Baelon II Velaryon is the son of Rhaenyra Targaryen. Just like his mother he was a strong willed dragon rider. Built for the clouds and forged for fire. He was meant for greatness. But the legacy of his family weighed heavily on his shoulders.
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Kingslanding.
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Baelon rode Vermithor above the clouds, his dark hair flowing softly against the winds. He was exhausted from the constant fighting between families. He begs for peace, every night, but every morning, he knows that there is no peace in Kingslanding.
Vermithor lands gracefully on top of the dragon pit, the ground trembling with his weight. The old dragon lay patiently for his young rider to plant his feet onto the pebbled path. Baelon sighs, stretching his limbs before walking over and gently scratching the rumbling dragon's scales. He smiles at the soft snort he let out before turning away and making his way towards his guardians.
He swiftly pulls off his gloves, throwing them to his guard, who sends him a smirk, handing them off to the young prince's valet.
"Come on princeling, it's time for your lessons." His governess states, only to be interrupted by Ser Harwin, the dark-haired man stepping forward, his golden cape moving gracefully behind him. "I apologize m'lady, but our king has requested his presence in the training yard, he wants to see how far his grandson has come." Harwin says, gently cupping the back of her elbow.
Baelon swallows nervously. He felt unready and unsure. Baelon's governess nods. "Very well, but I expect him on time tomorrow." She states snottily, her emerald eyes narrowing softly. Harwin offers her a charming smile, placing a hand on Baelon's shoulder.
"Of course m'lady." Harwin states cheekily, offering her a wink. His governess barely shows an ounce of amusement before turning away. Once the woman is far from speaking distance, Harwin turns to the prince. "I'll get her one day my boy, Lady Esme will smile." Harwin states boldly.
Baelon snorts, shaking his head.
....
In the training yard.
Aegon Targaryen grunts heavily as he hits his sword on the hay dummy. Luke was doing the same just behind him, the young boy sweating against the strain of his armor.
Baelon and Aemond approach one another to reach their own dummies, their shoulders bumping harshly. Baelon doesn't let himself look back, lifting his wooden sword and slashing straight across its hay stomach. His eyes narrowed, filled with unspoken emotion.
Harwin watches proudly as his ward moves gracefully and strongly. Baelon has trained with him consistently. He wished the other two boys were as devoted as their older brother, but Cole made it his mission to belittle them as much as possible, hurting their young pride.
