The Waning Flame Returns

~~{"Speaking":- Speaking in Common Tongue.}~~

~~{'Thinking inwards':- Thinking to himself.}~~

~~{"High Valyrian":- Speaking in High Valyrian. }~~

69 AC

<Present Day>

The Day after the Trial

Royal Gardens Red Keep,

King's Landing 

King's Landing was still enveloped in a tense quiet, far from the bustling city Baelon remembered from ten months ago. But it was healing. Baelon walked purposefully through the familiar corridors adorned with beautiful flowers and tapestries, a stark contrast to the blood and chaos of the previous day. Maids and servants quickly stepped aside, bowing as the renowned prince returned after a long absence.

Baelon acknowledged them with a nod and a gentle smile, which caused many to doubt the rumors circulating in the city—that Prince Baelon bathed in the blood of his enemies to increase his intelligence. Looking at the young prince's sweet, calm expression, no one could fathom such a monstrous idea.

Descending the final set of stairs, Baelon reached the gardens and was greeted by the gentle warmth of the morning sun. The air was serene, the kind of peaceful weather that reminded him of Spain from his past life—beautiful, sunny, and romantic. As he moved toward the elevated balcony with a stunning view of Blackwater Bay, he spotted his family.

Aemon sat on a bench, their mother Alysanne braiding his long hair, while their father, his father, typically engrossed in matters of state, appeared uncharacteristically relaxed, sipping tea and reading a book. The rare peace stirred something deep in Baelon.

"I will not lose this in this life," he swore to himself.

"Baelon, my son. What are you standing there for, dazing about? Come here, I've missed you," his mother called, her voice filled with joy as she stood up, wiping the happy tears from her eyes.

Snapping out of his reverie, Baelon approached his mother and embraced her.

"Perhaps he's thinking of a certain lady in the Crownlands? Or maybe our little brother fancies his fiery companion. What was her name again...? Ah yes, Kinvara?" Aemon teased, flashing his charming smile, ever the playful older brother.

"Perhaps, but I'm sure it's something far more interesting than those luxury brothels you're so fond of, no doubt," Baelon retorted with a sly grin, referencing an old rumor about Aemon.

The bond between the two brothers was well-known across the Kingdoms, inspiring countless songs sung by bards. Laughing, Aemon stood and pulled his younger, slightly shorter brother into a tight hug, which Baelon returned wholeheartedly. The shared joy of reunion is palpable.

Baelon then stepped back, his expression shifting to one of respect and formality. Bowing slightly, he addressed his father. "I hope you are well, Father."

"I am pleased to see you've grown, my son. Sit down, and have some tea. We have much to discuss," Jaehaerys replied with a smile, though his usual stern composure gave the impression he didn't quite know how to express affection.

As the family settled at a circular table, the servants discreetly moved away to grant them privacy.

"My sweet child, forgive your father; all he ever thinks about is the realm, the realm," Alysanne said as she rubbed Baelon's back, concerned he might resent diving straight into politics after just returning home.

"There is no need to apologize, Mother. The realm is in a delicate balance, and such matters can't be delayed. But family isn't going anywhere. I'll stay here, with my siblings, and treasure every moment with them," Baelon reassured her, fully aware of the importance of the coming months.

Jaehaerys's tone shifted as he leaned forward, now the King speaking rather than the father. "You understand the fragile state of power in Westeros. And yet you brought a new force capable of magic—one that might rival our dragons—to our shores. Why?"

Baelon took a deep breath, knowing the gravity of his next words. "I apologize deeply, Father. I made a deal with the Red Faith without your permission. Kinvara has helped us immensely, and for that reason, I did what I thought was necessary."

Jaehaerys scrutinized him. "There will be no punishment, as Lady Kinvara has been of aid. But from now on, you will share every detail of your dealings with the Red Faith, as it concerns the entire family."

Baelon nodded. There was nothing of true importance he wished to hide.

"Also, arrange a meeting with this Lady Kinvara. I want to see her for myself," Jaehaerys added, his tone carrying the weight of a larger plan.

Aemon interjected, steering the conversation toward a more pressing matter. "Then there is the issue of House Hightower, the Citadel, and the Faith of the Seven. They won't openly rebel, not in the face of dragons. But they won't sit idle either."

"The Hightowers are powerful, but even they know rebellion would lead to their destruction. The Citadel, however, is an institution far older than any kingdom, with influence that spans every noble house from the smallest lord to the greatest. We cannot overlook them," Jaehaerys responded gravely.

"And don't forget about Rhaella," Alysanne added, her voice tense. "She's still serving as a septa in Oldtown. They could use her as a hostage."

"We can't strike without proof of their guilt, but we must act quickly. Cousin Rhaella is family, and I can't bear the thought of Aunt Rhaena losing another child," Aemon said firmly.

Baelon had already thought through this, and his father knew it. Jaehaerys looked at him and nodded.

"We don't need to act directly, brother. Soon, the entire realm will know of the royal decree—a manhunt for any septon still dressed in robes after one moon. What do you think happens then? Any public prayer, wedding, or preaching will become an act of treason," Baelon explained.

Aemon's eyes widened as he realized the implications. "Which gives us reason to act. They'll either abandon their faith or face us in open rebellion."

"Exactly," Jaehaerys said with approval. "But we can't wait for thirty days. If we do, it will give them time to unite the lords against us."

Baelon nodded gravely. "If the southern lords band together under the banner of faith, we could be facing an army half a million strong. The Crown cannot withstand such an assault, even with the dragons and the gold in our coffers."

Jaehaerys leaned back, his eyes dark. "And if that army were to march on King's Landing, our walls would fall in a day."

A tense silence settled over the table until Jaehaerys broke it with a question aimed at Aemon. "Tell me, Aemon, what is our biggest weakness after recent events?"

Aemon thought carefully before answering. "We have no one truly loyal to us."

"Yes," Jaehaerys said, "that's why we're vulnerable. One devoted servant could kill us in our sleep. Even the Kingsguard, sworn to protect, are believers of the Seven."

He was right. While the Targaryens had many allies—the Baratheons through marriage, the Velaryons through long friendship—none would stand with them in the face of overwhelming odds. Loyalty was a scarce commodity.

Baelon shifted in his seat. He had a solution. He had for a long time.

"There is another way," he said quietly. "Unsullied."

Aemon looked skeptical. "Unsullied? They're formidable, yes, but their numbers are small, and they are expensive."

"You underestimate them," Baelon said firmly. "They are trained from birth to fight and obey without question. But most importantly, they are loyal."

Jaehaerys smiled slightly, impressed by Baelon's foresight. "Loyalty. Something we sorely need."

"Then it's decided," Jaehaerys said, standing. "Aemon, you will take the Hand of the King and the Master of Ships with you to Astapor. Buy the Unsullied. They will be our royal guard, loyal only to us."

Aemon smiled, eager for the challenge. "I won't disappoint you, Father."

Baelon, however, had his sights set on another mission.

Alysanne, still concerned, asked, "What of Rhaena? The journey from Astapor will take time. I fear for her safety."

Alysanne, though usually composed and less prone to strong emotions, couldn't bear to see her elder sister suffer anymore because of their actions.

"My love, we don't have the forces to send to Oldtown without risking King's Landing, especially with Aemon taking the royal fleet, My hands are tied," Jaehaerys said, his voice soft.

Baelon, observing the situation, thought, 'Father was right—his hands are tied. But I'm not bound by the same restrictions. It's time to act.'

"Father, I volunteer to travel to Oldtown," Baelon offered, his voice steady. Jaehaerys raised an eyebrow at the sudden proposal, but before he could respond, Alysanne immediately cut in.

"No," Alysanne declared, her tone final. "You've only just returned, barely escaping death."

"But mother—" Baelon began, trying to reason with her.

"No," she repeated more firmly, her gaze sharp. "You are still seen as a heretic in the eyes of the Faith. Do you truly wish to walk into their den?"

"Mother, please, try to understand. I have a plan. Aemon is going to Essos, and both you and Father need to remain in King's Landing. I am the only one who is free to act. We cannot let the Hightowers gain—"

"I don't care about the Hightowers!" Alysanne interrupted, her voice rising in frustration. "Are you defying my will, Baelon?"

Her sudden outburst made even Aemon shift uncomfortably in his seat. Baelon, taken aback, bowed his head.

"As you wish, Mother," he muttered, his voice low and respectful.

At that moment, Alysanne's heart broke. She hadn't meant to shout at him—her beloved son, who had already faced so much danger. Standing swiftly, she pulled him into her arms, hugging him tightly.

"Baelon, my sweet child," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You always put family before yourself. But you must understand, I can't bear the thought of you being in danger again."

"I understand, Mother," Baelon replied, though a flush of embarrassment crept onto his face at her sudden display of affection.

Alysanne smiled gently, brushing his hair back. "Always so formal, even with me. Can't you drop that professional tone for a moment? We're your family, not a council meeting."

'Ever since that dreadful accident years ago, he had carried himself with a gravity far beyond his years, as if he was much older.' She thought.

"I… I understand, Mother," he said again, quieter this time.

As the room settled back into calm, Jaehaerys finally spoke, his sharp eyes catching on something. "What was this 'plan' you mentioned, Baelon?"

Baelon sighed inwardly, 'Old King never misses anything.'

"It wasn't preplanned," Baelon admitted, "but I considered taking a northern army with me to Oldtown—perhaps the second son of House Stark."

"A Stark?" Aemon asked, surprised.

"You can almost always count on a Stark to honor their oath," Baelon explained. "Their friendship can be useful to us. They are known for their loyalty and don't follow the Faith of the Seven."

"And?" Jaehaerys pressed, knowing there was more.

Baelon hesitated, then revealed the deeper part of his plan. "The North is often dismissed as barren and harsh, but I believe it holds untapped mineral resources—iron, copper, tin, maybe even coal or gold."

His words took everyone by surprise. The expressions on their faces made it clear they wanted him to explain further.

"Think of it this way," Baelon continued, drawing on his knowledge from another life. "If we assume the earth distributes minerals evenly, we've simply exhausted our easier-to-access mines because of favorable conditions. The North, due to its harsh climate and terrain, likely hasn't even touched its reserves."

'I mean you can just look at North and imagine Alaska or Serbia. They had nearly half the world's minerals. Though Russia was big, so is North.' Baelon thought

Aemon's eyes widened, realization dawning on him. "If that's true, the North could become wealthier than Casterly Rock."

"How certain are you of this?" Jaehaerys asked, leaning forward with interest.

"One hundred percent," Baelon said without hesitation.

Jaehaerys nodded thoughtfully. "This information could prove invaluable, but we must keep it secret. We'll need to ally with the Starks and covertly scout potential mining sites, perhaps under the guise of building roads with Dragon's Tar. We can purchase those lands under the guise of farming or a Dragon Pit. But not yet… we must wait for the right moment."

Baelon seized the opportunity. "Mother, if I take a Stark army with me, would you allow me to go? Lady Kinvara would accompany me as well."

Alysanne opened her mouth to protest, but Jaehaerys interrupted, sensing Baelon's determination. "Let the boy go, my love. I'll send two Kingsguards with him for protection."

Alysanne sighed, her resolve finally breaking. "You'll send a raven every week, and you won't endanger yourself," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"Yes, Mother. Thank you," Baelon said, understanding how difficult this concession was for her.

"I'll have Barth send a raven to Winterfell," Jaehaerys said. "We'll hear from them soon."

"Then we'd best start preparing," Aemon added, rising from his seat. "I must say, I've enjoyed this morning's tea with all of us."

Baelon smirked as Aemon's usual charm lightened the mood. With a nod to their parents, both sons made their way down the stairs, side by side.

"They've grown up so fast," Alysanne whispered, watching them go. She leaned into Jaehaerys, finding comfort in his arms.

"They have. And they're better men than I was at their age. You've given me such wonderful children," Jaehaerys replied, his voice filled with gratitude.

"They are wonderful," Alysanne agreed, her voice soft with love, but worry still lingered in her eyes. "I just wish I could keep them safe."

"Nothing will harm them, I swear it," Jaehaerys promised, holding her tighter. "I won't make the same mistake again."

Alysanne sighed, her heart heavy. "I miss our girls… and Vaegon."

"They're safe with your sister. We'll see them soon," Jaehaerys reassured her, kissing her gently on the forehead.

"You're a wonderful father, you know," Alysanne whispered.

"And you're a wonderful mother," Jaehaerys replied, kissing her softly.

---

<Same Day>

Dragon Pit 

King's Landing

"You didn't have to accompany me, Lady Kinvara," Baelon remarked as he approached the grand structure of the Dragon Pit, leaving the bustling Streets of Seeds behind him. He was accompanied by a group of city watchmen, Ser Samgood of Sour Hill, and Lady Kinvara herself.

"It is my honor, my prince, and I am grateful for the chance to see your dragons," Kinvara replied, her voice calm and filled with reverence.

"You seem to like dragons very much," Baelon noted as they began to climb the large number of steps leading to the entrance.

"Of course, my prince. They are fire-made flesh, a gift from R'hllor. The last of their kind in the world," she said with a smile. Baelon only nodded in response, not offering any further comment.

Ser Samgood silently observed their interaction but held his tongue. It was common knowledge at court that the Red Woman had saved the prince from certain death at the hands of the Faith, yet the knight still felt uneasy in her presence. There was something about her magic that unsettled him deeply.

As they neared the massive entrance to the Dragon Pit, two guards in black steel armor approached. Their helms bore crests made of dragon scales, a symbol of their service. They bowed respectfully to Baelon and greeted him in High Valyrian.

"Greetings, my prince," they said, their words formal, yet the tone implied they were ready to assist him.

"I trust the Dragonkeepers are managing well?" Baelon asked as he regarded the pair.

"It has been adequate, my prince," one of the guards responded.

Baelon smiled faintly. "Rest assured, more Dragonkeepers will be appointed in the future. You'll be well-manned soon enough." He understood the need to expand their numbers beyond the symbolic seventy-seven, a remnant of Targaryen's obsession with the number seven, which he no longer found necessary.

They were an elite group of guards selected by King himself, the majority having a hint of Valerian blood in them, some bastard or exiled one from Essos. But their loyalty to Targaryens was unquestioned, they will die protecting the dragons.

"We thank the crown for its consideration." the guard responded.

"I have come today to see Balerion," Baelon stated, his voice calm.

One of the guards hesitated before speaking. "If I may, my prince—if you wish to bond with a dragon, Balerion may not be the best choice. The Black Dread has grown old and slow. Perhaps a visit to Dragonstone to see Vhagar would be more suitable. We also have a new hatchling, Meleys."

Baelon waved off the concern. "You need not worry. I do not intend to claim Balerion. I merely wish to visit him, for old times' sake."

"Of course, my prince," the guard said, bowing again before stepping aside and signaling the group to follow him.

"You may all wait here," Baelon said to the city watch as they reached the entrance. "Lady Kinvara and Ser Samgood will accompany me."

The guards obeyed without hesitation, understanding that no place in the world was safer for a Targaryen than within the Dragon Pit. Kinvara's presence, however, seemed to be ignored by everyone except Baelon, her red robes blending into the shadows of the cavernous structure.

Inside, the Dragon Pit was enormous, its ceiling towering above them like the inside of a great beast's ribcage. Forty man-made caves ringed the interior, each one sealed by thick iron doors. The light from their torches flickered across the stone walls, casting long, twisting shadows.

"Has Balerion recovered from his injuries?" Baelon asked as they approached the largest of the vaults.

"Yes, but he hasn't left his lair in years," the guard responded. "The last time anyone visited him, it was you, my prince. He seems to lack the strength to move such a massive body."

They moved closer, the darkness in Balerion's vault swallowing them as the light of their torches barely illuminated the way. The platform at the end of the passage overlooked a vast, shadowed pit.

"We must warn you, my prince," one of the guards said quietly. "Balerion has never been a friendly dragon. Please maintain a safe distance."

"I will," Baelon said confidently as he stepped to the edge of the platform and called out into the darkness.

"Balerion, māzigon naejot (Balerion, come forward)," Baelon's voice echoed through the cavern.

An eerie silence fell over them. Ser Samgood's hand drifted to the hilt of his sword as he felt a sense of dread creeping up his spine.

The room grew heavier with each passing second until finally, the sound of deep, labored breathing echoed from the shadows. Stones shifted and groaned beneath the immense weight of the creature stirring within the dark.

Two glowing red eyes appeared in the blackness, followed by the shadowed outline of Balerion's enormous head. His reptilian eyes locked onto Baelon, and the prince felt a twinge of fear, as any sane person would in the presence of such a monstrous being.

'He looks even more terrifying than the last time I saw him.' Baelon thought.

The dragon's maw opened, revealing fangs the size of swords, and a low growl reverberated through the chamber. Fear gripped Baelon's legs, but he signaled the Dragonkeepers to release the sheep they had brought.

"Lykirī, Balerion. Nyke maghagon havor (Calm, Balerion. I bring food)," Baelon called out, his voice steady despite the growing tension.

But Balerion's anger did not subside. His throat glowed with the heat of building flames, and the room seemed to vibrate with the raw power of the dragon's fury.

"Get down, my prince!" Ser Samgood shouted, panic lacing his voice as he saw the black-and-yellow flames building in Balerion's throat.

"Calm down, everyone," Baelon said, keeping his composure as he repeated his command. "Lykirī, Balerion!"

Balerion did not relent. The dragon released a torrent of flames, but not at the group. Instead, the fire engulfed the helpless sheep, their screeches cut short as they were turned to ash in an instant. The flames' heat was intense, even at a distance, and Kinvara felt it burning against her skin.

Balerion's jaws closed over the charred remains of the sheep, devouring them in a single bite. The room fell into a heavy silence once more as the dragon finished his meal, his cold eyes returning to Baelon.

This was the creature that still reminded the world of Old Valeria and its dominant dragon, which gave people nightmares—a symbol of Targaryen's dominance. 

For Baelon, all of this didn't matter; he was not from this world and held a different perspective than others. He viewed the beast as a living manifestation of a story from his past life, one that had brought him here.

Ever since his arrival in this world, Baelon had contemplated why he was brought here. Perhaps by a god to change the course of events, maybe for entertainment, or possibly by accident. He knew it made no sense to dwell on something for which he could not find an answer.

For a moment, Baelon merely stood there, watching the creature eat. Balerion looked old—his sagging skin, cracked scales, and thinning legs all betrayed his age.

"What do you think, Lady Kinvara?" Baelon asked, breaking the silence, and continuing in High Valyrian.

"It is… majestic, my prince. I am grateful for the opportunity to see the last remnant of Old Valyria," she responded, her voice filled with awe.

"You seem familiar with Valyrian lore," Baelon observed, curious about her knowledge and slightly surprised Baelon as not many knew that.

"The tales of Balerion and Aegon the Conqueror reach even the Shadowlands of Asshai, my prince. Many believe dragons were first born in the Shadowlands. Balerion is truly a creature of legend."

Baelon glanced at the dragon once more, noticing how Balerion's gaze sharpened when Aegon's name was mentioned. 'They are intelligent, almost as much as humans.' The thought solidified in Baelon's mind.

"Yes, but even legends cannot escape time," Baelon said with a touch of sadness. "Balerion has grown old."

Kinvara's expression shifted slightly. "Forgive me, my prince, but Balerion is not as old as you may believe."

Baelon turned to her sharply. "Explain."

"There are tales in Asshai that speak of dragons living up to five hundred years. Balerion is nearing two hundred. He should have many more years left."

"Then how do you explain its appearance and weakness?" Baelon raised his voice slightly, uncharacteristically. He couldn't believe it; it was a well-known fact that Balerion died of old age. This meant...

"Magic. It's magic, my prince. Since the Doom of Valyria two centuries ago, the density of magic has dwindled. This is not a new phenomenon. It has been recorded numerous times throughout history. Balerion is simply aging faster due to the lack of magic," Kinvara said, aligning with his thoughts.

'Although not explicitly discussed in the books and show, they did use the red comet to herald the return of magic. Does this mean magic will continue to decrease over the next two centuries? Will dragons always be doomed to die out?' Baelon's mind raced. He despised being kept in the dark.

"But you said magic operates on a principle of equivalent exchange. These statements don't match. You're contradicting yourself," he said, probing for knowledge without appearing too desperate.

"There are many facets to magic, my prince. I am not arrogant enough to claim I know it all. But yes, magic does work on an equal exchange basis when we consciously attempt to bend it to our will. However, magical creatures like dragons and the Children of the Forest are made of magic itself; they don't sacrifice anything. They just absorb it," Kinvara explained.

"Will the decrease in magic continue?" he asked almost immediately, absorbing this knowledge like a sponge.

"I am not sure, my prince. This is the first 'Great Depression' since the Doom, as most magical knowledge was lost," Kinvara replied.

"Then will all dragons continue to grow weak and old? If what you say is true, how did Valyria remain powerful for 6,000 years, facing many such 'Great Depressions'?" he asked the question that had been plaguing his mind.

He knew the future; he knew dragons would become extinct. That was believed to be due to being bound in chains and starved by Aegon III, the Dragonsbane, which was certainly part of the process. But maybe this magic depression had some truth to it.

"It's not that drastic, my prince. It's not as if all dragons will die out, as magic will not completely disappear. But we cannot expect to see something like Balerion naturally again. As for Valyria, they had mastered blood magic, and there are many rituals and spells of blood magic that can be used to artificially support dragons," Kinvara said.

Baelon listened and pondered for a long time. He looked at Balerion nearby, watching him. He walked forward towards the dragon, seemingly in a trance.

Ser Samwood, who had been keeping guard and listening to his prince talk in a different language, suddenly became alert. The black monstrosity also moved its head, reaching the platform with its snout. Baelon gulped at the size of its teeth and steadily moved his hand to touch its snout.

"You remember me, don't you? I struck you with a wooden stick," Baelon said in High Valyrian to the dragon.

The dragon only growled in response as Baelon gently massaged its snout with his hand.

"Rest well, old friend. Next time I will sing a song to you," Baelon said as he stepped back.

"You mean to say there are spells that can revive Balerion's health?" Baelon asked, getting to the main question.

…

<To be continued…>