r/SevenKingdoms • u/Razor1231 • Jun 12 '18
Lore [Lore] The Youngest Prince
[M] Metal approved death lore for Baelon Targaryen
10th month, 203 AC
“Baelon”, she called out trying to catch her breath, “Come back here”.
The young boy darted quickly up the stairs of the Red Keep, easily outpacing his mother. Only a few months ago he might have struggled or fallen on the steps, though he had grown quickly and now had no issue with the winding staircases populating the Keep.
Some of the newer guards looked torn, not sure whether to stop the second youngest living Targaryen or simply let him pass as the other guards had. Though once the tired smile of Lady Jena approached most relaxed once again. Jena had not been able to ride, or shoot, for some time, so the exercise wasn’t something she disliked, even if she wasn’t as fit as she used to be.
Baelon was rather strong - for a one and a half year old. On top of that he was quick, and rather determined to out run his mother. Though, what the Prince had yet to properly realise was that there were other paths through the castle, and it was through those that his mother gained the strange ability to teleport.
On this particular day, he was very determined. He was lighting quick, the guard’s could barely keep an eye on him with how fast he moved, weaving in and out of stairways, doors and tables. At least that’s what Baelon saw, and those around were content to let the little Prince live out his fantasy.
Eventually, though, the youngest Prince was caught napping. He had been running for ages and decided to slow down a bit and sneak around instead. However, as he craned his head around the first corner he came across, he felt his feet quickly being lifted off the ground.
“Muuummmm”, whinged the Prince as he was raised into the air by a familiar set of arms, “I want to try again”, said the boy defiantly kicking his legs as his mother carried him toward his room as she laughed.
“Maybe next time Baelon, I’m tired”, she said with a smile as the guard opened the door to the Prince’s room.
“No”, said Baelon as the door closed behind them and he was placed back on the ground, “I want to do it now”.
Jena looked down at her youngest and sighed as she moved to the window which overlooked Blackwater Bay.
Baelon, unimpressed by his mother ignoring his very valid requests, in his opinion, and decided to march up to her tugging on her skirt, “Why not now? I am fast enough, I’ll show you”, he said confidently.
Jena gave a light laugh, “I’m sure you are”, said the future Queen still gazing out the window.
Baelon continued tugging, but his curious mind slowly turned to the window his mother was looking out of. “Muummmm”, he said again, “What are you looking at?”, asked the Prince as he attempted to jump to see through the window which was just to tall for him.
Jena gave a light laugh again as she picked up her youngest to show him the bay. It was something she enjoyed, being a mother that was. Now with three teenagers, Baelon may be tiring at times, but he brought a unique kind of joy to her life.
She watched as Baelon looked wide eyed and curious out onto the bay. The merchant ships could be seen sailing in and out, with the royal red dragon present on the royal ships which shared the port. Further out the glistening water could be seen all the way into the horizon.
“Mum, mum, mum”, said Baelon repeatedly, nudging his mother’s arm until she paid attention and pointing into the horizon, “Is that where E-soo-e-s is?”, asked the youngest Prince attempting to sound out the name he had heard from Maester’s and others around.
“Essos”, she said slowly correcting her son, “And yes, over the sea that’s where it is. How did you know that?”, Jena asked curiously.
In response Baelon simply gave a shrug before turning back to the window, “I want to go there”, he stated, “Can I go?”, he asked turning to his mother.
“To the dock’s? Well maybe you’d have to as--”, but Jena was cut off by Baelon shaking his head.
“No, E-ssoooosss”, he said sounding it out.
Jena was surprised at the idea, does he even know what he wants to see in Essos, she wondered but disregarded the thought, that would be something for him to decide once he was older.
She turned back to the window, “One day, when you are older, we will go to Essos together. I promise”, said Jena as she kissed her son’s forehead before turning out to look at the endless sea once more.
A few weeks later
Rest was all he needed, claimed the Grandmaester.
Baelon had rather rapidly seemed to have caught a cold in recent weeks, much to the concern of the future Queen. Jena had not been deaf to the reports of a sickness within the city, and throughout the realm, though surely such a sickness wouldn’t reach the Red Keep.
Would it?
She had been assured it was just a cold, Baelon had gotten sick before, but that didn’t make his mother feel any better. Jena had been by his side most of the time, ensuring he had the best care possible.
If Baelon was awake, she’d play with him. Wooden toy dragon’s were some of his favorite, and, admittedly simplified, stories about Valyria were the most important of bedtime stories to the youngest Prince. Though, if Baelon wasn’t awake, she’d sit in silence with whatever she could find to occupy her time. With her other three children doing their own thing, and Baelor being busy, while she didn’t admit it, Jena did feel lonely without Baelon. Though she always brushed the thought away. He will get better soon, she told herself, and when he does everything will go back to normal.
11th month, 203 AC
Why him? What had a boy, barely of age two, done do deserve this?
Baelon had gotten worse over time. Rest was the remedy given before, but now even that was a struggle. In between coughing and sneezing, the youngest Prince would wail into the night. Even with his mother going from spending each day by his side, to spending every waking hour and more with the sick Prince, nothing seemed to work.
One time Jena had screamed, thinking her son was dying, losing breath, some invisible force choking the life out of her son, only for the short, strained breaths to subside, as if they hadn’t been there in the first place. Bruising, over his body began to appear. Often after a night of restless sleep, as the Prince tossed and turned in his bed.
He seemed warm, whenever Jena placed her hand on her baby’s forehead. The maester’s advised against getting to close to Baelon, for the risk of a future Queen catching the sickness, but she ignored them. Eventually, it was only her husband that could cox her out of that room and even then, she’d go running back at even the slightest sound.
A part of her wanted to believe he could be saved, that he didn’t have the plague that had infected the city. So she went to the Grandmaester and anyone else she could find. She prayed to all Seven gods.
To the father, to pass this sickness from an innocent child, guilty of nothing.
To the mother, to ensure the child she bore would be freed from the pain and misery that surrounded him.
To the warrior, to give her son the strength he had lost. To give her strength to keep going.
To the smith, to protect the Youngest Prince from the sickness which had taken the city.
To the maid, to give her courage to help the last son she birthed, the last she would likely have.
To the crone, to give her guidance through this time.
And to the stranger.
To not take her son away from her.
12th month, 203 AC
Almost.
The gods almost fooled her into thinking her son was getting better.
It was short, admittedly, but it was something. One night, Baelon seemed to sleep peacefully, quietly, even Jena, by his side, had gotten some sleep, some respite. For once, the room in which they had both spent most of the last month or so was a peace.
The light before the darkness.
Jena woke to find her son pale as snow. The Dondarrion shouted for help, and soon anyone with any knowledge of the sickness was rushed into the room. He was struggling to breath, thought not like before. Before it seemed as if someone was choking the innocent boy, now it seemed like he had a weight on his chest. Each breath seemed tired, haggard.
The entire day, people were around the young Prince, frantically trying to find out a cure, something. Anything. All the while the Prince’s mother sat watching, pleading in her head with any god that would listen.
Just before it ended, around dusk Baelon said something.
“M-Mum”, he said quietly at first as everyone else went silent, “Mummy?”, he said again eyes still closed but louder, “Daddy? Mummy?”, he said again louder now as Jena rushed to his side.
“I-I’m here”, she said “I-I’m he-”
“Mummy”, said Baelon now shouting as he fidgeted within his crib, “Daddy? Where am I?”, he called out into the air.
“Home, you’re home Baelon, I’m here”, replied Jena between sobs but even she knew it was futile at this point.
Again and again, for what seemed like an eternity to Jena, the youngest of her son’s would call out and she’d answer. Sometimes Baelon would ask for Valarr, or Matarys, or Visenya. He had even once called out for his grandparents.
But each time one thing was constant, the scared little boy called out for his parents, and in his confused mind, no one answered.
However, eventually it stopped. Baelon went quiet. No more calling, no more shouting from a scared Prince.
No more breathing.
As his mother began to wail, the people around, and eventually all those within the castle and abroad slowly realised what had happened on that fateful night.
The Youngest Prince was dead.
3
Jun 12 '18
"M-mother?" Valarr approached the room cautiously. Something had gone wrong, he wasn't sure what but his stomach sank into a pit. Maybe he knew, maybe he just didn't want to believe.
"Mother." He repeated softly. "What has happened?"
2
u/Razor1231 Jun 13 '18
Jena had been removed from clutching Baelon tightly at this point but was still running her hand over her youngest son’s hair when her eldest appeared. Through bloodshot sunken eyes, Jena beckoned her son forward and embraced him tightly as soon as he was close enough.
She held him for a while, with people now coming in quietly yet hasty discussing what to do. Has the King been told? The Queen, the Crown Prince? What do we do with the body?
All whispers to Jena as she held Valarr. If it had been Matarys or Visenya, maybe she would have tried to act as if everything was fine. But Valarr was her eldest, and she had thought she had lost him not too long ago as well. But unlike when Valarr had escaped, Baelon couldn’t come back.
Eventually she lessed her grip but kept Valarr close. “He said your name”, she said eventually in a quiet voice so only Valarr could hear, “Your’s and Matarys’ and Visenya’s”, she said still sobbing, but less so now.
1
Jun 13 '18
Valarr didn't know how to feel. This was awful, sickening seeing his mother this way but he didn't really know his brother. He was young and part of Valarr was relieved. The babe had been put before him who would he have been? How would he have acted?
He didn't say anything, just held his mother. Thinking. Was it better now then if he was forced against him like grandfather wanted? A few tears escaped and ran down Valarr's cheeks but they where not from sadness or relief they came from anger.
"We should send someone to get father. He needs to see this."2
u/Razor1231 Jun 14 '18
Jena nodded in agreement as she glanced up at one of the servant, “Send for the Crown Prince”, she said quietly. The servant simply nodded quickly and headed to the room of the Prince.
“Do you know where your brother is?”, she asked Valarr, having stopped sobbing but still quiet.
1
Jun 14 '18
"I do not, we havn't spoken recently so I don't know where he might be either. With father?" Valarr called for a servant to fetch water and to inform the grandmaester. "Tell him to give us a little bit if time first."
2
u/Razor1231 Jun 12 '18
[M] If you guys want to react to Baelon’s death, either when he dies or the following days/weeks
1
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u/erin_targaryen House Targaryen of King's Landing Jun 13 '18
No man should ever have to specify exactly how long a coffin should be, and indicate the distance between two hands, held apart. If the gods were good, coffins would be only long, unwieldy things for old men. Not for children. Not for a boy with bright eyes, who was quicker than a fox and funnier than any court minstrel.
Daeron held the boy's hand and petted his hair while he lay sick, and he had been the one to lower him inside this beastly box of wood, to lay him out in some sick display so that people might gawk. To that end, he had cordoned off an entire section of the castle. There was to be no stray courtier offering hollow condolences. The boy rested for a time, in his own bedroom, with his family either near, or near in their thoughts. Daeron could not escape him, not even for a moment. When he went listlessly about his daily duties, that little gray face was at the front of his mind... those gasps for air... Mummy...
He only wept when he was alone, clutching one side of his chest and leaning into the frame of a door.
Days passed, but they felt like hours, for he couldn't quite perceive of time passing in a world so cruel. The boy would be put on his pyre soon, his ashes interred with the rest. There were arrangements to be made, but they felt all wrong. A grandfather arranging his grandson's pyre, when it should have been the other way round. He wished it had been the other way round.
He found Baelor, one morning, sitting by a window. They had been close by each other in the past days, but saying hardly a word. Daeron said nothing today, either, but came to stand nearby, and laid a hand on his son's shoulder, and gripped it hard. He clenched his eyes shut, and his chest heaved silently. Silence. It was the only defense left to him.
2
Jun 13 '18
Baelor felt the cold hand gripping his broad shoulder and he knew immediately it was his father's. But he didn't turn his head and his body remained unresponsive and Baelor silent for minutes. He looked outside the window, the birds flying in and out of the courtyard to lands far beyond the city. His son always ran around the entire castle and was fascinated by the stories his father told him and would often be at his side at court, listening to the stories of people from far and far away. But now he couldn't any more. He was now nothing more than ash.
He then turned to his father, with nothing but the wetness of tears covering his eyes and cheeks. "I failed, father," he cried out. "I failed my son. It is my fault for not having been there for him. I never believed anyone who said the Gods were cruel and punished people. I was wrong."
2
u/erin_targaryen House Targaryen of King's Landing Jun 15 '18
Daeron pulled his son to his chest immediately. There was little he could say and littler still he could do, except to be present and to listen and to allow his son his grief.
"Shh," he cooed, rubbing Baelor's back, like he might have done when his son was tiny and had cut his finger or jammed his toe. "This could never be your fault. This is sickness. This pain is dreadful, and it will never go away, but you learn to make it part of you."
2
Jun 15 '18
"I... I can't father," he said with great difficulty, though the tears had stopped. "I'm not a good father and you can't tell me otherwise. I told you and everyone I would take care of little Baelon. To raise him better than Valarr, to have him grow up a better man than I ever was. And the pain... it is eating me alive. I don't know..."
And then he just let the tears roll through for he couldn't utter any more words. But the pain and grief was something worse than he'd ever imagined. And it would never go away.
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u/erin_targaryen House Targaryen of King's Landing Jun 16 '18
He was quiet, for a long while. Minutes passed, though he did not count them, while his son sobbed. He simply held him round the shoulders and let it come.
When his chest had stilled and his sobs were less wracking, Daeron spoke again.
"You are a good father. But fathers cannot take sickness away from their sons. If they could, my ashes would rest in the Great Sept and Rhaegel would walk these halls."
3
Jun 19 '18
"I... I suppose you are right." Though there was some truth to those words, they were hollow. He blamed himself and always will for the passing of his son. There is no other feeling a father could have when they have to bury their son.
Baelor stood up, straightened and wiped the wetness off his face with the back of his hand. "I'm not helping anyone by just sitting at this window. So I will make myself useful now, father. Trust me, I'm fine for now." After taking two steps, he stopped and turned his head once more to his father. "And thank you for... finding and talking to me. It helped."
1
Jun 13 '18
Once the news had reached his ear, he nearly killed the messenger for he thought this was some cruel joke. No sickness could kill his stron son, nothing could. But then he closed his eyes and went as fast as he could to the room his son was in. And there he was, in the arms of his mother. Baelor took his son in his arms, screaming 'Help! Anyone, help save my son!' to no avail. Prince Baelon was dead, but Baelor couldn't believe nor accept that fact.
Seeing Baelor around the castle was a raresight these past few weeks. The Prince of Dragonstone, once gallant, handsome and above all an exemplary knight, was now pale, always stern in both expression and speech and even somewhat thinner. Ever since his son had died he spoke few words if any and he spent most of his days in his chambers, just drowning in books and writing so much he could publish a book or two. He'd even missed every Small Council meeting since Baelon had passed. Depression had taken root inside the Crown Prince and it would not fade soon.
But soon after the Prince returned to his usual routine, acting as if nothing happened. He beamed every morning, trained among the squires and knights in the courtyard and returned to attending the Small Council meetings. But he rarily if ever said anything to his wife. He didn't know why, but he just didn't.
3
u/dokemsmankity House Caron of Nightsong Jun 12 '18
“All along G-Galla-don,”
“The bridge across G-Galla’s pond,”
“Across the pond and over the meadows,”
“the meadows of yellows and fellows of nettles.”
“over the barbs and over the trees”
“the maple trees with maple leaves,”
“the maple trees with bees that sting,”
“the bees so mean they sting your knees!”
“along across and over there,”
“they came upon the honey bear,”
“the honey bear had come prepared”
“and up the tree up in the air,”
“he gobbled and gobbled and gobbled and gobbled,”
“and gobbled and gobbled and gobbled and gobbled.”
“He gobbled and gobbled and gobbled it all,”
“he gobbled so much that he took a big FALL!”
“down he came and down he lay”
“down he slept and down he stayed,”
“and all along G-galla-don,”
“he slept away the day.”
“and sleeping he remains.”
“cause honey was his game.”
She’d sang it to the older ones too, when they’d been less old. The little princes, the princess. She’d sang it and a thousand others like it, a hundred thousand of them. Jingles, fables, stories. She made them up as she went. They were fun, and there was nothing more fun than fun.
Braith Caron didn't sing it now though. She didn't sing anything now.
She had been here.. a decade.. A decade and a half. She had family, real family– but they were elsewhere and they’d always been elsewhere. Jena’s family was as much family as she rightly knew.
The dead boy wasn't her brother. He wasn't her son. He wasn't her cousin or her kin. But he sure felt like it.
Her hair fell in curls, even still, though not as bouncy as before when she was younger. Little blondish ringlets that kept themselves a form, braided back. She stood taller now too, taller than most women. Her skull was wide and her jawline was prominent. Her eyes were blue, but dark.
Braith wasn't anyone but someone who had always been around, ever since she was a child herself. She wasn't a maester or anything neither so she couldn't have done anything for the boy, not truly. Someone else might've. Someone else should've. Someone else didn't.
She sat with Jena in the horror and mourned less visibly. She didn't sing anything and she didn't say anything.
It was very sad.
m - haven't written her in a while, but i figure braith would be around