The Path Forward

68 AC

Red Keep, King's Landing

I walked the long stone corridors of the Red Keep, it was a serene morning, and the distant murmur of the court's activities seeped through the stones. My destination was my father's study, a place I had come to frequent more and more these days. He had called for me again, and again to discuss my recent reforms, the judiciary system I had crafted, and the ripples it had sent through the kingdom. But today it is I who seeks his audience.

I made many changes since my rebirth. The changes I'd made were necessary. Westeros, for all its beauty and grandeur, was fundamentally flawed.

The justice system was—inefficient at best, and barbaric at worst. Rapists were hanged or beheaded, which I had no qualms about.

But thieves? Poachers? A man who stole to feed his family had his hand taken, his nose cut off, or worse, simply because a lord deemed it so. It was a waste of labor, a waste of human potential. A kingdom as vast and untapped as Westeros needed workers, and builders, not mutilated beggars cast aside to rot and beggars in Flee Bottom, begging for bowls of brown.

In my past life, I had been a law major, immersed in a system far more refined and—dare I say—civilized. Justice was meant to reform, not just punish.

And though the Faith had abolished slavery, there was no reason criminals couldn't atone for their crimes through labor. Atonement was not slavery. And if properly managed, it would serve the realm better than merely executing or maiming those who could contribute to its development. 

I proposed it during the Royal Hunt of 65AC, a conventional hierarchal judiciary system. A hierarchy of courts separate from the nobility's whims, with a Chief Justice and 4 senior judges and a supreme court in 'King's Court' at its head and magistrates and district judges. It was a new line of power, one the nobles did not control, which was exactly why they resisted so fiercely. Corlys Velaryon had been the most vocal opponent, alongside several other Lords Paramount. 

But my father had stood by me—reluctantly at first—meeting with these lords endlessly, trying to explain the merit of the system. Over time, some began to budge, if only for the opportunity to position their second sons or lesser family members in the new 'Academy of Law' I had established in King's Landing.

It was a start. We had opened courts in the major cities and capitals of the regions as high courts, but the lords still held onto their power, their right to mete out "justice" in their lands. Change would be slow, but it was inevitable. There were many problems lack of manpower, and the increasing burden on Royal Treasure. Appointment of guard at court for protection of Judges.

Thus, included Jails and Prison development, guarded by city watch and were used as free labor. By working, they can reduce their years of imprisonment which was attractive enough for them as people were not used to spending years in prison solitude. 

I could already see how this could grow into something larger, slowly gaining the trust of the public and smallfolk, for fair trial and justice. Something that could shift the balance of power away from the nobility and more toward the Crown—or at least away from unchecked local tyranny. And perhaps, one day, my younger brother Vaegon would find his place here. He had the intellect for it, if not the ambition.

Yet, my reforms were not the only reason I had drawn my father's attention. A few years ago, I had carefully planted the seeds of doubt regarding the Maesters and the Faith. I wasn't foolish enough to confront them directly—not yet, anyway.

But I had subtly hinted at the possibility of their betrayal. Father had spies, little birds, and other sources of whispers that I could never hope to control at this age. If I could nudge his focus in the right direction, perhaps he would find the evidence I lacked the means to uncover.

My pace slowed as I neared the father's study. There were deeper motivations behind my actions, things I couldn't explain outright to my father.

It wasn't just about reforming the realm, not entirely. My concern extended to my ever-growing family, and the tragedies I knew were coming if we did nothing. The birth of more siblings—some arrogant, like Alyssa and Saera—only made the need for a tighter family bond more pressing.

In the timeline I knew, Saera would one day be exiled, and shamed by her own family but it would end in despair. I couldn't let that happen again. 

The realm was important, yes, but it wasn't more important than his children. If he didn't learn that, we would be doomed to repeat the same mistakes.

The same bloodshed, the same betrayals, the same tragedies. He loved Aemon and wanted him to be king, but he wasn't teaching him. He was letting him grow without guidance, without the strength of their shared bond, waiting until he was of age to send him off to Dragonstone. What kind of father would do that? Maybe Andal father, not a Targaryen.

And that was the heart of it. The biggest mistake our family had ever made was trying to fit into Westeros, to become one with its people. We never would be. Even two centuries from now, they would still see us as outsiders. They would rebel against us, fight against our rule because we were different—because we had dragons because we were the last seeds of Valyria.

Valyria had been the greatest empire the world had ever seen, and we had walked away from it. For what? To rule a fractured, squabbling land of petty kings and arrogant nobles? The irony wasn't lost on me.

We should have remained what we were—Targaryens, above all. We weren't meant to be like the Westerosi lords. We weren't meant to lose ourselves in their traditions, their politics. The family was supposed to come first, not ambition. Not power for the sake of power. They frown on our tradition, though unconventional.

I had told my father as much during 'that dinner'. I had been bold, reckless even, but I couldn't hold my tongue it was my chance. I had told him that the realm wasn't more important than his family, that he was a great king but a terrible father.

I had pointed out how little time he spent with his children—how he had failed to teach Aemon, how he neglected to visit Alyssa, Dealla, and Saera. It had been a dangerous move, and part of me expected to be exiled on the spot. But I knew he wouldn't do that. He'd seen my worth. He understood, on some level, that I wasn't just some mouthy child. I had ideas, vision, something that could benefit the realm, even if it hurt his pride.

My thoughts cleared as I reached the door to my father's study. The guard standing outside nodded and opened it for me. Inside, the room smelled of old parchment and leather, a familiar scent that had come to feel like a second home. Father was sitting behind his desk, deep in thought, but he looked up when I entered, still only 34, a man in his prime, with his broad chest turned towards me.

Targaryen beauty still unsettles me sometimes.

"Baelon," he said, motioning for me to come closer.

I stepped forward, feeling the weight of his gaze. There was so much I still needed to accomplish, and my father, —maybe my greatest ally and maybe greatest obstacle—was the key to it all.

"You have something to discuss with me, I was told," my father said, his voice calm and composed.

"Yes, Father. It's about the roads," I replied, thinking back on all the work I'd done over the past year.

"Oh? Sit down and tell me." His expression remained neutral.

"About six months ago, Aemon and I were at the Street of Steel, near Fishmonger's Square. I saw a servant accidentally pour some grease on hot sand next to a forge. He panicked, thinking it might catch fire, so he poured water on it. To our surprise, it hardened into something like a flat rock. I was curious, so I worked with them over the next few months, experimenting by mixing gravel, and sand, and heating it with oil. We created a strong, flat surface. I've called it 'Dragon Tar.'"

I framed the story as a coincidence, but really, I was drawing on the knowledge from my previous life. In this world, everyone talked about the King's Road, which was a major project under my father's reign. Roads in Westeros existed, but they were expensive to build. Large rocks had to be mined, transported, and cut, but they often broke and weren't durable in the rain.

In my past life, we used bitumen for roads, and it was a simple process. I thought about how crude oil could be used here. Wildfire crossed my mind, but I dismissed it quickly dreading the results. I discovered that while petroleum existed in this world, it wasn't as flammable as back on Earth. Still, it was good enough for making bitumen.

I hired a poor blacksmith and, after several trials, we succeeded.

"And you want to use this 'Dragon Tar' to build roads?" my father asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes, if you'll allow it. It's far better than traditional roads. It's water-resistant, so rain won't damage it," I said, noticing a small smile appear on his face.

He saw the potential. This could greatly improve the kingdom's infrastructure, boosting trade, military movement, and the economy.

"It sounds significant... but what about the cost? Can the Crown afford it?" he asked, his tone serious.

"The process is simple, Father. You can see it for yourself if you like. Overall, the cost will be much lower than what we're spending now. And it will last much longer," I said confidently.

"I want to see it with my own eyes," he said, not committing to anything yet.

"As you wish, Father. I can demonstrate it for you now if that's suitable."

"Prepare the demonstration in the private halls behind the keep in an hour. Call for Aemon to join us. And make sure this is kept secret. Do you need any funds for this?" he asked, reminding me that I was still just 11, and large projects might exceed my allowance.

"No, Father, I've saved enough for this. I'll make the preparations and take my leave," I said, bowing before departing.

---

I stood at the gates of a large warehouse, the sky cloudy, nearing noon. After leaving the King's Quarters, I quickly arranged everything for the demonstration. I called for Gavin, the middle-aged blacksmith I'd worked with. He was the only one besides me who knew the full process.

"My prince, is the King coming to see my work?" Gavin asked, clearly nervous.

"Yes, and your future depends on following my instructions precisely. If you do well, you could be rewarded by my father. But you must remain loyal, and honest, and keep everything secret," I warned him.

"I will, my prince! You have my loyalty!" Gavin said, bowing deeply.

Another loyal servant secured, I thought. My years as a politician have taught me how to deal with people. Helping them when they were in need made them see you as a savior, but to secure loyalty, you had to make them believe they couldn't surpass you, ever.

Just then, my father arrived with Aemon by his side, accompanied by three Kingsguards, including Lord Commander Gyles Morrigan.

"Father… Brother," I greeted them, bowing as Gavin knelt and said, "Your Grace."

My father nodded, while Aemon, looking a little confused, smiled at me. "Baelon."

"Are the preparations complete?" my father asked.

"Yes, Father." I signaled to Gavin to open the gates.

"Let's not waste any more time, then," my father said.

"Follow me," I led them inside.

We stood before a large furnace as Gavin and two other workers carefully poured hot, greasy oil onto gravel and sand in an iron container. They sealed it and began mixing. The process was simple but effective.

I gave a few instructions as my father and Aemon silently observed. The Kingsguard remained alert, despite their curiosity. The heat in the room rose, but it didn't bother us—our Targaryen blood made us resistant to heat.

After about 10 minutes, the mixture was poured onto the ground beside an existing stone road. Two servants smoothed it out with a roller. We poured water over it to cool it quickly since we didn't have time to let it dry naturally.

Father and Aemon approached the newly created surface, inspecting it closely.

"What do you think, Aemon?" Father asked.

"I'm not fully sure what this is, but I understand it's a new invention by my brother, meant to improve the King's Road," Aemon replied, glancing at me with a proud smile.

To test its strength, I handed a hammer to Ser Sangood, one of the Kingsguard. He struck the new surface several times without causing even any minimal damage, unlike the stone road, which cracked after a few hits, which surprised the even father.

We returned to the Red Keep and entered my father's study. He seemed pleased.

---

Back in my father's study, the air felt heavy with contemplation as we sat in silence. Father was running his fingers over the smooth surface of the desk, lost in thought, while Aemon and I waited.

"You both understand the importance of this, don't you?" Father asked, looking at Aemon and me.

"This could revolutionize trade and the movement of troops," Aemon said, clearly excited.

"It's more than just a road," Father finally said. His eyes turned to me, sharp and calculating. "This… 'Dragon Tar,' as you've named it, could give the Crown a new edge. But it must be handled delicately, imagine something like this known to Dorne, which will boost their military movements. It can be catastrophic."

I nodded. "Yes, Father. It has great potential, but as well in the hands of our enemies—" I said but didn't finish that thought.

"Also, they will demand it, you know," Aemon interjected, his voice quiet but firm. "And perhaps not just in Westeros. Essos has vast deserts and poor roads as well. The Free Cities, even far east in Qarth, could try to buy it open first, then secret—or worse threaten us for it."

A shiver ran down my spine at the thought of something as simple as road becoming so coveted, that the whole world will want it. What of all knowledge from his past life, they were a treasure trove.

He was right. Something like this could become a weapon as much as a tool. And the key to its power was its exclusivity. Maybe not immediately, but the difference it will make in trade in two or three decades was unimaginable.

For instance: It requires nearly 14 moons to travel from Winterfell to King's landing on current sand roads filled with potholes and bumps, which might be reduced to 6, with the new King's road. But now it may be feasible in 3, maybe 2. Imagine the boost in trade.

But if everyone knew how to make it, the Crown's advantage would disappear overnight.

"We cannot afford to have our hands forced," I said, my voice calm but resolute. "The process must remain secret. Only a select few can be trusted to know it—myself, and those directly under me."

Father gave a small nod of approval. "We must treat this like wildfire, a state secret, known only to the Crown and its most loyal servants. If word spreads… we become targets, not only for demands but for schemes."

I responded quickly. "Not even royal servants fathers or small council, there is no need. We could say the knowledge came from Old Valyria. That it was rediscovered in the old tomes we've inherited as the last dragon lords, in family history. People respect—fear—what they don't understand. Claiming it requires something rare, something like dragon dung or an obscure alchemical ingredient, could ensure that only a few could even attempt to replicate it."

Father raised an eyebrow, intrigued and cautious at my suggestion to exclude even loyal subjects and small council. "You don't like trusting others do you Baelon, aside from family?"

"Trust is a rare commodity, in the world we live in, father. I tend to trust in family, as we have a sacred bond, with whom we share blood, as mother always told us." I said continuing to advocate my point of distrusting others before the king.

"Dragon dung, you say? That could work. No one would dare question the lore of Valyria. And it would explain why no one else has discovered it before. We can say only dragonkeepers in Dragonstone are used in the making process." Father replied as if he didn't hear my words about family.

Aemon chuckled. "Dragon dung, of all things. Clever, Baelon."

I smiled faintly, but my mind was already moving ahead. "In the meantime, I propose we focus our efforts on the Crownlands. We control that region and it's vital to the stability of the kingdom. By reinforcing the King's Road and expanding it through the Crownlands first, we can increase trade and military movement without drawing too much attention.

When it becomes a proven success, we can consider extending it to the rest of Westeros, demanding certain terms from Lord Paramount in exchange for Dragon Tar, maybe acceptance of a new judicial system or more fertile land under the crown."

"Hahaha, I want to see what those arrogant lords will offer in exchange for this Dragon Tar." Said Aemon who has been increasingly frustrated by regular complaints regarding the justice system.

"Keep it in our grasp," Father agreed. "The Crownlands will be our testing ground. Once the traders and lords see the benefits, they will clamor for more roads, but by then, we'll have control over the knowledge and the process."

I nodded and proposed something. "And we can impose tariffs—road taxes—on the merchants who use the roads. Secure travel will be a privilege they'll pay for, and the Crown will benefit from the increased revenue. It will fund further expansion projects, help guard from bandits, and improve our standing with the nobility and smallfolk alike."

Father leaned back in his chair, pleased. "You have done nice work on this, Baelon. You'll oversee the continuation of the King's Road and any new roads through the Crownlands. I'll give you the resources you need but remember—discretion is paramount. We cannot afford any leaks. Though we may not keep it hidden forever, as it is not something valuable, just something of tactical significance in today's day & age. Use revenue generated in the name 'Road Toll' to reinvest in the same. I expect nothing less than success from this endeavor, Baelon."

Making a rare compliment praising me, but a well-deserved one. I fulfilled my motive with this, finally something influential which will mean, a way for me to make my income source and influence in the kingdom. This responsibility also brings accountability, and I am a father who will know of every move I make.

"Of course, Father. I do not disappoint you. Only those I trust with my life will be involved," I promised.

Aemon spoke up again, his tone serious. "This may even attract attention across the Narrow Sea. If Essos hears of a new invention that can conquer their difficult terrain, it could spark interest—and competition. We must be ready for that possibility."

I met his gaze. "We'll claim it as Valyrian, and no one will be able to replicate it without our 'secret ingredient.' It will make them cautious. And if they press too hard, they'll find that not all knowledge is for sale."

Father gave a curt nod. "Good. Let the rumors spread but keep the truth close to our chests. We'll tell them what they want to hear—nothing more."

---

The plan was in motion. Over the next few days, I prepared to take charge of the King's Road project, expanding its reach and strengthening its infrastructure with Dragon Tar. Gavin and the other trusted workers were sworn to secrecy under threat of exile—or worse.

The Crownlands would soon be crisscrossed with roads that no storm or flood could destroy, and the Crown itself would reap the rewards. But as Aemon had warned, we couldn't stay hidden forever. Whispers would spread, across Westeros and beyond the sea, to the Free Cities, to Volantis, to the deserts of Essos.

This will provide the Crown and Westeros with a much-needed boost in economy, wealth, and liquidity to make future decisions more easily, without active reliance on the Iron Bank.

Something as simple as Bitumen can change this much. I have many more of these inventions to come.

After all, we were Targaryens. The Last Dragon Lords of Valyria. And we should hold more than just dragons in our hands.

 ...