A song of Fire and Blood

Chapter 10: The Young Prodigy

Aerion Targaryen, though only nine years old, had proven himself an extraordinary prodigy. His prowess with a sword had become legend, whispered about in the corridors of Volantis as the young prince trained in the art of war. His red eyes burned with the determination of one far older, and his silver-gold hair swayed as he moved with the speed and grace of a seasoned fighter.

He had already earned the respect of men much older than him, and yet, Aerion felt the weight of a question lingering over him—one that had been growing in his heart ever since the news of the Greyjoy rebellion had reached them. The time had come to take the next step, to leave the sanctuary of Volantis and learn war firsthand.

Inside the quarters of Ser Barristan Selmy, Aerion stood with his shoulders back, his hands folded behind his back as he faced the older knight. Barristan's eyes, filled with a quiet wisdom, scrutinized the young prince carefully.

"My Prince," Barristan said, his voice steady but carrying the weight of experience, "you are a gifted child, one of the most promising swordsmen I have ever trained. But war is not a game. You must understand that."

Aerion's gaze did not falter. His voice was calm and composed as he replied, "I do understand, Ser Barristan. But I also know that the time to learn has come. The Lost Legion is the best place for me to train. To learn the true ways of battle, to understand what it means to fight for something greater than myself. I want to go."

Barristan shook his head, his furrowed brow betraying his concern. "You're still a child. You've not seen the horrors of war. The Ironborn are not the kind of enemies you face in a sparring match. This is real, Aerion. People will die. Men will turn on each other for survival."

"I am not afraid," Aerion replied, his red eyes fierce with the resolve of someone much older. "I know the risks. I've seen what men are capable of. But I also know that I have a destiny, and if I am to fulfill it, I must prove myself. I cannot do that by staying behind while others fight. I am ready."

Barristan let out a slow, almost reluctant sigh. He had seen too many young men eager for battle, only to be broken by it. But Aerion was different. The boy's determination was unmatched, and his skill was beyond that of most seasoned fighters.

"You will be under Narion Qoherys' command. The Lost Legion is a band of veteran warriors. They're not like the soldiers we've trained with, not in battle. Do you truly understand the risks of associating with such men?" Barristan's tone softened, as though trying to impart some semblance of caution to the boy.

"I understand, Ser Barristan," Aerion said, his voice unwavering. "But the Lost Legion are not just mercenaries. They are the last line of defense for those who cannot defend themselves. I've trained for this, and I am ready. Let me go, Ser Barristan. I need this."

Barristan's eyes softened, and he considered the boy before him. He had been in the presence of kings and princes, but there was something about Aerion that made him stand out even among the bravest men. He was still just a child, yet he was certain of his path in a way that few ever were.

"You have the heart of a knight, Aerion. But remember—war will change you. You must be ready for it." Barristan's words were heavy, but filled with a quiet respect. "Very well. You may join the Lost Legion. But know that you are not just representing your name—you are representing the blood of your father and the legacy of your House. Do not forget that."

Aerion's chest swelled with pride. "I won't forget, Ser Barristan. Thank you."

With Barristan's reluctant approval, Aerion was prepared for his journey. The Lost Legion was waiting, their numbers swelling to over 11,000 strong, a force to be reckoned with. Under the command of Narion Qoherys, the men had become seasoned veterans, their mercenary ranks made up of the bravest and most ruthless soldiers in the known world.

As Aerion and his small retinue of Velaryons and trusted companions made their way through the camp, the sheer size and presence of the Lost Legion was impossible to ignore. The soldiers were rough men, battle-hardened and dangerous, yet as the young prince walked through the camp, something extraordinary happened. The men, who had never bowed to any king or lord, all turned their heads in unison. They looked at him, their expressions a mixture of reverence and respect.

Aerion's presence was undeniable. His bloodline—the Targaryen bloodline—was known throughout the world. And though he was young, his eyes burned with an intensity that few men could rival.

As he stepped further into the heart of the camp, the men slowly lowered their weapons, bowing their heads in respect. Even Narion Quoerys, the stoic captain of the Lost Legion, stood up from his campfire, bowing low in a rare show of respect.

"Aerion Targaryen," Narion said, his voice filled with respect and awe. "The Dragon has come to us."

Aerion walked forward, his every step commanding attention. The sound of the men bowing echoed in his ears, but he held his head high, showing no sign of weakness.

"I will fight beside you," Aerion said, his voice clear and filled with a quiet authority. "I will prove my worth, not as a prince, but as a warrior."

With that, the Lost Legion accepted him, their new member, their new leader in spirit. The young Targaryen had come to fight, and they would stand by his side, ready to face whatever challenges lay ahead.

As Aerion looked around at the men of the Lost Legion, he knew this was the beginning of a long and arduous journey. The path ahead was uncertain, but Aerion Targaryen would walk it with the same fire that had burned within him since birth.

The world would soon know the name Aerion Starborn. And it would not be long before the Dragon rose once again.