Baelon intended to find himself strong guards, as well as knights who embodied chivalry.
Since the people of Westeros revered knights, he had the potential to become King Arthur too!
He could establish his own Knights of the Round Table.
A band of legendary, righteous knights would gather around him, their deeds sung by bards.
He thought that ought to have some inspirational power in Westeros.
As for Ser Swan, before Baelon knew anything about his character, his build had already caught Baelon's attention.
Even if the fellow had a character like the Mountain's, he could still be useful.
So Baelon gladly approached him and struck up a conversation. "Swans? You're from the Stormlands, aren't you?"
Ser Swan hastily swallowed the food in his mouth, looking rather at a loss.
He had never expected to receive such an honor: Baelon Targaryen was taking the initiative to speak to him.
Among the nobles filling the hall, he was so inconspicuous that he could only squeeze into a corner near the doors, yet the Prince of Dragonstone had noticed him.
"No... no, I'm from the Dornish Marches."
"What?" Baelon was certain he had not misremembered the sigil: black and white, with two swans fighting each other.
Ser Swan stumbled through his explanation. "Well, my lord, you're right. I come from Stonehelm in the Stormlands."
"But I'm only the family's second son, and I grew up in the Dornish Marches."
Now Ser Swan had thoroughly aroused Baelon's curiosity.
"Stonehelm's liege lord is Baratheon. Even if you were serving as a squire, shouldn't you have gone to Storm's End?"
Ser Swan hemmed and hawed.
Seeing this, Baelon considerately changed the subject. "Will you be taking part in tomorrow's tourney?"
"For all the contestants this time, whether noble knights or hedge knights, the order of their bouts and their opponents will be decided entirely by drawing lots."
"My lord, I don't intend to enter the joust." Ser Swan lowered his head.
Baelon studied Ser Swan's bison-like physique.
With a build like that, he actually had no desire to win glory through martial prowess?
He was quite unusual.
"I intend to enter the archery contest!"
"So you're a longbowman?" Baelon asked in surprise.
The predominant martial disciplines in Westeros were swordsmanship and the lance.
Although Baelon knew English, he still needed to learn the reading and writing conventions of this era, study High Valyrian to prepare for taming a dragon, learn history and culture, and memorize the genealogies of Westeros's noble families.
At the same time, he had to look after his replica town outside King's Landing, and make time to spend with Viserys and Rhaenyra.
With only so much energy to spare, he knew little about archery training. He had assumed archers were all slender, light-footed types who relied on agility.
After a few exchanges, Ser Swan was less nervous.
He offered a gentle smile. "My lord, a longbowman needs a good physique to draw his bow."
He opened a long black cloth bundle, took out a two-meter-long bow, and showed it to him. "Look, this bow has a draw weight of 170 pounds."
"170 pounds?" Baelon had no sense of what that meant. He asked curiously, "Then what draw weight could I manage now?"
Ser Swan carefully assessed his build before replying, "Perhaps you could draw an eight- or nine-pound bow."
Excellent!
Now he understood what 170 pounds meant!
At that moment, Baelon's curiosity prompted him to ask a question he would regret for the rest of his life.
"Then could I see your muscles?"
Ser Swan hesitated, then slowly rolled up his sleeve, showing Baelon an arm thicker than Baelon's head.
An arm could never overpower a thigh?
Ser Swan had never heard that saying.
Baelon offered his sincere praise and, observing proper etiquette, politely thanked Ser Swan for his efforts to protect the realm.
He felt his own arm, then compared it with Ser Swan's.
Those muscles, those enormous arms-now that was a man!
Baelon was truly envious.
Ser Swan had never received much attention. Perhaps the prince's undisguised praise and envy had gone to his head, for he casually remarked, "My back muscles are even better!"
Baelon simply could not contain his curiosity.
Westeros had always had two sets of standards, as was the case for nobles and commoners.
For commoners, eating multiple meals was gluttony and invited sin, while a noble's lavish feast reflected status and character. Only sumptuous food befitted a noble's station.
The same held true for Targaryens and nobles. Westeros forbade marriage between siblings, but the Targaryens stood above the rules as an exception.
Baelon's upbringing was much the same.
The people around him taught him restraint, kindness, and forgiveness even as they indulged his desires without limit.
From the moment he was born, he had been first in line to the Iron Throne.
The treasures of the Seven Kingdoms were all available to him. There was almost nothing in the world he could not ask for.
Even the maesters and the high officials of the Small Council approved of this.
If the prince's desires would cause no harm to the realm or its people, then denying Prince Baelon's harmless wishes was both unreasonable and unduly harsh.
As for Viserys, he doted on him excessively and believed he had been born entitled to everything.
Except Vermithor, of course.
His original choice had been Vhagar, the largest and oldest dragon since the death of Balerion the Black Dread.
But after the death of her rider, the previous Baelon, Vhagar had refused to enter the Dragonpit and found herself a distant forest to dwell in.
It was said that the people of that forest often heard the dragon roaring, crying out mournfully without end.
At that point, Viserys's excessive protectiveness had become an obstacle.
He could not leave King's Landing to search for Vhagar in the forest.
One day, word arrived.
Vhagar had been tamed by Laena Velaryon.
From then on, whenever passing ships sailed by High Tide.
If they happened upon fine weather with clear skies and no mist, they could witness a dragon whose wings could blot out a ship soaring across the bright sky.
Having lost Vhagar, he still had Vermithor.
But during the reign of Jaehaerys the Conciliator, Vermithor had been kept in the inner court of the Red Keep rather than the Dragonpit. After Jaehaerys the Conciliator died, Vermithor had left King's Landing and settled with Silverwing in Dragonstone's volcano.
Baelon: ...
In short, aside from Vhagar and Vermithor, there was little Baelon could not obtain.
In such an environment, learning to be good was difficult, but sliding into bad habits was all too easy.
Naturally, a harmless curiosity ought to be satisfied.
Ser Swan had been unable to refuse his request either and showed him his back muscles outside the banquet hall.
Baelon immediately exclaimed in admiration and offered still more praise.
As he praised him, he also asked Ser Swan how he trained, and took the opportunity to teach him a few poses commonly used to show off muscles in modern times.
Ser Swan awkwardly struck the bodybuilding poses.
With one praising and the other showing off, host and guest alike were thoroughly pleased.
In the end, Baelon gained an archery instructor and a wealth of dietary and training tips, while Ser Swan was left floating on praise.
But as it turned out, people really could not indulge their desires after all.
Otherwise, you would never know what sort of door you had opened.
Before you continue