The "Family" at Storm's End
As the silhouettes of Redwyne's fleet pierced the morning mist of Shipbreaker Bay, the outline of Storm's End rose majestically from the ground into view.
This colossal fortress, historically known for its walls woven with magical spells, resembles a monstrous beast lurking on a cliff. Its thick, gray stone walls form smooth, curved shapes, reaching a maximum thickness of four thousand feet. The seaside wall rises over one hundred and fifty feet high, with a flag bearing a gold-and-black Crowned Stag emblem fluttering in the wind atop the main tower that pierces the clouds. It looks like a giant fist that looks down on the world, keeping the salty sea breeze of Shipbreaker Bay at bay.
The Glutton let out a low growl first, and the Black Dragon's scales gleamed with a dull light in the morning light, as if sensing the ancient magical aura within the city walls—legend has it that when the first Storm King, Durran, built it, he asked the Children of the Forest to infuse it with spells, allowing it to stand firm through thousands of years of Storm and wars.
Dreamfyre followed closely behind, its pale blue dragon wings gently skimming the sea surface, the splashes of water landing on the reefs below the city walls, instantly swirling into fine mist by the sea breeze.
"Now that's what a castle looks like!" Myles Rivers the North battleaxe, exclaimed in amazement, pointing to the curved surface of the city wall. "Look at these cracks in the stones! Not even the wind can get in! It's much more impressive than the grey stone walls of Winterfell!"
Rupert Crabb's silver spoon pendant was partially visible again, and the shoulder armor of his white armor brushed against Colin Celtigar: "I heard there's a spell in this wall that can ward off magic? Last time at Highgarden, the maester said that His Majesty Maegor's wizard tried to curse Storm's End, but the spell was deflected!"
Colin smiled and nodded, his gaze sweeping over the gate at the foot of the cliff—where several Stormlands longships were moored, their sails adorned with Crowned Stag emblems echoing the banners of Storm's End. "My uncle said that Storm's End is the root of the Stormlands people, sometimes more reliable than the gold of Casterly Rock."
As the fleet docked, the sound of hooves approached from afar. A group of knights in black armor escorted two figures as they galloped towards them. The young man at the head was burly, with black hair that flew in the wind, and the black and gold Crowned Stag emblem on his chest was particularly striking in the sunlight—one of them was Borros Baratheon, the eldest son and heir of Duke Boremund Baratheon.
The woman beside him wore a yellow and black dress with the Caron family's nightingale crest embroidered on the hem. She had a capable air about her and was probably his fiancée Elena Caron.
"Little Daemon! You've finally arrived!" Borros shouted from afar, rushing over before Daemon could even dismount, pulling him into a tight embrace that made Daemon stumble slightly. "Last year at the King's Landing's Landing tournament, you promised to visit our Stormlands! Instead, you toured the Seven Kingdoms, making a huge detour, and only came here at the very end! Do you think the wine at Storm's End isn't as good as elsewhere?"
Daemon chuckled and slapped his hand away, his purple eyes filled with helplessness. "Saving Stormlands for last means valuing it the most. Doesn't our Ser Borros Baratheon understand even this simple principle?"
"Hey! You rascal!" Borros laughed heartily, hooking his arm around Daemon's shoulder and pointing to the hunting party behind him—a few knights carrying a freshly hunted stag, blood still dripping from it. "You've come at the perfect time! This is venison I just hunted today. This kind of venison is the most tender. Our Storm's End cook will roast it at the banquet tonight, paired with our Stormlands ale. I guarantee you'll have your fill!"
Elena Caron approached and curtsied to Daemon and Gael, the hem of her yellow and black dress sweeping across the pebbles on the ground. "Your Highness Daemon, Princess Gael. Borros has been eagerly awaiting your arrival since last month, asking Raven every day for news." Her gaze swept over Mysaria, Johanna, and Bethany beside Gael, then fell upon Alys Rivers, a gentle smile playing on her lips. "Ladies, you've had a long journey. The guest rooms at Storm's End are ready; I'll have someone take you to rest."
Gael smiled and nodded, taking Mysaria's hand. "Thank you very much, Miss Caron. Let's talk about Storm's End. I heard the gardens here offer a view of the entire Shipbreaker Bay?" Mysaria nodded in agreement, a few specks of sea mist clinging to her platinum curls. She whispered, "I'd also like to see the stones that were used to build the castle in the Durran."
Alys Rivers walked behind, her green dress clinging to her body in the wind. She looked at the walls of Storm's End, a hint of inquiry flashing in her green eyes. "The spells within these walls might be even older than the weirwood of Isle of Faces." Larys Strong rode beside her on his grey donkey, the hem of his black robe sweeping against the rocks, a familiar faint smile playing on his lips, "The House Durrandon was able to hold out over Stormlands for a thousand years before Aegon's Conquest, not just because of their fists."
Borros, oblivious to the women's interactions, was engrossed in telling Daemon about recent events, "You were quite the hero on that tour! You helped the House Crabb reclaim Whispering Castle on Crab Claw Peninsula, led the lords in the Vale to drive away the Mountain Clans, kept House Bracken and Blackwood in check in the Riverlands, burned the Ironborn to Ironborn at Seagard and Lannisport, and Highgarden even thwarted that fathead Mathos's schemes with his bastard sons—these things are being sung about every day in our Stormlands taverns!"
He paused, then suddenly lowered his voice, his tone filled with excitement. "By the way! Most of the slaves you rescued on Stepstones a while ago were from Stormlands, and they've all been sent to Storm's End. My father said that when you come, if you're interested, he'll take you to see the execution of those human traffickers—so you can see for yourself that the laws of Stormlands aren't just for show!"
Daemon nodded, recalling Johanna's ordeal, the black three-headed dragon brand on his right shoulder slightly warm. "Those human traffickers deserved it. But I'm here mainly to fulfill my promise from last year, to have a good drink with you."
"A drink?" Borros raised an eyebrow, patting Daemon on the back. "Not just a drink! I also have a duel with you! The last tournament in King's Landing's Landing didn't produce a winner, so this time at Storm's End's training grounds, we'll compete with spears, swords, and if you wish, warhammers and battleaxes. But whoever loses has to drink three barrels of ale!"
As they spoke, the group arrived at the outer gate of Storm's End. The heavy oak gate was inlaid with iron bars, and the lintel was carved with reliefs of Durran and Elenei. When the two guards pushed open the gate, it made an old "creak" sound, as if telling a thousand years of history.
Stepping through the city gates, the sight before one's eyes is even more breathtaking—a massive main tower rises from the ground, housing granaries, barracks, armories, and halls. Torches lining the stone-paved paths illuminate the walls as bright as day, and armor racks display the armor of Baratheon knights throughout the ages. The most prominent set is the silver armor worn by Orys Baratheon when he slew the last Storm King, its breastplate still gleaming coldly.
"This tower is huge, isn't it?" Borros proudly raised his chin. "It can house five hundred knights, and its provisions can last for six months! When those bastards from Dorne and the Three Whores' pirate fleet attacked, we held them inside and kept them frozen outside for three days before they slunk away!"
Elena added with a laugh, "But the most interesting part is the lookout tower at the top, where you can see every ship in Shipbreaker Bay. When Borros was little, he always loved climbing up there, and the Duke scolded him many times. The first time we met as children, he was secretly watching me from up there."
Borros's face flushed instantly, and he reached out to scratch Elena's hair. "No way! I was just practicing observing the enemy's situation!" This caused the surrounding knights to burst into laughter, and even Daemon's followers couldn't help but laugh out loud.
The banquet was held in the main hall of Storm's End, where long tables were laden with Stormlands specialties: roasted stag legs, crispy on the outside and tender on the inside, roasted wild boar sprinkled with rosemary, soup made with fresh fish from Shipbreaker Bay, and freshly baked barley cakes, the aroma of which mingled with the rich flavor of ale, filling the entire hall.
Duke Boremund Baratheon sat in the main seat, wearing a dark brocade robe embroidered with Crowned Stag. His face was dignified, yet his eyes held a gentle gaze. Upon seeing Daemon enter, he immediately beckoned him to sit beside him. "Little Daemon, you must be tired from your journey. I have already written to King's Landing's Landing about your rescue of the slaves on the Stepstones. Your grandfather, His Majesty Jaehaerys, will surely be pleased."
Daemon bowed and said, "Your Grace, you flatter me. I merely did what I was supposed to do."
Boremund raised his glass, his voice echoing throughout the hall. "Gentlemen! Our Little Daemon has done so much for the peace of the Seven Kingdoms Seven Kingdoms during his recent tour—rescuing the Vale, mediating for the Riverlands, repelling the Ironborn twice, and thwarting the Highgarden bastard's plot! He also helped our Stormlands rescue their trafficked people! Such achievements deserve a toast from all the men of Stormlands!"
Everyone raised their glasses, the clinking echoing through the hall. Borros took a large gulp of ale, the liquid trickling down his chin and into his collar. "Father was right! That Little Daemon is far superior to those nobles who only know how to enjoy themselves in King's Landing!"
Midway through the dinner, Boremund suddenly put down his glass, his tone becoming serious. "Daemon, there's something I need to tell you. A few days ago, my sister Jocelyn sent a letter." He paused, his gaze falling on Daemon. "In her letter, she basically said she hopes you'll come home soon. From her words, I can tell she's accepted you, and she hopes you won't run away."
Daemon's grip on his glass tightened suddenly, almost spilling the wine. He remembered asking about Rhaenys at High Tide during his earlier tour.
When asked how she found herself among the rocks of Dragonstone, Rhaenys said that Meleys had initially pulled her from the shore of Dragonstone. She then noticed Meleys's unusual behavior and asked Corlys to send someone to take care of her. However, Corlys ended up sending her to the Black Cells of Dragonstone.
When he escaped from the cage and jumped into the sea to survive, and was rescued by Rhaenys and Meleys in a daze, he only thought of using half-truths to cover up his bizarre and fantastical experience of dying in battle and traveling through a hundred years. However, he never expected that his half-truths would cause such a stir.
"I know your situation," Boremund's voice softened. "Rhaenys told me that your father, Aemon, was assassinated, and your mother died shortly after. You lived alone for a long time as a child, without family by your side, wandering around and losing many memories of your past. But, Little Daemon, my mother tragically passed away when she gave birth to Jocelyn, so I practically raised Jocelyn. As her older brother, I can see that my sister Jocelyn —she really wants you to call her 'Mother.' And I, too, hope you can call me 'Uncle.'"
The hall fell silent instantly, all eyes fixed on Daemon. Mysaria quietly handed him a handkerchief, her eyes filled with worry; Gael held his hand, her pale purple eyes encouraging; Johanna Swann, who followed Daemon closely every day, looked at him with a hint of envy; Vaegon Targaryen sat beside Daemon and Gael, a complex emotion flickering in his purple eyes; Larys leaned against the fire pit with his father, Leonno, the hem of his black robe sweeping the ground, his dark eyes devoid of their usual cunning, only calm.
Daemon opened his mouth, but found his throat tighten. He had come from another world and always regarded his Targaryen Lineage ancestors as the home of his bloodline. Even if there had been misunderstandings, he thought they were just entanglements between "family." But the Baratheon's kinship came so suddenly and so sincerely that he was caught off guard.
Jocelyn's resentful and complex gazes, the expectations she hid, Duke Boremund's acceptance, and Borros's enthusiasm were like a warm ray of light shining into his tense heart.
"I—" Daemon's voice was a little hoarse. He looked at Boremund, then at Borros, "Thank you, Your Grace. But—I need a little time."
Boremund smiled and nodded, patting him on the shoulder. "No rush. Among family, the least daunting thing is waiting. It's enough that you're willing to come to Storm's End and treat us like family."
Borros immediately chimed in, "Exactly! If you've changed your mind, call me cousin anytime! I'll have your back in Stormlands!" He then poured Daemon a glass of ale. "Enough of this! Let's drink! Tomorrow we'll have a duel at the training grounds, and the loser drinks three barrels!"
The atmosphere at the banquet became lively again, and the knights began to sing the Stormlands war song. Borros pulled Daemon along and sang, their voices so loud that the candlelight flickered.
Daemon sipped his ale and felt the warmth around him, he suddenly realized that the ale from Storm's End was warmer than the wine from Highgarden, stronger than the red wine from Lannisport, and more reassuring than the fruit wine from King's Landing's Landing.
As night deepened, Daemon stood on the terrace of Storm's End, gazing at the night view of Shipbreaker Bay.
The sound of waves crashing against the cliffs was exceptionally clear in the night. Glutton and Dreamfyre huddled together in the castle's open space, while dragon breath condensed into white vapor in the cold air, reflecting off the lights of Storm's End.
Boremund's words still echoed in his ears, Jocelyn's expectations, Borros's enthusiasm, and Gael and Mysaria's worries flowed into his heart like warm currents.
He touched the brand on his right shoulder; it was no longer hot, but it still retained a strange warmth. Perhaps, family is never the only destination of blood ties; those who are willing to accept you, wait for you, and open their arms to you can also become family.
The wind still blew through Storm's End, carrying the salty tang of Shipbreaker Bay, but it was no longer biting. Daemon knew he might need more time, but he had already begun to look forward to it, just as he had called out "sister," "uncle," "brother," "grandfather," and "grandmother" in this life, looking forward to the day when he could truly call out "mother" and "uncle," looking forward to the day when he could also consider Storm's End's End his home.
From the distant hall, Borros's laughter still echoed, mingling with the sound of the waves like a warm nocturne, gently punctuating this journey to Storm's End.