Chapter 23 : Before the end of peace and quite.

Corlys Velaryon (107 A.C. Fiveth Moon)

Dragonstone Room of the Painted Table

He stood there with all the rest of the high nobles and commanders of the expedition into the Stepstones that would lead it. Though all of them stood waiting for Aemon to arrive, the last to come and last to leave, the final briefing before it all would start.

As they stood waiting, there were he heard murmurs of low speech. He saw lords of the Narrow Sea and the Crownlands Bar Emmon, Darklyn, Celitgar, and others. Some were from the Riverlands, but most lords were from the North, the main power base of Aemon. There were even men from the hillclans near the Wall, Flint and Norry were around. Then there was the heir to Karhold, Edric Karstark, two namedays Aemon's senior. The most important figure of the gathered Northern lords was Desmond Manderley, the five and twenty namedays old Keeper of The White Knife and Lord of White Harbor. A man who brought the third-largest contingent of ships of the people who had pledged their support to Aemon, only being behind the Redweyn's and himself.

The more he thought about it, 'without Aemon, how would this war or expedition go? For certain, the King's support wouldn't be guaranteed. Most of the Lords of the North would give piss ass. Then Aemon himself rode the dragon of the Conquest and brought 30 ships himself to bear for invasion, with additional manpower as well.'

Then his thoughts were broken when Aemon was announced, "Prince Aemon Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, Lord of Sea Dragonpoint, and Heir to Iron Throne." Ser Harrold announced. One of the knights of the Kingsguard followed Aemon's shadow. The other newly promoted Ser Criston Cole. Beside him walked his two wives. They both looked regal. The future King and Queens of the realm.

"My Lords, the final briefing before we end this mess. We call it the Stepstones and the Crabfeeder." Aemon said after he sat down at Aegon's high seat.

"First and foremost, the crown and I show thanks to those gathered here today, those who will join us later. War is here, and it will most likely be a long and bloody one. A war that isn't for one house or the crown, as many around the realm may think. No, this war is for everyone in Westeros who rely on trade. The North needs the food that comes from the shipments, and the nobles and smallfolk of the South buy the spices in the markets to increase the taste of their food and other commodities. The others want to sail and discover the world. But because of people who only care about their wealth and power, they let loose a psychopath in those waters, someone who nails our men to stakes. They do this to people who have done nothing wrong. Sell our women and children into slavery. Well, no more. In a week, we set sail, and we will feed this Crabfeeder to his own crabs and show them what the words of my house mean." Aemon ended his peace, and people clapped and shouted approval. He just grinned, satisfied at the spectacle, and thought of retribution.

"We all know, the Triarch or Kingdom of the Three daughters, or whatever Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys are calling themselves these days," Aemon said with a dismissive tone, not finding the prop-up coalition a reasonable proposition, as it disrupted the power balance in the region.

"As discussed before, the main stronghold of these brigands is Bloodstone. Taking it and the central islands will be a difficult task. So, instead of attacking and losing many men and resources in the process, we starve them out. It will be long, but it's the best way to take and hold the Stepstones." Aemon said as he used a dragon cane to point.

The more he spoke, and especially now, Aemon was someone you listen to. 'Damn, he was a boy; no, he wasn't any longer. He was a man. A boy of five and ten damning respect of men twice or thrice his age.'He thought in wonderment. "We start a blockade of central isles, starve their supplies and men. When they have feasted on the rock, salt, and fish, when they are tired, broken, and hungry, we will crush them, and the world will know what happens when you cross with Westeros." Aemon's eyes glinted with a hint of satisfaction as if he had striven for this moment, the same as he had.

"So the war plans will take the outer isles. These are the Isles of Sunstone, The Skulls, Shame Isle, and Last Refuge. Perhaps after this damn war, we can give them some better names, no?" Most in the room laughed at that. So did he, perhaps. Yes, soon it will be for the Iron Throne and his future grandchildren to hold.

"I hope we will hold these lands within a year or more. After we fortify these lands, send in our supplies and start the blockade. The main supply route comes from the Stormlands as they are close. I plan on flying to Storm Ends to discuss the plans further, as Lord Boremund has pledged his support. In around a week from now, we should all have arrived to join the fleet at Tarth and form their launch of the expedition into the Stepstones. Lord Corlys, please tell us the disposition of our forces." Aemon ended and nodded toward him, and he looked around and started to speak.

"My Prince, my lords, our forces are currently split into three groups. The main fleet is here at Dragonstone and Driftmark, with a total of 53 warships and another 20 transport vessels. Here, we have a total of around 11,500 men, and the other one is in the Narrow Sea. The one this fleet will link up with is at this moment at Tarth, and it holds 26 warships and another seven transport vessels. They also hold an additional 5,250 men. As we speak, more ships are being built, and men are being recruited and are arriving; these can be used in the future to be sent as reserves. The other fleet is setting sail from the Old Town as we speak for the Arbor, where the fleet will link up with the Arbor fleet that has joined our expedition forces. Combined with the Arbor fleet, it will host our biggest force. Of 70 warships and 30 transport vessels. Although not all are together, still some are harbored in Seadragon Point." He said as he spoke of the numbers. In truth, he and Aemon were in command together, although he knew that if it came to a split decision, Aemon would have the final say. Still, a strong head speaks to men, and its morale without it grumbles, and the war will be far more costly.

"True enough, Lord Corlys, as we are not sure of a full accounting of the man and ships there. To my knowledge, the Western forces hold a total of some 12,000 men, more or less. Many will be used as transport escorts to send in supplies from the Arbor. As it's by the most isolated route toward the Isles of the Stepstones, and in the beginning, it will be needed." Aemon added that he was more involved on that side of Westeros because of his seat at Sea Dragonpoint.

"Well, hopefully, the Stepstones will be crushed within two or perhaps three years. My lords, my princess, this will be a long, hard one, so be prepared to say your goodbyes now you still can. Unfortunately, not all will have to have that change again." Aemon ended, his voice clear as day. Not all would come home, and this is always the case in wars. With that, Aemon stepped down but also gestured to a servant. Who nodded, walked out of the room, and arrived with a cushion covered with a cloth. 'What was this?' he wondered.

"Lord Corlys Velaryon, please kneel if you will," Aemon spoke to him sternly and nodded toward him. The grey eyes of his goodson held that deep knowledge that only came with age. 'Why did Aemon always hold that? He noticed before, but now it was even more clear. But as always,' he wondered as he nodded and knelt.

"Lord Corlys Velaryon, Lord of The Tides and Master of Driftmark. I, Prince Aemon, Prince of Dragonstone and Lord of Sea Dragonpoint, hereby name you Admiral of the fleet. May your voice and thought guide us to the waters we will soon face." Aemon said and removed the cloth, revealing a silver chain with a trident pendant as its centerpiece. Looking at the piece in wonderment, he saw that the Trident was made of Valyrian steel. "May this chain let all men know of your rank. Now rise as Admiral of the Narrow Sea." Aemon said as he placed the chain around his neck; he felt proud at that moment. He was finally getting the recognition he deserved. The King didn't give it, but in his eyes, the man before him was becoming a King, in all but name.

"Thank you, my Prince, you do me a great honor." He answered, his voice a bit strong with pride. "The honor is mine, Lord," Aemon said as he held out his hand. He took and shook, and applause was gained after it; the sea horse and the dragon were coming again, ones again would march to war.

"Make it known, convey to all your men and officers, that insubordination will not be tolerated. It will be met with severe punishment. This is not a band of ragged vagabonds we are about to face." Aemon said as he waved his hands around the room. "We are Andals, Valyrians, Rhoynar, and First Men," Aemon declared sternly, fixing his gaze on the men and women in the room.

"In my absence, Lord Corlys holds the final say. Is that crystal clear? I will not tolerate petty rivalries undermining our effectiveness. Remember my family's words. Any further questions before we all begin preparations for our departures?" Silence filled the room, and with no further inquiries, the gathering was dismissed.-

Aemon Solar.

"Have you ever been to war, Corlys?" Aemon questioned after Aemon poured them both a glass of wine. He took a sip of the wine and answered, "Not like this one we are about to sail into, but I did aid your uncle and your father in the Tyroshi pirate raid. That ended in more a loss for the realm than it was worth." 'The loss of Aemon, the first heir of King Jaehaerys, his own good father.' He thought sadly back and to the cries of grief of Jocelyn and Rheanys.

"Yes, Aemon was killed by a Tyroshi crossbowman, a shot intended for the Lord of Tarth. All though, so they all say. My father burned them all for that mistake." Aemon said in answer and continued. "The world changed that day, and even now, we feel the sting of that loss. Perhaps Aemon still would have ruled now, and Rhaenys would ascend after him. Then Laena, and perhaps my one own children. If I had been born and married to your daughter. But those are all what if, and you can't go back and change the past unless the gods have other plans for us." 'Truth enough,' he thought on that question for long moments when he sailed his ships.

"True, one can go back in time. The past is written and is already dry." He added.

"You know, leading men is something one is called to it. Aemon had it, as did Baelon. Not all men have that pull with people. It isn't something you learn. You either can't or can. Some try, but in the end, they fail. Seeing you speak, I can't but wonder if you already have." He spoke low as to sip of his wine.

"Well, you aren't wrong. I have let my men before all this. You might have wondered where all the Ironwood comes from. It was before Laenor joined me that I went north of the Wall. I have a settlement there, and it's growing. Hopefully, it'll be a start to improving terms with Freefolk. Some have settled them and flow our laws, while others do trade in the settlement. It is called Ice Dragon, as the settlers there decide." Aemon added. 'Well, this was certainly interesting. Lands up north to gain the best wood in the Kingdom. What are the freefolk.' He thought intrigued.

"Freefolk, I haven't heard that word before?" He asked. "Ah, is what the wildlings preferred to be called. The name wildling is what most Westroshi call them, and some in the south call us first men. I" Aemon explained.

"I always wondered where you got your Ironwood. I know house Forster still has them, as they have been great stewards of their woods. Wish is one of the reasons for their rivalry with House Whitehill. My own Seasnake is built from the Ironwood of house Forster, and it was all worth it. That ship has brought home every time." He said with a smile and shook his head. 'Aemon would be some for the history books, as would he, he was sure.' He thought amused.

"Ah, Corlys, we all wish to return, but none of us are ready to leave just yet. You'll make it back from this war," Aemon said, his tone laced with mockery. "Perhaps, Aemon, I might finally bring my wife some peace instead of my constant sailing and drive," he said with a chuckle.

"Let's not tempt fate," Aemon warned, his voice growing more serious. "I've no desire to make widows of my wives nor to see my goodmother draped in mourning. I made a vow to return, and breaking promises is a perilous course. So, I'm not eager to sail. My heart is here and always will be. But duty is the death of love."

His tone softened as he spoke of his daughter and the princess, a rare warmth in his voice that tempered his usual resolve.

"Well then, Corlys, let us drink to a swift and profitable war, though I fear it may be neither," Aemon said, breaking the slince that hang of the words and raising his cup.

"To that, Aemon. To war, we go. May the songs and histories speak kindly of us when all is done," He responded, meeting Aemon's toast.

As their cups clinked together, he couldn't shake the unease that settled over him. The future loomed before them, shadowed and uncertain, like the mists that shrouded the sea at dawn.

Laena Velaryon (107 A.C. Fiveth Moon)

Dragonstone - Aemons Chambers

She lain against her husband's chest, his warm body against hers, two dragons beating as one. Or three when Rhaenyra was around, and the more she was around. Then, it truly felt as if they were meant to be the three heads of the dragon, just like her ancestors.

Tonight was hers, as yesterday's night was Rhaenyra's, and they both got some alone time with their husband. Aemon just lay there as she looked at him with short-cut hair, like Aegon Conqueror had in the paintings and tapestries. Although Aemon hair was curled, a trait he most likely gained from Alysanne Targaryen, as most Targaryen had straight hair, She had inherited that most likely as well, as her hair was curly just like Aemon's. Her hair was silver, whereas Aemon's held more gold and silver coloring, and on occasion, a strain of black raven hair of his mother came through. He looked so peaceful now, and soon he wouldn't have for some time, she suspected. Wars would rip people of peace. 'However, she wasn't sure if she and Rhaenyra would have peace when their husband would be at war.' It still brought nods in her stomach at the thought.

She started to kiss his chest and move down toward his manhood. How much she wanted to be whole with him. But Aemon's fears were true, and he would most likely also mist the birth if she got with child, if they had lain together. Aemma's death has undoubtedly causation him. He seemed to fear the thought of her and Rhaenyra giving birth to young. Although she hoped that in the future, she would provide her husband with many children,

Still, she wouldn't be denied her husband's cock for tonight. She took it in her hand and rubbed it slowly as she took the top in her mouth, waking her husband. "Laena, by the gods, that's a delight to wake on."

"Well, I'm glad my husband is pleased with my work." She said as starting to increase, her speed making Aemon groan in pleasure. Her husband's cock, was thick and long, and she wondered how it would feel inside of her instead of her mouth.

"What man wouldn't?" Aemon mumbled, and she felt his hand travel over her body, cubbing one of her breasts. His hands, touching her, always set her on fire. He pinched a nipple, making her moan as she sucked his cock.

"Laena, Laena, I'm closed." Aemon said under strained breath, after some time, of pleasuring her husband's cock. True, and her husband had stamina. As she learned in this short time of their marriage, and the time before that, they had a blish full time on Driftmark. Aemon Targaryen was someone who knew how to move in the bedchamber.

"Yess, Laenaa…" Aemond moaned a loud as he spilled seed in her mouth. The taste, the more she did, became more pleasurable. It was a full load, and she swallowed it all, savoring the taste as she did.

"Laena, come here." Crabbed her by the waist afterward and kissed her fully on the lips as their tongs danced for dominance. "Aemon," Moaning his name loudly as his kiss went down, and he sucked her one breast and rubbed her wet cunt, 'Oh so wet she was for him.' She thought lustfully.

"Hungry, aren't you? Well, so I'm I for my wife cunt." He said as he kissed her down her belly, brushing over her slivery hair below.

Then he was on his knees, his tong licking her clit, and at sensation crip the seats of the bed. "Aemon," She moaned as Aemon entered another finger inside of her cunt. "Dear wife, you are flowing over," Aemon said as she looked at him. The silver-gold strains of his facial hair were stained with her fluids.

She wanted to answer, but, Aemon didn't give her the chance, as he started his assault on her cunt again. She moaned aloud at the suddenness of his action. "Damn, Aemon a warin…" she said, as her voice was muffled by him claiming her mouth, and she tasted herself on him.

As he kissed her passionately, his hands, working on her cunt made her soon become undone, as she climaxed all over his hand. "Tast yourself, wife. It seems you are damn burst." He said with a smirk on his face after he ended the kiss.

She licked his fingers and tasted herself on his fingers. "The seven would be aghast at our actions this night, husband."

Aemon spoke as she was safely in his arms. "Well, let them. If my wife is this happy." Aemon kissed her, and she joined eagerly.

"I love Aemon. Come back to us." She said that afterward, her voice choked when she said, "I promised, didn't my love?" Aemon said, kissing her, and after, they both drifted off to sleep, as tomorrow was their Valyrian wedding.

The Valyrian Wedding

There she stood on the black sands of Dragonstone, the salt-kissed breeze teasing the silver strands of her hair. Laena Velaryon, daughter of Driftmark, stood between Aemon and Rhaenyra, their hands entwined as they were bound in the ancient rites of Old Valyria. The three of them were draped in garments that shimmered like molten silver, intricate designs woven with the symbols of their noble houses—dragons, seahorses, and fire.

Rhaenyra's violet eyes sparkled with the fire of the dragon she was, while Aemon's gaze held a fierce intensity that made Laena's heart quicken. She could feel the weight of their love and desire, and she prayed silently that she was as beautiful to them as they were. Judging by the way their eyes lingered on her, she knew she was.

The Valyrian High Priest of Dragonstone approached, his robes the color of storm clouds, edged with crimson. He held the blade that would seal their union. One by one, they extended their hands, accepting the two cuts—one on the hand and one on the lip. She winced as the blade bit into her flesh, but the sting was nothing compared to the excitement and happiness she felt to be here.

As their blood mingled, the High Priest began the ancient words that would bind them as one. His voice was a low, haunting chant that echoed across the shore, carried by the wind that seemed to grow still in reverence.

"Blood of three, joined as one, by ghostly flame, by a song of shadows. Three hearts as an ember, forged in fourteen flames. A future promised in glass as the stars, sun, and moon stand witness. A vow is spoken through time of darkness and light. These souls shall shine bright. One Flame, one soul. Are Aemon Targaryen, Rhaenyra Targaryen, and Laena Velaryon."

When the words were spoken, Aemon turned first to Rhaenyra, capturing her lips in a searing kiss that left her breathless. Then, Rhaenyra turned to her, their lips meeting in a kiss. They broke and parted, and bloodstained Aemon kissed her, sealing their bond with a tenderness that spoke of promises yet to come.

Their hands came together, bloodied and bound, and she felt a sense of pride as they were finally married in the way of Valyria.

As they stood together, her heart ached with a longing she could not voice. Aemon was leaving, called away to the war that loomed on the horizon. She could only hope, as the gods and their ancestors bore witness, that one day he would return to her, to Rhaenyra, so they might marry again beneath the ancient weirwood in the godswood of Winterfell, where the gods of Aemon's mother house would join as one.

Aemon's Departure

She stood beside Rhaenyra as they both waited for their husband to arrive, preparing everything for the journey. Balerion himself was snuggling with Vhagar and Syrax; it was a heartfelt scene seeing the dragons saying goodbye to their mate. Her brother stood waiting beside his dragon; he would be the squire and ward of her husband during the war, and perhaps her brother of three and ten namedays would return a knight. Her brother would join her husband to Storm's End but would escort the fleet toward Tarth. She remembered her brother's smile when he heard he would come. His first lessons of war as the future Lord of Tides.

She, however, would stay with her mother and represent Driftmark. She would learn the art of ruling. Rhaenyra wanted to come to the Stepstones, but Aemon and the King argued against it. Aemon had told her to return to court, learn, keep an eye on the small council, and help Alicent integrate into the family. She was their family now, her own goodsister. That thought was still odd to her, but she hoped her bond with Alicent would improve in time.

"Prince Aemon is coming," one of the Oathguards announced, the loyal soldiers of her husband, the core of his power base. "Lord Corlys, have a fine sailing. I'll see you again in Tarth for the final briefing. Make sure your son doesn't burn our fleet before we sail into the Stepstones," Aemon said, shaking her father's hand. Her father smiled, and Laenor shook his head and chuckled with the rest of the people gathered. They all nodded as they boarded ships, and Aemon watched as they did. He looked regal, a king in the making, and she was proud to call him husband.

"Well, there they go, off to war, far too many of our family. At least they are together. Aemon once told me a saying his Stark family spoke of. The lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. We all will have someone close; you have your mother on Driftmark, and I have Lyanna and Visenya, and perhaps Alicent if that wound can be healed more," Rhaenyra said with a sigh, and she heard the longing in her voice.

"Dearest wives, I shall miss you both very much. It is a pity our paths separated so soon after our joining. Be safe, and I will try to do the same, and I shall keep my promise and return," he said to both of them as he arrived to say his goodbyes, and both she and Rhaenyra hugged him tightly.

"We will miss you as well, my love," she said as she kissed him on the lips, the kiss lingering with longing.

"I love you, Aemon; you have always been my anchor. It will be hard to stay steady without you. Come back to us," Rhaenyra said, her eyes filled with tears, much like hers. Rhaenyra kissed Aemon then, just as filled with longing as she had. Then Vhagar, Syrax, and Balerion all purred mournfully, the bonds with their riders at their fullest.

"To our next meeting, my loves," Aemon said, kissing both of them on the cheek, then he sighed as he walked toward his mother and sister, a longing look in his eyes. 'Aemon, please come back,' she thought as she watched the goodbyes between them.

Aemon Targaryen (107 A.C. Fiveth Moon)\

Dragonstone Harbor

"Mother, I will come back. I promised my wives that isn't something I would ever try to break," he said after he left his mother for a hug. "Well, make sure you return then; the world still needs Aemon Targaryen, The White Dragon," she said as she held his hands.

"True enough, but not even I can avoid death forever, Mother. It is if the gods or whatever power says it's my time. Although I'm luckier than most, having survived it twice," he whispered to her and kissed her on her cheek. 'Lyanna Stark Targaryen, a mother of two and wife to both Rhaengar Targaryen and Baelon Targaryen, was a strong woman. After all these years together, he was proud of the woman he called mother.' He thought as he stared into her grey eyes.

"Yes, but I don't think the gods are done with you, Aemon," she said as she held his face. He nodded, thinking she was right, even if he had already failed in his task. He would make damn sure he wouldn't lose the family he had gained, although he knew that hole of the past would never leave him.

"Farewell, Mother, I will return. I have to look out for my wife and Alicent. Would you be so kind? I think they shall need it," he said with a smile and turned to his Kingsguard.

"Harrold, I suppose I'll see you soon. As agreed, the troops of Seadragon Point on this side of Westeros are yours. I'll see you back on Tarth," Harrold bowed toward him, and he looked at, "Ser Criston, ready for a dragon ride. Be careful, though; I'm not sure how Balerion would react to a part Dornish man climbing on him," he said with a smirk, making the knight gulp with a hint of fear. 'Good, the man isn't stupid, aside from sleeping with a princess, if Mushroom is to be believed.' He thought happily.

"Of course, my Prince, ready to serve and protect," the Knight said with a low bow and followed him to Balerion. It was one of the things that he had to learn when he came into his own with this family, at court in general. One's appearance spoke of the man: what swords does he or she wear on their hip, or what kind of jewelry or fine attire? It was all for show, but show and tell; it was what made people see you in their eyes and minds. When he was a bastard and later in the Night's Watch, it didn't matter, but now it did. However, it would be that he was too focused on the Wall when looking back at it, even in the North. He was still a King, and some of the actions he took then weren't the best. He had enough time to think about those mistakes and the good things he had done in the past when he was but a babe, with the mind of a 20-year-old.

"Aemon, my friend, shall we go to the stag?" Balerion asked, their mental link connecting again. It was something that switched on and off when needed if Balerion knew he needed his support.

His black friend lowered his back as he climbed up his black leather wing, where he could pull from the ground. He made an invention; he wasn't a fan of climbing up ropes, and it was impossible to do with armor on. You could only really mount him without using the ladder if he mounted Balerion from higher ground. So the latter was perfect for this.

After they sat in the saddle, he checked Ser Criston, who was correctly chained. 'It would do if the kingguard fell down during his first flight.' He thought with a chuckle.

"Ready, ser? You might be the first Dornishmen in history to ride a dragon." He asked. "Yes, My Prince." Criston with a slight wince.

"Very well." He said and gave the command. 'He knew he could have Balerion fly through their bond. Saying the words always made me feel good.' He thought happily as he looked at the open waters of the Narrow Seas. "Soves, my friend, soves."

"Yes, we burn our enemies with fire and blood," Balerion roared as he took off, leaving. 'Farewell,' he thought as he glanced one last look at Dragonstone and his family.

-

Storm's End

'Well, this is Storm's End, the great castle of the Lord Paramounts of the Stormlands. The final seat of Durran God's grief is aided by Brandon, the builder, in the building of it if the legends are to be believed.' He thought as looking at House Baratheon's castle was impressive, and he could easily understand how Stannis held out for most of Usurper's War. Storm's End was surrounded by a massive outer curtain wall, 30 meters in height and around 12 meters thick. It has cliffs on three sides and a dry moat in front of the entrances to the castle. In the center of it was a tall, the only tower of Storm's, a colossal drum tower crowned with a formidable battlement on top of it.

But looking from the high sky at Storm's End, and as Balerion roared loudly, making their presence known, he questioned if this was what Aegon felt on top of Balerion when he was about to melt and burn House Hoare to ash.

"He felt pride, and part of him was disgusted by what we had done. Aegon didn't want to fight; it was one thing Aegon never really wanted to do. Only to rule, make his dream of Ice and Fire come true, and love his family. If Aegon truly cared for something that wasn't the dream, it was family, so no, he didn't revel in the bloodshed." Balerion entered his mind and answered the question he pondered.

"Unfortunately, he didn't give much of that love to his second son. Or the wisdom of senseless violence. Although some things Meagor did were needed, some powers in the Seven Kingdoms, like the faith, were too powerful, and they did not respect the traditions of our house. Although he didn't really use tact in the things he did." He voiced his thoughts on Maegor to Balerion.

"Maegor, a willful and strong man, broken by the loss of trust and not gaining what he always wanted: respect and the chance to have a legacy of his own. Like a son, the one thing he never gained, and knowing what we know, I would not be surprised if the maesters were also at play." Balerion added. The history of that time was indeed written by his grandfather and the maester. Not all that was written about Maegor was true. Some things were probably right, but some were oversaturated to make his reign more black than it was.

"So what about Quicksilver and Aegon the uncrowned? Why did you and Maegor kill them?" He had questioned Balerion's nature for so long now that he never asked him. But as the topic switched to Maegor, the first dragon fight in Westeros came to his mind.

"Ah, Quick, a joyful thing, yes, the egg of Meraxes and me, but Dragons have different understandings of bonds. We bond, and sometimes they break, and sometimes it lasts, like what we have with those of the blood dragon. Some dragons truly hold to their bonds, like Dreamfyre. She was a true mother dragon; she loved her eggs and was very fiery about the loss of the eggs to the Farman women. She liked it when little Vermi and Sliv were born and bonded to Jaehaerys and Alysanne, as her little ones had their bonds for their own. Dreamfyre was also a very close-bonded dragon; she only accepted my presence again after your sister bonded with her, and because of your sister's bond with you, she bonded with me in turn again. Same with Vhagar and Syrax now because of your bond with Laena and Rhaenyra. Dragons blend with their rider's bond and their feelings. So killing Quicksilver was more a need for my rider than anything else, and dragons do kill other dragons. It is more than normal for us, even our close kin. That's all; being bonded to another is fiery and brings wholesomeness to oneself. Killing another is much the same as fire and blood, both in a dance. So killing a previous bond is more difficult; although I hadn't done that with Quicksilver if it had been, I might have burned all those men during the battle because of my own rage. It breaks something, and that rage is the dragon's rage, and dragons sometimes snap. Others like the Cani, well, they don't like other dragons. They want to be alone, so any eggs laid or a dragon that comes into his territory might be attacked and difficult to bond with, and most of those who try are burnt. Dragons, like that in Valyria, were killed because they weren't useful to the Valyrians. The only things that were would be his bones and scales." Balerion finished his tale on dragons and bonds as he landed outside the walls of Storm's End.

"Well, interesting indeed, I also snapped when I killed Daenerys, not in a rage but just a cold inner rage. To oneself, and I have forgiven myself for it. But I don't think I will ever be truly rid of the bond break, as you call it. Although Rhaenyra and Laena help it, a child might bring much more healing toward it." He said through their bond as he dismounted after he claimed the wings with the ropes, and Ser Criston followed, although the man had some more difficulty.

"Yes, healing of bonds works that way; some can never find it again. I did after Meraxes, and I found it with Vhagar. It's good that Laena and Rhaenyra do the same for you, my friend. Peace might not be achieved at once, but in time it will." Balerion rumbled after he was on the ground. Looking around more, he saw farms and fields scattered around Storm's End, with a small market town on the castle's north side. As he looked at the gatehouse and lowered drawbridge, an entourage approached him.

Boros led the entourage; he had met Boros before, during the tourney for his father's handship. Back then, he was a two- and ten-year-old boy; he was part of his family and had the same great-grandmother. But the man was boorish and arrogant, and he was someone he thought a younger Robert the Baratheon would look like. He thought how he remembered Gendry, although Boros had mist the blue eyes of Robert and Gendry.

When they arrived close enough, they all knelt, as they should for their Prince. At least the man has learned his manners. Boros then rose to speak after he was told to rise. "My Prince, I welcome you to Storm's End yours. My father awaits you at Storm Throne. As I am, he eagerly awaits for the campaign against these pirates to begin."

"Very well, Lord Boros, it's my first time at this legendary castle of Durran's God's Grief and House Baratheon. I hope you or your father can show me around before I leave. It would be a pity to leave without doing just that. " He said, and Boros smiled happily and puffed up his chest. Oh, the arrogance of youth, he thought as he smiled at the heir to Storm's End. Balerion then took to the sky and went out for his hunt in either woods or sea.

"Isn't he staying? Wouldn't he fly off, my Prince?" Boros questioned as he looked at Balerion taking flight into the sky. "No, he's a loyal companion, Lord Boros. Balerion would never abandon me, so sure he would kill in this castle if not the Stormlands, might I be killed. So no, he won't fly off to somewhere. He's off to hunt, most likely; he'll be back soon enough." Boros nodded, "The legacy of our ancestors, dragons, although my house never was. But ours is the Fury until the last storm has passed." Boros said, not bad words, although they were taken from House Durrondan and the sigil.

"Yes, I hold to both of my houses; Winter is coming, and Fire and Blood. Both flow in my blood, as do some ancient dragonlords in yours. We are distant kin, after all, so what will you do in the war? Will you join us or learn to rule as your father will fight in the Stepstones?" Boros looked at him with a smile as he crossed the drawbridge of the dry moat of Storm's End.

"Hmm, my father has yet to tell, although I would prefer to join you in the war. To crush pirates that raid our lands, kill our men, and steal and rape our women. Ours is the Fury, and I want to show my strength as a warrior of the Stormlands and fight like my Ancestors in the Last Storm." He had given to Boros; he wasn't afraid to speak his mind, and unfortunately, he was arrogant as well. It would cost Lucerys his life because the Stormlord was insulted. However, he never knew what was written in the letter that Rhaenyra gave her son. He sometimes wondered if the maester that translated the words may have altered or not just outright lied. As Boros couldn't read, he wondered if this Boros could now.

"Well, a strong warrior like you, I would have gladly at my side." He clapped Boros on his shoulder as he said so. "Me too; if you have time before you leave, My Prince, I wouldn't mind a spar." "Perhaps, Lord Boros; it has been some time since I had a proper spar with kin of mine." He hadn't; he would normally spar with Laenor, but he had been a lot at Driftmark in the past year, and Laena and Rhaenyra weren't at his level. He wondered if Boros would be.

"It would be a pleasure, my prince," Boros said with a bright smile, and then every time the man smiled, he saw Robert. It made him internally grimace, but House Baratheon had not yet committed treason in the Dance or Robert's Usurpation war. So, for now, he would try to keep it that way. Then the door of the Great Hall of Storm's End opened, and on the Storm Throne sat Boremund Baratheon, the current Lord of Strom's End and Lord Paramount of the Stormlands. The man rose and bent his knee.

"My Prince, Welcome to Storm's End; it's yours. It has been a while. I'm sorry for missing your wedding, but I couldn't be away from the Stormlands any longer. Please accept my deepest apologies and send it to your wives as well. My wedding gift I shall grant you soon enough." The Lord of Storm's End ended.

"Rise, It's accepted, cousin, on behalf of myself and my brides. Speaking of wedding gifts from you, I received something. Your support for the War in Stepstones." He said after he embraced Boremund.

"Thank you, Prince, but I can not give you anything in good conscience. If I may ask, what do you prefer to rest, as I suspect you might be tired after your long journey? Or would you prefer me, my son, you, and your Kingsguard to start to discuss the War in the Stepstones?" He was a little tired, but he wanted to talk the war over, as the fleet would arrive in Tarth in a week, and there was much to plan. The Stormlands were essential for the blockade to work.

"No need, My Lord, I am more than happy to start; I'll rest when the war is won." He said with a smile. Boremund nodded and led him to his solar.

Lord Boremund Solar

"My Prince, I wholeheartedly agree with your strategic plan. A blockade, though challenging and protracted, is the most prudent approach to prevent ambushes and skirmishes in the perilous isles of Stepstones. It will undoubtedly spare us from unnecessary casualties and secure a lasting hold on the Stepstones," Boremund said as he pointed at the Stepstones and the Stormlands on the map.

"the two optimal supply lines would be one stretching from King's Landing to Driftmark and Dragonstone to Tarth before extending to the Stepstones. With its deepwater port, the alternative route from Stonehelm offers flexibility, connecting to Wrathrock or Estermont. The houses of these regions harbor deep resentments toward the Triarch, making them valuable allies," It was true; those Isles and Stonehelm itself would be useful assets for the supply lines.

"I concur, Boremund. These supply lines are critical. Additionally, we must establish well-guarded checkpoints in the Stormlands, anticipating threats from bandits or even the Triarch. Should the supply lines falter, a full-scale assault on the isles would be the only recourse, albeit at a higher cost," he added, his tone grave and reflective.

"One other thing make sure these professional soldiers, and perhaps send someone with an understanding of sums and writing with them so they can keep an eye on the cargo," he added, and Boremund nodded in agreement. "Yes, I shall keep it in mind—smugglers and rats that want to make some extra gold off our backs," Boremund added, with an irritated growl, as he shared the sentiment of Boremund's thoughts.

"Well, then, it is all done. I suppose we shall see when the dust of this war is cleared and where we all end up," he added when all was finished.

"Well, My Prince, let's all drink to our health and that we have good fortune in this war," Boros added as they all raised their cups. Soon, the war for the Stepstones would begin, and the seas of the Narrow Sea would be filled with fire and blood.

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