the rise

leanor insted of being trained in driftmark goes to braavos with permision of his father

Laenor Velaryon POV - Braavos 10th Day 108 AC

The winds of the Narrow Sea whipped through Laenor's silver hair as he guided Seasmoke down toward the docks of Braavos. The dragon's wings stretched wide, their shadow casting a dark stain across the waters below. Seasmoke had grown larger in the past year, his body more muscular and agile after countless hunts in the frigid waters of the northern seas. Hunting whales had proven to be a most profitable venture, filling Laenor's coffers with the riches of the sea—whale oil, baleen, and blubber all fetched high prices in the markets of Westeros and Essos alike.

As they landed, Braavosi onlookers stared in awe at the dragon and its rider. Dragons were rare in the Free Cities, and Seasmoke was a magnificent sight—his scales shimmered like silver in the pale sunlight, his eyes bright and intelligent. The dockworkers, accustomed to ships of all sizes and origins, could not help but gawk at the creature that had descended upon their city.

Laenor dismounted gracefully, his boots clicking against the wooden planks of the dock. His years at sea and on dragonback had given him a confidence that radiated from his every movement. He was no longer the boy who had left Driftmark. Here in Braavos, he was something more—a dragonrider, a hunter of whales, and now, a student of the sword.

He had come to Braavos not only for the wealth that the city offered but for the opportunity to learn the Water Dance, the fabled swordsmanship of the Braavosi. There were few in Westeros who could teach such an art, and Laenor was determined to master it. With the wealth he had earned, he could afford the best training, and his status as a dragonrider only opened more doors.

The House of Black and White loomed ahead, its doors dark and foreboding. But Laenor's destination lay elsewhere—the training grounds of the famed Water Dancer, Syrio Forel, who had once served as the First Sword of Braavos. It was said that Syrio could teach any man or woman to move like water, to fight with the grace and precision of a dancer. Laenor had heard tales of Syrio's prowess and had sought him out, determined to learn the way of the Water Dance.

As he made his way through the streets of Braavos, Laenor noticed the city's unique charm—its canals and bridges, the rich mingling of cultures and languages, the ever-present fog that gave the city an air of mystery. He liked it here, far from the politics of King's Landing and Driftmark. Here, he could forge his own path, unhindered by the expectations of his family or the court.

At the entrance to Syrio Forel's training grounds, Laenor paused, taking a deep breath. He had faced many challenges in his life—taming Seasmoke, surviving the treacherous waters of the Narrow Sea, and proving himself as a hunter. But this was different. This was a test of skill, of discipline, and of willpower.

When he entered, the sound of clashing steel greeted him. Young men and women were practicing their forms, their movements fluid and precise. Syrio Forel, a wiry man with sharp eyes and a confident stance, stood at the center, observing his students.

"So, you are the dragonrider who seeks to learn the Water Dance," Syrio said, his voice smooth and commanding. "You have chosen a difficult path, Laenor Velaryon. The Water Dance is not just about the sword—it is about understanding the flow of life, about moving with the currents, not against them."

Laenor nodded, determination etched into his features. "I am ready, Syrio. I have come here to learn, to become more than I am."

"Very well," Syrio replied, a small smile playing on his lips. "But know this, young Velaryon—the Water Dance is not just a skill. It is a way of life. You must learn to see with more than just your eyes, to feel with more than just your hands. Only then will you truly understand what it means to be a Water Dancer."

Laenor spent months in Braavos, training under Syrio's watchful eye. He practiced day and night, his body and mind pushed to their limits. Each movement became more fluid, each strike more precise. As the days passed, he began to understand the true meaning of the Water Dance. It was not just about the sword—it was about life, about adapting to the ever-changing currents, about flowing like water through every challenge.

Meanwhile, Seasmoke hunted in the open waters, bringing back whales that further enriched Laenor's coffers. The dragon had grown in size and strength, a testament to the harsh environment in which he thrived. The bond between Laenor and Seasmoke deepened with each hunt, with each shared victory.

By the time Laenor was ready to leave Braavos, he had become a skilled Water Dancer, his movements as graceful as the waves and as deadly as the sea. He had gained more than just wealth and skill—he had gained a new understanding of himself and the world around him. He was ready to return to Westeros, not as the boy who had left, but as a man forged by the sea, by the sword, and by the bond with his dragon.

As he took to the skies once more, heading west towards Driftmark, Laenor knew that his journey was far from over. But whatever challenges lay ahead, he was ready to face them—dragon and sword in hand.