Visitors to Storm's End

From the sea, Storm's End looked like a black fist thrust up from the depths of the earth, pointing straight at the sky.

It was a structure that did not belong to this age. Its walls were almost absurdly thick-forty feet at their thickest point, and eighty feet on the seaward side, with sand and rubble packed between two layers of rock. The stones fitted so tightly together that not even a breath of wind could slip through.

The walls curved smoothly, without corners or seams, as though a giant had crushed a single mass of rock into its present shape through sheer brute force.

It had stood atop the cliffs for eight thousand years, enduring countless storms, the sea's erosion, and enemy sieges, yet it had never fallen.

Ancient spells were woven into the stone of its walls-spells carved by the last builders before the Andal invasion, said to ward off magic, dragonfire, and every earthly power.

The fleet arrived in the afternoon. Sunlight spilled through gaps in the clouds, illuminating the beach beside the harbor.

Seen from the sea, the castle was more awe-inspiring than any legend. It crouched atop the cliffs like a clenched fist striking at the sky. Its walls formed rounded curves, their gray-black stones locked tightly together, supposedly letting through not even a breath of wind. The seaward wall rose a hundred and fifty feet straight from the water. Waves shattered into foam at its base, and seabirds circled halfway up like tiny white specks.

Rhaenyra stood at the bow with Aegon in her arms, looking up at the immense tower. Afternoon sunlight shone through the clouds, tinting the walls pale gold, but the tower's summit remained shrouded in shadow, like an iron helm that was never removed.

"It's so tall," Aegon said.

"It's so thick," Rhaenyra said.

Both thought of King's Landing. As the capital of Westeros, it had undergone a century of Targaryen construction since Aegon's conquest a hundred years earlier, making it grander than any castle in Westeros.

But Storm's End was different. It was far older than King's Landing, so old that legends claimed spells were woven into its walls. The last Storm King had built it in the Dawn Age with the shared sweat and blood of giants, the Children of the Forest, and men.

The fleet turned into the harbor. It was small, enclosed by an artificial breakwater, with a lighthouse at its far end. The embers of its beacon were still smoking. Several ships already lay in the harbor that day-

a ship bearing the green turtle of House Estermont of Greenstone on Estermont, a silver-sailed ship of House Tarth of Evenfall Hall on Tarth, two Baratheon merchant ships bearing golden stags on black, and several small fishing boats.

But those ships were not what made everyone stop in their tracks.

It was the enormous dragon lying on the nearby beach.

Everyone could see the dragon.

She lay on the sand like a sleeping hill.

Her deep green scales gleamed darkly in the sunlight, each one like an ancient shield. If she spread her wings fully, they could cover half a ship.

Her breathing was slow and heavy, each exhalation stirring a small whirlwind across the sand.

Vhagar.

The largest living dragon. One of House Targaryen's three founding dragons, and the only one still alive. She had carried Queen Dowager Visenya into battles far and wide, flown beside Balerion the Black Dread, and witnessed the entire War of Conquest. After Visenya died, she had waited twenty-nine full years for Prince Baelon-Viserys's father, the Prince of the Dawn. After Baelon died, she had waited another four years for a twelve-year-old girl.

Laena Velaryon.

Tyland Lannister stood at the bow, clutching a map and staring at the immense creature on the beach. His throat bobbed. "Vhagar," he said, his voice a little dry. "She's at Storm's End."

The Cargyll brothers put their hands on their sword hilts at the same time, then realized swords were meaningless against that dragon and released them together.

"Lady Laena arrived first," Alec murmured. Erryk added, "Much faster than we did."

They exchanged a glance, each seeing the same thought in the other's eyes: If Vhagar is here, then Syrax and Sunfyre-

But their worries were clearly needless. A dragon's cry rang out overhead.

Syrax swooped down from the clouds, her golden scales resembling a flowing river of molten gold in the sunlight. She did not land in the harbor, instead flying straight toward Vhagar on the beach. With their riders, Rhaenyra and Laena, such close friends, the dragons had naturally spent plenty of time together as well. Under their riders' restraint, they would hardly break straight into a fight.

Sunfyre followed off to her side and behind her. His body was not even as large as Vhagar's mouth, but his golden scales shone dazzlingly in the sunlight, and he showed no fear.

The deep green dragon on the beach raised her head. Her eyes were amber, almost translucent in the sunlight. She watched Syrax and Sunfyre approach, but neither rose nor spread her wings. She merely gave a low rumble-a sound like distant thunder that made the ship's planks tremble faintly.

After all, she bore the title Mother of All Dragons. Strictly speaking, Syrax and Sunfyre were merely her children and grandchildren.

Syrax circled once above Vhagar, then landed beside her, folded her wings, and crouched down. Sunfyre landed beside Syrax, his golden eyes fixed on Vhagar, the tip of his tail patting the sand lightly.

Three dragons, in three colors and three sizes, formed a row on the beach at Storm's End.

No one aboard spoke.

Garwin Hightower poked his head out of the cabin, saw the scene on the beach, and ducked back inside. Floris covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes round and wide. Larys Strong stood by the rail with his cane, his gray eyes moving among the three dragons, the faintest trace of a smile at the corners of his mouth.

Rhaenyra stood on deck with Aegon in her arms, looking at Vhagar on the beach with a complicated expression. Of course she knew Laena. They had grown up together on Dragonstone, chased each other through the courtyards of Driftmark, and shared their girlhood secrets beneath the shadows of Syrax and Vhagar outside King's Landing.

Later, matters between their fathers had made separation unavoidable, but the two still exchanged letters often and arranged outings together.

"Cousin Laena is here," Rhaenyra said softly.

Aegon leaned out of her arms to look at the deep green dragon on the beach-Vhagar. He had seen portraits of her and read her history, but seeing her in reality still left him breathless.

She was one of the oldest living creatures, having witnessed Aegon the Conqueror's coronation, Maegor's tyranny, and Jaehaerys's long, peaceful reign.

She now belonged to Laena Velaryon-a seventeen-year-old girl, the eldest daughter of Earl Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, and Princess Rhaenys, the Uncrowned Queen.

The system vibrated faintly deep within Aegon's consciousness, but no notification appeared. It simply remained there, quietly monitoring Vhagar's bioenergy field.

By the time the fleet docked, the gates of Storm's End were already open.

Duke Borros Baratheon stood on the quay, with the nobles of the Stormlands behind him. He looked even more powerfully built than he had at the Kingswood hunt two years earlier. His shoulders were as broad as a castle gate, his black beard neatly trimmed, and his blue eyes held House Baratheon's characteristic sharpness. His wife, Elena Caron, stood nearby, her belly slightly rounded-she was already five months pregnant.

But the person standing closest to Borros was not Elena.

That place had been reserved for someone else.

She was half a head taller than Rhaenyra, with the silver-gold hair she had inherited from her father braided down her back. Her face was beautiful and graceful, and the deep purple eyes inherited from her mother held a composure rarely found in House Targaryen.

She wore an elaborate sea-blue gown, with a silver seahorse brooch-the Velaryon sigil-pinned at her neckline. Her face showed a maturity beyond her years.

She stood with her back straight and her chin slightly raised, her bearing like her dragon's-quiet, imposing, impossible to ignore.

Yet she looked so relaxed that she might have had nothing at all to do with the enormous dragon on the beach.

This was Laena Velaryon.

The two women-one a thirteen-year-old princess and heir to the Iron Throne, the other a seventeen-year-old noblewoman and rider of the largest living dragon-met each other's eyes for a moment across the stone-paved quay.

Then Rhaenyra smiled.

Laena smiled too.

It was a faint smile, gone in an instant, but Aegon caught it. His heart gave a jolt as he recalled the "Velaryon proposal" his father Viserys and Lyonel Strong had mentioned at the Small Council-Rhaenyra would marry Laenor, and Aegon would marry Laena.

Back then, he had thought it was something far in the future. Now Laena stood before him, alive and real, riding Vhagar, seventeen years old and fourteen years his senior, but...

He stamped out that flicker of thought. He would not dwell on it. First, he had to help Rhaenyra derail this search for a husband.

Rhaenyra had already stepped onto the quay. Today, she wore a black-and-red riding outfit, her long hair braided in the style Queen Visenya had worn in her youth.

She was not carrying Aegon now-he walked on his own, holding one of her hands.

When Rhaenyra formally disembarked, Laena was the first to approach. She neither bowed nor exchanged pleasantries, simply opening her arms as she had years ago on Dragonstone.

"Rhaenyra."

Rhaenyra moved Aegon to one side and went to embrace her. The two were close in height, their shoulders level, and their embrace resembled two young she-dragons testing each other.

"You've lost weight," Rhaenyra said.

"You've grown taller," Laena said.

Both laughed at once.

Borros Baratheon stepped forward and bowed to Rhaenyra. His movements were proper, but his booming voice made the ears of those nearby ring. "Princess! Storm's End welcomes you! And the young prince as well!"

He looked at Aegon, his gaze lingering on the boy for a moment. "Two years ago in the Kingswood, I heard the attendants describe Your Highness riding the White Hart. I have never forgotten it."

Aegon peeked out from behind Rhaenyra and smiled at him. Borros's mouth twitched, as though he were recalling that morning when shock had left him gaping. Then he quickly recovered and turned toward the crowd behind him.

"Your Highness, we have prepared a welcoming feast for you and the prince. The lords of the Stormlands are all here, waiting for you both to take your seats." He paused and, as Laena's uncle, glanced at her as well. "Laena arrived this morning. She said she wanted to see you."

Rhaenyra nodded and looked at Laena. Laena was watching Aegon, something strange in her gaze-not curiosity, not scrutiny, but more like confirmation.

"Is this the child?" she asked Rhaenyra softly. "The one who hatched Sunfyre in three days and rode the White Hart at a year old?"

Rhaenyra tightened her arm around him. "This is Aegon. If you'd come to King's Landing a few times over the past few years, you wouldn't be strangers."

Laena crouched to meet Aegon's eyes. Her deep purple eyes were bright, like polished amethysts. She studied him for a long while, then reached out and gently touched his cheek.

"But if I'd been fortunate enough to stay in King's Landing, wouldn't you be calling me Mother now? And this little fellow wouldn't exist, would he?" Laena pinched Aegon's little cheek and turned back to tease Rhaenyra.

After all, a major reason the Sea Snake Corlys had fallen out with Viserys again after returning to King's Landing was that he had proposed marrying the then twelve-year-old Laena to the newly widowed king to ease relations between their houses. Viserys had rejected him with righteous indignation, then promptly married Alicent, snapping and burning the ladder Corlys had offered him.

"That wouldn't have been fortunate. It would have been a terrible misfortune..." Rhaenyra muttered, the corner of her mouth twitching as she watched Laena "tormenting" her little Aegon beside her.

Laena did not seem to mind, though, and continued "mauling" Aegon's little cheeks.

"My name is Laena," she said. "I'm your sister's cousin, and yours too."

Aegon looked at her without speaking. He knew who she was. Laena Velaryon, Vhagar's rider, the eldest daughter of Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, and the future second wife of Daemon Targaryen.

In the original story, she was still betrothed at this point to the wastrel son of the Sealord of Braavos. But not long after that Sealord died, his son quickly squandered the entire family fortune. With no excuse to break off the betrothal, Earl Corlys could only keep postponing the wedding while continuing to support his daughter's fiancé.

It was not until five years later, in 115 AC, that Daemon Targaryen's first wife, Rhea Royce, died in an "accident." Passing through Driftmark, Daemon deliberately provoked the Sealord's son and easily killed him in a duel. Soon afterward, twenty-two-year-old Laena married Daemon, who was twelve years older.

Knowing Viserys and the others would be displeased by their marriage, they flew their dragons across the Narrow Sea and traveled through the Free Cities. During that journey, she became pregnant with twin daughters. In 116 AC, they stayed in Pentos, where Baela and Rhaena were born.

The birth of his nieces prompted Viserys to reconcile with Daemon. Daemon and Laena returned to the Seven Kingdoms and settled on Driftmark.

But on the third day of 120 AC, the year known to history as the Red Spring, Laena gave birth again, this time to a malformed boy who died shortly afterward.

Grieving over her brother Laenor's unexpected death and weakened by childbirth, Laena developed childbed fever. Daemon brought Grandis, Dragonstone's maester and a skilled healer, but even he could not save her. She died three days later.

Before her death, she tried to leave her bed and ride Vhagar one last time, but collapsed on the stairs in her weakened state and never woke again.

And now, it was only 110 AC, ten years earlier. She was still alive, healthy and young, standing before him with warm fingers against his face.

"Hello," Aegon said.

Laena smiled, and her whole face lit up. "He's adorable," she told Rhaenyra. "Much more adorable than Uncle Vaemond's messenger described."

Rhaenyra raised an eyebrow. "How did Vaemond's messenger describe him?"

"He said, 'That little prince of the royal family looks at people like an old nobleman, lectures like an old maester, and lies on his dragon's back like an old knight.'" Laena stood, perfectly imitating Vaemond imitating his messenger's exaggerated tone as he delivered the report. "He also said, 'His Majesty has fathered a monster.'"

Rhaenyra frowned. "He isn't a monster."

"I know." Laena glanced at Sunfyre on the beach. "Uncle Vaemond sounded proud when he told us. He rarely praises anyone, especially a Targaryen, after Father left King's Landing twice."

Listening in Rhaenyra's arms, Aegon felt a complicated emotion rise within him. Vaemond Velaryon, Corlys Velaryon's younger brother, was following Daemon Targaryen alongside him. At this very moment, they were thousands of miles away in the Stepstones, hemmed in by the Triarchy and the Dornish, waiting for reinforcements from the Iron Throne. Their family was here, on the beach at Storm's End, speaking well of them.

"Come," Borros's voice interrupted his thoughts. "The feast is ready. Stormlands specialties-roast boar, dark ale, and wine brought from the Arbor. Princess, I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

He turned to lead the way, his stride vigorous. Duchess Elena Caron followed her husband, inclining her head slightly as she passed Rhaenyra. Her pregnancy was already quite visible, but her steps remained steady.

The nobles of the Stormlands followed, ordered by rank. At the head were the heirs of several earls' houses-some Aegon had seen at the Kingswood hunt, while others were unfamiliar.

Most of their gazes settled on Rhaenyra, but soon shifted to Aegon, then to Sunfyre on the beach, and finally back to Aegon.

The tale of the three-year-old prince riding the White Hart two years earlier had long since spread throughout the Seven Kingdoms. Now he was here in person.

Resting against Rhaenyra's shoulder, Aegon felt the weight of those gazes and suddenly realized something: nominally, this visit to Storm's End was for Rhaenyra to "choose a husband," but in truth, the lords of the Stormlands probably wanted even more to see him, the "prince favored by the White Hart."

He looked up at Rhaenyra. She seemed to have realized it too, and tightened her arms a little. "Don't worry," she whispered.

"I'm not worried," Aegon said. "I'm wondering whether the man you'll choose is among these people, Sister."

Rhaenyra glared at him. "Keep talking nonsense and I'll toss you to Sunfyre."

Sunfyre sneezed on the beach, as though answering her.

Walking beside Rhaenyra, Laena heard the siblings' exchange and laughed. "Your brother is cleverer than you think," she told Rhaenyra.

"I know." Rhaenyra sighed. "That's the problem."

They entered the gates of Storm's End side by side. The shadow of the walls fell over them, cool and dim, carrying the damp scent peculiar to stone. The hall occupied the tower's ground floor and was large enough to hold more than a thousand people. Long tables had already been set, silverware gleamed in the candlelight, and the aroma of roast meat filled the air.

Borros took the seat of honor, with Elena to his right and Laena to his left. Rhaenyra was seated beside Laena, with Aegon on her lap.

The feast began, but this time Sunfyre could only lie on the beach outside the castle with Vhagar and Syrax. In the gathering dusk, the three dragons resembled three silent hills-

though beside Syrax, Sunfyre looked more like a little mound of earth, and beside Vhagar, he was barely a bump in the ground.