Chapter Text
Baelor has long stopped expecting to have a soulmate. He is married, he has children a child to care for, a realm to keep steady, an Island to rule. He has more than enough on his plate to deal with without adding a soulmate and the one day every year that they’d swap bodies. At least, that’s what he tells himself until he wakes one morning, the dawning sky above him, in unfamiliar terrain.
“You alright there, boy?” a gruff, unfamiliar voice asks. Baelor rushes to sit up and finds an older man frowning at him. “Dunk?”
“I-I am not Dunk,” Baelor breathes, his eyes wide. He looks down at his body. He is… very big… and young. But, of course he is, he must be. If this is his soulmate then they are only ten and eight! “My-my name is Bael.”
“Oh, yes, I guess he would be about that age now, wouldn’t he?” the old man says, rubbing at his bearded jaw with a thoughtful frown. “Well, Bael, nothing for it, I suppose. I’m Ser Arlan, that one over there is Rys. We’re heading on today, your only job is to keep an eye on that one,” Ser Arlan says, Baelor follows where his hand is pointing and turns over to find a small, ginger haired child blinking up at him with blue-almost-purple eyes in the bedroll over.
Baelor sucks in a breath. They look so much like his missing boy, lost three years now. They have a long-healed scar running down the side of their face, from their temple and down bisecting their lips. If Baelor didn’t know better, he’d think- but he’s been seeing Matarys everywhere since the day his boy was taken.
“You’re not my Dunk,” the boy says, his bottom lip jutting out.
“No, little one, I’m sorry,” Baelor answers, looking around. The camp is very simple, four horses graze at the edge, there’s a firepit, a dug latrine, and their bed rolls. No pavilion. “You don’t have a tent?” Baelor asks Ser Arlan, who huffs.
“A true knight just needs the stars, and a good tree should it rain,” the old man grumbles. “Come on, up with you both!”
“Yes, Ser Arlan!” Rys exclaims, scrambling to get out of his bedroll. “I’ll go wash in the river, probably the last one we’ll get for a while.”
“Aye, lad. We’ll cross the Wendwater eventually when we're in the forest, but not for a while,” Ser Arlan says. Baelor watches as the boy rushes to strip off his clothes and scurry to the water’s edge. “Best keep an eye on him, he’s a troublemaker,” Ser Arlan grumbles as he goes about packing away what meagre belongings have been scattered around the firepit.
Baelor sighs, before he climbs from the bedroll. He awkwardly strips down, taking a moment to ogle his soulmate’s rather generous endowment, before he turns and goes to dive into the water.
He doesn’t expect it to be as cold as it is, and he surfaces with a shocked gasp. Rys laughs nearby, his ginger hair thrown back over his shoulder as the boy swims towards him, a brilliant smile lighting up his face. Gods, that’s Jena’s smile! That-that’s Jena’s hair! Those… those are Aemma Arryn’s eyes, he’s sure of it. He’s sure.
“You gotta keep moving or you’ll freeze!” Rys exclaims, grabbing Baelor’s wrist and pulling him along, against the tide of the river. It’s not rushing today, so Baelor has no difficulty following the boy. He put his thoughts of the boy’s appearance from his mind and spends a good little while splashing about with him, soaking up the sound of his laughter, until Ser Arlan calls them both from the water.
“So, Rys, where are you from?” Baelor asks, when the three of them are away riding. Baelor’s been given a lovely, sweet, palfrey to ride, appropriately named Darling. Rys rides beside him on a swaybacked stot named Chestnut. Ser Arlan rides another palfrey, Sweetfoot, and tied to the saddle is Thunder, the knight’s war horse.
“I don’t know,” Rys says, shaking his head. “It’s a mystery we’re trying to solve,” the boy admits to Baelor, like he’s sharing a great secret.
“Oh?”
“Yeah! Where are you from?” Rys asks, eyeing Baelor with a furrowed brow.
“I am from King’s Landing,” Baelor answers, Rys blinks.
“Huh, that’s where Dunk’s from, too!” Rys says, nodding, like that’s settled something in his thoughts.
“How did you come to be with Dunk and Ser Arlan?” Baelor asks, trying not to let on how much he cares about the answer.
“I-I don’t want to talk about it,” the boy says, a dark look forming in his eyes. Baelor startles, blinking.
“What-?“
“I don’t want to talk about it!” Rys snaps, Ser Arlan looks back towards them, a frown on his face.
“Lad?” he calls, Rys breathes in and shakes his head.
“Nothing, Ser Arlan. It’s fine!” the boy says, Arlan frowns at them both, then turns his attention back ahead.
“I didn’t mean to offend, little one. I’m sorry,” Baelor says, keeping his voice gentle. Rys doesn’t seem afraid of Ser Arlan, but that’s not a good reaction to being asked a simple question. He keeps it in his mind, even as he starts telling the boy about King’s Landing, and the Red Keep.
“Oh!” Rys exclaims, staring at Baelor with wide eyes. “You know the big, red, stone keep?” he asks, surprised. “Dunk and Ser Arlan don’t know the big, red, stone keep!”
“The Red Keep?”
“Yeah!” Rys exclaims. “I’m from there! At least, I think, I am. Is that in King’s Landing?” Rys asks, excited.
“Yes, it’s where the King lives and holds court,” Baelor says, forcing his voice to be steady. His son. This is his son. His Matarys, he’s sure of it. Rys stares.
“Wow,” he mutters, then looks to Ser Arlan. “Ser Arlan! Ser! Ser! Bael knows the big, red, stone keep!”
“Does he now?” Ser Arlan calls back, taking a swig from his drink flask. He’s done that quite a lot, Baelor would be worried, but it seems the man’s steady in his saddle, regardless of how much he’s had to drink.
“It’s the Red Keep, Ser! In King’s Landing!” Rys says, smiling. Ser Arlan stills, turning to look at them with wide eyes.
“What?”
“The Red Keep!” Rys repeats, Jena’s smile bright on his young face. “That’s where I’m from, ser!” Shocked horror forms on Ser Arlan’s face for a moment, before it’s washed away.
“Gods,” Ser Arlan mutters then takes a big swig of his flask. He turns forward once more and increases their pace.
Rys spends the rest of their ride demanding stories about the Red Keep and King’s Landing and Flea Bottom. “That’s where Dunk’s from!” Baelor’s told, when he asks why Flea Bottom, of all places.
It’s not until after they’ve set up camp for the night and had a modest dinner of salt beef, and the boy is asleep that Baelor looks at Ser Arlan, a frown on his face.
“How did you come by him?” Baelor asks, trying for polite interest and coming on far, far too strong. Ser Arlan narrows his eyes at him, takes a swig from his flask.
“By chance. Why do you care?” the knight asks, his words slurred but understandable.
“He seems familiar,” Baelor says, clenching his hands into fists. “There was … there was a poster, of the missing Prince.”
“Aye, Prince Matarys,” Ser Arlan says, sighing and shaking his head. “Might’ shame that,” he says, taking another swig. “Nothing more painful than the loss of a child,” the old knight says, a faraway look in his eyes. “Why bring the prince up?”
“Do you not... think that Rys looks like him?” Baelor asks, tripping over the words. Ser Arlan gives him a weird look.
“Sure, if the boy had purple eyes and dark hair. That ginger didn’t just appear from nowhere on the boy’s head, Bael, and his eyes are almost purple, I’ll give you that. But the poster was very specific. Purple eyes, dark hair,” Ser Arlan says, shaking his head. Baelor had never looked at the posters. Did they truly have such simple but important information wrong? “Nah, jus’ one of those great coincidences.”
“But… wouldn’t it pay to check? To bring the boy to King’s Landing?” Baelor asks, voice choked.
“What? So, I can give the prince and princess hope their son has returned, only to watch their hearts shatter on the ground when they realise he’s just some peasant boy?” Ser Arlan scoffs, shaking his head. “Nah, Prince Baelor deserves better ‘en all that,” the old knight says. He pauses, turning with a sigh and Baelor realises that Rys is whimpering in his sleep, tossing and turning.
Baelor watches as Ser Arlan climbs to his feet and approaches the boy with quiet steps. Baelor’s not sure what he’s expecting exactly, but it’s not for the old man to sink to his knees beside the boy with a groan and start singing.
“Leaves from the vine
Falling so slow
Like tiny fragile shells
Drifting in the foam
Little soldier boy
Come marching home
Brave soldier boy
Come marching home,”
“Those leaves have flown
From branches overgrown
Drifting slowly down
Resting in the loam
Little soldier boy
Taken from home
Forced to fight a war
That’s not his own,”
“Leaves from the vine
Falling so slow
Like tiny fragile shells
Drifting in the foam
Little soldier boy
is carried home
Sleeping soldier boy
Is carried home.”
Rys settles with a sigh, snuggling into his bedroll. Ser Arlan sniffs, wipes at his nose then rises back to his feet.
“I’ve never heard that song,” Baelor comments softly, when the old knight rejoins him by the fire. He thinks of Redgrass, of all the battles fought across that terrible year. Of all the men and boys he called to war, to fight and die for his father’s claim.
“It’s mine,” Arlan answers, voice gravelly. “For my nephew. He died at Redgrass,” the knight says. “I brought him there. He was my squire, sworn to follow me where I led, and I led him there. He died just moments before Prince Baelor arrived and turned the tide. Saved my life, but my nephew?” Arlan breathes in, shakes his head, sighs. “We’re going to Storm’s End, I hear the royal family will be there. Mayhaps I’ll wave Rys under Prince Baelor’s nose and he might recognise him, or he might not. But I’m not going to go around proclaiming something true when I don’t know it for certain. The boy doesn’t need to have his hopes dashed, either,” the old knight says, before he rises to his feet to find his bedroll, leaving Baelor to stare into the fire pit, his mind on a battle long ended.
Baelor wakes somewhere deep in the bowels of the Red Keep. He has no idea how his soulmate even got here, or where here is exactly, but it’s certainly hidden. He struggles his way back to a part of the passageways that he recognises, from when he and Daemon used to go exploring. He hasn’t thought about that in years, but then, he tries not to think of Daemon often. They’d been so close, once.
He still doesn’t know what turned Daemon against them. One day, he’d still been the Daemon of their shared childhood. The Daemon of their shared teenage hood, running and laughing through the passageways as they hid from the rest of their family. His touch had still been gentle, loving, kind. He’d kissed Baelor like he was dying, and embraced Jena like she meant the world to him and then… and then.
He tries not to think of Daemon. His uncle’s betrayal hurts far too much.
“Baelor, thank the gods! There you are!” he turns, finding Rhaegel rushing towards him through the tunnels. His younger brother throws his arms around Baelor and holds on tight, burying his face in Baelor’s chest. Baelor breathes and hugs him back. “We were so worried, big brother! We couldn’t find you anywhere!”
“I’m here, Rhaegel. I’m sorry. I’m not sure how my soulmate ended up down here, either,” Baelor says, tucking Rhaegel under his arm as he guides them back towards his chambers.
“Oh, you soul swapped! Oh, that’s so lovely!” Rhaegel exclaims, shifting to wrap his arm around Baelor’s back, gripping Baelor’s tunic tight in his hand, at the hip.
“Yes. Did you not get to speak with my soulmate?” Baelor asks, furrowing a brow.
“Uhm, Jena says they woke up beside her, screamed about sorcery, threw themselves out of your bed, accidentally triggered the lever for the secret passage by slamming themselves into it and then… dived into the secret passageway like it was their only way to freedom,” Rhaegel explains, very serious. Baelor bites his lip, trying not to laugh at the mental image. “No one has seen you since.”
“I see,” Baelor says, wondering what stories his soulmate is going to bring to Ser Arlan and Rys.
“Jena,” Baelor breathes when he steps out of the passageway and finds his wife biting at her lip as she stares out the window. She turns to him, her shoulders sinking with relief.
“Baelor!” she exclaims, rushing forward to hug him, latching herself onto the side his brother doesn’t currently occupy. “What happened? Are you alright? Where have you been?”
“Baelor soul swapped!” Rhaegel exclaims, overjoyed. Anyone would think they were talking about Rhaegel’s soulmate. “His soulmate is a scaredy cat!”
“Oh,” Jena says, wide eyed. They had known they weren’t soulmates. Jena’d been soul swapping with someone from Winterfell for years, now. Still, neither of them had expected him to have a soulmate. “That explains the panic,” Jena says, amused. Baelor stares at her smile and cannot stop thinking of Rys.
“Jena,” he says, pausing. He breathes in deep, opens his mouth to tell her that he’s found their son and promptly bursts into tears, instead.
It takes much longer than Baelor thinks it should for him to stop crying. Even longer for him to stop spontaneously bursting into tears whenever he tries to speak, by that point, Rhaegel’s run off and gathered the rest of their family. His father came in, took one look at him and wrapped him up in his arms and Baelor hadn’t been able to stop crying then, even if he’d wanted to.
“Kepa! Kepa!” he’d exclaimed, unable to say anything else, or explain why he was so overwrought. His father had just shushed him, rocking them in place and Baelor had let him. Now, he leans against his father’s side, exhausted, empty, wrung out completely.
“You back with us, son?” his mother asks, her hand falling on his shoulder. He just blinks at her, so very tired. “Was it not a good swap?” his mother asks, he sighs. It happened sometimes. It’s said Maegor the Cruel was the way that he was because he’d suffered a bad soul swap. No one knows what he suffered in his swap, but he came back from it wrong, and he never swapped again, so far as any around him knew.
“Not that,” Baelor says, his throat raw and scratchy. His mother hands him a goblet of watered wine and he drinks deeply before he hands the goblet back, wiping at his mouth, then at the tears still drying on his face. “I found Matarys,” he says, forcing the words from his lips.
Chaos explodes around him, but he doesn’t have the strength for it. Curling into his father’s embrace and closing his eyes. He found his boy. He knows where his boy is, or where he’s going to be.
He just needs to go to Storm’s End and wait for his boy to come back to him.