A farewell to Storm's End, a shadow in the Gullet
The morning mist over Storm's End had not yet been completely dispelled by the rising sun, but the sea breeze from Shipbreaker Bay, carrying a salty chill, was already brushing against the faces of everyone on the dock.
The blue and white sails of the Redwyne fleet were already unfurled in the harbor, the grape emblems were gilded with a warm gold by the morning light, and the oak barrels carved on the bow of the foremost ship, "Arbor," were still covered with morning dew, as if adding a touch of lazy warmth to this farewell.
Daemon stood on the edge of the gangplank, his long, silver-gold hair brushing against his neck in the wind. He gently touched the Dragon Mark on his right shoulder; it was still slightly warm, as if retaining the warmth of the fireplace from the previous night—Duke Boremund had personally added firewood in the middle of the night, knowing that Daemon and the others were leaving that day, and had reminded Daemon, "Be careful to keep warm when you set sail tomorrow. The morning chill of the Stormlands is something even a true dragon should be mindful of."
"Little Daemon, take this barrel of ale!" Borros Baratheon's booming voice preceded the figure as he rushed over, carrying a heavy oak barrel in his arms. The barrel's opening was stuffed with linen, and the ale seeped through the gaps, leaving a dark stain on the Crowned Stag emblem on his breastplate. "This is five-year-old vintage from our Storm's End cellar, stronger than the sweet wine of Arbor. It's from my father's collection, which I secretly took. If you want some King's Landing get to King's Landing, just have a raven send me a message, and I'll have a knight deliver it to you on horseback! With me here, there'll be plenty of fine wine and food!"
Just as Daemon was about to take it, Lorent Grandson strolled over, clutching a leather wine pouch in his hand. The hem of his yellow robe with black lion patterns swept across the pebbles on the dock. "Your Highness," he said, "Don't just accept this from that Rash Stag, Borros. You should also take this—a wild fruit wine from Grandview. It'll be refreshing on the ship and much lighter than his tattered barrel."
He yawned, his eyes still sleepy, but surprisingly, he didn't mention "going back to the castle to sleep." "I'll definitely be at the King's Landing's Landing tournament this year. We can have a match then. I won't end up like that big oaf Borros, getting my arm bruised by your blow."
"Stop bragging, you Sleeping Lion! You wouldn't last more than a few rounds against me, and you dare compare yourself to my Little Daemon? But why haven't you offered this good wine to your elder brother?" Borros reached out to snatch the wine flask, but Lorent dodged it. The two tall young men wrestled around, making everyone around them laugh.
The young Earl Roland Clinton stepped forward at the opportune moment, his red hair blazing like a flame in the morning light. He handed over an exquisite hunting knife, its hilt engraved with red and white griffins. "Your Highness, this can be considered a specialty of our Griffin's Roost. The blade has been tempered with a rust-preventing solution concocted by the maester and our the Smith, making it perfect for hunting. I'm looking forward to a jousting match with you at the King's Landing's Landing tournament this year."
The brothers Fell Theogood Willie Fell, squeezed in, carrying a cloth bag containing freshly baked flatbread. "Your Highness, have some if you're hungry on the road! We had the kitchen add honey!"
Jon Cavallon then handed over a wooden carving similar to the previous one, its ears bright red. "Your Highness, this—please take it. I cut down some fresh wood and brought it a few days ago when we were hunting in the Griffin's Roost. It makes a perfect pair with the one I gave you before. In our Fawn Hall, two deer represent good luck. Perhaps carrying it will ensure a smooth voyage."
Daemon took them one by one, his fingertips touching the warmth of the bread, the coldness of the hunting knife, and the rough texture of the wood carving. His heart felt as warm as the morning sun shrouded in mist, a warmth that made him feel heavy.
He looked at Criston Cole at the back of the crowd. The young man, dressed in a grey robe, stood beside Alaric Dondarrion. Seeing him look over, he immediately knelt on one knee, his movements as precise as if he'd practiced a thousand times. "Your Highness, the journey to King's Landing's Landing is long. Please take care. I'm returning to Blackhaven to hone my skills. I look forward to meeting you again at this year's King's Landing's Landing Tournament, following Young Master Alaric. If needed in the future, Criston Cole is always ready to serve you."
Daemon nodded and reached out to help him up. "Train hard in the Stormlands. I hope to see your improvement when we meet again at the tournament in King's Landing's Landing this year." A glint flashed in Criston's eyes, and he replied emphatically, "Yes," before stepping aside.
Lord Boremund Baratheon stepped forward, the Crowned Stag emblem on his dark grey armor gleaming coldly. He patted Daemon on the shoulder, his touch firm and steady. "Little Daemon, when you reach King's Landing, give Jocelyn a message for me—"
Storm's End will always be her home, and it can be yours too. If anything King's Landing, send a raven to deliver the message; the knights of Stormlands are always ready to serve her and her "son."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over Gael, Mysaria, Johanna, and Vaegon and Leonno's group behind Daemon. "Take care of them, and take care of yourselves too."
"I will, Bo- Boremund -Uncle," Daemon suddenly spoke, his voice lower than usual.
He abandoned his original intention to call out "adult" and stiffly uttered the unfamiliar word.
Boremund's body stiffened abruptly, then a warm glint flashed in his eyes, and the hand patting his shoulder tightened. "Good, good lad—when you get to King's Landing, remember to write to your uncle."
Gael walked up to Elena Caron and took her arm. "Miss Elena, when you and Borros get married, Daemon and I will definitely come to Storm's End to present our congratulatory gifts."
Elena smiled and nodded, straightening her light blue rose cloak. "Don't worry, Princess, I'll have Borros personally come to King's King's Landing to fetch you. Johanna, Mysaria, take good care of yourselves too. Next time we meet, I'll teach you how to make our Nightsong's unique honey cake."
Mysaria nodded vigorously, her eyes slightly red; Johanna waved the feather in her hand. "I can also make the feather accessories you taught me and Little Mei to make, and I'll give them to you then!"
As Alyn Redwyne sounded the horn of departure, Borros suddenly rushed over and hugged Daemon so tightly he almost couldn't breathe. "Little Daemon! See King's Landing! Don't forget our agreement, the loser drinks three barrels of ale!"
"I won't forget." Daemon patted his back, watching him back with red eyes, watching Duke Boremund wave goodbye, watching Lorent, Roland, and Theogood stand on the dock, getting smaller and smaller until they finally shrank into black dots in the morning mist.
As Redwyne's fleet slowly sailed away from Shipbreaker Bay, the blue and white sails unfurled on the sea like a flock of seabirds spreading their wings.
Gael leaned against Daemon, her pale purple eyes reflecting the outline of Storm's End, and said softly, "It seems we can't generalize. Not all of Stormlands are like the first few we encountered. At least everyone in Storm's End is very nice, much warmer than Stonehelm."
Mysaria, meanwhile, was holding the pair of wooden deer that Daemon had given her. She secretly opened one and took a sip, then drank from the bag of wild fruit wine that Daemon had given her from Lorent. Her platinum curls were damp with sea mist. "I'll miss Elena and the others, especially this Lorent wild fruit wine. It's so delicious."
Johanna stood on the ship's railing, gazing at the distant coastline, clutching the hunting knife Daemon had just given her. A faint smile played on her lips—she would finally no longer have to hide behind others, she finally had a future to look forward to. One day, she too would spread her "Black Swan" wings, just as her dragon prince had protected her that day, to protect those she wanted to protect.
After half a day's sailing, the fleet rounded the Sharp Point of Massey's Hook. This long, narrow landmass stretched out like an arm into the Narrow Sea, with stone fortifications extending along the coast. The coats of arms on the flags were varied, including the white background with red, green, and blue triple spirals of the House Bar Emmon House Massey, the white background with silver swordfish, and the coats of arms of some minor lords, all fluttering in the wind.
Leonno Strong stood beside Daemon, his bald head gleaming in the sunlight. "Your Highness, before Aegon's Conquest, Massey's Hook belonged to the Stormlands. Later, Bar Emmon and House Massey pledged allegiance to the Targaryen, and it was then incorporated into the Crownlands. The people here have always been loyal to the royal family, especially House Massey, who have produced several Master of Laws."
Daemon nodded, looking at Stonedance in the distance. The castle was built on the hillside on the east side of the Massey's Hook, with white stone walls covered with ivy and the triple spiral flag on the castle top fluttering in the wind.
Earl Massey, accompanied by his entourage, was already waiting at the dock. He wore a blue robe embroidered with spiral patterns and held a silver platter containing local fruit wine. "Your Highness Daemon, Princess Gael, welcome to our Stonedance! I have already arranged for fresh water and food, and I hope that Your Highness's fleet can rest here for half a day."
In the courtyard of Stonedance, Earl Massey recounted his family's history. "Our House Massey lineage originates from the First Men. Our first ancestor, Maldon Massey, as a vassal of the Storm King, Crowfriend the Durran, built Stonedance and ruled Massey's Hook. Later, relations soured, and our ancestor Joshua Massey also resisted the Storm King here. When the Andals invaded, Torgrion Bar Emmon married our ancestor's daughter, and we were able to hold onto Massey's Hook. However, when His Aegon conquered Westeros, we did not hesitate to pledge allegiance to the dragons, for we knew that only the Targaryen dragons could bring us victory and glory."
He pointed to the tapestry on the wall, embroidered with Aegon riding Balerion across Stonedance, "That's our family heirloom, a reminder to always be loyal to the true dragon."
Leaving Stonedance, the fleet continued north, arriving at the Sharp Point at dusk. The castle sits atop Massey's Hook, its Watchtower ablaze with flames, like a guiding star.
Earl Bar Emmon, clad in silver armor with the swordfish emblem on his breastplate gleaming, led his entourage up the Watchtower and pointed to the distant sea. "Your Highness, you can see the Gullet from here. As you know, beyond the Gullet lies Blackwater Bay, and further on, King's Landing."
He handed over an ornate glass jar containing a small, extremely rare swordfish specimen. "This is a specialty of the Narrow Sea, obtained by our ancestors on their voyages. It was preserved as a specimen and kept in our home. Today, we present it to Your Highness as a keepsake. We, the people of House Bar Emmon, are forever willing to protect this sea for the Targaryen."
As night fell, the fleet finally entered the Gullet. The outline of Dragonstone was faintly visible in the darkness on the left, while the shadow of Blackstone Castle resembled a lurking beast.
The Massey's Hook on the right was pitch black, with only the occasional sound of waves and the clatter of sails, making it exceptionally quiet.
Most of Daemon's followers had already fallen asleep, except for night owls like Colin Celtigar and Alyn Redwyne, who were used to life at sea, who patrolled the deck with the sailors alongside Big Horas, their torches casting dappled patterns of light in the night.
Daemon lay on the wooden bed in the cabin, but couldn't fall asleep. He had a vague dream in which he saw the Godswood of Harrenhal, Alys Rivers stood before a fire, her green eyes reflecting the dancing flames, saying, "It's coming," but Daemon couldn't see her expression.
Then the scene shifts, and Daemon regains his senses to find himself barefoot on the shore of Dragonstone. Suddenly, a dark shadow swiftly pounces on him from the air. Daemon is jolted awake from his dream, his right hand instinctively gripping the hilt of the Blackfyre, his knuckles turning white.
The cabin was quiet, save for the crackling of the firewood in the fireplace, which cast flickering shadows on the walls.
He checked the doors and windows, which were all tightly closed, and then carefully examined every corner of the room, but found nothing unusual.
"Am I being too sensitive?" he muttered to himself, reaching out to touch the Dragon Mark on his right shoulder—it was burning hot, the familiar warmth spreading down his shoulder, stronger than ever before, just like the night he first encountered the Glutton, only slightly weaker.
He walked to the window, gently pushed it open a crack, and the salty sea breeze rushed in, carrying a faint fishy smell. The distant sea was pitch black, with only the lights of the fleet scattered like stars on the water.
Suddenly, a dark shadow flashed past the window, as fast as the wind, making Daemon wonder if he had seen it wrong. But he also knew that his intuition, honed from years of experience on the battlefield in his previous life, was infallible. Just as Daemon was considering whether to give chase, he heard a deafening, familiar dragon roar from above—it was Glutton!
The Black Dragon's silhouette unfolded in the night, its enormous wings obscuring the stars and moon, its dark eyes sweeping across the sea, and its breath exhaling white steam carrying a scorching heat.
Daemon could clearly hear and sense the wariness in the Glutton's roar; something unfamiliar had entered its "territory."
As the Glutton continued to warn, Dreamfyre roared in response. Its pale blue dragon breath condensed into white vapor in the night, intertwining with the Glutton ' dragon roars, like two guardian flames illuminating half of the sea.
The people on deck were awakened. Jarman Waters rushed out, bow and arrow in hand, his one eye scanning the sea. He met Damon's gaze as Daemon emerged from the room carrying Blackfyre: "Your Highness! What's wrong?"
Larys Strong, unusually flustered, rushed over, leaning on his cane, the hem of his black robe brushing against the sawdust on the deck. "Are there pirates? Or Ironborn?"
Daemon didn't speak, his gaze falling on a pile of dried fish drying in the corner of the deck. In the shadows beside the dried fish, something seemed to be moving.
He gripped the Blackfyre tightly and walked over step by step. The firelight reflected on the fish, casting a long, thin black shadow that moved slowly along the wooden plank, like a lurking snake.
The Glutton roared again, its dragon claws landing lightly on the edge of the deck, sending up a flurry of sawdust.
Dreamfyre swooped down, its pale blue dragon breath landing on the open ground beside the shadowy figure, stirring up a shower of sparks. The shadowy figure abruptly stopped, seemingly wanting to escape, but was rendered immobile by the dragon's might.
Daemon's violet eyes shone brightly in the night. He raised his Blackfyre, its blade gleaming coldly, and pointed it at the dark figure. "Come out."
The night was as thick as ink, and the roar of the waves in the Gullet grew louder and louder. The dragon roars of the Glutton and the Dreamfyre echoed across the sea. Everyone on deck held their breath, staring at the dark figure that appeared and disappeared in the firelight. No one knew whether this strange movement in the dead of night was a pirate attack or an even more terrifying threat.