The People's Prince

A father and son

The day unfolded with a customary routine for Prince Aelor, commencing with his preparations in the chambers attended by diligent servants. A knock interrupted his solitude, heralding the arrival of Sir Harrold Westerling, bearing a missive from his father. "Your presence is requested by His Majesty to join him for the morning repast, following your customary activities," Sir Harrold conveyed.

Acknowledging the message with a nod, Prince Aelor readied himself for the day, setting out for the training yard to commence his morning regimen. With fluid grace, he approached the training dummy, honing his skills with each precise movement. The spectacle drew the attention of squires and nobles on their way to break their fasts, who admired the prince's prowess with the blade. Despite the king's decision to designate his daughter as heir, many still harbored allegiance to the prince, clandestinely working to garner support for his eventual ascension.

However, this day bore an unexpected turn as a figure of imposing stature, with long silver hair and piercing lilac eyes, entered the training yard - Prince Daemon, Aelor's uncle. "Good morning, nephew," he greeted, his tone laced with teasing. "I see you've gathered quite the audience for your morning practice. But perhaps it's time for a true challenge, wouldn't you agree?"

Accepting his uncle's challenge, Prince Aelor readied himself, exchanging a respectful bow before the duel commenced under the watchful eye of the master-at-arms. Each strike and parry between the two princes unfolded with a fluidity akin to water flowing over stone, captivating the onlookers with the skill on display. Though the younger prince fought valiantly, fatigue eventually wore him down, leading to his defeat at the hands of his uncle.

"Do you yield, nephew?" Prince Daemon inquired, extending a hand in camaraderie.

With a begrudging nod, Aelor acknowledged his defeat, accepting his uncle's assistance to rise. As they departed the training grounds, Daemon offered words of encouragement, assuring his nephew of his potential for greatness in the years to come. Their bond, forged through shared experiences and mutual respect, remained steadfast, transcending mere familial ties.

"Nephew," Prince Daemon proposed, a mischievous glint in his eye, "join me and your sister for a morning flight. The skies await, and I'm certain Heatfyre would relish the challenge of a race amongst equals."

Aelor hesitated momentarily, torn between familial bonds and filial duty. Remembering his commitment to his father, he politely declined, opting to honor the king's summons.

"Very well," Prince Daemon acquiesced, offering a reassuring pat on his nephew's shoulder. "Duty calls. We shall reconvene another time."

With that, the two princes parted ways, each embarking on their respective paths, united by blood and legacy yet bound by the divergent currents of duty and desire.

********

The Prince entered the King's chambers to find his father seated near a model of Old Valyria. "Ah, Aelor, my boy, please, sit," the King greeted, gesturing to a nearby chair as servants bustled about. "I've invited you here because, after the loss of your mother, we're all grieving, none more than I."

Aelor listened intently, sensing a weighty conversation ahead. "The council urges me to remarry for the sake of our lineage," the King continued. "But I cannot bring myself to take another wife after your mother. It's time for you to fulfill your duty to our family by carrying on the Targaryen line with healthy heirs."

Pondering his father's words, Aelor replied, "Very well, father. I shall do my duty. But what of Rhaeynra? She is your heir and must produce heirs to the throne as well."

A brief silence lingered as father and son exchanged looks. "Rhaeynra will marry in due time, but you shall wed first, bearing my name as your children will," the King declared. "I will announce your need for suitors at the council and invite you to join us as a member."

With smiles exchanged, they continued their meal, engaging in light conversation.

******

In the small council chamber, all members were present, with the Prince seated beside his father and the Hand. Princess Rhaeynra served as cupbearer.

"Thank you all for gathering on short notice," the King began. "I have an announcement to make: I will not marry again." The lords reacted with surprise as the King continued, "Instead, my son, Prince Aelor, will send ravens to all lords of the realm, inviting proposals for his hand."

As the King rose, cheering, Aelor couldn't help but feel a tinge of embarrassment, while three ambitious men on the council saw opportunities for their ascent.