Disclaimer: This is a story based on ASOIAF Universe and all recognizable characters, plots belong to GRRM. I have no ownership to it.
Chapter 23: A Diversion in Time
84 AC
The Spring Prince
Bear Island.
Baelon Targaryen's mind was in turmoil as he landed Vhagar on Bear Island. After weeks of struggle, the King had finally relented and agreed to bring Daemon south to save his son. Aegon's health had been gradually declining.
As Baelon surveyed the area, he noticed ten ships docked in the newly built port near Mormont Keep. The people looked up in awe, many shouting in surprise as he flew overhead. However, the Mormont guards were made of sterner stuff. Baelon could see their expressions as they stared at his massive dragon—fear and awe mingling before giving way to respect for its overwhelming power.
Perhaps hunting whales in the oceans has tempered their fear of large creatures? Baelon mused.
He dismounted as a figure—likely Lady Mormont—hurried toward him. The lady bowed deeply before speaking.
"Prince Baelon, forgive me. We did not receive a raven from you and were unprepared for your arrival."
Baelon studied the lady before him. She was neither beautiful nor plain, but there was a certain charm in her broad shoulders and the warrior's confidence she exuded.
"Apologies are unnecessary, Lady Mormont, as I sent no raven to announce my arrival," Baelon replied firmly. "I am here to collect my nephew, Daemon Snow, and escort him to King's Landing. The King requires his service."
As he finished speaking, Baelon noticed Lady Mormont's face pale visibly, a reaction that immediately filled him with unease.
"Please forgive me again, my prince," she said carefully. "Daemon left four days ago on his annual travels. He ventures out to recruit—"
"What?" Baelon snapped, his voice sharp. "Isn't he fostered with you? Why is he out there?"
"My prince," Lady Mormont began cautiously, "Daemon is not someone we can impose strict rules upon. He is perfectly capable of surviving on his own, and his work benefits my house's prosperity. it must be a long flight for you to arrive here and a storm is coming. Please accept our hospitality and stay the night. Perhaps, if you would share the nature of the service required, we may be able to offer some guidance."
Baelon took a few deep breaths, reigning in his sudden anger.
"I will accept your hospitality and stay the night," he said curtly.
Baelon was escorted to a small room that would pass for a solar in these modest keep by Lady Mormont.
"Your Grace, please inform me of the purpose behind your need for Daemon's presence," Lady Mormont asked politely.
"As you may have heard, my beloved wife died in childbirth, and my third son, Aegon, has been battling Balerion, the God of Death, for the past two moons," Baelon said, his voice heavy with emotion. "I have heard that Daemon is god-blessed or something akin to it. In fact, since his exile here, I've known that the number of deaths from sickness and disease has significantly reduced, even on this island. I need his abilities to save my child."
Despite his best efforts, Baelon could not entirely mask the desperation in his voice.
"Losing a beloved partner and a child is a pain I would not wish upon my worst enemy, my prince," Lady Mormont said softly. "You have my condolences, and I will pray for your third son. While I acknowledge that my people have indeed seen improvements since Daemon's arrival, he has not shared anything about his abilities with me. However, I will summon my daughter Lyra. She is Daemon's closest companion, aside from our lord Cregan and Aethan Reed."
Baelon nodded, appreciating her effort.
A short while later, Lyra entered the solar and bowed deeply.
"My prince," Lyra said.
Baelon waved his hand dismissively, eager to get to the matter at hand.
"Daughter, you are the closest companion of Daemon Snow," Lady Mormont began. "Do you know anything about his abilities or any way he might help save Prince Baelon's third son?"
Baelon noticed Lyra hesitating briefly before sighing in defeat.
"My prince," Lyra began, "I have not asked, and Daemon has not shared the secrets of his abilities. I do not know when he will return or where he has gone. If you seek answers of this nature, I suggest you visit Winterfell and speak with Cregan Stark. According to Daemon, Cregan would know as much as if he had been present himself."
Baelon scrutinized her carefully but saw no hint of deceit. He nodded, acknowledging her advice.
"That is valuable information, Lady Lyra. I thank you for sharing it. When the Mormont ships land in King's Landing with their whale products, they will be exempt from port taxes for five years."
Both mother and daughter looked pleased, and Baelon understood the importance of rewarding service if he hoped for loyalty in the future.
"Thank you, my prince," Lady Mormont said with a respectful nod.
Baelon returned the gesture, acknowledging her gratitude.
As he flew toward Winterfell, Baelon reflected on the two days he had been stranded in the North due to a relentless storm. The shoddy keep on Bear Island had provided little comfort, but at least Vhagar had been content, having hunted and consumed nearly an entire whale during their stay.
Baelon couldn't shake his curiosity about why the Mormonts had pointed him toward Cregan Stark. During his short stay, he had observed something about the Mormonts—they may offer polite words and formal courtesies to those of higher station, but their true allegiance was clear. They acknowledged no king but the one named Stark, and their loyalty to the crown only extended as far as Winterfell's loyalty to it.
His thoughts were interrupted as Winterfell came into view. The sight of the gigantic castle still mesmerized him. It was hard to fathom that the First Men had possessed the power to create such a bastion 8,000 years ago.
Baelon was surprised as he accepted guest rights and the full traditional greeting afforded to him by Bennard Stark. He had not expected such formality, especially since the last time, Bennard had disrespected Prince Aemon.
So, Bennard's issue is with Aemon only, Baelon noted, deciding to keep an eye on Bennard should he become a threat to his brother.
Baelon was escorted to the lord's solar, where he exchanged greetings with Lady Giliane, the co-regent of Cregan Stark.
"My Prince, it is surprising to hear rumors of a giant dragon flying above the northern skies," Bennard said casually. "I was even more surprised to hear that it flew to Bear Island without any warnings from the Crown that a prince would be arriving."
Baelon's shoulders tightened at the implicit question: What the fuck are you doing in our lands?
"Co-Regent Bennard," Baelon replied curtly, "the northern sky also belongs to my house, just like the northern land. I have no need to inform any of my vassals of my arrival."
"Of course, my prince," Lady Giliane interrupted, shooting Bennard a glare to stop him from replying. She continued, "If you inform us of your aim, we will, of course, be glad to assist."
Baelon noticed the condescending smile on Bennard's face as he nodded at the co-regent's words. Deciding to let it go for now, Baelon explained his purpose.
"I was at Bear Island to take my nephew south to heal my third-born son. I had heard rumors, even from Aemon himself, about his supposed abilities. Unfortunately, he left four days before my arrival for his annual tour of the North. I came here to inquire about any techniques that Daemon may have shared with House Stark to improve health," Baelon said.
Baelon noted the irritation on Bennard's face as he mentioned Daemon.
"My prince," Bennard said, "you have been misinformed. It was my father who implemented the system of drinking only boiled water throughout Wintertown and ensuring even the smallfolk bathe at least every other day. Our improvements are due to that—not the bastard."
Baelon grimaced.
"We apologize that we cannot provide the answer you are looking for, my prince," Lady Giliane said.
Baelon sighed in defeat. "I am tired and will be using your hospitality for three days."
Both regents accepted the implicit order.
Winterfell
Cregan Stark.
Cregan Stark was excited as he saw Vhagar from afar, the great dragon flying over Winterfell. The beast was majestic, and he could understand why his ancestor knelt, avoiding the unnecessary spilling of northern blood while securing the benefits of peace.
He had been expecting Vhagar, especially after his brother Daemon informed him of the impending visit.
It saddened him to see his brother still estranged from his father's family. He had tried to convince Daemon to mend fences, but his efforts had been in vain.
In their meeting through their animal bonds, Cregan had asked the golden question.
"Daemon? Why are you avoiding the royal family? You were banned from entering the South, but now you are being invited. You could go and heal the prince yourself and earn great rewards. The king would grant any wish for saving his grandson," Cregan asked hopefully.
"Do you know why I never went south in the last four years—or before that?" Daemon replied. "You think it's because of the king's order, to whom I owe no loyalty? Fear of consequences, if caught? No, Cregan. I never ventured beyond the Neck because I didn't want to visit the South yet. I am not some eager grandchild for the king to command to the South, no matter the rewards or dangers. I will go there when I want to—not for anyone else."
Cregan was surprised by the arrogance in his brother's response.
"Yet you are in Bear Island, by my lord regent's order, Daemon," Cregan snipped back.
Daemon laughed before answering. "Your wit is sharp, Cregan. I am in Bear Island because I will it. I wanted to improve my physical abilities with the help of the ocean, and I wanted to strengthen Bear Island, the most loyal house to House Stark and one of our first defenses against the enemy beyond the Wall."
Cregan's respect for Daemon increased at the foresight displayed, even in such small matters.
"Daemon, what should I do about Prince Baelon? He may try to find you in the North on his dragon," Cregan asked.
Daemon laughed at the absurdity of the idea before replying, "He will not find me. I will ensure he arrives at Winterfell and comes to you asking about my secrets. You can, of course, reject the offer and opportunity, but I suggest you follow my advice to extract benefits from the royal family…"
"Lord Cregan Stark", Baelon called as he entered the private training yard near the godswood.
Cregan was sparring with Daemon's sworn shield, Brandon, but both immediately stopped and turned to face the prince. Cregan offered a slight bow, while the sworn shield gave a deep one.
"My Prince," Cregan said.
As Baelon approached, Cregan studied his face, looking for any resemblance to his cousin. Even with the similarities, it was clear to him that Daemon's handsomeness surpassed even that of most Targaryens.
The prince glanced at the sworn shield standing behind Cregan, prompting Cregan to look at Brandon. Brandon understood the unspoken command and stepped aside, far enough to avoid overhearing but close enough to intervene if necessary.
Baelon's expression turned incredulous, his hand tightening on the hilt of Dark Sister. The audacity of the sworn shield, assuming he would break guest rights—or that Brandon could stop him if he tried—was almost laughable.
"Your Grace, what do you require of me?" Cregan asked.
Baelon sighed, a weariness evident in his tone. "Of course, you know why I am here, and yet you make me repeat myself? I want a cure for my boy, and I don't care what I have to do to obtain it. So I ask you, as the representative of your liege: do you know the secret of Daemon Snow's ability?"
Cregan remained calm under the prince's intense scrutiny and replied evenly, "My Prince, I will not lie to you. I know the secret of my brother's ability, but let me tell you this: force is not something you wish to employ when dealing with my brother. I know of your loyalty and love for Prince Aemon, I feel the same for Daemon, my elder brother. I will not divulge his secrets, nor do I even know where he is now."
Baelon's grip on Dark Sister tightened, but he restrained himself. Even under the stress and anger, he knew he needed Cregan Stark's cooperation.
"This is your King asking you, yet you would remain silent for a mere bastard with no lands? Are you willing to suffer the consequences?" Baelon demanded.
Cregan smiled faintly. "What consequences? Even my uncle, who has known Daemon since his birth, refuses to believe he is god-blessed because of his hatred for him. So, what could the King—known as the Conciliator—do to the ten-year-old heir of House Stark without tarnishing his own reputation as Good King and appear as honoring the legacy of King Maegor? His Grace would lose his image, as no one in the South would believe Daemon has any gifts. Perhaps the Andals would rejoice in our misfortunes, but as a Valyrian steeped in magic, you should be wary of aligning too closely with the Faith and the Andals."
Baelon was so surprised by the boy's candor that he fell silent for a moment.
He shook his head and replied calmly, his anger vanishing as he realized he was speaking to an unknown player in the game of thrones and not a 10 year old boy.
"Cregan, you are more mature than some of the foolish southern lords in the court. It was unbecoming of a royal prince to get angry, assuming you were refusing simply out of childish loyalty to your brother. Now I know better. We are in a negotiation, and you have a solution for me—and want something in return. What is it?"
Cregan smiled, silently thanking Daemon for almost correctly guessing how Baelon would behave.
"Since Daemon was banished, every year he secretly comes to Winterfell and delivers a potion he created to heal any disease or injury. It is a gift he gave me personally, and I can do with it as I please. I have two doses left. It will, of course, strengthen Prince Aegon if you follow the instructions precisely. Provided, of course, you buy it from me for a price."
Baelon gritted his teeth. "You are selling something your brother gifted you to save your life, to me, to save your so-called brother's cousin—all the while profiting from it? What a tremendous display of loyalty to your so-called brother and even your sworn king. What will Daemon say when he hears about this? Or about the lost opportunity for a reward from the royal family?"
Cregan momentarily appeared struck before answering.
"I am of House Stark, and we ruled these lands for thousands of years, not by gifting miracles freely but by ensuring our house remained strong while others benefited from our strength. My grandfather taught this to Daemon, and he taught it to me. He will understand. If not, I will sacrifice that relationship for my house."
Baelon looked impressed. He could relate, having sacrificed much for his brother and the continued strength of House Targaryen. He nodded, and Cregan continued.
"I want double the amount of tax increased by the Iron Throne due to the Gift leasing incident to be discounted for the next ten years. Also, I want a marriage between our houses during His Grace's reign itself," Cregan stated.
Baelon smirked at the apparent ambition of House Stark. "You are far too ambitious for a ten-year-old boy. You want two things for a single boon?"
"Prince Baelon, I want two things for the two doses. Even then, this is a minor matter for your house. Even with the discount, the Iron Throne will receive more than it did before 70 AC. His Grace has no reason to deny the marriage, as he has already secured both the Baratheons and Arryns. The only remaining relevant Great House is mine. The Tullys and Tyrells are houses raised by the Iron Throne itself and not suitable prospects for a royal marriage. The Lannisters, for all their wealth, are cats more than lions. As for the Ironborn—there is nothing to be said," Cregan finished, his anger flaring at the mention of the Ironborn.
"I see," Baelon said, pondering any counterarguments. The king might sacrifice his grandson rather than acquiesce to vassals' demands, depending on his mood. But Baelon had no such luxury. His son, the last piece of his beloved Alyssa in this world, was in danger. He didn't mind granting such minor terms.
"I agree to this, provided your cure works," Baelon said.
"Oh?" Cregan asked.
"Many healers are trying to restore his health, and the Grand Maester has succeeded in buying time. How do we know it is your dose that works and not a combination of all the cures?" Baelon asked.
"I see," Cregan replied. "Then let us write and sign a pact of our agreement along with my instructions for its usage. Prince Aegon will be a healthy babe and one of the most energetic children if you follow the instructions."
"A pact?" Baelon asked, intrigued.
"Yes, a Pact of Ice and Fire. For healing a prince of the blood and grandson of the king, the reward will be as I said. After your return to King's Landing, stop all other cures and stopgap measures for a day. The maester will warn you of danger to the prince, but the cure will be more effective when the first dose is administered during a health decline. The second dose should be given the next day at the same hour."
Baelon looked helpless as he considered the danger to his son if the medication was stopped. Even though he had seen the improvement in the people of Bear Island through his spies, he hesitated to believe in such a miraculous cure.
"Prince Baelon, look at me. I have never suffered any diseases. The cure will work, but you must stop all other medications. It is far too easy for someone to poison the child and damage our reputation and strength," Cregan said.
Baelon was startled for a moment, then enraged at the suggestion that his son could be poisoned.
After taking a deep breath, Baelon smothered his rage, knowing it was useless here.
"I will be careful. If anyone dares to poison a Targaryen, they will be food for Vhagar. Let's write the agreement and sign the Pact of Ice and Fire."
84 AC
Daemon Snow
I sighed in relief as I fully left my eagle behind, as Cregan and Baelon came to agree on the Pact of Ice and Fire. Even though I had coached Cregan about the various reactions of Baelon, I was paranoid enough to hide just outside the trees of the Godswood. I stayed close enough so I could arrive to save Cregan if Baelon succumbed to madness due to the loss of his sister-wife and the sickness of his son. I started walking through the forest, deep in thought.
In canon, according to my memories, there were many situations where Baelon became an entirely different man after the death of his wife and son. I was paranoid enough about the Targaryens' pride and love for their beloved. I had no guarantee that Baelon would not break guest rights and threaten Cregan for the two doses of potion, which were nothing but my diluted blood mixed with some beneficial herbs.
I had felt proud when Cregan suggested the marriage clause to me for the second boon, and I was surprised that, even in this AU, Cregan's desire for a royal match remained the same.
I was about to start running back to where my Fenrir was when a sudden roar echoed, and a gigantic green head came breaking through the trees, sniffing the air. It was the head of Vhagar, and its one eye was locked on me. For a moment, just like the Night King's presence beyond the Wall, I froze in terror as my muscles coiled in tension, and the snow beneath my feet sank lower due to the pressure from my body.
I tried to sense what the dragon was thinking and whether I should start running when only curiosity brushed against my senses.
"Lykiri, Vhagar," I said as I started walking toward the dragon.
The dragon snorted as I got near, and heat, like the deep waters of a hot spring, hit my body. Seeing no reaction from me to the heat, Vhagar roared at me, and I was almost deafened in the process. Only my own healing ability assured me that I still had my hearing. Sensing no panic from me, the dragon lowered her head to my raised hand. Then and there, I understood that Vhagar could sense that I was the nephew of her rider and the son of a beloved of her rider, and attacking me would make her rider unhappy.
I just scratched the face as I thought about my first contact with a dragon.
Balerion the Black Dread in vision and I was attacked immediately by the monster.
If Vhagar can recognize me, why did Balerion attack me on sight in that magical vision?
Suddenly, Vhagar turned her head and looked at Winterfell, as if someone had called her. As if not caring what happened to me during her takeoff, she took two steps forward and jumped, flapping her bat-like wings.
Only my own reflexes helped me jump sideways, avoiding a painful few days of healing.
Well, even though the targs are not wargs, the bonds of a Targaryen are similar enough that they can contact the dragons from a distance. There goes my final hope of sneaking into the Dragonpit to see Balerion before its death.
11th Moon, 86 AC
Daemon Snow
Bear Island.
I looked upon the little bundle of joy that somehow fell asleep on a creature big enough to swallow her whole.
Fenrir looked at me with a pleading face, silently asking to free his whiskers from the fist of Lyanna Mormont, officially the daughter of Lyra Mormont and a bear in the woods. But just one look at how Fenrir behaved with her was enough for anyone with any sense to see I was her father.
I simply expressed my amusement at Fenrir, and he looked at me in betrayal. The girl was almost one and a half years old, and more energetic than any child I had seen. The answer to my question of whether my own enhanced body would be inherited was answered. Lyanna had shown more strength and intelligence than any child. I was sure she even had some enhanced healing, as there was no disease that affected her for more than a few hours, but I wasn't absolutely sure, as I wasn't insane enough to cut her like I did to myself at age four.
"Daemon, how many times do I have to tell you that Fenrir is not a good bed for our little girl?" Lyra hissed lowly, not to wake the girl.
Fenrir looked at Lyra as if she were a god in disguise. Lyra was amused by the expression as she freed Fenrir from Lyanna.
Fenrir immediately moved away, looked at me with a snarl, and jumped to attack.
I caught the weight and force of the angry wolf, and only my own strength kept me from falling and hitting my head on the floor. I pushed Fenrir away, and he landed on all fours. I could feel the annoyance from him, as I hadn't suffered the punishment he deemed fit.
Fenrir just woofed and walked away.
"Sometimes I wonder whether that is actually a direwolf or a cat," Lyra said to me.
I just laughed in amusement.
"You were in deep thought as I entered," Lyra said after a couple of moments. "What is it?"
I sighed in tiredness as I wondered how to express what I was trying to say to a woman who loved me.
"Lyra, the time has come," I whispered barely.
Lyra looked confused at me before she recognized what I was saying. Both sadness and anger passed across her face.
"But you are still banished from the South, and you are still in fosterage here."
"I am here because I wanted to be. There is much to accomplish, and only seeing my first child till age two has stopped me until now. If I stay here any longer, it will not be possible for me to leave her. I must start my work now. You know the truth about the enemy beyond the Wall and their abilities. I must make sure the Northmen improve, just like the people of Winterfell and Bear Island."
Lyra nodded reluctantly.
Even though I was calm on the outside, I was cursing myself for lying to Lyra. She might believe I was only going to try and improve the people through the usual methods. But the truth was, I was going to pull a Garth Greenhand on the smallfolk. With my looks, even with dyed hair to disguise me, I was warrior incarnate, and seducing noblewomen was easy for me. So, there was nothing to say about the smallfolk. I was going to try and have as many children among them as I could. I could try to spend as much time in the North and improve others, but it would be too little and time consuming.
Sowing wild oats was the best method, as their children would inherit the enhanced physique. Only then would the bulk of the Northmen actually be more powerful by the time of the Second Long Night. I had to stop myself from laughing at the absurdity of it as I registered the fact that this would be a perfect story for a popular smut in my previous life.
It has been a long-debated topic in the Citadel whether the miracle Stark cure that Prince Baelon brought from a young Cregan Stark originated from the bastard son of Crown Prince Aemon Targaryen. Whatever it was, it was effective beyond anything seen by the Citadel, and Prince Aegon grew to be more energetic than even Prince Daemon who was turning out to be quite a rogue. The most important event was the signing of the Pact of Ice and Fire. For a time, the nobles in the court whispered that Prince Baelon had been fleeced by the northern barbarians, but the recovery of Prince Aegon and the health he had over the last six years shut their mouths. This is the first time there has been visible proof of knowledge in medical matters that trumps the Citadel, and it grinds my pride that I had to write this down.
'Grand Maester Allar, it seems to me that your own ignorance and disdain towards magic blinds you to the possibility that the cure may have been magical in nature.' Otto Hightower thought as he read the personal journal of Grand Maester.
Authors note: decided to use Maesters recording to skip time. 87 AC will be over in next chapter. Aegon lives and one of the major change from canon. i had no plan to make aegon live in initial draft, but Baelon knowing about daemon's ability will fight for saving aegon. butterfly effect at its best...
Looking forward to the reactions, comments and discussions and you know where to go read early access chapters.