Otto Hightower knew the truth the instant he stepped into the king's solar and heard the tidings spoken aloud.
King Viserys had made his choice.
Nothing Otto might say would move him now.
Yet the question gnawed at him all the same. Why?
For years the king had kept Baelon carefully checked, granting him honor enough to bind him close, yet never so much power as to threaten the realm's balance. It had been a prudent arrangement. A necessary one.
And now this.
The Wall granted into Baelon's keeping. Fifty leagues of land south of it besides. A dominion vast enough to raise bannermen, levy coin, and command men in numbers unseen beyond the great houses of the realm.
If such a grant were allowed to stand, what house in the Seven Kingdoms could rival him?
Worse still, Lord Jason Lannister had declared his open favor. With the gold of Casterly Rock behind him, Baelon's rise would be swifter than any could check.
Otto was no coward, nor given to fancies of doom. Yet even he could see the truth plainly.
Should Baelon choose rebellion now, who would stand against him?
When the board grows clouded, even the keenest player may lose sight of the game.
Otto let out a slow breath and folded his hands behind his back. If the king would not be turned, then advantage must be found elsewhere. House Hightower would not be left empty-handed while others gathered strength.
If a storm must come, he would see that Oldtown profited from the rain.
By the time the court's deliberations ended, Baelon had already returned to Harrenhal.
Under Illys's careful supervision, preparations advanced with relentless efficiency. Ships rode out from the Trident in steady columns, their hulls heavy with quarried stone, cut timber, iron fittings, grain, salted meat, and lowing livestock. North they sailed, toward the Wall and the cold grey seas beyond.
From the high seat of Harrenhal's hall, Baelon issued his commands.
"Eastwatch-by-the-Sea is little better than a fishing harbor," he said, fingers drumming once upon the carved arm of his chair. "The first shipment will go to the docks. Deepen the waters. Reinforce the piers. I want the harbor able to receive three times its present traffic."
One of the knights inclined his head. "It shall be done, my lord."
"The other castles along the Wall are to be repaired with all haste. I want them habitable before winter's breath grows sharper."
He rose then, tall and composed, his gaze sweeping across the eight knights assembled before him.
"And when the Wall stands ready," he said quietly, "I shall ride north myself and formally establish the Order of the Dawn Watch."
Harrenhal was secure for the present. Most of his sworn swords had already departed to oversee the earliest reconstruction.
Ser Brayden, remained as Baelon's shield. Ser Illys, stayed behind as well, entrusted with managing the rear and the steady flow of supplies.
The remaining six would depart at once. For now, they would serve as the first sworn brothers of the Morning Watch.
"When the order is fully established," Baelon added, "I will summon you back."
"Yes, my lord," they answered as one, fists striking breastplates in salute.
They withdrew to make ready.
Three months passed.
Three months since Baelon had driven the wildlings back into the frozen wilderness and reclaimed the Wall.
Each morning without fail, he oversaw the training of Prince Aegon, Princess Helaena, and Prince Aemond.
Ships bearing the black-and-gold sigil of Harrenhal sailed north every month without interruption. They returned empty, their holds waiting only to be filled again.
On one such afternoon, Baelon stood before Aegon with arms folded.
"You call this finished?" he asked, lifting the boy's book with two fingers.
Aegon stood stiffly, jaw set. He did not answer. A faint redness still marked his temple from an earlier correction.
Baelon's brow rose.
Silence stretched.
At that moment, a raven fluttered down upon the windowsill, its black wings stirring the dust motes in the light. A servant hastened forward to retrieve it.
Baelon broke the seal and read.
A low laugh escaped him.
"All nineteen castles restored," he murmured, eyes glinting with satisfaction. He let the parchment fall to the table.
Over these months, his own strength had grown. Subduing Aegon in the yard now required but a single hand.
Aegon, noting his distraction, slipped quickly back into his chair and seized up the book.
"I was just beginning the next passage," he said, voice carefully earnest. "On Aegon the Conqueror's landing."
Baelon regarded him for a moment, then inclined his head slightly.
"Read."
Aegon obeyed at once, posture straight as a spear.
Helaena and Aemond edged closer, curiosity bright upon their faces.
"It means to go north, does it not?" Helaena asked softly, violet eyes lifting toward Baelon.
Aemond nodded vigorously. "We should see the Wall. I want to see it."
Even Aegon glanced up from the page, one hand lifting halfway before he seemed to reconsider.
Baelon studied the three of them in silence, weighing the matter with care.
The Wall stood in uneasy peace. The wildlings had retreated beyond the haunted forests, and no fresh reports spoke of gathering horns or marching clans. When the Order of the Dawn Watch was formally established, lords and heirs from across the Seven Kingdoms would attend. Knights, banners, sworn swords. The realm's eyes would be upon the North.
There would be no safer place.
"Very well," he said at last, his tone measured but not unkind. "You may accompany me."
Aemond gave a shout of triumph. "You are the best!" He rushed forward without hesitation and flung his arms around Baelon's waist, clutching at him as though he feared the answer might yet change.
Baelon steadied the boy with one hand, the faintest curve touching his lips.
Helaena said nothing, yet her expression shone with quiet delight. Her fingers twisted together at her waist, and she looked up at him as though he had granted her some secret wish she had scarcely dared to voice.
Aegon lingered apart.
In the months since arriving at Harrenhal, admiration had crept upon him unbidden.
Baelon surpassed him in every discipline. Languages bent easily to his tongue. Histories unfolded at his command. Numbers and ledgers seemed to obey his will. In the yard, his blade moved with unerring precision. Even in matters of dragons, his bearing carried a natural authority that could not be learned.
At first, Aegon had chafed under it. He had strained to match him, to outpace him, to prove himself equal.
But time had a way of stripping pride from false hopes.
Some mountains could not be climbed.
In the end, he had set aside rivalry. Better to stand at Baelon's side than exhaust himself striving for a summit he would never reach.
"If you desire a place among this display," Baelon said without turning his head, "come here. Or do you mean to wait until I beg you for it?"
Aegon stiffened, color rising faintly to his cheeks.
"I am only doing this because you said so," he muttered, voice low.
Yet he stepped forward all the same.
His arms wrapped around Baelon's side, careful at first, then firmer, as though testing whether the gesture would be returned.
Baelon's hand came to rest briefly upon his shoulder.
In Westeros, such embraces bore no great meaning beyond trust freely given. Between kin, between sworn brothers, between those bound by affection rather than fear, it was a simple thing.
Beyond the chamber door, Queen Alicent had paused in her steps.
She had come intending only to observe the day's lessons, as she had done many times before. For months she had watched with quiet vigilance, wary of hidden cruelties or subtle humiliations. Power could wound in ways a blade never could.
Through the narrow opening of the door, she saw her children gathered close around Baelon.
Aemond clung to him without restraint. Helaena stood near enough that her sleeve brushed his arm. Even Aegon, proud Aegon, had chosen to step forward rather than remain apart.
Their laughter carried softly through the chamber.
Alicent lifted a hand, signaling the guards to silence, and withdrew without announcing herself.
Her fears had not vanished easily. Yet Baelon's instruction had proven disciplined, his corrections firm but never wanton. The children's growth spoke plainly enough.
And affection such as this could not be commanded.
If his intentions were false, children would not lean toward him so readily, nor smile so freely in his presence.
At last, Queen Alicent allowed herself the smallest of smiles before turning down the corridor, her footsteps light against the stone.
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A/N: Advance chapters available on Patreon,
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Send the stones this way. Okay???