Baelon opened his eyes and exhaled slowly, bracing himself.
Another dream.
"I wonder what it will be about this time…" He murmured.
He turned his head instinctively—and froze.
Empty.
No familiar figure. No familiar warmth. His hand brushed against vacant air where Helaena should have been.
Baelon scanned the space. He turned around, then again, his heart beginning to pound.
Nothing.
No Helaena.
His lips pressed into a thin line as his gaze sharpened, taking in every detail of his surroundings.
'Helaena is not here,' he reasoned. 'That means she is…awake? But that makes little sense…'
Otherwise, this dream would not be so lucid.
So…complete.
His thoughts churned, gears clicking into place one by one.
And why now?
Why would this happen just as they had moved into Asshai?
Suspicion settled in his chest.
His mind flicked to Seryon, the shadowbinder with his veiled words and shadowed thoughts.
The man who had seemed to know far more than he ever said.
Could this be his doing?
Baelon tried to wake himself. He closed his eyes, forced his breathing, and willed the dream to collapse.
Nothing happened.
His eyes snapped open as he was struck with the realisation he was still there. Trapped and alone.
A thin, humourless breath left him.
"So that's how it is," he muttered. "Trapped in a dream? This is a first for me..."
Then his gaze shifted, narrowing as he realised a great familiarity with his environment.
Recognition struck.
He knew this place.
He stood in Sallosh, just outside their home. The one they had lived in for nearly a year.
Too familiar.
And yet—
Without Helaena at his side, the place felt…wrong.
Only then did it truly register: aside from his brief stint at the Citadel, they had never been apart.
Not truly. Not even in dreams. This separation set his teeth on edge.
Unfortunately, he was given no time to dwell on it as a scream tore through the air. One filled with agony. One filled with fear.
Baelon's blood ran cold. He knew that scream. Far too well…
Fear flashed across his features as he surged forward, throwing open the door. The moment his eyes fell upon the interior, his stomach dropped into a pit.
Helaena lay upon a flat stone slab set close to the hearth.
Her skin was crimson, as though freshly flayed. Not burned, not charred. Her skin remained alive. Painfully alive.
Her silver-gold hair was tangled and matted with sweat, clinging to her face and neck as she writhed.
Her back arched violently as another scream ripped from her throat.
Baelon's breath caught. 'So it's this day…'
He knew what was happening.
The Blood Bond ritual. But this time, he was not the one undergoing it.
Memory slammed into him with merciless clarity.
He remembered arguing with her. Pleading, even. Telling her it was unnecessary, that one of them suffering through it was enough. That he would endure it alone.
But, she had refused. Without anger. Without sorrow. But with a calm, terrifying certainty.
'If you walk this path,' she had told him, 'then I will walk it with you.'
Baelon watched, rooted in place, as Helaena writhed on the stone.
Unlike his own ritual, hers was more…thorough. Prepared. He had learned from his suffering, ensured she would not be as weakened as he had been.
She had been fed well. Carefully. For months beforehand, he had insisted she gain weight, giving her both strength and resilience to undergo the ritual.
After all, she would not be able to eat for the entire week of the ritual.
It had pained him to see her protest, but he had not relented.
It helped now.
Her body could endure this better than his had.
He could give her water without fear of scalding his hands. Her skin was burning hot, but it could not have affected him any less.
But there was a cost to that strength. A cost to this preparation.
Her body was far less wrecked than his own during the ritual. Her throat was not as dry and ruined as his had been.
She could scream.
And gods, she did.
Each cry clawed at his sanity as they echoed in the walls and lodged themselves deep in his head.
For that entire week, whenever Baelon had closed his eyes, those sounds had followed him, haunting him like a relentless wraith.
The only peace he had found was in repetition.
This will end.
She will survive.
She will be fine.
Now the dream forced him to watch.
He saw his past self kneeling beside the slab, movements careful, as though afraid even haste might harm her. That Baelon's face was tight with strain, his jaw clenched hard enough to ache.
"Easy… easy," his past self murmured, voice low and steady despite the chaos. He took Helaena's hand in both of his, ignoring the heat, anchoring her as best he could.
She clawed weakly at his fingers, nails scraping skin.
"I'm here," he told her. "I've got you. You're not alone."
Slowly, patiently, her thrashing lessened. Her screams fell into ragged sobs.
Only then did his past self reach for the jug of water resting nearby.
He tipped it with meticulous care, easing the rim to her lips, coaxing her to drink little by little. Not too fast. Never too fast.
Baelon, the observer, felt his chest tighten.
He remembered every second of this. And now the dream had dragged him back, alone, to watch it all again.
Baelon watched the scene unfold, helpless, as the weight in his chest grew heavier by the heartbeat.
"It's all your fault."
The whisper brushed his ear.
Baelon's eyes narrowed instantly. He turned, but found…
Nothing.
The room remained unchanged. The hearth still glowed dully. Helaena's ragged breaths rasped through the air, while his past self hovered beside her, murmuring comfort with desperate care.
No other presence. No shadow. No movement.
"It was because of you that she had to suffer like this."
Baelon's jaw tightened.
"She was a princess," the voice continued, smooth and merciless. "The jewel of the realm. She could have lived in warmth and silk, in comfort and peace. But because of you, she followed you into barren lands and forgotten cities."
The words curled around him, squeezing him like an unseen hand.
"Because of you, she endured torment…so she would never become a burden to you."
Baelon clenched his fists. "I did not force her," he said through gritted teeth.
A quiet, almost indulgent chuckle answered him.
"Of course you didn't. It is never your fault. Never the consequence of your pride, or your follies."
The voice drifted closer, more intimate, more invasive.
"Why do you chase magic and strength so fervently, Baelon? Helaena believes it is for protection. For survival."
A pause.
"But she is not entirely correct… is she?"
"Seven hells," Baelon barked, a harsh laugh. "I know not what you are, but to skulk and whisper without showing yourself…what a coward's game. Face me. Or let me guess… You cannot harm me here, can you? Are you Seryon? Another mage hiding behind riddles? What is it you want?"
Silence lingered, then the voice returned, amused.
"Even now, your mind turns," it said. "Testing. Measuring. Prodding every possibility. You speak not to learn, but to control."
A soft sigh.
"Arrogant child."
The unseen presence inched closer as the sense of suffocation only deepened for Baelon.
"Power. Ambition. Glory. You truly are a Targaryen. Your hunger began innocently enough, but you know the truth well. Your pursuit of magic, of knowledge, was never pure."
Baelon's breathing quickened, fists curling tight enough to tremble.
"If you control the board," the voice whispered, "nothing can touch you. Nor her."
"That thought has followed you for years, has it not? Ever since King's Landing. All that fear. All that uncertainty. Chasing a future that may never come."
The whisper slithered through his thoughts.
"You have tasted control. Knowledge that bends men. Strength that silences threats. Power that reshapes the world."
"And you understand its convenience."
Baelon swallowed as the voice softened.
"You fear smallness. Powerlessness. That helpless child clutching his sister in a nest of vipers."
The words struck like knives.
"You do not wish to feel that way again," it murmured. "No matter the cost."
"Shut up," Baelon hissed.
The memories surged regardless.
King's Landing.
Stone corridors filled with whispers.
Those dreams.
His sister was trembling in his arms as he held her tight, promising what he could never truly guarantee.
"Shut up!" He roared, clutching his hair, breath breaking. "SHUT UP!"
The guilt.
The fear.
The knowledge that peace was fragile and always borrowed.
It all came at him.
Had he truly changed?
Was power something he even needed now? Did he truly need to grow stronger? If so, why? To what ends?
Crack—!
The world shattered like glass.
The hearth vanished. The screams were swallowed whole.
Baelon plunged into vast, endless darkness, alone with the truth clawing at his chest.
Before long, light filtered through, as the surroundings changed.
He was awake. Eyes open, as his head lay on Helaena's lap, a worried gaze in her eyes as she looked at him.
"What happened to you?" Helaena asked, gently brushing loose strands of hair from his face. "I didn't have a clear dream, so I woke up, but you… You were still sleeping."
Baelon sighed, the memories of his dream pressing against his skull.
Normally, when they did not share dreams, they would glimpse only fragments, flickering visions, like the ones Helaena had now.
But this time was different. For the first time in his life, he had dreamt lucidly, entirely on his own.
Looking into her concerned violet eyes, he dismissed any thought of hiding it.
He trusted her, her intelligence, her maturity, and as the closest person to him in the world, it would have been cruel to keep this from her.
Baelon turned toward her, pressing himself into her abdomen, his voice muffled as he spoke. "I had a dream. A lucid dream…"
And so he told her everything: the revisiting of her Blood Bond ritual, the loneliness, and the relentless whispers that had gnawed at him.
"Was it because of that man?" Helaena asked, her teeth clenched slightly as she stroked his hair. "Seryon?"
"I do not know, sister," Baelon admitted, turning to sit upright. "But what would their aim be?"
Helaena paused for a moment, her gaze drifting outward as it lost its initial focus, as her hand on his head grew slack.
Then—
She spoke.
"You will seize knowledge and magic beyond imagining from the corpse of Valyria. But know this, ambition and knowledge come at a price. In grasping all, you may lose sight of what and whom you had sought to protect."