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10% HOTD : Reborn as Spring Prince / Chapter 1: The Prologue

章節 1: The Prologue

The room was filled with the sharp scent of antiseptic, the constant beep of machines, and the distant hum of activity just beyond the door. James Matthews, a young and ambitious U.S. Government minister, had never imagined his life would end here, in a sterile hospital room, surrounded by faces he barely recognized. He had been at the peak of his career, on the verge of making real change in a system that desperately needed it and more importantly a real breakthrough in his political career. And then, a single bullet had shattered everything. Yeah, not the breakthrough he was hoping for.

It was a routine speech, or at least it should have been. James had spoken before the Senate many times, and this was no different. Yet, as he stepped away from the podium, the sound of a single shot echoed through the chamber. There had been no time to react, no time to see where it had come from. The impact hit him hard, like a truck slamming into his chest, and then there was nothing but darkness.

Now, as his vision blurred and his breathing grew more labored, he could feel his life slipping away. Unfulfilled dreams, unachieved ambitions, all of it faded into the background. He had wanted to make a name for himself in the world, to leave behind a legacy that would be remembered for generations. But as the darkness closed in, all he could feel was a deep, bitter regret.

His final thought, just before the darkness claimed him, was a desperate wish for another chance.

---

When Baelon opened his eyes, gasping, his body dampened with sweat. He blinked, his vision blurry and disoriented, his heart pounding. He knew what had happened. He had another one of those strange dreams he'd been having since childhood. They were always flashes and conversations, unlike anything he'd ever known in his life. A world of technology and grand inventions. At first, he thought they might be dragon dreams, like those of his ancestor, Daenys the Dreamer. However, he quickly realized they were something different—visions of another world as if he had lived through it himself.

Until now, the dreams had been fragmented. Gaps in his memories left him uncertain. He'd immediately forget the details upon waking—only vague images of scenery and towering buildings remained. But now…

Baelon lightly shook his throbbing head, a sharp pain radiating from the back of his skull. He felt the cold stone beneath him, the rough texture pressing against his palms as small rocks dug into his skin. Slowly, he pushed himself up, scrambling to his feet.

The area around him, though familiar, seemed vast, made of dark stone. His memories flickered as he focused, his thoughts aligning with the scene before him. Standing there, he saw it—towering, fearsome, its scales as black as night.

Balerion, The Black Dread.

Baelon remembered how he'd ended up here, in this strange state. He'd struck Balerion on the snout with the wooden stick he always carried around, pretending it was a sword, imitating his older brother Aemon. The dragon had responded with nothing more than a puff of air—a simple, dismissive gesture that had sent him flying into the wall and left him unconscious.

What followed was another dream, but this time, it was different. He remembered everything. He understood it all. These weren't dreams born of childish imagination, nor was he going mad.

He had memories of a life lived as a man named James Matthews—a young, ambitious politician from a country called the USA. Memories of his childhood, his family, his knowledge, and even his death.

But that was all they were—memories. It felt like reading a story from a book. There was no anger at his death, no sorrow for the loved ones he'd lost, no joy, no happiness.

He was still Baelon, son of King Jaehaerys Targaryen and Queen Alysanne Targaryen. He was still an eight-name-day-old boy. But now, he knew more.

For as long as he could remember, Baelon had experienced these strange dreams. He sometimes knew things he had no way of knowing. His tutors often remarked on how bright he was, calling him the most promising student they had ever taught.

Through dreams, nostalgic feelings, and strange flashes of knowledge, he saw a different life and world. A world without magic but filled with fantastical innovations in science and technology. A world with a rich history shaped by great men and women—their failures, triumphs, and tested methods for success. He remembered it all now.

It was another world where a certain collection of books had been written by a man about the very world Baelon lived in now—books called A Song of Ice and Fire. From what Baelon could tell, the world he inhabited closely followed what had been written in those books, at least for the most part.

This realization made Baelon wonder: had that man truly created this world? Or had he simply been blessed with a vision of it? The real thing was vaster and grander than anything the books described. A strange sense of indignation stirred in Baelon at the idea of being a fictional character meant to entertain others.

He looked at the black monstrosity before him. He recalled how James had laughed reading about this very incident. Baelon didn't know what had possessed him to provoke Balerion like this. What was the word James would have used? Ah, yes—programmed. It was a miracle he hadn't been killed. Perhaps it was the story protecting him.

But Baelon didn't like this story—this canon, this show, or whatever it was.

His assimilation into this world had been seamless, likely because of how he had been reborn. By the time he fully assimilated the memories and knowledge of his past life, his identity as Baelon had already been cemented. While he retained the memories and knowledge of James Matthews, they were just useful information to him now—detached and devoid of emotion.

He was Baelon Targaryen, and he had a purpose to fulfill.

Just thinking about the alternate version of himself and the fate of his family made his blood boil hotter than Balerion's flames. His death before his father, at just forty-four years old when his house needed him most. The fall of House Targaryen, the demise of his beloved mother, Aemon, and his future siblings.

The mighty House of the Dragon is reduced to two children exiled in Essos, begging for scraps. And the Prince That Was Promised, raised as a bastard by a Stark.

The area around him began to spin as he grappled with the full implications of these memories. He forced himself to take deep, steadying breaths, trying to quell the rising tide of panic. He knew he had to calm down and process it all. His past life experience had taught him how to adapt to unexpected situations. This was no different. He would take control and devise a plan.

Just then, a man ran toward him—tall and imposing, with the unmistakable bearing of a warrior. It was Ser Samgood of the Kingsguard.

The knight's expression was stern, though tinged with frustration, as it often was when dealing with royal children. "Prince Baelon!" Ser Samgood called, his voice loud and filled with worry. "Are you well? You weren't hurt, were you? It was my fault—I shouldn't have allowed you so close to an untamed dragon."

Baelon swallowed hard, forcing himself to set aside his inner turmoil. He nodded, though his head still ached. "I'm fine," he replied, his voice steady as he glanced at the wooden stick still clutched in his hand. "Just… just a bit shaken. That black dragon is bad. Balerion."

"Thank the Seven," Ser Samgood said with a sigh of relief, inspecting the young prince for any signs of injury. Baelon could see the worry in the knight's eyes, imagining the disaster that would have unfolded had the second prince of the realm died under his watch.

Baelon, still grappling with the weight of his memories, knew he had a rare opportunity. A chance to rewrite the canon. He had a cheat sheet—answers to questions his family would face over the next 250 years.

But he had to be careful, to tread lightly.

He wasn't sure if he believed in gods or higher beings, but something—or someone—had placed him here. They had given him, Baelon Targaryen, the memories and hindsight of his failures in another life. The knowledge of an entire other world.

And it was clear why.

His alternate self had failed his family, leaving his heirs unprepared and allowing their dynasty to crumble. That Baelon had sown the seeds of civil war, leading to the extinction of their dragons. Even if there had been a conspiracy to kill the dragons, as the "readers" had theorized, the fact that his descendants had been so vulnerable was disgraceful.

A dynasty built on sand, crumbling as swiftly as it was built.

Baelon would not allow history to repeat itself. Too much was at stake for failure to be an option.

"My Prince, let's go back to the Keep. I will ask Maester to take a look at you, in case of any injury." Ser Samgood said, his voice ever steady and formal as he helped the little prince by supporting him by holding his shoulder and dusting his clothes.

Baelon didn't care about the injury on his head, for his heart was burning with anger, self-doubt, and pity. As they walked back to the Red Keep which is silent, greatly in contrast with the Prince's mind.

Little did anyone know, this little incident may have changed the whole future of this world. This incident was remembered later by the famous words of Ser Sangood.

He's either brave or mad, that one.

—Samgood of Sour Hill in the Dragonpit


創作者的想法
Agora1 Agora1

Short chapter, this one. Hoped you liked the premise.

next chapter

章節 2: Threads of Fate and Family

63 AC

Red Keep, King's Landing, Westeros

Baelon Targaryen—formerly James Matthews—sat by the tall window in his chamber, watching the distant clouds drift lazily over King's Landing.

The capital's sprawling city stretched out beneath him, its people going about their daily lives unaware of the battles that raged in his mind. The weight of two life memories pressed down on Baelon—Baelon, the son of the most powerful king in the known world, and memories of James, the ambitious politician.

In his short 8-name-day life, Baelon for as long as he could remember has been having these strange dreams, waking up agitated, but couldn't recall what the dream was exactly.

But now he remembered a whole new life. A world full of technology and science in contrast with his world of fantasy and magic. Rich in history, stories, and invention.

One such story however is his, by a man who wrote a book about this world. His Family, House Targaryen was at the center of it all. For all the glory and all the catastrophe.

He remembered how much he enjoyed it in his past life all the drama while reading the books, enjoying the visuals and character in both the shows. How good dragons look in the show and how badass some of his descendants were.

But he didn't like it now. Remembering all the heartache, mistakes, and sacrifices he felt nauseous. He felt like puking thinking about the disgrace done by Lanisters and Baratheons to his family's throne. But now he had a chance to change all that from that alternate timeline.

Now, his mark would be on the most dangerous game of all: the Iron Throne.

It had been a day since his "accident" in the Dragonpit, when his head had collided with the cold stone, knocking Baelon unconscious and allowing all the memories. He had a feeling he would be soon summoned by his mother.

Since then, Baelon had immersed himself in trying to understand that new world—his family, there, and all the information about this world from the canon.

The more he learned, or rather more he recalled from his new memories, the more uneasy he felt.

Baelon had always known the Targaryen family tree as an active reader of novels in his past life, he liked their history from Valyria and special appearance. But looking at himself from a bird's eye view as just a side character was strangely unnerving and oddly humbling.

But living it was another matter entirely. His father, King Jaehaerys, was always a figure of stability and wisdom, but now, Baelon could see the cracks forming in his family. He couldn't imagine his loving mother to end up so broken.

His elder brother Aemon has always been a brave intelligent boy and a natural leader. Baelon admired him, and on with memories of a modern man, he could see that Aemon had all the qualities of a great king.

But now he also knew Aemon's tragic fate: a stray crossbow bolt would cut his life short, leaving the realm in turmoil. The death of his heir made the ever-solid old king, waver.

It wasn't just Aemon whose fate weighed heavily on Baelon's mind. His siblings—his brothers and sisters—had their destinies, and most of them ended in death. His son, Viserys, would eventually become king, though not without conflict. Conflict with his brother's eldest daughter in Rhaenys is a farce and mockery of the royal family known as the Great Council of 101 AC. He couldn't imagine a fight with his brother let alone between their children for the throne.

Baelon knew Viserys would eventually inherit the throne, only for his reign to be marred by a succession crisis due to his selfish love for his daughter 'Black' and treacherous involvement of Hightowers 'Greens', which would lead to the Dance of the Dragons, a civil war that would tear the Targaryens apart. And then there was Daemon, the unpredictable younger brother of Viserys whose ambition and thirst for power would lead him to seize whatever advantage he could.

Baelon sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool glass. The future was a tangled web of violence, death, and betrayal. The knowledge of it gnawed at him, the childish part of him screaming to do something, anything, to prevent the tragedies from unfolding for all the love he had after just 8 years of life.

Yet how could he?

He understood the intricacies of Targaryen family dynamics better now. His memories brought experiences in politics from his past life, which was just as cut-throat.

His family's power wasn't just in their dragons; it was in their blood. Their claim to rule wasn't only about politics or armies—it was about destiny, about being closer to gods than men.

The Targaryens, with their ability to tame dragons and their Valyrian blood, were seen as almost divine by many in Westeros. But with that status came a target, and Baelon knew that not everyone in the Seven Kingdoms believed in Targaryen supremacy.

He had already heard whispers, through Baelon's memories and conversations with now knowledge of various theories and speculation about conspiracies for the downfall of the dragon. overheard in the Red Keep, of the Maesters and their distrust of magic, dragons, and Targaryens themselves.

Baelon recalled a theory that had circulated in his previous life, one that had intrigued historians and conspiracy theorists alike: that the maesters, the keepers of knowledge and history, had played a role in the decline of House Targaryen.

The idea had seemed absurd to Baelon in his past life, a man of reason, but now, living in this world, it didn't seem so far-fetched. The maesters, with their influence in every noble house and their distrust of magic, had reasons to fear the Targaryens. After all, the family represented everything they could not control—dragons, fire, and prophecy. As it takes one angry prince to burn down the citadel, their eons of works.

Theories about maester involvement in Targaryen deaths swirled through his mind, and though no evidence was ever solid, the pattern of untimely deaths was suspicious.

Take his future death, for instance. Baelon knew he was fated to die of a burst belly—what in the modern world James had easily recognized as appendicitis. In his old life, appendicitis could be treated with simple surgery if caught early enough, but in this world, such medical knowledge didn't exist. Baelon's future death had been described as sudden and mysterious in the canon, yet to him, it seemed preventable.

Could his death have been helped along? Could the maesters, with their vast knowledge of healing, have withheld treatment? He had no proof, but Baelon knew that the maesters viewed the Targaryens as a necessary evil at best. They might not actively want his family to die out, but their reluctance to deal with matters of magic and Dragonfire, along with their control over medical knowledge, made them potential enemies. It would be dangerous to trust them fully.

Yet it wasn't just medical science that he had to contend with. Magic was real in this world. He could sense it. As James, he had memories of dismissing the idea of magic as fantasy, but now, here as Baelon, the memories of magic and all the theories. it was undeniable.

Dragons, of course, were the most visible form of magic, but there were whispers of other forms—older, darker arts that existed in the far corners of the world. He had read about places like Asshai, where shadowbinders practiced sorcery, and Qarth, where warlocks delved into ancient secrets or Faceless man.

Baelon previously had heard courtiers speak of prophecies from the East, of magical forces that had yet to fully awaken in Westeros.

Baelon's gaze drifted to the window once more, beyond the walls of King's Landing to the faraway lands of Essos. He knew he could learn much from the memories and knowledge of a man such as James, from Earth.

He liked forward-thinking men like James, interested in global affairs and the shifting balances of power. But It was just those memories. He will need to learn and improve himself with all the rich knowledge and history shaped by great men and women- How Great Empires and dynasties rose, their triumphs, and their falls. There was so much help he could get and he intended to capitalize on all of them.

But the memories have broadened his horizon, he now looked much further than before. Previously he didn't look much beyond King's Landing or even Westeros. But now knowing about such a world where people can go to space and the vastness of the universe. But those ere mere dreams. Now just the thought of what might exist beyond Westeros fascinated him.

The Free Cities of Essos were bastions of trade, power, and, importantly, magic. Asshai, Qarth, Volantis—these places held secrets that Westeros ignored or misunderstood. Unknown or Undiscovered lands and civilizations.

But if Baelon were to survive, if he were to change the future and forge his destiny and preserve his family's, he would need more than the dragons of Westeros. He would need to explore the deeper mysteries of the world, one that his ancestors Dragonlords from Valyria had fully mastered. Valyria was a fan favorite topic of his in past life. The thought of such powerful empire, advanced technology in a mediaeval world with Blood Magic and all. It was a fantasy.

He imagined himself in the courts of Qarth, negotiating with warlocks for knowledge of the unseen. Or in Asshai, where the dark arts could be bent to his will. Magic might be dangerous, but it could also be a weapon—a weapon against the forces that threatened his family, whether they were rival lords, treacherous maesters, or even his kin.

The problem with Westeros he now realized was that it was small-minded, obsessed with its faith and its feuding houses. They called the Targaryens mad because they didn't understand them.

But Baelon was starting to see the bigger picture. The Iron Throne wasn't the end goal; it was just a means to an end. True power lay beyond the borders of Westeros, in the forgotten corners of the world. Why stop at Seven Kingdoms, why fight against family for what is already ours?

But for now, he was still a eight-name-day child in the eyes of everyone around him. A prince, yes, but one whose influence was limited by his youth and the expectations of his family.

Baelon turned from the window, determination settling in his chest. If he was going to make a difference in this world, it would have to start with his family. They were his greatest asset and his greatest challenge. He needed to understand them better, to position himself within the Targaryen dynasty in a way that would allow him to shape events to his advantage.

Aemon was the key. As the eldest, he was next in line for the throne, and Baelon knew that his support would be crucial.

Aemon was brave and noble, but he was also bound by tradition, by the expectations of his station. Bound by his narrow view of world due to petty politics of Westeros.

He could be a great king, but only if he was alive long enough to claim the throne. Baelon had no intention of letting his brother die a pointless death. He would need to stay close to Aemon, to steer him away from danger whenever possible. Such a simple death can be easily avoided.

There were darker patterns at work within the Targaryen family—patterns of death, tragedy, and untimely ends. As he sorted through the memories of James, he began to see it clearly: the unnatural high mortality rate that plagued his father's children.

There were thirteen of them in total—thirteen children born to King Jaehaerys and Good Queen Alysanne. Yet only ten survived into adulthood, and even among those, tragedy followed; Two being, Aegon, born weak due to premature, due to an attack on Queen, and Daenerys dead 3 years ago by Shiver, in 60 AC. Irony…a Dragon dead from cold.

Gaemon, and Valerion soon to follow if memory serves him right—cast a long shadow over the Targaryen family. With each death of her children, her mother grew strained with her father.

Baelon couldn't shake the feeling that something was amiss. It wasn't just bad luck. Four dead children in the royal family, all before their time? That was more than a coincidence.

The mortality rate of the Targaryen children was not only tragic—it was suspicious. As James, he had dealt with political intrigue, and his instincts screamed that something else was at play here. His thoughts screamed toward the maesters, those shadowy figures of knowledge and healing who wielded tremendous influence over the ruling families of Westeros.

Then there were his other siblings. Alyssa and Maegelle, are both 3 and 1 name days old respectively. Yet to born includes Saera, rebellious and headstrong, who would one day bring shame to their house and be exiled to Essos. He couldn't stop her nature, but perhaps he could guide her, offer her more freedom within the bounds of their family, and keep her from the exile that would tear her away from her home.

Gael, the sweet and gentle Winter Child, would eventually take her own life after a series of tragedies. Baelon's heart ached at the thought. Drive his intelligent Vaegon towards family love rather than wasting his life in Citadel being cold and distant. He needed to act fast and effectively.

He couldn't forget his other brothers and sisters, either. Viserra, who would die young from a fall, or Daella, who would pass in childbirth. Each death left scars on his parents, and on the realm itself.

The Targaryen family was haunted by loss, and Baelon knew that the history books painted it as a tragic coincidence. But now, living within that very family, he wondered if it was something more hidden.

But then he wondered, what would happen when he saved Aemon, how will it affect the history he knows. He didn't like leaving much to fate and the unknown. What if it happens again? Then would he be able to save him? There are many things to consider and carefully take future steps.

Baelon stood from the window, his mind made up. He would not be a passive observer of his family's fate. He would shape it, mold it to his will. The maesters, the nobles, the Faith—they were all part of the game, but Baelon had the greatest advantage.

He now knew how the game ended.

...

<to be continued..>


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Agora1 Agora1

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