~~{"Speaking":- Speaking in Common Tongue.}~~
~~{'Thinking inwards':- Thinking to himself.}~~
~~{"High Valyrian":- Speaking in High Valyrian. }~~
Eleventh Moon of 69 AC
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.
If only intelligence were bought so cheaply, he thought, the world would be a much simpler place.
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 was slumped on a stone bench, looking more like a lad than a knight as Alysanne's nimble fingers worked through his silver-gold hair, weaving a braid. Nearby, the Old King himself, Jaehaerys, sat with a book in one hand and a cup of tea in the other. For a moment, the crown seemed to weigh less on his brow.
The rare peace stirred something deep in Baelon.
The sight hit Baelon harder than any blade. I will not lose this, he swore, the thought a silent vow to the gods he didn't believe in. Not to the Faith, not to the Lords, and not to time.
"Baelon!" Alysanne's voice broke the spell. She stood so quickly she nearly tripped over Aemon's boots, her face lighting up with a glow that put the morning sun to shame. "My sweet boy, don't just stand there like a statue in the Great Hall. Come here!"
She reached him before he could take three steps, her arms wrapping around him with a strength that always surprised him. Baelon breathed in the scent of her—lemon water and old parchment—and for the first time since he'd returned, the tension in his shoulders finally snapped.
Snapping out of his reverie, Baelon approached his mother and embraced her.
"I've got you, Mother," he whispered, holding her close as she wiped a stray tear from her cheek. "I'm home."
"Perhaps his mind is wandering toward a certain lady in the Crownlands?" Aemon teased, his eyes dancing with mischief. "Or maybe our little brother has grown fond of his fiery shadow. What was her name again... Kinvara?"
"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.
Aemon let out a bark of laughter, the sound echoing through the garden. He stepped forward and pulled Baelon into a rough, rib-cracking hug. It was the kind of embrace only brothers share—half a greeting, half a wrestling match. Baelon gripped him back just as hard, the weight of a year's absence finally lifting.
When they stepped apart, Baelon smoothed his tunic and turned to the King. The playfulness vanished, replaced by the practiced poise of a prince. He offered a shallow bow. "I hope the years have been kind, Father. You look well."
Jaehaerys watched him with a steady, quiet pride, though his face remained a mask of weathered stone. "You've grown taller, Baelon. And leaner." He gestured vaguely to the chair beside him, his voice stiff as if he were out of practice with affection. "Sit. Drink some tea. We have much to speak of, and little time to waste."
As they took their seats, the servants vanished like ghosts into the shadows of the hedges, leaving the dragons to their tea.
Alysanne reached out, her hand resting warmly on Baelon's back. "You'll have to forgive your father, sweetling. He's forgotten how to speak of anything that isn't the realm. I think he'd ask someone from Street of Steel to forge him a heart of iron if he could."
Baelon gave her a reassuring look. "There's nothing to forgive, Mother. The realm doesn't stop turning just because I've come home. I'm happy to serve, so long as I can do it with my family beside me." Baelon reassured her, fully aware of the importance of the coming months.
The warmth in the air cooled instantly as Jaehaerys leaned forward. The father was gone; only the King remained. "You understand the state of things, then," Jaehaerys said, his voice dropping an octave. "Westeros is a tinderbox. And yet, you've brought a spark to our shores—a woman who commands a power that might rival our own dragons. Tell me why."
Baelon met his father's gaze, refusing to blink. "I took a risk, Father. I made a pact with the Red Faith because we were drowning, and Kinvara was the only one holding an oar. She saved my life, and she can help save this dynasty. I did what was necessary."
Jaehaerys studied him for a long, silent moment, his fingers tapping the table. "You will not be punished for it. Not this time. Her aid has been... noted. But from this hour forward, Baelon, there are no secrets between you and this table. If you whisper to the Red Faith, I want to hear the echo."
"You have my word, father."
"Good," Jaehaerys grunted. He took a slow sip of his tea, his eyes fixed on the horizon of the bay. "Then arrange a meeting. I want to look into the eyes of this Lady Kinvara and see for myself if she is a friend to the Dragon, or merely a moth looking for a bigger flame."
Aemon interjected, steering the conversation toward a more pressing matter. "We still have the Hightowers to deal with. And the Citadel. They aren't fools—they won't meet a dragon in an open field, but they'll sharpen their knives in the dark."
"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, his gaze fixed on the steam rising from his tea. He had carried this solution in the back of his mind for years, a radical departure from Westerosi tradition, but desperate times required a foundation of steel.
"There is another way," Baelon said, his voice dropping to a low, steady cadence. "The Unsullied."
Aemon's brow furrowed, a skeptical smirk playing on his lips. "The eunuch-soldiers of Astapor? They are formidable, certainly, but their numbers are a pittance compared to the reach of the Faith. And the cost, Baelon... the treasury will be immensely affected for such an indulgence."
"You underestimate the value of a man who cannot be bought, Aemon," Baelon countered, his eyes flashing with conviction. "They are forged in pain and tempered in absolute obedience. They do not drink, they do not wench, and they do not pray to the Seven. Their only god is the one who holds their leash.
Jaehaerys leaned back, the leather of his doublet creaking in the silence. His face remained a mask of Kingship—stern, weathered, and unreadable. "A leash, Baelon? Since the days of the Gaemon, the Glorious, we have held ourselves above such filth. Do you truly suggest the Dragon should soil its claws in the slave-marts of Slaver's Bay?"
"I suggest we survive unscathed, Father," Baelon replied, refusing to flinch.
"At the cost of our soul?" Jaehaerys's voice was like grinding stone. "The Faith already brands us as abominations for our blood. If we bring a slave-army to the gates of King's Landing, we do not just give them leverage—we give them a righteous fire to burn us with. The lords of the Reach, the Vale and the Stormlands would flock to their banners to 'liberate' the capital from a tyrant who buys men like cattle."
Aemon sighed, glancing between his father and brother. "Father is right. The optics are a nightmare. Even if they are the finest soldiers in the world, they are still... purchased."
"Then we do not buy them," Baelon said, the memories of a future yet to pass flickering behind his eyes. "We buy their freedom. We break the chains, and let them follow us as free men."
Jaehaerys let out a short, dry laugh, though his eyes remained cold. "Free the slaves? You speak like a dreamer, Baelon. These men have been broken since they were babes. Their wills were carved out of them along with their manhood. If you 'free' a man who has never known a choice, he will either starve or turn his sword on the first person he sees. Why would they follow a foreign prince across the Narrow Sea for nothing but a 'thank you'?"
"Because," Baelon said, leaning forward until he was in the King's personal space, "we will give them the one thing no Good Master in Astapor would ever dare offer. We give them a choice. We tell them: 'You are free to go where you wish. But if you stay, you fight for a Crown that treats you as men, not tools. You fight for the Dragon that gave you back your lives.'"
The King fell silent, his fingers tapping a rhythmic, thoughtful beat on the table.
"It is a mummers' farce," Jaehaerys muttered, though the edge in his voice had softened to a calculated curiosity. "A gamble of the highest order. If they leave, we lose a fortune in gold and look like fools. If they stay..."
"If they stay," Baelon finished, "you have a guard that no Septon can command and no Lord can bribe. A wall of shields that will never break, loyal only to the House of the Dragon. For generations to come."
Jaehaerys closed his eyes for a long moment, weighing the gold of the treasury against the steel of his throne. When he opened them, the King had returned.
"Very well. It is a madness, but perhaps madness is what the Faith requires. Aemon, you will sail with the Master of Ships. You will go to Astapor, not as a slaver, but as a buyer. But the moment those chains are struck, the 'choice' must be real. If they do not follow, you do not force them. We shall see if Baelon's 'choice' is worth the price of a kingdom's ransom."
Aemon bowed his head, his skepticism replaced by the thrill of the mission. "I will not disappoint you, Father. I'll see if these 'free' men truly have the fire of the dragon in them."
...
Baelon watched the ripples in his tea, but his mind was already miles away, tracing the Hightower of Oldtown and the labyrinthine politics of the Reach, filling the silence in his surrounding.
Alysanne broke the silence, her voice soft but heavy. "And what of Rhaella? She's my sister's daughter, Jaehaerys. She's stuck in that city, a prisoner in a septa's robe. I won't just leave her there to suffer while we play at war."
She couldn't bear to see her elder sister suffer anymore because of their actions.
Jaehaerys reached across the table, covering her hand with his. "I know, my love. But with Aemon taking the fleet East, I have no more men to spare. If I march on the Reach now, I leave King's Landing wide open. I'm a King, but even I can't be in two places at once."
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.'
Baelon saw his father's tired eyes and knew this was the moment. "Then let me go," he said simply.
Jaehaerys looked at him, surprised. "You? Baelon, you've barely had a chance to sleep in your own bed, after more than a year."
"I don't need a bed, I need to be useful," Baelon countered. "I'll go to Oldtown. I don't need an army, just a dragon and a clear message."
"Absolutely not," Alysanne snapped. The warmth had vanished from her face, replaced by a mother's iron will. "You only just came home, Baelon. You nearly died. You aren't going anywhere."
"But Mother, listen to me—"
"No," she said, her voice rising. "The Faith calls you a heretic. They whisper about you in the streets. You'd be walking straight into a trap, and for what? To prove you're brave? I already know you're brave. I want you alive."
"Mother, please," Baelon pressed, leaning in. "Aemon is going to Essos. You and Father have to stay here to hold the city. I'm the only one left who can move. We can't let the Hightowers think they can keep one of us forever."
"I don't give a damn about the Hightowers!" Alysanne cried, standing up so fast her skirts rustled like a storm. "I care about my son! Are you really going to stand there and defy me, Baelon?"
The garden went quiet. Even the birds seemed to stop singing. Aemon looked down at his feet, clearly wishing he were anywhere else. Baelon felt the sting of her anger, but beneath it, he felt her fear. He lowered his head, his voice a quiet murmur.
"As you wish, Mother. I didn't mean to upset you."
Alysanne's heart sank. She saw his slumped shoulders and the way he tucked his chin—just like he used to do when he was a little boy who'd broken a toy. The anger drained out of her all at once. She stepped forward and pulled him into a hug so tight he could barely breathe.
"Baelon, my sweet, stubborn boy," she whispered, her voice shaking. "You always try to carry everything yourself. But I can't bear the thought of you being in danger again. My heart isn't made of stone."
"I understand, Mother," Baelon replied, though a flush of embarrassment crept onto his face at her sudden display of affection.
Alysanne pulled back, a small, tired smile on her face. She reached up and smoothed his hair, her fingers lingering.
"You're always so serious," she teased gently, trying to lighten the air. "Even when I'm fussing over you, you talk like you're giving a speech to the lords. Can't you just be my son for five minutes instead of 'Prince Baelon'?"
Aemon let out a snort, finally looking up with a grin. "Good luck with that, Mother. I think he was born with that 'solemn prince' face. I bet he practiced it in the mirror when he was five."
Jaehaerys chuckled, the tension finally breaking. "He probably did. He was always the quiet one."
Baelon rolled his eyes, a small smile finally breaking through his serious mask. "I'm sitting right here, you know."
"We know, brother," Aemon said, clapping him on the shoulder. "That's why we're making fun of you."
As the laughter faded, Jaehaerys tapped the table, his sharp eyes locking onto his son. "You mentioned a plan earlier, Baelon. What was it?"
Baelon sighed inwardly. Nothing slips past him.
"It's just an idea," Baelon admitted, shifting in his seat. "But I thought about taking some Northmen with me to Oldtown. Maybe the second son of House Stark."
Aemon blinked, leaning forward. "A Stark? Why drag them all the way south?"
"Because they couldn't care less about the Faith of the Seven," Baelon said simply. "And a Stark takes their oaths pretty serious. Their friendship would be very useful right now."
"And?" Jaehaerys asked, tilting his head. He knew his son well enough to know there was a catch.
Baelon grinned slightly. "Everyone thinks the North is just snow, pines, and rocks. But I think it's hiding a fortune under all that ice. Iron, silver... maybe even gold."
His words made both Aemon and Jaehaerys stop and stare.
"Explain," the King said.
"It's simple," Baelon said, waving a hand. "Down here, the weather is easy, so people have been digging up hills for thousands of years. We've found the easy mines. But the North is so freezing and brutal that they've barely scratched the surface. The real wealth is probably still sitting there, untouched."
Just like Alaska or Siberia back home, Baelon thought to himself. Half the world's minerals buried under the snow.
Aemon's eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "If you're right, they could be sitting on more gold than the Lannisters."
"How sure are you about this?" Jaehaerys asked, his voice low and entirely serious.
"Sure enough to bet on it," Baelon replied without missing a beat.
A slow, calculating smile spread across the King's face. The father was gone, and the ruler of the Seven Kingdoms had returned. "If this is true, it changes everything. But we keep this quiet. We make friends with the Starks first. We can offer to build new roads for them—using dragon-tar. While we're doing that, we secretly scout the land. We buy up the good mountains under the excuse of farming or trade. But we wait for the right moment."
Baelon jumped on the opening. "Mother, if I take a Stark with me, and Lady Kinvara... will you let me go to Oldtown?"
Before Alysanne could answer, Aemon leaned back, crossing his arms with a teasing grin. "There's just one little problem, brother. You're missing a dragon."
Jaehaerys and Alysanne looked at Baelon with the look that said, that's the main part of the plan.
Jaehaerys and Alysanne both looked at Baelon. They knew he wouldn't bring this whole scheme up unless he already had a solution.
Baelon just smiled. "I have a plan for that, too. I think you'll like it."
"ohh then we will be waiting brother."
"Oh, we can't wait to see this," Aemon chuckled.
Alysanne opened her mouth, ready to argue again, but Jaehaerys gently covered her hand with his. "Let the boy go, my love," he said softly. "I'll send two Kingsguard with him to make sure he stays out of trouble."
Alysanne let out a long, defeated sigh. She looked at Baelon, her eyes full of lingering worry. "You send a raven every single week. And you promise me you won't do anything stupid."
"I promise, Mother. Thank you," Baelon said, feeling a wave of relief.
"I'll have Barth send a raven to Winterfell today," Jaehaerys declared, picking up his tea. He paused, looking over the rim of his cup at Baelon. "But before the Starks get here... claim a dragon. I'd suggest Vhagar. She's massive, she's ill-tempered, and a conqueror's dragon. The Hightowers will know to be terrified of her."
"Well, if I'm sailing East and you're heading South, we'd best get to packing," Aemon said, pushing back his chair with a stretch. He flashed his usual, easy grin. "Thank you for the tea, Mother."
Baelon just shook his head, a real smile finally breaking through his serious mask. With a respectful nod to their parents, the two brothers turned and walked down the stone steps side by side, already bickering over who had the harder journey ahead.
Alysanne watched them until they disappeared behind the rose bushes. The fierce Queen vanished, leaving only a tired mother behind. She leaned over, resting her head heavily against Jaehaerys's shoulder.
"It feels like yesterday they were swinging wooden swords in the yard," she whispered.
Jaehaerys wrapped a warm, steady arm around her waist, pulling her close. "They grew up while we were busy ruling," he said quietly. "They're good men, Alysanne. Better than I was at their age."
"They are," she agreed, though the knot of worry never quite left her chest. "I just wish I could keep them here. Keep them safe."
Jaehaerys rested his chin against her hair, his grip tightening. "They have dragons, and they have each other. Nothing is going to harm them," he promised, his voice turning fierce for a moment. "I won't let it happen again, Alysanne. I swear it."
"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 let out a long, heavy sigh, the sound carrying years of quiet grief. "I miss the girls. And little Vaegon."
"They're safe on Dragonstone with your sister. We'll bring them home soon enough," he murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her temple.
Alysanne looked up at him, reaching out to trace the tired lines around his eyes. "You try to carry so much for us, Jaehaerys."
Jaehaerys caught her hand and kissed her knuckles softly. "Only because I have you to keep me standing."
---
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.
…