen's most loyal and fiercest protectors: Lord Bloodraven."

"We passed them on our journey," I confirmed, remembering the twin hills rising from the otherwise flat countryside. "And our guide referred to them as Missy's Teats, I assure you."

Edmund nodded, satisfied. "Good, good. The Brackens are always trying to rename them. Been fighting over those hills for thousands of years."

From the weirwood, we moved to a small clearing where a stone statue stood beneath an ancient oak. The figure depicted a young woman with flowing hair, a proud tilt to her chin, and what looked like a dagger clutched in one hand.

"Missy," Edmund said softly. "The maiden of the Teats. A mistress so Beloved even the likes of the Pious Queen Naerys, Daeron the Good and Aemon the Dragonknight came to adore her."

"A great woman," I acknowledged, studying the statue's determined expression. "Grandmother told me her story when I was small."

"As she should have," Edmund nodded approvingly. "Every Blackwood knows Missy's tale—a reminder that greatness comes in many forms."

I knelt briefly before the statue, paying my respects not just to Missy but to all that she represented—the stubborn resilience of the Blackwoods, their refusal to yield even against overwhelming odds, their lotalty. The last one Missy specially passed onto her son Bloodraven, the Greatest of the Great bastards (And possibly the greatest bastard to ever live), the Scourge of the Blackfyres, Loyal Servant of the Targaryens, the ultimate master of whisperers and now the Three eyed raven! Truly, ALL HAIL LORD BLOODRAVEN! I would love to truly meet him one day, and all his accomplishments and service to our house made me wish that he hadn't killed Aenys Blackfyre under the safe conduct of the Iron throne, giving grandfather no choice but to make him chose between execution or the black unless the word of the throne was rendered worthless. But I knew Bloodraven was still plotting, forever loyal to us. And I'll make sure to thank him in person and that he was honored properly. They were qualities my grandmother had in abundance, one that had served House Targaryen well since she joined our family.

The statue was still in pristine condition considering it had been decades since Melissa passed away. Looking closely, I could see offerings placed at its base—small carved ravens, remnants of dried flowers, and curiously, what looked like fresh bread.

"The local smallfolk still leave offerings," Edmund explained, following my gaze. "They believe Missy watches over young women, protecting them from harm."

"Do you believe it?" Steffon asked curiously.

Edmund's expression turned thoughtful. "I believe in honoring courage, wherever it's found. And I believe that remembering our past helps shape our future." He clapped a hand on my shoulder. "Speaking of which, cousin, there's someone you should meet before you continue your journey."

He led us to a modest cottage near the edge of the godswood, where an ancient woman sat beneath an oak almost as old as she was. Her hair was white as snow, her face a map of wrinkles, but her eyes were sharp and alert as they fixed on our approaching group.

"Great-Grandmother," Edmund called respectfully. "I've brought our kinsman, Prince Aerys, to meet you."

The old woman peered at me keenly. "Come closer, boy. These old eyes don't see as well as they once did."

I approached and knelt respectfully before her chair. "It's an honor to meet you, my lady."

"Lady?" she cackled. "I haven't been a lady in a hundred years. I'm Old Nan to everyone here." She reached out a gnarled hand to touch my silver-gold hair. "You have the Targaryen look, but there's Blackwood in you, yes. I can see it in the shape of your jaw, the set of your shoulders. Betha's grandson, sure enough."

"Great-Grandmother was already ancient when Aunt Betha was a child," Edmund explained. "She's seen five Blackwood lords come and go."

"And I'll likely see another before I'm done," she declared, fixing Edmund with a pointed look that made him shift uncomfortably. "Now tell me, young prince, what do you think of our Raventree?"

"It's exactly as Grandmother described," I replied honestly. "The ancient weirwood, the ravens, the statue of Missy—she told me about them all when I was small."

"Good," Old Nan nodded, satisfied. "Betha always understood the importance of remembering where you come from. Some of these young lords, they get ideas about being too southron, too fancy for the old ways." Her eyes, surprisingly sharp in her wizened face, fixed on me with unexpected intensity. "But you understand, don't you? You feel the weight of the past, even at your young age."

Her perceptiveness was unnerving. "I try to learn from history," I said carefully. "To understand how the past shapes the present."

"More than that," she said softly, almost to herself. "You carry history with you, boy. I can see it in your eyes. Old eyes in a young face."

A chill ran down my spine at her words. Could she somehow sense the truth about me? I glanced at the others, but they seemed to take the old woman's comment as the rambling of great age, nothing more.

"Great-Grandmother has the sight, some say," Edmund explained with affectionate indulgence. "Sees things others miss."

"The sight or just good sense," Old Nan snorted. "Comes to the same in the end." She fixed me with those unnervingly perceptive eyes once more. "You'll do well, Targaryen boy. Betha chose wisely for her bloodline. The dragon and the raven, fire and wisdom—a powerful combination."

We spent the remainder of the day exploring Raventree Hall and its surroundings. Lord Edmund proved an enthusiastic guide, proudly showing us the ancient battlements that had withstood countless Bracken attacks, the library containing records dating back to the Age of Heroes, and the famous Blackwood bows, crafted from the special black wood that gave the house its name.

"Stronger than regular yew, more flexible too," he explained, allowing Steffon to test one of the bows. "A proper Blackwood bow can send an arrow twice as far as a common one."

Our visit concluded with another feast, smaller than the first but no less warm. As we prepared to continue our journey the following morning, Lord Edmund presented me with two gifts—a Blackwood bow sized for a youth, and a small carving of a raven made from the same dark wood.

"For practice," he said, handing me the bow. "Though I hope you'll never need to use it in earnest. And the raven," he placed the carving in my palm, "to remind you of your Blackwood heritage. We're a stubborn lot, loyal to our own, and long of memory. Good traits for a future king." No doubt he and the rest of the House were ecstatic to see their blood on the throne, first starting with father, then me, then my own firstborn son and so forth. Yet another win over their Bracken enemies.

"Thank you, cousin," I said sincerely, touched by the personal nature of the gifts. "I'll treasure them both."

The night before our departure, our small group gathered in the guest chambers to discuss the journey ahead. Ser Duncan spread a map across the table, its edges worn from frequent handling throughout our travels.

"Where to next, little prince?" he asked, his weathered finger tracing potential routes from Raventree Hall. "We've seen much of the Riverlands, but there's still more of the realm to explore before returning to King's Landing."

I studied the map thoughtfully, considering the options before us. The Riverlands had provided a wealth of experiences—some pleasant, others illuminating in different ways. Each house had offered unique insights into the complex tapestry that made up the realm.

"The Vale, I think," I said finally. "We've covered a good portion of the Riverlands. The Vale would be a logical next step in our tour of the kingdoms."

"A sensible choice," Ser Duncan nodded approvingly. "The mountain passes should still be clear this time of year, though we'll want to move relatively quickly. The Vale can be unpredictable even in summer."

"The Eyrie is said to be one of the most impressive castles in the Seven Kingdoms," Tywin noted, his eyes scanning the map. "Built atop the Giant's Lance, supposedly impregnable."

"Though getting there requires either a mule ride or a climb that would make even the Dragonmont seem easy," Steffon added with a grin, shooting me a meaningful look. "Planning another mountain adventure, Aerys?"

I ignored the jab, knowing he was referring to my nighttime excursion on Dragonstone. "The purpose of this journey is to see the realm as it truly is, not just from the Red Keep. The Vale is as much a part of the Seven Kingdoms as the Riverlands."

Steffon leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched toward the hearth. "I'll miss this place though," he admitted, gesturing to the comfortable chamber around us. "The Blackwoods know how to make guests feel welcome. Not like the Vances."

I grimaced at the mention. Our stay at Wayfarer's Rest had been instructive, though not entirely pleasant. While Lord Vance himself had been respectful enough, his sons had made little effort to hide their disdain for what they viewed as Steffon's lack of refinement and Tywin's family troubles.

"The Vances have always thought themselves grander than they are," Tywin observed coolly. "Though their castle's position at the western pass gives them strategic importance, they lack the resources to truly capitalize on it."

"And the manners to make up for it," Steffon added with unusual sharpness. "At least old Lord Smallwood knew how to tell a decent hunting story, even if his hall was drafty enough to sail a ship through."

"Acorn Hall has its charms," I defended, though I couldn't help smiling at Steffon's description. The Smallwood castle had indeed been somewhat shabby, with tapestries clearly hung to cover crumbling stonework and drafts that had kept our candles flickering all night. "Lady Smallwood's hospitality was genuine, at least."

"As was her curiosity," Tywin noted dryly. "I've never been asked quite so many detailed questions about the Rock's finances under the guise of 'passing interest.'"

Ser Duncan chuckled, his massive frame causing his chair to creak alarmingly. "That's the way of the lesser houses. They survive on information as much as crops and taxes. The Riverlands houses especially—positioned as they are between more powerful regions."

I nodded, thinking of how differently each house had approached our visit. The Tullys had been formal but genuinely warm, the Vances pretentiously grand, the Smallwoods humbly eager to please, and the Blackwoods, well, the Blackwoods had simply treated us like family.

"I would return to Riverrun," Tywin said thoughtfully. "Hoster Tully has a sharp mind. And the castle's position between the rivers provides an excellent model for both defense and commerce."

"I liked Brynden," Steffon offered. "Not stuffy like his brother. Remember how he showed us those hidden tunnels beneath the castle? And the way he completely destroyed those river knights in the training yard? Didn't brag about it either, just helped them up and showed them where they went wrong."

"Both Tully brothers have promising futures," I agreed. "Though in different ways. Hoster will surely be one of the finest Lord Paramount of the Trident. And Brynden..." I smiled, remembering how the eleven-year-old had casually outmaneuvered men twice his age in the practice yard. "Brynden could be one of the finest knights of our generation, if that's the path he chooses."

"A wise choice if that's the one he opts for" Tywin acknowledged, his usual reserve softening slightly. Of all the noble children we'd met, Brynden Tully had perhaps impressed him the most. "There's value in forging one's own path, provided it still serves the family's interests."

Ser Duncan began rolling up the map, his movements deliberate. "We should rest. The road to the Vale is long, and not all of it hospitable. We'll want to make good time to the Bloody Gate before the weather turns."

But none of us seemed eager for sleep just yet. There was something about Raventree Hall that invited reflection, as if the thousands of ravens perched in the dead weirwood encouraged the sharing of stories and memories.

"What will you tell your father about our journey so far?" Tywin asked me, his tone carefully neutral but his eyes keen with interest.

I considered the question, thinking of all we'd seen and learned. "That the Riverlands is both stronger and more vulnerable than most realize," I said finally. "The fertility that makes it wealthy also makes it a prize worth taking. The rivers that facilitate trade also provide invasion routes for enemies."

"And that its lords are as varied as its landscapes," Steffon added with surprising insight. "Some looking to the past, others to the future. Some true to their banners, others..." He trailed off, but we all understood his meaning. Not every lord had impressed us with their integrity or wisdom.

"I'll also tell him that House Blackwood remains one of our most steadfast allies," I continued. "Their loyalty isn't just to the crown, but to our family itself. That's rare, and valuable."

"Because of your grandmother," Tywin observed. "Blood ties often prove stronger than oaths of fealty, especially when tested."

"Queen Betha is formidable," Ser Duncan agreed, a hint of affection in his gruff voice. "The king has relied on her counsel more than most realize. Having her family's support has strengthened House Targaryen in ways that aren't always visible at court."

The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long shadows across the chamber. Outside, I could hear the soft calls of night birds and the rustling of countless ravens settling in the great dead weirwood. There was a peacefulness to Raventree Hall that I hadn't experienced elsewhere on our journey—a sense of belonging that went beyond mere hospitality.

"We should return here," I said softly. "Not just as part of a royal progress, but because..." I struggled to articulate the feeling. "Because it offers a different perspective on the realm. One we won't find in more traditionally powerful houses."

Steffon nodded enthusiastically. "Plus, cousin Edmund said we're welcome anytime. And I want to see if young Brynden will make good on his promise to show us the hidden cave system beneath the eastern woods."

"The Blackwood children are well-educated," Tywin noted with approval. "Even the youngest knows more about Riverlands history than most maesters I've encountered."

"That's because they live in it," I replied, thinking of the ancient castle with its layers of history, the dead weirwood that refused to fall, the stories embedded in every stone and beam. "They don't just remember the past; they honor it, continue it."

"A worthy approach for a noble house," Ser Duncan agreed. "And one that has served them well through centuries of conflict with the Brackens and others."

As the hour grew late, we finally prepared for sleep. Through the window, I could see the pale branches of the weirwood gleaming in the moonlight, its sentinel ravens dark shapes against the starry sky.

"I wonder what the Arryns will make of our unannounced visit," I mused, thinking ahead to the next leg of our journey. "The Vale has always been somewhat isolated from the rest of the realm."

"The Eyrie is even more isolated," Ser Duncan replied. "But Lord Jasper Arryn is said to be a wise man. He'll understand the value of having the heir of the crown prince see his lands firsthand."

I wrapped the raven carving carefully in soft cloth before placing it in my traveling chest, alongside the Blackwood bow and the Cannibal's tooth from Dragonstone. Tangible reminders of the journey, of the connections being forged with each visit.

Morning came too soon, with mist rising from the surrounding woods and dew heavy on the grass. The Blackwoods gathered in the courtyard to see us off, from Lord Edmund and his lady wife down to the youngest children and household servants.

"Remember, cousin," Edmund said as we mounted our horses, "Raventree Hall stands with House Targaryen, now and always. Should you ever need us, you need only send word."

"The same is true in return," I promised. "The friendship and kinship between our houses will only grow stronger in the years ahead."

As we rode away from Raventree Hall, I felt a genuine regret at leaving. Unlike the more formal visits to other houses, this had felt like visiting family—which, of course, it was. I resolved to return when possible, and to ensure that the bonds between House Targaryen and House Blackwood remained strong.

Our journey would continue to other houses of the Riverlands—the Mallisters of Seagard with their imposing tower overlooking the bay, the Pipers of Pinkmaiden with their famous rose gardens, even a careful diplomatic stop at Darry that skirted Bracken territory. Each visit would bring new insights, new relationships to cultivate, new understanding of the realm I would someday rule.

But as we rode toward the eastern mountains and the Vale beyond, I found myself taking stock of what I'd learned so far on this royal progress. The realm was more complex, more varied, and in many ways more fragile than I'd realized from my studies in the Red Keep. Seeing it firsthand, meeting its people face to face, was proving invaluable in ways I hadn't anticipated when we first set out.

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Author's Note:

Hey everyone,

Well, our royal progress is officially underway! I hope you enjoyed this first part of Aerys and the gang's journey through the realm. It's been so much fun to write these interactions with different houses and regions, each with their own unique cultures and challenges.

That midnight adventure on Dragonstone revealed quite the prize, didn't it? A dragon egg still warm to the touch after all these years... I've been excited to introduce this element into the story for a while now. The Cannibal's final resting place seemed like the perfect setting - a wild dragon protecting one last secret. As for what happens next with that midnight-blue egg with its silver swirls... well, patience is a virtue, even for dragons.

Writing young Denys Darklyn was particularly interesting, especially considering his fate in the original timeline. There's something fascinating about showing these characters before the choices that defined them in canon - it lets us explore how seemingly small interventions might dramatically alter their paths. Same goes for the Tully brothers and their relationship, which we know becomes so strained later on.

The Velaryons were another interesting house to explore. Once so mighty, now diminished - but perhaps not forever? Aerys certainly sees potential there, though clearly with some reservations about how close they should get to true power again.

Next up, we'll be continuing our journey with Part 2 as Aerys and his companions make their way to the Vale and beyond to the North. I'm particularly excited to introduce some key figures like Jon Arryn and Rickard Stark - men who became such pivotal players in Westeros' history.

As always, thank you all for your thoughtful comments, suggestions, or a funny quote here and there. The Discord server is still going strong ( /HqYFbNsW), and I love seeing your discussions about where things might be heading. Plus the link shouldn't expire so it should be useable from now on.

Special thanks again to .4545 for his continued editing magic. He catches all those little details I miss and helps keep character voices consistent throughout.

Until next time,

Mtle232.

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Face Claims List:

Owen Teage as Young Aerys

Alexander Skarsgård as Adult Aerys

Lily Rose Depp as Young Rhaella

Charlize Theron as Adult Rhaella

Hugh Jackman as Ormund Baratheon

Timothée Chalamet as Young Steffon Baratheon

Henry Cavill as Adult Steffon Baratheon

Tom Cullen as Duncan the Small

Emma Stone as Jenny of Oldstones

Nicholas Hoult as Jaehaerys II

Amanda Seyfried as Shaera

Eddie Redmayne as Daeron

Kristen Bell as Rhaelle Targaryen/Baratheon

Tom Felton as Young Tywin

Charles Dance as Adult Tywin

David Wenham as Aegon V

Claire Foy as Queen Betha Blackwood

These are just how I've been picturing the characters while writing, but I'm totally open to other suggestions. If you have different actors in mind who you think would better fit any of these roles, I'd love to hear your thoughts.