Chapter 3 (273 AC)

Rhaella POV

Each year, I became increasingly worried about the relationship between my beloved sons. One would think that after the dragon incident, they no longer argued or tried to prove themselves to each other. Unfortunately, it was hard to call this a truce. They simply stopped noticing each other, to the point where the boys even tried not to cross paths.

Unfortunately, I wasn't the only one to notice this, but Aerys did too. He was irritated by the situation. In his opinion, the sons should always compete, thus becoming stronger. Although, I think the mere thought of the boys being friendly terrified him.

Plagued by his headache, Aerys stopped trusting all his close people: me, Tywin, the children. One day, a thought came to his mind to send Rhaegar to be fostered by the Lannisters, but after a tense conversation with Varys and then with the Hand himself, he decided to send Aeryon under the guardianship of Steffon Baratheon.

I tried day and night to find out the reason for such an action, but all I could hear was one sharp response: "Silence! We cannot let Rhaegar go! Tywin is unreliable. He suspects. He will turn him against his KING! Steffon is a fool; he won't dare."

If only I could understand something from his conclusions. On the one hand, this trip might benefit Aeryon. The boy had recently stopped resembling the usual radiant bundle of happiness and energy. He delved into various books and training, apparently still trying to emulate Rhaegar.

His entire circle of communication narrowed down to Ser Barristan Selmy and Ser Oswell Whent, who accompanied my son to the Stormlands. Considering that Steffon has a son around Aeryon's age, perhaps this will indeed turn out well. But how will it affect his relationship with his brother?

Such thoughts never leave my mind. It feels like the clouds over our house are darkening every day.

Aeryon POV

Sailing towards the Stormlands, I irritably tossed another book aside. How could my father forbid me from flying on Solarex? "It's dangerous," "obey me," "I said so!" What does he even know about dragons?

The next moment, there was a knock on my cabin door: "Your Highness, we are almost there," said Ser Barristan's voice.

Gathering myself, I stepped onto the deck and saw a truly impressive sight. The Stormlands stretched before me like a living fairy tale. Thunderclouds gathered on the horizon, contrasting with the bright green hills and rocky cliffs. The water at the shores was turbulent and unpredictable, like the very nature of these lands. Great trees swayed under the wind's pressure, creating a sense of wild, untamed power.

"So, this is my personal wall? When do I get my black cloak?" I joked to the white cloaks.

"Your Highness, you shouldn't be so pessimistic. Many merchants and travelers consider the Stormlands a far more pleasant place than the Red Keep."

"Yes, I've heard that almost everything is better than our hole. Though I think Northerners and Ironborn would disagree."

"You are in a remarkable mood, Prince Aeryon."

"Naturally, there can be nothing worse than living next to Rhaegar."

"Your Highness..." Ser Barristan began to say, but I interrupted him immediately.

"Stop! It's not proper for white cloaks to argue with a prince. Besides, it's time for us to make a good first impression."

"What exactly does His Highness mean?" Selmy asked cautiously, only to hear the piercing roar of a dragon emerging from the clouds and flying ahead. By size, it was already much larger than our ship, and its golden scales shimmering in the sun gave the deadly creature a mystical beauty.

"The King did forbid bringing the dragon," Oswell noted uncertainly.

"Well, you can order Solarex to return. I think he'll listen to you," I remarked with a smile.

"I suppose I'll pretend I saw nothing."

"As you wish."

Soon we were disembarking, where we were greeted by the High Lord himself. He was quite impressive in stature, towering over those around him by at least a head. The characteristic Baratheon features, namely black hair and bright blue eyes, were clearly visible.

"Your Highness, welcome to the Stormlands."

"I am delighted to be here, Lord Baratheon. Since I'll be your guest for quite a while, please call me simply Aeryon."

"As you wish, young prince," he said with a chuckle, then respectfully greeted Ser Barristan and Ser Oswell. "To be honest, your arrival was a complete surprise to me."

"Didn't have time to prepare?" I asked with a smile.

"Not at all! Tonight we feast!" he declared proudly.

"Though that doesn't cancel tomorrow morning's training, Your Highness," Selmy immediately noted.

"Knowing you, I didn't count on it."

"I recognize Barristan the Bold," Baratheon said with a mix of nostalgia and joy.

"You are already acquainted?" I decided to clarify.

"Of course, during the War of the Ninepenny Kings, I was merely a squire, and Ser Barristan was already the best sword in the kingdom."

"Please, Lord Steffon, I was merely doing my duty."

"If everyone fulfilled their duty so well, winning the war with a single stroke of a sword."

"Unfortunately, besides my sword, thousands of lives of our loyal people were needed."

After these words, the previously cheerful lord visibly saddened.

"True, my father gave his life in that war."

Wanting to cheer up Baratheon, I noted: "But he managed to raise a worthy heir, with whom he even shared a battlefield. So, his life wasn't in vain."

"Haha, I see you, Prince Aeryon, are wise beyond your years."

"Just Aeryon. I won't argue with the rest," I replied with a smile, and in such a mood, we headed towards the castle.

The following hours were spent getting us settled in different rooms, telling interesting stories about Storm's End, and I negotiated with Steffon about the safe stay of Solarex here, who, I must say, impressed everyone. Despite dragons having been reborn for over nine years, not many in the Seven Kingdoms had yet seen them in person.

As for the feast, it was top-notch. The food was delicious, seemingly even richer than in King's Landing. Everyone was having fun, songs played one after another, and wine cups never emptied. I must admit, I even tried some Dornish wine. Though at home, any such indulgence would have my mother tearing my hands off. In such moments, she is more formidable than Solarex.

At the start of the celebration, a quiet boy, about my age, sat next to Lord Steffon and his beautiful wife Cassana Estermont. Lord Baratheon introduced him as his second son, Stannis. I wanted to talk to him, but got slightly distracted by the festive atmosphere, and when I came to, he was nowhere to be seen.

The next morning, I woke up, as always, with the sunrise. Lord Steffon had offered me his best maids for help yesterday, but I immediately refused. I can't stand letting strangers close. Dressing up, I headed to the training ground shown to me yesterday, where the sounds of battle were already echoing.

As I approached, I saw the same boy trying to strike Ser Barristan. Noticing me, he immediately intercepted the young man's blade, marking the end of the duel.

"Your Highness, you are finally up. The wine didn't cloud your mind?" he asked with a small smile.

"Maybe just a little. But now everything will be fair; it's hard to compete with young talents at your age..." I replied, seeing in his eyes that today I would be wiped out.

"My Prince!" the young man greeted me with a bow.

"Stannis Baratheon, if I'm not mistaken?"

"Correct, Your Highness."

"Drop it, you can call me Aeryon. How's the training going?"

"It was an honor to spar with Ser Barristan Selmy, Your...," Stannis stuttered at my piercing glance but quickly corrected himself, "Aeryon."

"Young Baratheon is indeed quite talented. He lacks practice, but soon he may surpass even you, prince," Selmy teased me, and I wasn't going to refuse.

"Well, we can test that," I said, drawing a training sword.

Stannis only calmly nodded at my words and took a combat stance. I began to circle him, making rounds, and in one moment, I moved with my blade raised. Baratheon blocked my attack with his sword, then tried to deflect it to the side, but I quickly stepped back and started delivering a series of new blows. He went into a tight defense, gradually allowing slight touches. Eventually, it became clear that he was simply waiting for me to make a mistake to deliver a decisive blow. However, when you do this so obviously, the essence of such a maneuver is lost.

I pretended to miscalculate my strength during another swing, consequently leaning slightly to the right. Seeing Stannis's movement, I quickly shifted to the left, deflecting his sword with mine, and closed in, delivering a punch to his face. The boy, not expecting this, fell on his back, and when he tried to get up, he saw my sword right at his throat.

"Quite well done, Your Highness. Maybe you can tell yourself where your opponent's mistake was?"

"All his actions were predictable. When you understand what your opponent will do, it becomes quite easy to outsmart him."

"That's true. However, intentionally opening up to provoke a mistake was a foolish decision. If someone faster and more experienced had been in young Baratheon's place, he could have easily killed you."

"Understood," I replied to Selmy, then leaned down to Stannis and quietly said, "That's what I call 'praise as best you can.'"

For the first time, the usually grim boy actually smiled. Then, taking my outstretched hand, he stood up.

"Shall we continue?"

Stannis nodded, his expression serious again. We resumed our sparring, and this time, I could see that Stannis was trying to adapt to my movements, anticipating my strikes more accurately. His form was improving with each bout.

After several rounds, we paused to catch our breath. Ser Barristan observed us with a keen eye, occasionally offering advice and correcting our stances. Despite the rigorous training, I found a sense of camaraderie growing between Stannis and me.

As we continued, I couldn't help but reflect on my situation. Despite being sent away from the capital, I began to appreciate the value of training in the Stormlands, the land's wild beauty, and the company of its people.