Baelon Rivers

Daemon Waters

Matarys Storm

Haegon Rivers

Viserys Waters

Valerion Flowers (Unrecognized)

> *"When it became clear that the bastardmaker would not be a father to them, young Baelon took it upon himself to be the protector of his brothers, even when they desired him to be anything but."*
>
> — Maester Leowyn, Maester of House Vance of Atranta

**Baelon Rivers**, also called **Bloody Baelon**, is the first of Baelor 'The Bastardmaker' Targaryen's recognized bastard sons. The eldest of two such son's sired upon Bethany Vance of Atranta, he quickly fell into the role of protector for his brothers. A noted warrior and hero of The Conquest of Dorne, wherein he earned the moniker 'Bloody Baelon' for his actions at The Battle of the Tallgrass, he has risen above simple bastardy. Of Baelor's five recognized bastards, only Daemon Waters, The Queen's Regret, is more well known than himself. As a reward for saving the life of Brandon Blackwood in Dorne, Baelon was wed to his sister Myranda, who has borne him two children, Rhaena and Aenar.

## Biography

Baelon, like his namesake, was born in spring. Unlike his namesake, he was born no prince. His father did not raise him up with joy, nor did he even attend his birth. Baelor Targaryen was leagues away, no doubt with some other woman, whilst Bethany Vance, of the Vances of Atranta, labored in her bed for days. His birthing was not an easy one, but he was a strong child from the start.

He cried for days some said, that rivers of tears strewn down his face, a sign of what his father had cursed him to be, but when his fits subsided, he quickly became a sweet child. Never quite easy, but never a nightmare, he was cherished by Bethany, who though soon Baelor would send for her and take her to wife, and make her son a Rivers no more. She was a third right, and in Baelon’s third year, his father sent for Bethany, and the boy.

His plan to get the queen with child in order to secure a place as Prince Consort had failed, and though the queen had born him a child, Baelon’s half-brother Daemon, she had not taken him to husband. Perhaps seeking to exert some measure of power, or perhaps debating a change of heart he had called for them, and looked upon his son for the first time. He acknowledged him, but little more.

This reunion was brief, as Bethany again fell pregnant and gave Baelor another son, Haegon, yet he still did not wed her. Even with pressure from Baelon’s grandsire, his mother, and reportedly that of the rest of the House of the Dragon, Baelor refused to take Bethany to wife, and refused to seek legitimization for their children. Heartbroken and insulted, Bethany returned to Atranta, her sons in tow.

It was there in the lands of rivers and hills he met Myranda Blackwood for the first time. A girl of his age, the two practically stumbled onto one another during a feast at Stone Hedge, and elected to try and run away from the ‘boring’ festivities together. Being but five, the two were caught before they made the door, but it would not be the last time the two attempted such a thing.

Electing to begin the boy’s training early, the master-at-arms of Atranta began to instruct Baelon in the ways of knighthood, intending to have the boy squire for a household knight when a summons from King’s Landing arrive. It was not for Bethany this time, only Baelon. His father sought to take him as a squire.

His father was a harsh tutor, when he did teach Baelon and skill at arms he was unforgiving, and drove the boy hard. Then, when he was done bruising the lad, he bade him bring him wine at every waking hour whilst he lounged, fucked, or went about whatever courtly business he had. That was not to say he saw no potential in the boy though, for has hard as he drove him, Baelor was always to quick to remind Baelon that if he failed to meet his standards, he would send him home. He never once did.

Kept again in the Kitchen Keep, Baelon was less frequent in court than he had been when he’d first come to King’s Landing, but he made himself known where possible. In his younger half-brother Daemon, Baelon found a friend, a member of his family who dared not shun him. The were brothers, after all. Baelon was bigger at the time, but Daemon knew the keep better, and together they could watch out for another to the extent two small bastards could.

The crown princess was kind to him, if only to spite his father, as was Prince Jaehaerys, and his cousins born of his father’s siblings. Though not all were welcoming. Among some, he saw resentment, even hate in their eyes.

It was Prince Viserys who Baelon came to adore the most though, the gallant young prince was often kind to the bastard, and a more gentle instructor than his father or uncle, not to mention a great man to strive to become. It was Viserys who inspired Baelon’s own style of swordplay, in fact it was Viserys who inspired the boy to favor the sword and shield at all. He sat at night thinking that things might have been better, had it been Viserys who he was squired to, rather than his father.

In the year two hundred he again encountered Myranda Blackwood this time at the grand celebration of 200 years since the conquest. Again the two children made an attempt to steal away, and again they were stopped. In the same year, Prince Viserys was named to the Queensguard, and Baelon found himself cheering for his kin as loud as any other, some part of him wondering if he might one day follow in his footsteps.

Years passed, and with each harsh lesson from Baelor, there were two more regimented ones from his uncle, Maekar. Like the children of the blood, he too learned from the grandmaester, becoming enamored with the histories of his house and their lost glory. For a time, all Baelon could think of was riding atop a dragon, but with age he came to accept that the past was indeed dead, and the dragons with it.

In 205, having been sent into the city to find his father who’d lost himself somewhere in Flea Bottom, that bastard happened upon a boy not much younger than himself. His hair was fire, his words were acid, and the little runt followed him all through the streets. Baelon had claimed to be looking for Baelor Targaryen, who the boy calling himself Viserys, asserted was his father as well.

Baelon blew the child off, he knew of Matarys Storm in Mistwood, but surely that had to have been it. Nonetheless the boy followed him until they finally found Baelor, drunk, and with a whore in either arm. Baelon demanded his father dismiss the boy claiming to be his son as a liar, but in the same moment, the boy’s mother arrived. A courtesan called ‘Red Rosey’, she began to lambast Baelor until he admitted the truth.

Immediately Baelon felt both guilty for berating the boy, who in fact *was* his brother, and embarrassed for his mother. He joined in on Rosey’s tirade against the Baelor, who relented without much a fuss and agreed to take the boy back with him. Viserys Waters proved to be wild and willful, a sharp contrast to Baelon’s ever growing indifference to his father and growing maturity, and to Daemon’s cool demeanor.

It was late in the next year that Matarys Storm arrived from Mistwood, a quiet boy with hair darker than Haegon’s, and a temper as fickle as the wind, that burned hot as dragonflame. At the dawn of 207, Baelon was reunited with his full brother when Haegon came to join them as well. In all they were five, and as the eldest, Baelon felt compelled to look after them in all the ways Baelor did not.

He and Haegon clashed the most. Haegon lacked the natural skill of his eldest two brothers, nor quite had the strength of Matarys, nor the skill with bow of Viserys. He had been the last to be brought to court, in all ways Haegon Rivers felt shamed. He began to act out, causing trouble between the brothers, the trueborn, those in the Red Keep and those in the city itself. Viserys, equally willful, bonded quickly with Haegon as the two provoked one another into ever more daring antics.

It was Baelon who opposed them in this, and it was Baelon who earned their ire for it. He could never hate his brothers, nor they him, but their inability to see that he wanted the best for him led to no small number of shouting matches and brawls, to the amusement of some and the fright of others.

Their greatest and most vocal foes came in the form of their direct cousin, Aemon, and the daughter of the queen Viserra. The latter was scornful, rude, distrusting, and constantly hounding Haegon and Viserys in their antics. The former though, the former became Baelon’s fight. Older by six years, their early quarrels were little more than one sided beatings, but as Baelon grew, as did his number of brothers, their fights became more fearsome.

It always began with words, and always ended in a brawl. Both were fierce fighters, with Aemon growing into a capable warrior in spite of his snobbish disposition, and Baelon becoming increasingly more able with age. For a time these quarrels were tolerated, brushed off as young boys, and later young men, fighting as they often did. But as the insults grew ever harsher, and the fights ever more brutal, it became standard practice to keep the eldest of the bastardmaker and the eldest of the castellan far away from one another.

It was in 208 he encountered Myranda Blackwood again, for the final time before Baelon was forever changed by wars. Not yet knighted, the son of the spring donned his armor and entered himself in a Tourney at Harrenhal as ‘The Knight of the Scarlet Wing’ a stupid name, he would say in later years, but his nonetheless. Baelon did not win, nor was he knighted for his skill, though he rode and fought well. But his eventual unmasking did earn him cheers as he was lifted from the dirt by Jaclyn Caron.

He and Myranda met another again that night, and for once they succeeded in evading the feast. Two did little more than talk as they walked Harrenhal’s massive walls, speaking on the life of a bastard and that of a woman. Of the Riverlands which they both hailed from, of her house’ bond to that of his mother’s. They talked for a long time, until the feasting was done, and then they parted.

A year more of life in the keep followed, and the brothers drew blood for the first time. Matarys had been in the city, for what reason Baelon did not know, he imagined Haegon or Viserys might’ve lead him to it, but it mattered little, for he returned bloody. His brother had been cut across the face, down to the bone, and beaten badly. Boys of their age in Flea Bottom had done it, thinking themselves invincible.

Baelon was not a boy prone to anger, not like Haegon, or Matarys, but in that moment he felt rage. The five of them together set out to find their assailants, only to be halted by their cousin, Daeron. Baelon was blunt with their kin, explaining their task, and informing him he was welcome to tell the guards, but they would not be able to stop them. Daeron countered that he would do no such thing, and instead would join them, and so five became six.

They found the boys in their home, and the dragons took the fight to them. To their credit, their opponents had grown strong in the streets of King’s Landing, and fought like it too, but it made no difference. The dragons had been trained, every day the drilled, and fought, and learned, and ate enough to let them grow. The brawl was over in short order, and it was Baelon who had to pull Matarys from the still, perhaps lifeless boy who had slashed him.

Baelon did not know if his brother’s assailant was dead, and he did not care, he laid the blame at the commoner’s feet for starting the affair. The bastards returned to the Red Keep, the blood dripping from their split knuckles and busted lips leaving it a shade redder. They did not speak of the event to their father, nor to anyone else. The act of brotherhood and bloodshed was theirs alone.

Then the time came for war. Dorne was in turmoil, and the time for conquest was nigh. Their whole lives had been preparation for this, for a chance to prove themselves.

When the time came, and they stood ready to march into Dorne the following day, Baelor had sworn to knight Baelon only to drink himself unconscious. Spurned, Baelon wandered camp, angered and dejected, only to happen upon Prince Viserys in his white cloak. The prince showed him the same kindness he always had, and asked Baelon what troubled him. Upon explanation, the White Cloak wasted not time and bade Baelon kneel, and had him knighted by Durran Dondarrion with Dark Sister itself, as Viserys had left *Blackfyre* in his tent.

And so Ser Baelon Rivers went to war, a knight. It did not take long for him to find a squire of his own in the form of Lucerys Velaryon, a young son of Driftmark eager to prove himself in the sands. Their first battle was intense, and Baelon quickly discovered that for all his prowess with a blade, for all his mimicking of the White Dragon’s style with deadly efficiency, for all his success, that war was a terrible thing. Men screamed and died, those that did not filled the air with their agony, and the illusion painted by song and legend was ripped away.

But for as terrible as it was, Baelon found himself horribly at home. Every movement came naturally, every blow was instinct. When men screamed Baelon only hurt them again until they went quiet, the bastard did not leave wounded, those that went against him found death. He shepherded his brothers where he could, protected his squire, showed the boy how to remain standing, but in the same stroke he watched with indifference as they set the homes of the Dornishmen alight.

He earned scars in the sand, across his arm, over his belly, wherever those who called the sands home could land their strikes they eventually did. He fought off poison once, and watched men he had grown close to die from it. The war became a cycle of death and destruction so constant that he lost himself in it, and for a time ceased to think of the world outside of it.

Alongside his bitter rival, Aemon, Baelon distinguished himself as a leader to his men. Both lead from the front, though Baelon often jested to his own men that his adversary only did so as to not be outdone by some bastard, but Baelon did more than simply fight with them. Baelon ate and drank among the soldiers he fought alongside, not the knights or lords, though he did his best to make no enemies among them, but the men who filled their ranks. Shoemakers, Blacksmiths, farmers, men who’d a life beyond the sword, and plenty of those who did not, city guards, men at arms, and the like. It was said his brother Daemon was the Prince of the City, the Blackwater Prince, but to his own men, Baelon was a prince all his own.

Among the bloodshed and the brutality, Baelon carved out a place for himself where he truly belonged, with his men, and his brothers. In his mind there was nothing beyond that.

Then came the Tallgrass.

The war was nearly done, the vipers nearly beaten, their realm splintered, their forces beaten, but they would not go quietly. The battle that followed was carnage. Baelon and Haegon both suffered terrible blows, a massive man catching them across their faceplates with mace, their helms bit into their skin, steel piercing flesh. Baelon rose, Haegon did not, at least not fast enough. It was Viserys Waters who slayed the man, slipping behind him and opening his throat with a dagger.

He wanted to tend to his brother, but then he heard the cry. Prince Viserys had fallen. Baelon ordered Waters to take Haegon back, and wretched his broken helm from his head and rushed to aid the White Cloak. Baelon was too slow, men slowed him and died for it, one took him to the ground and made to end him, only for Daemon to run him through. His brother lifted him to his feet, and they rushed for the prince.

They were too slow, because of him, they were too slow. Instead it was the queen’s consort, Durran Dondarrion, who reached Viserys first. *Dark Sister* in hand, he fought to defend the prince, but the bastards could do naught but watch as a hail of arrows cut him down. They were dead, the both of them, Baelon and Daemon stood over corpses, defending men who no longer lived.

The brothers stood together, and slaughtered those who came. Somehow the swords found their hands so that Dornish ones would not take them, and then as the Dornish turned, Baelon continued after them. The chase lasted for some time. A pocket of the Dornish warriors fled into a nearby village, but they could not escape their dragon’s revenge. The village burned, those that called it home found their end at bladepoint. So many at his own. Too many at his own.

When Lord Jordayne bent the knee, Baelon voiced loudly that all ought be executed, but he was made to be silent by his father, and the day was at last won, and Dorne with it not long after with Starfall brought to heel.

When the fighting ended, Baelon was drenched. Sweat, blood, dust, and grime all intermingled across his person, but it was the blood that made men take note. It had stained his face from his own wounds, and fresh droplets having come from *Dark Sister*’s blade sprinkled his visage. ‘Bloody Baelon’ they called him then, and so it stuck. In the madness and among the slaughter, he saved the life of Lord Brandon Blackwood, and spared his cousin Daeron from a warrior’s spear.

The former offered him gratitude in the form of a bride, the latter owed him none. Neither did, but it did not stop him from accepting the offer of the former. The war was done not long after, and so began the march home. His brother’s found knighthood on the way home, but Baelon found worse.

Walking, or riding even, it gave Baelon time to think, to remember the things he had done. In his dreams he heard their cries, their faces he saw when he closed his eyes. Every waking moment, every step, Baelon remembered the things he had done. Not as egregious as others, truly, but that did not make it right. Men who had surrendered, those who were not truly warriors, warriors who were too young to be more than boys. They called him Bloody Baelon, but all he felt was shame.

*Dark Sister* stayed at his side, though at night on the long march home, be it in camp or guesting to some Stormlord, whilst others drunkenly celebrated, Baelon oft excused himself after a time. He would sit alone, and look on the ripples in the steel of the dark blade and wonder. The White Dragon had seen him knighted with the blade, and in his name Baelon had bloodied it. What would he have thought of Baelon, all he’d done? The question haunted him every step of their journey home.

Upon their arrival at the Red Keep, it was Baelon who carried *Dark Sister* to the queen, and laid the blade of her fallen love at her feet. They said no words beyond Baelon’s condolences, but he could see the pain in her eyes, the decimation of her soul. If only he had been faster, perhaps he could have done something? Surely, there must have been something.

He did not linger to face the scorn of those who might blame him, and instead ventured home to the Riverlands, Haegon at his side. Their mother embraced them, welcoming them home from war, then joined them and the rest of the household of Atranta on their march to Riverrun for a tourney hosted by Lord Tully, where he was to meet his bride.

The Tourney at Riverrun was not his greatest showing, losing to his brother Daemon in the joust, and falling early in the melee, though not without putting up a strong fight. He was embarrassed, but his new wife, in spite of her surprise at their betrothal, having not been informed of their match, found a measure of pride in her husband to be. He could fight at the very least.

Their wedding at Raventree Hall was a small thing, attended by a few of his royal kin, but by the whole of Atranta and Raventree’s noble family.

Even still, Baelon dedicated much of his time to ‘earning’ his wife. He took every meal with her he could, brought her flowers he found himself. Cared for her however he could, quickly becoming as hopelessly in love with her as he was desperate to deserve her. He had no name to pass to their eventual children, not yet at least, and he was still a bastard. Some whispered she had been disgraced, being given to him, regardless of his noble mother and royal father, and such whispers bothered him more each time that he heard them.

His wife, to her credit, never seemed bothered by such whispers. She was slower to love him than he was her to be sure, but as their child grew inside her their bond grew closer until it became clear that their match was well made. Baelon was attentive, and unwavering in his support of his wife even in her less ladylike ventures, her dedication to archery in particular.

Whatever embarrassment he might have brought to his wife, he washed away at the celebration of Teora Stark’s nameday, where the bastard fought his way to victory in the melee, smashing all who came against him, even the Blackwater Prince and the Lord of the Mander. Of course, the fact he proceeded to get himself incredibly drunk in the drinking competition might’ve flustered Myranda, but by the time he was clear of the haze that was drunkenness, she seemed none too cross with him.

When their child was born, a girl with a head of dark brown hair and shining violet eyes, Baelon showed what kind of man he was. He was no lord in need of a son to pass on his lands to, no bitter king unwilling to accept a daughter, and even if he had been a man of true birth and high station it would’ve changed nothing. His child was alive and healthy, that was all he cared for. They named the girl Rhaena, and Atranta celebrated her birth.

Still, the matter of a name lingered. Unwilling to name her Rivers, but yet to take some name of his own, Baelon and his small family set out to King's Landing to petition his father for legitimization, and of course to attend the name day tourney of the Crown Princess’ children.

The tourney was a mess of a thing, he did poorly at joust, but in the melee fought his way into the semi-finals, however in the contest for third things became ugly. Facing none other than Prince Aemon himself, what was meant to be a contest at arms quickly devolved into an all out brawl. Each contestant lost their blades somewhere along the way, and found themselves reduced to grappling in the mud. Their blows were vicious, their strikes meant to do far more than simply disable. In the end, it was the prince who found victory, striking Baelon where he had once been wounded and knocking the bastard unconscious, only to join him seconds later when he collapsed from exhaustion.

Battered, bloody, and angry, Baelon confronted his father pushed on behalf of all of his brothers, that they, as heroes of the Dornish War, had earned the name Targaryen, and beseeched his father to think of his granddaughter. To his chagrin, Baelor refused for whatever reason, and so simply Rhaena she remained. In their time at King’s Landing, Myranda’s skill with bow, and blunt honesty caught they eye of none other than the Queen herself, who took the woman into service as a sworn shield, ‘The Queen’s Eye’.

Now consigned to remain in the Red Keep, Baelon spent his days with his family, in the yard, and on occasion assisting in the driving out of bandits. A part of him yearned to join Haegon in his circuit of tourneys, but in the end he was unwilling to part from his wife and daughter.

In 213, Myranda again fell pregnant, and this time gave Baelon a son, Aenar. The boy was dark of hair and violet of eye as his sister was, but unlike her, he was not born healthy. For the first year of his life, frail Aenar battled sickness, and was constantly attended by maesters, septons, and his family. Baelon prayed nightly for the boy, and in the end, those prayers were answered. The child preserved, and would become a quiet, cautious young babe, the opposite of his sister, who it was said had learned to run before she walked, and to shout before she spoke.

At the tourney in Highgarden, Baelon faired averagely in the melee, but in the joust fought his way near to victory, only to be stopped as he again came up against Daemon. As at Riverrun, the two gave one another their all, but in the end, Daemon was as always the stronger lance, though the brothers were still regarded as a match at sword. Thinking of his son, he became emboldened to again approach his father.

Again he approached his father. This time his mother joined him, as did his brothers, but despite their efforts, again the bastardmaker refused him, and denied any explanation. Angry and betrayed, Baelon and his father quarreled fiercely, and since then have rarely spoken to one another unless it was a matter of necessity. In spite of his efforts though, Baelor found ways to see his young grandchildren, both of which seemed fond of their grandfather.

Even a near half-decade separated from the conquest, Baelon often found himself awoken in the middle of the night by the nightmares the conquest brought to him. Often he’d find himself in the dark halls of the Kitchen Keep at night, walking an irregular patrol, first to his children’s beds to ensure they were safe, then wherever his legs would carry him. In time though, he found a companion in his young daughter.

She had nightmares, or at the least incredibly strange dreams, ones which frightened her from returning to slumber, and so she walked with her father, clutching his hand as they walked the halls. Eventually she would grow tired, and he would carry her, and he dark haired girl would fall back to sleep upon her father’s shoulder. Their little walks did little to stop the terrors that visited him in the night, but they at least managed to give him something calming to remedy the shakes that came afterwards.

Fatherhood could not erase his pain, but it could give him something to soothe it.

Time continued on, and life with it. Until 215, Baelon continued in the routine he had held since his return to King’s Landing, though making time to take his daughter all over the city to show her its wonders. However, with the beginning of the Royal Procession, he and his family have joined the rest of their kin on their way to Harrenhal.

## Appearance

Possessed of the strong looks of his father, Baelon is the picture of his sire in his youth. Handsome, strong, and tall, Baelon is a Knight to his core. His hair is the more rare gold as his father’s and again his eyes are a shade of violet all too similar to Baelor’s. Though unlike his father, there is something haunted about his gaze. He wears a number of scars proudly, earned in the sands of Dorne and a lifetime of tourney and melee alike, the most noticeable being the ones around the edges of his face and creeping over his jaw onto his cheek.

## Personality

Baelon is a man grown beyond the needs of his youth. Well adjusted, and without the need of approval from a father he no longer feels he needs, he is a man all his own. Often calm of demeanor, but stern with his brothers and still all too hot blooded in regards to some of his less accepting cousins, all in all Baelon is a well adjusted man. A dutiful husband, and a doting father, he is haunted by the events of Dorne, but insists on keeping them buried from those around him. After all they need him as the man they know, not the one haunted by the consequences of his own actions.