The griffin's nest, a boy's hunt

The morning mist over Storm's End had not yet dissipated when it was shattered by the sound of horses' hooves in the distance.

Daemon had just finished practicing his swordsmanship in the courtyard, and the frost on his Blackfyre hadn't even dissipated when he saw Borros Baratheon, that brute, charging towards him like a stag plunging into a wheat field. His Crowned Stag cloak was askew, and his forearm, which he had injured from exertion, was still covered with herbs.

But that didn't stop him from shouting at the top of his lungs, "Little Daemon! Come with me! Bring your brothers, I'll introduce you to my buddies today! They'll be out hunting wild boars in the woods any later!"

As he spoke, he grabbed Daemon's wrist with such force that Daemon almost flung his sword sheath away.

Daemon reluctantly sheathed his sword, glancing at the scene not far away— Elena Caron, along with Gael, Johanna, and Mysaria, were sitting on a stone bench selecting fabric. Seeing him being dragged away by Borros, Elena waved a blue cloth in her hand and laughed, calling out, "Your Highness, don't let that Borros lead you astray! He almost got his butt kicked by a wild boar last time he hunted!"

Borros's face instantly turned red to his ears, and he turned around and shouted, "That was a wild boar attack! It's not that I'm bad at it!" This made the women laugh, and even the usually shy Johanna covered her mouth, her dark eyes sparkling.

Passing through the inner courtyard of Storm's End, a large crowd had already gathered on the path leading to the stables.

The most conspicuous figure was a young man in a yellow robe with black lion patterns, leaning against a pillar yawning. His belt was loose and his boot buckles were not even fastened. When he saw Borros coming over, he slowly straightened up. "Borros, if you had come any later, I would have set off to go back to Grandview for a nap."

"Lorent! Stop pretending with me!" Borros patted him on the shoulder. "This is Prince Daemon Blackfyre, a true Dragonknight!" He then turned to Daemon, "This guy is Lorent Grandson of Grandview. Their family crest is Sleeping Lion, and he's just like the lion on their crest—all he does is eat and sleep. Hunting is the only thing that keeps him awake."

Lorent Grandson bowed to Daemon, his voice still tinged with sleep. "Your Highness, I've heard Dornish about you. My old man always says that those who can ride Black Dragon are even rarer than the Dornish who have voluntarily crossed the Red Mountains in recent years, just like His Aegon and His Majesty Maegor— " Seemingly realizing his mistake, he added, "And of course, His King's Landing Viserys of King's Landing."

Then, still half-asleep, he pointed to two boys behind him wearing black and green patterned armor, "These two are my cousins, Theogood and Willie from the Fell family, from Felwood."

The eldest son, Theogood, clad in black and green armor, immediately stepped forward, the spruce crest on his shoulder armor gleaming, a hunting horn clutched in his hand. "Your Highness! I've long wanted to witness your horsemanship and martial prowess! A few days ago, when I passed through Rain House, that fellow Jasper even said you could slice through flying birds from the back of a dragon! I hope you can also give me some pointers on riding this hunt."

The younger brother, Willie, was less outgoing. He tugged at his brother's cloak and whispered, "Brother, stop bragging. You couldn't even catch a rabbit last time—" Theogood blushed and reached out to cover Veri's mouth. The two brothers started bickering, making everyone around them laugh.

As Daemon watched the commotion, a young man in a green robe with a double deer pattern approached, shyly offering a wooden fawn. "Your Highness," he said, "I am Jon Carvalhoen of the Fawn Hall. My father was unable to attend because he was accompanying my seriously ill brother to seek medical help. This is a carving I made myself—it's also our family's mascot. I wish you a successful hunt." The boy's ears were red; it was clearly his first time attending a gathering of the Stormlands' heirs, and his first time seeing a dragon prince riding on a dragon's back.

"Thank you, Jon." Daemon took the wooden carving, his fingertips able to feel the rough wood grain. "This deer is exquisitely carved." Jon immediately smiled, took two steps back, and stood next to Theogood, secretly observing the Glutton Black Dragon lying on the ground not far away, occasionally glancing at the crowd, which frightened the boy into shrinking further behind Theogood.

"And this redhead!" Borros grabbed a young man wearing red and white griffin-patterned armor. His red hair was like a ball of fire, and his eyes held a defiant spirit. "Earl Roland Clinton of Griffin's Roost, his griffin is just as arrogant as the Swann family's swans. Last time we had a martial arts competition, he even tried to take first place from me!"

Roland Clinton slightly raised his chin, bowing to Daemon but not lowering his head. "Borros, you rascal—Your Highness, please don't take it to heart. We all know of your illustrious achievements in the tournaments at Highgarden and King's Landing, but in our Stormlands, hunting skills are perhaps more important." He pointed to the distant forest, "Today, it's an honor to hunt alongside you. Perhaps we can have a contest to see who can hunt the stag first, or who can hunt more prey in the end!"

Before Daemon could answer, two people walked out from behind the crowd. The one in front was a young man wearing black armor with purple lightning star patterns. According to Borros and the others, he was Alaric, the eldest son of the Dondarrion family of Blackhaven. Beside him was a boy in a simple gray robe with charcoal black hair, light green eyes, and a tall and straight figure. He was carrying a saddle in his hand. Although his clothes were ordinary, his handsome features could not be hidden.

"Gentlemen, I'm late this time. Your Highness Daemon, this is my squire, our steward's son, Criston Cole. He's come with me to broaden his horizons." Alaric patted Criston on the shoulder. "He's a good swordsman, but he's not much of a talker."

Criston Cole knelt on one knee before Daemon, his movements precise and swift, his voice steady. "Criston Cole greets Your Highness." His gaze fell on the Blackfyre at Daemon's waist, then quickly shifted away, his fingers tightening slightly on the saddle—clearly, he had long heard of the legends surrounding this true dragon prince.

Daemon looked at him, recalling the title of "Kingmaker" of this young man in the history books of his previous life, his resoluteness in the Dance of the Dragons and his legendary life. Looking at the sixteen-year-old boy in front of him, his eyes did not yet have the ruthlessness of the later historical figures, but only the caution and forbearance of a servant.

He reached out to help him up. "Please get up. Since you're one of Alaric's men, that means you're Borros and my friend. Let's hunt together today."

When Criston looked up, a flicker of surprise and gratitude crossed his eyes, but he quickly regained his composure and bowed respectfully, replying, "Yes, Your Highness."

As soon as everyone had gathered, Borros clapped his hands. "Alright! Everyone's here! Let's go to Griffin's Roost! Roland's hunting grounds are huge, and they even have rare white-tailed deer!" He turned to Daemon and winked, "As for the women, let them stay at Storm's End. Hunting is for us men; let them embroider and drink tea!"

No sooner had these words been spoken than Elena's voice came from the corridor. "Borros Baratheon! If Princess Gael heard you say that, do you think she would ride her Dreamfyre and throw you and your horse into Shipbreaker Bay?"

Borros froze, then turned around to see Gael crossing her arms, with Johanna and Mysaria standing beside her, their eyes full of smiles.

He scratched his head and chuckled, "That's not what I meant—I was just worried there might be thorns in the woods that would tear your skirts—"

"Alright, we know." Gael waved her hand with a smile. "Be careful, don't end up like Elena said, getting your butts eaten by wild boars." She walked over to Daemon and handed him a sheepskin bag. "Inside are the jerky that Little Mei and Hannah taught me to make in the kitchen, and some herbs that Alys makes to treat external injuries. Take these with you."

Daemon took the sheepskin bag, his fingertips touching her hand, which was warm.

Johanna also came over and handed over a folded piece of linen. "Your Highness, this can be used to wipe the bloodstains on the sword—last time I saw you on the slave ship you were wiping it with your cloak, you can use this from now on."

Mysaria was the last to approach, whispering, "Your Highness, if you see any pretty feathers, could you get one for me? I've just learned how to make accessories; the princess would probably like it."

"Alright." Daemon nodded, watching the women's figures disappear behind the pillars before mounting his horse. A Glutton seemed to know he was going hunting, circling low in the air before flying back to the open ground in the distance of the castle. Dreamfyre followed behind, its pale blue dragon wings sweeping across the roof tiles, eliciting gasps from the servants.

The procession set off towards the nest fortress in a grand procession. Dozens of warhorses trod across the stone road outside Storm's End, and the dust they kicked up was swept away by the sea breeze.

Borros rode in the lead, occasionally turning back to shout, "Theogood! Don't run so fast! Willie can't keep up!"

"Lorent! If you keep dozing off, the horse will throw you off!"

Lorent Grandson yawned and said lazily, "What's the rush? Griffin's Roost isn't going anywhere." He pointed to the hills in the distance, "Just over that hill. When I went there last year, I even saw a white stag in the woods, bigger than yours."

"Stop bragging!" Borros retorted. "I saw that white stag first! If you hadn't dragged me into drinking, I would have hunted it long ago!"

Daemon followed behind, watching them bicker, then glanced at Roland Clinton beside him. The young man was riding closer, his red hair fluttering in the wind. "Your Highness, is that horse you're riding a fine breed from across the Narrow Sea? My family has a few too; let's race sometime!"

"Okay." Daemon nodded, his gaze sweeping over Criston Cole, who was riding at the back. He was riding a white horse, his posture as steady as a rock, and even on the bumpy road, the saddle didn't sway at all. Clearly, his riding skills were far more than just "good".

After walking for about an hour, the outline of Griffin's Roost finally appeared in the distance.

The castle was built atop a hill, its reddish-brown stone walls resembling a crouching griffin. The red and white griffin flag atop the castle fluttered in the wind. The road from the foot of the hill to the castle was lined with dense oak forests, and occasionally the calls of deer could be heard from within the woods.

"We're here!" Borros reined in his horse, pointing to the oak forest. "The best white-tailed deer are there, along with wild boar and foxes! Let's split into teams, and whoever hunts a stag first will drink the strongest ale at Griffin's Roost tonight!"

Lorent Grandson leaned against a tree and waved his hand. "I won't fight with you guys. I'll just find a place to sunbathe."

Theogood immediately raised his hand. "I'm with His Highness and his followers!" Willie nodded in agreement. "Me too, with His Highness!"

Roland Clinton frowned. "No! That would mean most of the people are with His Highness. We need to be fair. Let's draw lots!"

Daemon watched their argument, then suddenly laughed, "No need for lots, let's search together. Hunting isn't a competition, it's about the fun." He looked at Criston, "Criston, are you familiar with this forest?"

Criston paused for a moment, then nodded. "I came here a few times last year with Young Master Alaric, and I know where the white-tailed deer often go for water. Your Highness, you can just call me Cole."

"Then lead the way." Daemon spurred his horse forward. "Borros, didn't you want to hunt stags? Follow me."

Borros immediately perked up, forgetting their earlier argument, and spurred his horse to catch up. "Coming! Daemon, don't worry, if we encounter wild boars, I'll go first!"

Sunlight filtered through the leaves in the forest, creating dappled patterns of light. Criston led the way, his white horse making almost no sound as it trod on the fallen leaves. He would stop every now and then to examine the hoofprints on the ground, his movements as practiced as an old hunter.

Theogood and Willie followed behind, whispering about where the deer were. Jon Cavallon carefully avoided the thorns while holding the wooden carving. Lorent Grandson simply found a large tree and leaned against the trunk to take a nap. Roland Clinton, though unconvinced, followed Daemon's direction, observing Daemon's actions from time to time with curiosity in his eyes.

After walking for about half an hour, Criston suddenly raised his hand to signal to stop. "Your Highness, there is a water source ahead, and I hear deer calling."

Daemon reined in his horse and looked in the direction he pointed—there was a small pool in the forest clearing, where several white-tailed deer were drinking, including a male deer with broad antlers, which was licking the surface of the water.

"Good heavens!" Borros lowered his voice, raised his hunting bow, "Watch this!" He held his breath, aimed the arrow at the stag's chest, and was about to release the arrow when the stag suddenly raised its head and ran into the depths of the woods.

"What's going on?" Borros wondered, just then he heard Theogood shout from behind him, "Willie! You broke a branch!"

Willie, his face flushed, stood by the bushes: "I didn't mean to—"

Daemon chuckled and shook his head, spurring his horse to chase after it. "Don't panic, it won't go far." Criston immediately followed, his white horse moving like lightning, quickly catching up with the stag.

Daemon raised the Blackfyre, but instead of striking down, he gently tapped the stag's rump with the back of the sword. Startled, the stag ran even faster, but was not injured.

"Your Highness, why didn't you kill it?" Roland Clinton caught up and asked, puzzled.

"This stag is still young," Daemon sheathed his sword. "We can hunt it again when it's stronger." He looked at Criston. "Your judgment was spot on, faster than Borros's arrow."

Criston paused for a moment, then lowered his head. "Your Highness is too kind." His ears were slightly red, clearly he had never been praised like that before.

Borros finally caught up, panting, "Daemon, how could you let that buck get away? That was a fine stag!"

"What's the rush?" Daemon patted his shoulder. "There are other things in the woods, let's look." He pointed to the distant hills. "I think I just saw some white-tailed deer heading that way, shall we go together?"

Borros immediately forgot his earlier disappointment and spurred his horse to catch up. "Let's go! We're sure to get a kill this time!"

The sunlight in the woods gradually slanted westward, and the occasional sound of a hunting horn mingled with the laughter of the boys, echoing through the oak forest.

Daemon watched the noble youths playing around him, watched his followers join in, and watched Criston silently following behind. He suddenly realized that at this moment, Stormlands was devoid of the solemnity of executions and the scheming of lords, filled only with the passion and excitement of youth—and within this excitement lay the entanglements and destiny of the future, like the griffin banner fluttering in the wind above Griffin's Roost, waiting to be written into history.