Threads of Fate and Family

63 AC

Red Keep Kings Landing

Baelon's POV

Baelon Targaryen—formerly James Matthews—sat by the tall window in his chamber, watching the distant clouds drift lazily over King's Landing. The capital's sprawling city stretched out beneath him, its people going about their daily lives unaware of the battles that raged in his mind. The weight of two lives pressed down on him—Baelon, the son of the most powerful king in the known world, and James, the ambitious politician with plans to shape his own country. In both lives, he had hoped to make a mark. Now, his mark would be on the most dangerous game of all: the Iron Throne.

It had been a day since his "accident" in the Dragonpit, when his head had collided with the cold stone, knocking Baelon unconscious and allowing James to take his place. He had a feeling he would be soon summoned. Since then, Baelon had immersed himself in trying to understand his new world—his family, his future, and the delicate balance of power in Westeros.

The more he learned, or rather more he recalled from his new body, the more uneasy he felt.

Baelon had always known the Targaryen family tree as an active reader of novels in his past life, but living it was another matter entirely. His father, King Jaehaerys, was a figure of stability and wisdom, but even now, Baelon could see the cracks forming in his family.

His elder brother Aemon was brave, intelligent, and a natural leader. Baelon admired him, and as a modern man, he could see that Aemon had all the qualities of a great king. But he also knew Aemon's tragic fate: a stray crossbow bolt would cut his life short, leaving the realm in turmoil. The death of his heir made the ever-solid wise king, waver.

It wasn't just Aemon whose fate weighed heavily on Baelon's mind. His siblings—his brothers and sisters—had their destinies, and most of them ended in death. His son, Viserys, would eventually become king, though not without conflict. Conflict with his brother's eldest daughter in Rhaenys is a farce and mockery of the royal family known as the Great Council of 101 AC.

Baelon knew Viserys would eventually inherit the throne, only for his reign to be marred by a succession crisis due to his selfish love for his daughter 'Black' and treacherous involvement of Hightowers 'Greens', which would lead to the Dance of the Dragons, a civil war that would tear the Targaryens apart. And then there was Daemon, the unpredictable younger brother whose ambition and thirst for power would lead him to seize whatever advantage he could.

Baelon sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. The future was a tangled web of violence, death, and betrayal. The knowledge of it gnawed at him, the modern part of him screaming to do something, anything, to prevent the tragedies from unfolding.

Yet how could he?

He understood the intricacies of Targaryen family dynamics better now. The family's power wasn't just in their dragons; it was in their blood. Their claim to rule wasn't only about politics or armies—it was about destiny, about being closer to gods than men.

The Targaryens, with their ability to tame dragons and their Valyrian blood, were seen as almost divine by many in Westeros. But with that status came a target, and Baelon knew that not everyone in the Seven Kingdoms believed in Targaryen supremacy.

He had already heard whispers, through Baelon's memories and conversations overheard in the Red Keep, of the maesters and their distrust of magic, of dragons, and Targaryens themselves.

Baelon recalled a theory that had circulated in his previous life, one that had intrigued historians and conspiracy theorists alike: that the maesters, the keepers of knowledge and history, had played a role in the decline of House Targaryen.

The idea had seemed absurd to James, a man of reason, but now, living in this world, it didn't seem so far-fetched. The maesters, with their influence in every noble house and their distrust of magic, had reasons to fear the Targaryens. After all, the family represented everything they could not control—dragons, fire, and prophecy. As it takes one angry prince to burn down the citadel, their eons of works.

Theories about maester involvement in Targaryen deaths swirled through his mind, and though no evidence was ever solid, the pattern of untimely deaths was suspicious.

Take his future death, for instance. Baelon knew he was fated to die of a burst belly—what in the modern world James had easily recognized as appendicitis. In his old life, appendicitis could be treated with simple surgery if caught early enough, but in this world, such medical knowledge didn't exist. Baelon's death had been described as sudden and mysterious, yet to him, it seemed preventable.

Could his death have been helped along? Could the maesters, with their vast knowledge of healing, have withheld treatment? He had no proof, but Baelon knew that the maesters viewed the Targaryens as a necessary evil at best. They might not actively want his family to die out, but their reluctance to deal with matters of magic and Dragonfire, along with their control over medical knowledge, made them potential enemies. It would be dangerous to trust them fully.

Yet it wasn't just medical science that he had to contend with. Magic was real in this world. He could sense it. As James, he had dismissed the idea of magic as fantasy, but now, here in Baelon's skin, it was undeniable. Dragons, of course, were the most visible form of magic, but there were whispers of other forms—older, darker arts that existed in the far corners of the world. He had read about places like Asshai, where shadowbinders practiced sorcery, and Qarth, where warlocks delved into ancient secrets or Faceless man.

In his time as Baelon, he had heard courtiers speak of prophecies from the East, of magical forces that had yet to fully awaken in Westeros.

Baelon's gaze drifted to the window once more, beyond the walls of King's Landing to the faraway lands of Essos. He had always been a forward-thinking man like James, interested in global affairs and the shifting balances of power. The thought of what might exist beyond Westeros fascinated him. The Free Cities of Essos were bastions of trade, power, and, importantly, magic. Asshai, Qarth, Volantis—these places held secrets that Westeros ignored or misunderstood.

If Baelon were to survive, if he were to change the future and forge his destiny, he would need more than the dragons of Westeros. He would need to explore the deeper mysteries of the world, one that his ancestors Dragonlords from Valyria had fully mastered.

He imagined himself in the courts of Qarth, negotiating with warlocks for knowledge of the unseen. Or in Asshai, where the dark arts could be bent to his will. Magic might be dangerous, but it could also be a weapon—a weapon against the forces that threatened his family, whether they were rival lords, treacherous maesters, or even his kin.

The problem with Westeros was that it was small-minded, obsessed with its faith and its feuding houses. They called the Targaryens mad because they didn't understand them. But Baelon was starting to see the bigger picture. The Iron Throne wasn't the end goal; it was just a means to an end. True power lay beyond the borders of Westeros, in the forgotten corners of the world.

But for now, he was still a six-name-day child in the eyes of everyone around him. A prince, yes, but one whose influence was limited by his youth and the expectations of his family.

Baelon turned from the window, determination settling in his chest. If he was going to make a difference in this world, it would have to start with his family. They were his greatest asset and his greatest challenge. He needed to understand them better, to position himself within the Targaryen dynasty in a way that would allow him to shape events to his advantage.

Aemon was the key. As the eldest, he was next in line for the throne, and Baelon knew that his support would be crucial. Aemon was brave and noble, but he was also bound by tradition, by the expectations of his station. He could be a great king, but only if he was alive long enough to claim the throne. Baelon had no intention of letting his brother die a pointless death. He would need to stay close to Aemon, to steer him away from danger whenever possible. Such a simple death can be easily avoided.

There were darker patterns at work within the Targaryen family—patterns of death, tragedy, and untimely ends. As he sorted through the memories of both Baelon and James, he began to see it clearly: the unnatural high mortality rate that plagued his father's children.

There were thirteen of them in total—thirteen children born to King Jaehaerys and Good Queen Alysanne. Yet only ten survived into adulthood, and even among those, tragedy followed; Two being, Aegon, born weak due to premature, due to an attack on Queen, and Daenerys dead in 3 years ago by Shiver, in 60 AC. Irony…a Dragon dead from cold.

Gaemon, and Valerion soon to follow if memory serves him right—cast a long shadow over the Targaryen family. With each death of her children, her mother grew strained with her father.

Baelon couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. It wasn't just bad luck. Four dead children in the royal family, all before their time? That was more than a coincidence.

The mortality rate of the Targaryen children was not only tragic—it was suspicious. As James, he had dealt with political intrigue, and his instincts screamed that something else was at play here. His thoughts screamed toward the maesters, those shadowy figures of knowledge and healing who wielded tremendous influence over the ruling families of Westeros.

Then there were his other siblings. Alyssa and Maegelle, are both 3 and 1 name days old respectively. Yet to born includes Saera, rebellious and headstrong, who would one day bring shame to their house and be exiled to Essos. He couldn't stop her nature, but perhaps he could guide her, offer her more freedom within the bounds of their family, and keep her from the exile that would tear her away from her home.

Gael, the sweet and gentle Winter Child, would eventually take her own life after a series of tragedies. Baelon's heart ached at the thought. Drive his intelligent Vaegon towards family love rather than wasting his life in Citadel being cold and distant. He needed to act fast and effectively.

He couldn't forget his other brothers and sisters, either. Viserra, who would die young from a fall, or Daella, who would pass in childbirth. Each death left scars on his parents, and on the realm itself.

The Targaryen family was haunted by loss, and Baelon knew that the history books painted it as a tragic coincidence. But now, living within that very family, he wondered if it was something more hidden.

But then he wondered, what would happen when he saved Aegon, how will it affect the history he knows. He didn't like leaving much to fate and the unknown. What if it happens again? Then would he be able to save him? There are many things to consider and carefully take future steps.

Baelon stood from the window, his mind made up. He would not be a passive observer of his family's fate. He would shape it, mold it to his will. The maesters, the nobles, the Faith—they were all part of the game, but Baelon had the greatest advantage.

He knew how the game ended.

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