Prince Aelor Targaryen Legacy

It was difficult being the son of the most hated man in Westeros. Aelor Targaryen had seen his fair share of death. He'd watched the executions of the Houses Darklyn and Hollard after the Defiance, a fifteen year old squire to Ser Barristan Selmy who'd been forced to stay behind while his mentor scaled the wall of Duskendale and rescued Aelor's father. He'd killed his first man, some hulking brute who smelled like a pig sty and fought like a boar, two years later during the waning hours of the Kingswood Brotherhood, and sent seven more men to their graves before the conflict was finished, earning his knighthood. And he'd seen men burned alive by his father for years now, more men and more situations than Aelor wished to recall. His father's nickname of the Mad King was well earned. But the deaths of Rickard and Brandon Stark were… haunting. The smell of the Lord of the North's burning flesh still swirled in his nostrils, just as the sound of the man's son strangling himself as he tried to save his father still rang in his ears. Aelor was no stranger to nightmares, but he knew those deaths would haunt him until the day he died. If they ever find Rhaegar, I'll kill him myself. There are worse things in life than being labeled a kinslayer...... Thank you for reading! If you are enjoying the story, please consider supporting me on Patreon. Patrons get access to advance chapters and help make it possible for me to keep writing. You can find me at: patreon.com/ScarletQuillWrites