Transmigration

105 AC

King's Landing

Two years had passed since the death of Jaehaerys I, the "Old King," and the accession of Viserys Targaryen as Viserys I, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm.

The new king was mild by nature and openhandedly generous, beloved by nobles and commoners alike in King's Landing.

Since his accession, the Red Keep had resounded with song and dance. Viserys I and Queen Aemma Arryn were exceedingly fond of holding feasts and tourneys.

In just two years, the Red Keep had hosted dozens of grand, extravagant feasts. The royal couple bestowed gold, court offices, and honors upon subjects who pleased them, their generosity leaving a deep impression.

Queen Aemma was gentle and loved songs. To please her, songs praising the Targaryens and their dragons emerged in an endless stream, and laughter and music surrounded the Red Keep.

But none of those occasions could compare in scale with today's tournament.

Hundreds of lords from across the realm and knights from every region had been invited. Its scale, attendance, and grandeur rivaled the king's coronation.

Countless knights eager to distinguish themselves in the tournament swarmed into King's Landing like wasps, arriving in endless waves from several months before the queen's announced delivery date.

And every knight brought three or four hired knights, several craftsmen, and a crowd of merchants, not to mention countless camp followers and thieves.

They all harbored the same expectation.

They hoped to display their prowess on the day the queen gave birth, at the tournament celebrating the birth of Viserys I Targaryen's son and heir.

The inns and taverns of King's Landing were packed, and the whores earned so much they could no longer close their legs, but problems with public order followed one after another.

Armed brawls, rape, robbery, tavern riots... they happened almost every day.

Until Daemon Targaryen, the king's younger brother, returned to King's Landing like a bolt of lightning and took command of the City Watch.

He supplied the poorly armed, shabbily dressed watchmen with an abundance of weapons.

Daggers, short swords, cudgels, black mail, and bright gold cloaks.

Then, through his extraordinary martial prowess and personal charisma, he swiftly won the allegiance of the City Watch.

Finally, Daemon delivered a crucial speech. "My brother's city has sunk into depravity and rampant crime, but no longer!"

And so King's Landing's first campaign to create a civilized city immediately began in full swing, rooting out criminal gangs and cracking down on crime.

Daemon personally led the patrols. Ranks of well-equipped watchmen roamed King's Landing like wild dogs off their leashes, beating any criminal they encountered.

Pickpockets? Chop their hands off! Rapists? Physical castration!

Armed brawlers? Those actually made Daemon laugh.

Clad in full armor, he led from the front and personally slew several men with Dark Sister in street melees.

The atmosphere throughout King's Landing truly underwent a transformation, and public order improved markedly!

And so, amid Daemon's occasional patrols and the newly minted Gold Cloaks' crackdown, the queen's delivery date and the day of the tournament soon arrived.

Wearing a crown set with seven gems of different colors, Viserys proclaimed loudly to the crowds who had traveled so far, "On this great day, Queen Aemma has begun her labors!"

"May the Seven watch over all the warriors!"

Having finished speaking, Viserys sat down. Amid the thunderous cheers, he clenched his fists and prayed that the Seven would protect his queen and his son.

Yes, his son.

Although Aemma had yet to deliver, Viserys was already utterly certain that she would bear him a son.

The heir he had dreamed of and sought for so long would surely be born before today's tournament ended!

Then the whole kingdom would rejoice, and all the dragons would roar together!

All to celebrate the birth of Baelon Targaryen, son of Viserys I, the prince who would surely one day rule the vast lands of the Seven Kingdoms and protect all of Westeros.

Soon, noble knights began jousting in the lists, while residents of King's Landing crowded outside the barriers to watch.

Many vendors pushed through the crowds with trays hung around their necks, selling grilled fish and cured meat. Pickpockets were itching to act, while whores and male prostitutes continued to flaunt their charms.

The explosive crack of breaking lances, the screams of unhorsed knights, the neighing of warhorses-the fierce, bloody spectacle assailed the spectators' senses and stirred wave after wave of cheers.

But none of this held Viserys's attention. He watched the tournament distractedly, anxiously awaiting good news from the birthing chamber.

Before long, however, his Hand of the King, Otto Hightower, brought unfortunate news.

"The queen's labor has run into difficulties..."

Panic gripped Viserys, and he immediately rose and hurried to the birthing chamber.

On the birthing bed, Queen Aemma lay still as death, her silver hair disheveled and her limbs limp.

Viserys's mind was in turmoil. He did not know what to do. How could this happen?!

Grand Maester Mellos's voice drifted hazily into his mind as though from far away. "We must cut the child out of her womb..."

"What?" Viserys could not make it out and asked again.

Maester Mellos had seen many women suffering difficult labors, along with their families. He understood that this naturally indecisive king had not truly failed to hear him.

Time was pressing. Every second of delay could leave the child suffocating in his mother's womb. The king could not be allowed to hesitate.

"Your Grace, during a difficult birth, the father must make a hard choice," he said bluntly.

"Sacrifice one? Or lose them both?"

Viserys gazed at his unconscious wife. Aemma had married him when she was young, and they had enjoyed a harmonious marriage.

Moreover, to bear him an heir, Aemma had endured pregnancy after pregnancy and miscarriage after miscarriage. She had been pregnant five times in just two and a half years and had suffered terribly.

His gaze fell upon Aemma's hugely swollen belly.

Aemma's life had clearly reached its end, but there was still a child inside her belly...

He lowered his head, his voice choked with tears. "Can you save the child?"

Hearing this, Mellos understood the king's choice. He answered evasively, "We must act now, or we can only leave it to fate."

Whether the child survived depended upon the will of the Seven. He could only do his best.

Viserys nodded in anguish and dragged his feet to the head of the bed. He gently enclosed his wife's hand in his own, and the queen's signet ring bearing the three-headed dragon pressed into his palm.

Maester Mellos began preparing the knife for the incision.

The gleaming blade grew red over the flickering flame.

Whether out of cruelty or mercy, the gods chose this moment to wake Queen Aemma from the pain tearing through her body.

Dazed, she asked her husband, "What is it, Viserys?"

Viserys forced a smile, doing his best to soothe his wife. "I love you."

Aemma was drenched in sweat, her lips utterly bloodless.

She sensed the Stranger's presence. A gentle smile curved her lips, and she used the last of her strength to squeeze her husband's hand.

She still had so much to say. Merciful Mother, forgiving Stranger, please grant me these final moments to say a proper farewell to my family.

She wanted to tell Viserys that she was sorry.

In the end, she had failed her husband and had not given birth to a boy.

She wanted to stroke Rhaenyra's hair. I'm sorry I cannot stay to watch you grow up. Whatever happens, your mother will always love you.

And the poor child in her belly. I'm sorry. Before you can even enter this world, you must leave it with me...

"Ah!" Aemma suddenly cried out.

Hands seized her ankles and dragged her down from the pillows. Several midwives surged forward, pinning her arms and legs in a tangle of hands.

Aemma jolted out of her stupor. These people dared treat a queen so roughly, and in front of the king!

Yet her king, her husband, did not rebuke them or defend her honor.

Pain had not robbed Aemma of her wits.

She began to suspect what was happening and looked at her husband in disbelief. "Viserys?"

"They're going to take the child out..." Viserys said quietly.

The maester lifted her clothing, and the gleaming knife slowly approached.

"No, no!" Aemma struggled fiercely, like a fish flopping on a chopping board.

Now all she could do was plead again and again, hoping to move her husband.

"Viserys, please!"

"Please!"

"Don't be afraid, don't be afraid..." Viserys soothed her, his large hand tightening around hers.

Through ten months of pregnancy, she had stroked her belly countless times, awaiting her child's birth with a heart full of maternal love.

Until the blade sliced open her belly.

"Viserys, kill me!"

"Please!"

Tears streamed down Aemma's face as she pleaded incessantly.

Like an ostrich, Viserys buried his face in their joined hands.

"Viserys!"

Die, die, die!

The agonizing pain, the humiliation of being gutted like livestock, the anguish of her husband's betrayal-Aemma could not help but come to hate the tumor in her belly.

Why are you still moving? Please, stop moving.

Baelon, please, hurry up and die.

For your mother's sake, please die!

Once you're dead, my suffering will end!

The excruciating pain tore apart every shred of Aemma's reason. She struggled frantically and screamed incoherently, "Gods, look at what they're doing! Save me!"

The gods did not answer.

Only Aemma's screams and curses filled the bedchamber.

"Die! Die! No, no, no!"

"Mother above, Mother, save me."

"Mother, Mama..."

It hurts so much...

Queen Aemma's eyes remained wide with fury, her expression frozen in a hideous grimace. She fell silent and stopped struggling.

The midwives withdrew their hands and stood beside the bed, breathing very softly, their heads bowed, not daring to glance at the bed.

"Congratulations, Your Grace," Maester Mellos said, holding the child.

Viserys raised his head with tears in his eyes, his nostrils filled with the smell of blood.

His eyes were red. "Is it a boy?"

Was it an heir worth doing this for?

Mellos nodded. "A new heir, Your Grace."

Viserys instinctively lifted the corners of his mouth, but before his smile had fully formed, tears spilled from his eyes again.

"Have you and the queen chosen a name?" Maester Mellos proceeded methodically through the customary steps.

Viserys spoke the name he and his wife had long since agreed upon. "Baelon."

With trembling hands, he took the swaddled child. "Baelon Targaryen."

In memory of his father, Baelon "the Brave."

Viserys studied the crying child in his swaddling. This time, Aemma had finally borne him the prince of his dreams. She would no longer have to endure endless pregnancies and miscarriages.

His nose stung, and he buried his face in the child's swaddling, weeping until his tears soaked the white cloth.

Baelon forced his eyes open. Before him lay a blurry world of black and white.

What was going on? Hadn't a Dayun truck run him over and killed him?

He had breathed his last with a smile of acceptance, because he lived on the twenty-second floor.

The Dayun truck had flown all the way up to the twenty-second floor just to run him over like a speed bump. What else could he say?

So now... had he been reincarnated without drinking Old Lady Meng's soup?

Born in the Qidian orphanage and well-versed in countless books and videos, Baelon waved an arm and began crying at the top of his lungs.

A baby announced his arrival in the world with his first cry. Crying on his own or being slapped into tears by a midwife while his family worried-the choice was easy.

The next instant, something warm pressed against his belly, and a voice sounded beside his ear.

Viserys murmured softly, sharing his prophetic dream. "Baelon, my son."

"You were born wearing Aegon the Conqueror's iron crown."

"To the thunder of hooves, the splintering of shields, and the clash of weapons... I placed you upon the Iron Throne."

Baelon: ?

English?

He'd ended up abroad!

And that prophecy... wait, wasn't this House of the Dragon?!

Good grief, was this even Earth anymore?

Had he transmigrated into House of the Dragon as that unlucky Baelon, the heir for a day?!

Baelon's attempts to push Viserys away stopped short. Then what about the person who gave birth to him?