Aelyx Blackfyre
255 AC
"Your strikes are beginning to slow," the young Blackfyre paid little mind to the critiques of his instructor, instead tightening his grip on his hilt and rushing forward. With a feigned attack to the right with his sword, Aelyx cocked his fist back, prepared to deliver a punch to the exposed side of his opponent.
Instead of moving to dodge or block as he'd expected, his opponent instead moved forward, allowing his fist to make contact with the soft padded leather on his training garments. The older man struck out with his hand, grabbing hold of the boy's still extended arm.
Facing superior strength and unable to free himself, Aelyx attempted to kick at the man's leg, only to be swept onto his back. The rough exterior of the wooden sword gently tapped his neck, signaling the end of the spar.
A hand extended towards him, helping him to his feet. The years were merciful to Ser Bryce, his dark brown hair only spotting a few dashes of gray. His beard was long and rough, adding on to the hardened appearance that sculpted the man's face.
"Unless you grow to possess the strength of your cousin Maelys, such a strategy will be useless in battle. Remember, men fight in forged armor, armor that'd take the force of your punch without even a scratch."
Aelyx sighed at his guardian's critique and dusted himself off. Everyone else he sparred with showed him nothing but praise, so the harsh demeanor of the man who practically raised him always struck at his nerves.
He said it was so the young Blackfyre could remain humble and not let his head grow too big, but he didn't understand the logic behind it. A man's skills were supposed to speak for themselves, why shouldn't he have pride in possessing said skills?
The young Blackfyre made his way to a nearby bench, sitting down with a huff. His face turned towards the sky, tracing the clouds above. "When am I going to meet my siblings?" He wasn't looking at his face, so he couldn't be certain, but the small gasp from Ser Bryce was more than enough of a signifier for the expression the man held. It'd been clear he'd been trying to avoid mentioning his family recently.
"My eighth nameday was weeks ago," the boy continued, not taking his eyes off the clouds above. He traced his fingers along their outline, following their various shapes in the air. "You said father was making his way to Broken Lance to celebrate it, my brothers journeying with him."
For as long as he could remember, Ser Bryce had instilled in him the importance of his family, and how to properly support them. All men should be loyal to their kin, and trust that their feelings are reciprocated.
As the third son of Daemon Blackfyre, even after they make their journey across the Narrow Sea, Aelyx should never come to inherit the Iron Throne— especially if everything goes right. As a third son especially, Aelyx's duty was to be a loyal ally towards his house.
The young Blackfyre had worked with a sword for as long as he could remember. Ser Bryce and Blondie told him numerous stories about the knights of old, who etched their name in history with their prowess and martial ability.
Aelyx wanted to be one of those remembered knights. It was true he felt great loyalty towards his kin, but the ambitious Blackfyre blood in him yearned for more. Flashes ofThe Rogue Prince, whom his house's founder was named after, and Orys Baratheon— who'd risen from a mere bastard to a Storm King danced across his mind.
Orys especially was Aelyx's greatest hero. A man who's loyalty to his family not only granted him lordship, but a house to call his own. The young Blackfyre wanted such a fate for his own.
Aelyx's affection towards the Baratheon forefather had also drawn his eye towards his keep;Storm's End. 'An impenetrable fortress to support his unwavering loyalty', Ser Bryce had said. Everything a second and third son could hope for.
The young Blackfyre yearned for his father's return, along with his siblings and the thousands of Golden Company men under their control. His retrieval from Broken Lance would surely mark their journey west, where the Blackfyres would gain their rightful seat atop the Iron Throne.
Aelyx waited patiently, even after days became weeks, which would then become moons and years. His father's continued absence struck at his heart, but also lit a fire underneath him. The time to meet his family would come eventually, and he wanted to impress them with his skills.
"The Golden Company grows in strength everyday," Ser Bryce spoke, breaking the young Blackfyre from his thoughts. "Rumors have it they've set up base in theTree of Crowns, not much east from Broken Lance."
Weight fell upon the young boy's lap, causing him to look down. Chips and cracks marched across the training sword's exterior, expressing the magnitude of work it'd been through. He'd have to get a new one, eventually. Hopefully Ser Bryce let him get a real sword soon.
"Their eyes are set on Tyrosh, which is west of here. They'll have no choice but to pass through Broken Lance." Ser Bryce continued, getting into his combat stance. Aelyx's guard mirroring that of his instructor.
"Meaningmy fatherwill have no choice but to pass through Broken Lance." Aelyx spoke, finishing Ser Bryce's train of thought. A smile crept onto his face.
"Yes," Ser Bryce confirmed, rushing towards the young boy. With a display of his reflexes, the young Blackfyre deflected the strike from the man, retaliating with his own stab that was brushed aside. "Be sure to show him the progress you've made."
The two began to dance once again, Aelyx filled with a spark of determination, one that wasn't quite shared by Ser Bryce. Instead, a small hint of worry placated his face.
Aelyx paid it little mind.
Rumors got around quickly among the smallfolk of the village Aelyx called home for the last eight years. 'Flags of gold, a black dragon, and a mountainous man leading the charge', there was no doubt about it. The Golden Company was here.
Aelyx was a bit disappointed that Maelys was leading instead of his father, but it didn't break his smile. If his cousin was here, his father would surely follow.
He'd risen early this morning, not even bothering to break his fast. He wanted to see the Golden Company the moment they arrived, but it seemed they arrived in the night while he slept.
Accompanied by Ser Bryce and the five other Golden Company members that helped raise him, Aelyx made his way towards the inn that housed a few of his fathers men. Surely they'd know about the man's whereabouts.
The men sat at the diner, laughing amongst themselves while they broke their fast. Aelyx couldn't help feeling a bit starstruck at the men before him. The way their armor shined within the diner, and the physique they'd surely accrued through numerous battles.
One of the men noticed them, signaling towards Ser Bryce who was situated next to him. "What are you doing, lad? There's not enough room for any more men. You're gonna have to find another inn," the man smirked towards his peer to the right of him. "Or sleep with the horses like poor old Dan here." The group burst into a fit of laughter, all but Dan, who'd been at the expense of the joke.
"We're not here for a place to sleep," Ser Bryce spoke, his serious tone contrasting that of the men eating. "We want to know where Daemon Blackfyre is." The men shared a look among themselves before bursting into laughter again.
"What are you on about, lad?" The man spoke again, taking a bite of pork from his plate. "Poor old Daemon's been dead for years now. Killed by Maelys himself!" The man said, twisting the cap of a nearby bottle and mocking the pop it made. This of course, sent the men into a fit of laughter once again.
What? Surely they were joking. His father, leader of the Golden Company, dead? By his own cousin at that? Ser Bryce had installed on him that kinslaying was the worst atrocity a man could commit. Surely Maelys knew that as well.
Aelyx expected Ser Bryce to argue with the men. Surely a man like him, who fought at his father's side for many years, would know this to be false. Aelyx looked up to see the man's face. Instead of one of rage as he expected, he found that Ser Bryce was struck with grief.
What? What, what,what?The world seemed to spin around the young boy. Did Ser Bryce know? Was he lying to him this whole time? He wanted to speak, to yell at the men for speaking such words, but his voice died within his throat.
"So the rumors are true," Ser Bryce muttered under his breath, something that Aelyx picked up. Before he could even process what he was doing, the young boy turned, sprinting out of the inn. He didn't know where he was going, instead letting his feet take him wherever.
He didn't know how long he ran, nor how far. Even as his legs screamed at him to stop, or his lungs begged for a break, he kept running. He hadn't stopped until the village he'd lived in for the past eight years was little more than a speck in the horizon.
He found himself in the nearby woods, slumped against a tree, crying while simultaneously trying to catch his breath.
His entire world had been flipped upside. How could this have happened? Maelys had killed his father, and most likely his siblings alongside him.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he'd caught his breath and his tears had dried, long since transformed into bits of fury.
He picked up a nearby branch, wielding it as he would a sword, before striking out at the tree he'd been slumped on. He'd kill him! No matter how big the man was, no matter if he sent the entire Golden Company after him, he'd kill him!
The stick snapped in two, but the young boy kept striking regardless.He'd kill him!The thought of kinslaying never struck his mind. That man – no, thatmonsterwas no kin of him. He'd kill him!
It wasn't long before Ser Bryce found him, accompanied by the same party that raised him. They all sat upon horses, their baggage secured with them.
The man dismounted from his horse, placing a firm hand on his shoulder. His grip tightened, before he finally pulled the young boy into a hug. Tears that'd long since died threatened to form inside the Blackfyre's eyes once more.
"We're leaving," Ser Bryce spoke, his voice lacking the air of authority it usually did. "To Myr, your birth land." He continued, answering the young boy's question before he could even ask it.
What business did they have in Myr. From what the boy knew, his mother was a whore who died in childbirth. Sensing the rising question, Ser Bryce spoke again.
"Aegor Rivers, better known as Bittersteel," Now wasn't the time for a history lesson. Aelyx already knew about Bittersteel, as every Blackfyre should. The brother of their founder was their biggest ally.
"Probably the greatest warrior Essos had seen in centuries," Ser Bryce continued, almost as if he was reciting something. "At the age of sixty-nine, Bittersteel met his end the same way he lived; with a sword in hand and defiance on his lips. With his end, so too was the ancient sword Blackfyre lost, scattered amongst a field of weapons, armor, and bodies. We will return to Myr in search of that sword."
Aelyx couldn't suppress the gasp that escaped his lips. Blackfyre, their ancestral sword and the reason behind his surname. Aelyx had thought the Golden Company had regained the sword, but that appeared to be false.
He clenched his fist, the rush of blood underneath his knuckles painting it a dull color of pink. He'd find Blackfyre, and with it he'd end the life of Maelys the Monstrous, for he was the last true Blackfyre left.
