The Seeds of Change

68 AC

Jaehaerys I Targaryen's POV

The weight of the crown never truly lessened. Sitting on the Iron Throne, staring out across the cavernous hall of the Red Keep, King Jaehaerys I Targaryen couldn't help but reflect on the years that had passed. Time moved differently when one ruled the Seven Kingdoms; years blurred together into a constant stream of decisions, battles, and diplomacy. But some events stood out more clearly than others—especially those involving his sons.

Aemon had always been the one to capture everyone's attention, The Golden Prince. Even as a child, his eldest had shown a natural strength, a quiet dignity that was well-suited to the role of future king. Aemon was everything Jaehaerys could hope for in an heir: brave, honorable, and fiercely protective of his family.

He has that charisma about him, that makes people admire him. True, he had a temper, but it only flared when those he loved were threatened. That was something Jaehaerys could understand. It was a trait he had seen in himself, and it reassured him that Aemon would fight fiercely for the throne, for their legacy.

But lately, it wasn't Aemon who occupied most of his thoughts. It was Baelon—his second son, the one who had once been a mischievous boy, always smiling and full of life. There was something about Baelon that had changed in the last few years, something that Jaehaerys couldn't quite put into words. He had always known Baelon was intelligent, but in recent years, his wisdom seemed to far outpace his age. The boy was only eleven, but he spoke and acted as though he had lived a lifetime already.

Jaehaerys leaned back in his seat, his eyes narrowing as he let his thoughts drift. It was his wife, Queen Alysanne, who had first pointed it out after the infamous Balerion incident. The memory made him shake his head slightly, still unable to believe how calmly Baelon had recounted the story of striking the Black Dread's snout. Most boys would have been petrified—hells, even most grown men would have been—but not Baelon. He had laughed it off, though Alysanne had noticed something different about him afterward.

"He's changed," she had said to Jaehaerys one evening, her voice filled with quiet concern. "He's lost that childish gleam in his eyes, that innocent wonder children have. It's as though something was taken from him."

At first, Jaehaerys had dismissed it as nothing more than the natural course of growing up. All boys changed as they aged, especially those who carried the burden of being a Targaryen prince. But Alysanne's words had stuck with him, lingering in his mind as he watched Baelon closely over the years.

And now, three years later, there was no denying it. Baelon was extraordinary.

It wasn't just his intellect, though that alone would have set him apart from most boys his age—and indeed, from many lords who sat on their thrones across Westeros. No, it was something more than that. The way Baelon spoke with such confidence and precision, the way he seemed to understand the essence of governance better than most men twice his age… it was uncanny.

Jaehaerys' thoughts drifted to a particular day, two years ago, during a royal hunt. The memory was vivid, perhaps because it was the moment when he had first begun to see Baelon not just as his son, but as someone… different.

They had been riding through the woods, the air filled with the sounds of baying hounds and rustling leaves. Baelon had ridden beside him, his face unusually thoughtful for a boy of nine name days. Jaehaerys had smiled at him, expecting the usual youthful excitement about the hunt.

Instead, Baelon had looked up at him and said, "Father, the small council meetings are dull and time-consuming in solving matters daily, aren't they?"

Jaehaerys had laughed. "That they are, my boy. Ruling is not always glorious battles and feasts. As for time, it's my duty as king to enact justice."

Baelon had nodded, his expression serious. "But they could be better, couldn't they? The whole system—it doesn't work as well as it should. You as a king or lords across Westeros, don't have to enact the King's justice personally, you know. You have made the law. Anyone who knows the law can do it himself."

Jaehaerys had raised an eyebrow, intrigued by where this conversation was going. "What do you mean?"

Baelon's answer had left him stunned. The boy had spoken of reforms—of redrafting the entire judicial system. He had talked about the inefficiencies in the way justice was meted out, how decisions were often biased in favor of the nobility, and how the common folk had little recourse to fair judgment.

At the time, Jaehaerys had laughed it off. A boy of nine suggesting changes to the justice system? It had seemed absurd. But two weeks later, Baelon had appeared before the small council with a stack of parchment nearly as tall as he was. Over three hundred pages, meticulously detailing the proposed changes—courts with independent judges, trials by jury, and a structure that allowed the common folk to have a voice in the decisions that affected their lives. With one court in every big town, and city. which was headed by the court in Kings Landing. He called it King's Court. (A/n: will explain it in the next chapter.)

The small council had been flabbergasted. Lord Rogar Baratheon had chuckled, assuming it was some childish fantasy. But then Baelon had begun explaining it. Not in a bumbling, uncertain way, but with the confidence of a man who had spent years studying the subject. Even the Master of Laws, who had at first looked ready to dismiss the boy outright, had been silenced by Baelon's knowledge.

Jaehaerys remembered sitting there, watching as his ten-year-old son stood in front of the most powerful lords in the realm and made them look like schoolchildren. He had felt a mix of pride and disbelief.

After the meeting, Baelon had approached him privately and spoken of another idea—a proposal to create an educational institution where judges and lawmakers could be trained. He had suggested that these judges should be drawn from the smallfolk and traders, not the nobility, to ensure they remained impartial.

Jaehaerys had discussed it with Aemon and Alysanne, both of whom had been equally impressed. The idea was radical, revolutionary even. But it was sound. Baelon's vision was one where justice was not the prerogative of the powerful but a right for all. It was enough to convince Jaehaerys to move forward with the idea, though it had been met with fierce resistance from the nobility.

The lords of Westeros did not take kindly to losing power, especially to the smallfolk. The criticism had been swift and united, with many claiming that Baelon's ideas were dangerous and that they would lead to chaos and rebellion. But Jaehaerys had seen the potential for a fairer, stronger realm. And more than that, he had seen the potential in Baelon. But when he asked the boy, what drove him towards this, he said something which shocked him to his core.

<Flashback >

It was an evening that had started like any other, with the royal family gathered around the table in the Red Keep's dining hall. Candles flickered, casting a warm glow over the room as servants brought in platters of food. It was meant to be a peaceful, intimate affair—just Jaehaerys, Alysanne, and their children.

Good mood that evening. The day had gone smoothly, and Jaehaerys thoughts had been occupied by Baelon's judicial reforms—an impressive feat for a boy of only eleven years. The small council had laughed at first when Baelon proposed such sweeping changes, but the laughter had faded when the boy produced a carefully detailed, 300-page parchment outlining his ideas for a new system of courts, judges, and juries.

Jaehaerys still marveled at it. Where does he get these ideas? He had wondered. The boy's intellect and foresight were far beyond his years. As they sat down to eat, he couldn't help but address it.

"Baelon," Jaehaerys began, cutting through the murmur of conversation, "answer me something."

Baelon, who had been focused on his meal, looked up, his silver hair glinting in the candlelight. He was eleven, yet there was an unsettling calm in his demeanor. "Yes, Father?"

Jaehaerys leaned back in his chair, studying his son for a moment. There was something about Baelon's eyes—an intensity, a depth that didn't belong in a child so young. It both fascinated and unsettled him. "Your reforms—the judicial system you proposed. It's impressive work, especially for someone of your age. What drove you to suggest such changes?"

For a moment, Baelon said nothing, his fork pausing in mid-air. The room seemed to hold its breath as Jaehaerys waited for his response. Finally, Baelon set his fork down and met his father's gaze.

"I am afraid you will dislike my motives behind it, Father," Baelon said softly.

A wave of unease swept over Jaehaerys. I glanced briefly at Alysanne, whose posture had gone stiff with tension. Aemon, too, was watching Baelon with a mixture of curiosity and caution. Jaehaerys brow furrowed almost instantly. What could he possibly say that would unsettle me?

"And why do you think that?" Jaehaerys asked, his tone a bit sharper than intended.

Baelon straightened in his seat, his small hands resting on the table in front of him. When he spoke, his voice was calm and measured, but his words struck like a hammer. "Because my reforms aren't just about the realm. They're about you."

Jaehaerys blinked, momentarily thrown off guard. He hadn't expected this. "Me?"

Baelon's gaze never wavered. "Yes, Father. You're a great king—no one doubts that, Possibly the best we might ever see. But you've spent so much time being a king that you've forgotten how to be a father."

A heavy silence settled over the table. Jaehaerys could feel Alysanne tense beside him, her eyes narrowing at Baelon. Aemon, too, looked like he wanted to speak, but the boy pressed on, undeterred.

"You spend your days ruling, managing the realm, attending small council meetings. You handle the matters of the kingdom with great care, but when it comes to your children… How often do you visit Alyssa? Della? Saera? You say you want Aemon to be king, but have you taught him anything yourself? Or are you waiting until he's grown and then planning to send him off to Dragonstone, hoping he'll figure it out on his own?"

Each word was like a dagger. He felt the sting of every accusation, and his pride bristled. Who is this boy to speak to me this way? I thought, my anger rising. He was the King of the Seven Kingdoms. he had given everything to this realm—to his family. How dare Baelon question that?

"That's enough," he said, my voice cold as winter in the north.

But Baelon wasn't finished. His voice remained steady, unshaken. "I'm not saying this to anger you, Father. But I think you love the throne far more than you love us."

Temper flared. His fists clenched under the table as he fought to keep my composure. He could feel Alysanne's eyes on him, and he knew she was thinking the same thing. Had Baelon gone too far? Was this an unforgivable transgression?

"You think I love power more than I love my blood?" he asked, his voice low, dangerous.

Baelon leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but firm. "Yes, Father, I do. How often do you visit Alyssa? Dealla? Saera? I understand a mother must raise them, you are still their father. You named Aemon heir, but what have you taught him? You're waiting until he comes of age and then plan to send him off to Dragonstone, expecting him to learn how to rule on his own. You love the throne, Father, but you forget that a king must also be a father."

He clenched his fists, his knuckles white. "That's enough," Jaehaerys growled, nearly shouting. "You forget your place, boy. Tell me what I have ever done which is not for family. Is crown itself, not family, I make our family respected, made allies with houses, and brought peace to a fighting realm?"

Baelon, however, wasn't cowed. "You have done an excellent job at that. I'm sorry if this is hard to hear, but I will speak the truth. You may be a great king, but you've forgotten what makes us different from the lords of Westeros. You've forgotten what makes us Targaryen."

Jaehaerys's anger was boiling now, but Baelon pressed on.

"You think power is everything. That's why you hold the throne in such high regard. But that's not why our family left Valyria. Do you think we left the most powerful empire the world had ever known because we wanted more power? No. We left because family was more important. Our family's survival. The throne is a symbol of power, but if you lose sight of your family, then what are you ruling for?"

Alysanne, who had remained silent until now, finally spoke up, her voice laced with anger. "Baelon, that's enough. You've said more than enough."

Baelon turned to his mother, his gaze softening. "I'm sorry, Mother. Father. But I had to say it. We're not like the other houses of Westeros. We're Targaryen. We should be better than this. If we forget what makes us who we are—if we lose sight of family—then the Iron Throne means nothing."

The silence that followed was suffocating. He could feel the weight of his family's eyes on him, even as his mind churned with conflicting emotions. His instinct was to dismiss Baelon's words, to chastise him for his boldness, but something about the boy's conviction gave him pause.

Baelon was no ordinary child. He spoke with a clarity and insight that Jaehaerys had rarely seen in anyone, let alone an eleven-year-old boy. It is as if he saw more.

Finally, Jaehaerys exhaled, trying to control his boiling anger and pride as a Targaryen. "You think I've forgotten my family? You think I care more about the throne?"

Baelon's response was simple, but it hit Jaehaerys harder than any blow. "I don't think you forget, Father. You sometimes confuse realm happiness, with family happiness. I will say this, Iron Throne was made to serve for House Targaryen, we do not serve the Iron Thrones. If it were for my Family, I would gladly burn thousands of such thrones. As would the Conqueror himself, if a choice need be made."

I opened his mouth to respond, but my words caught in my throat. For a brief moment, doubt flickered through my mind. Had he forgotten? He had spent so many years on the Iron Throne, dedicating his life to the realm, to the Targaryen legacy. But what of his children? What of his family? Would the Conqueror have traded the throne for the family?

The silence stretched on, and I felt the weight of it pressing down. I wanted to dismiss Baelon's words, to tell the boy he was wrong, but there was something in Baelon's tone—in his conviction—that made me pause. Even if the boy was wrong, I wouldn't argue with a child.

Alysanne, who had been quiet until now, finally spoke, her voice clipped with frustration. "Baelon, that's enough. You've said more than enough."

Jaehaerys let out a long, heavy sigh. Baelon's words had left a mark on him, one that hadn't faded with time. The boy had spoken with such certainty, such clarity, that Jaehaerys couldn't ignore it.

Was Baelon right? he wondered, gazing out over King's Landing. Had he truly lost sight of his family in his pursuit of power?

<Flashback Ended>

It was a thought that haunted him still. His thoughts clinging to unusual doubts after Baelon's words. His anger at Baelon's was audacity frightening, but he also found it amusing. 

'That Boy dare spoke to me in that manner. It is Bealon, The Brave.' He thought with an amused expression recalling a 9-year-old teaching me ways of family and worldly knowledge. 

'May children nowadays really grow fast.' 

He turned his thoughts back to the present, to the boy who had, in just a few short years, grown into someone who would reshape the ways of ruling in this world.

Baelon had always been different from Aemon. Where Aemon was solid and dependable, Baelon was quick-witted and innovative. And while Aemon would make a fine king one day, there was something about Baelon that made Jaehaerys wonder if his second son might leave an even greater legacy, as a Hand of the King, to his brother.

Both brothers' involvement in the Court has increased. Aegon as his cupbearer, always the silent observer learning his way around the treacherous water of this land. He did take Baelon's advice on teaching his heir from an early age.

Why Baelon? Well with him making the whole justice system, its implementation required his insights consistently.

He has encountered many changes, in recent years. Most in his own, as he considered Baelon's view of family, he found the boy was indeed right. He neglected his children and had been lacking in Aemon's teachings. Nevertheless, progress was made, mainly due to the rare free time he was getting due to immediate deduction in carrying out King's Justice himself.

Jaehaerys let out a long breath, though more content with his relationship with his children and wife. His mind filled with the weight of what was to come.

The realm was changing, and his sons would be at the heart of that change. Baelon's judicial reforms were only the beginning. Though still in its infancy, will take some time to implement, with constant challenges from Nobel lords was a major turn in the power dynamics of the land.

And then there was the matter of the maesters. Baelon had been the first to voice his suspicions, his sharp mind picking up on things that others had missed.

The boy had previously spoken of overhearing conversations between Grand Maester Elysar and other maesters, hinting at a deep-rooted conspiracy against House Targaryen. At first, Jaehaerys had been skeptical, dismissing it as the wild imaginings of a child. But as time went on, Baelon's warnings began to carry more weight.

The Citadel and the Faith—both institutions had always held power in Westeros, but Baelon believed they held too much. He believed there was a coordinated effort to weaken the Targaryens, to diminish their influence in subtle ways. It was a disturbing thought, but not an impossible one.

Jaehaerys knew the Citadel had never fully embraced the idea of dragons and magic, and the Faith had long been wary of Targaryen rule, especially their Valyrian customs and practices.

Jaehaerys rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of these realizations pressing down on him. He had always tried to rule fairly, to be the kind of king who balanced the needs of the realm with the strength of his house.

But if what Baelon suspected was true, then the future of House Targaryen was far more precarious and fragile than he had imagined.

One incompetent king and decades of good work will come crashing down.

As he sat there, alone in the throne room, Jaehaerys felt a deep sense of gratitude for his sons. Aemon, his rock, his future king, would hold the realm together with strength and honor. And Baelon, with his brilliant mind and his bold ideas, would be the architect of a new era—if the realm allowed it. Whose advice he has secretly come to enjoy over the last few years?

But as much as Jaehaerys believed in Baelon's potential, he couldn't shake the nagging fear that his son's brilliance might also put him in danger.

As he waited in his study, his thoughts about his second son, who booked what was called an appointment with him for his time.

...