The blue and white sails of the Redwyne fleet unfurled once again in the morning light of the Sea of Dorne, the long banners bearing the grape sigil of the Arbor snapping crisply in the sea breeze.
Since departing Stonehelm, the fleet had returned to its charted course. The salty wind had lost the lingering noise of Stonehelm and now carried the sharp, biting chill characteristic of Shipbreaker Bay in the Stormlands.
Daemon stood at the prow of the Arbor Queen, his silver-gold hair whipped up by the wind. His gaze, however, rested on the other side of the deck. Johanna was squatting by a canvas tarp with Gael and Mysaria, picking through fabrics just delivered from the Redwyne trade goods. A dried blue flower was pinned in the girl's black hair—Mysaria had put it there yesterday—and it bobbed gently as she laughed.
The timid look Johanna wore when they first met had faded. occasionally, she would even argue with Gael about which fabric would make a better cloak, her eyes shining much brighter. It was only when Stonehelm was mentioned that the corners of her mouth would tighten almost imperceptibly.
Watching her back, the three-headed dragon brand on Daemon's right shoulder grew warm. The image of Johanna crying as she threw herself into his arms that day was still vivid, as was the hypocritical warmth of Lord Swann.
He suddenly recalled a record from the history books of his past life: Byron Swann, a second son of House Swann in the future, would foolishly attempt to slay a dragon using the ancient method of Serwyn of the Mirror Shield, offending the majesty of the true dragon, only to be burned to ash by Syrax's fire.
But that was the distant future. The current House Swann, though cold-blooded towards their own, were also meritorious defenders of the Stormlands against Dorne. They had guarded Cape Wrath for generations and hadn't wavered even during the reign of Maegor the Cruel.
Daemon tightened his grip on the hilt of Blackfyre, the Valyrian steel patterns glinting coldly in the sun. His sword had cut down slavers and struck traitors, but he would never rain dragonfire on the innocent Swann family now for a potential threat in the future.
Justice for Johanna should not come at the cost of indiscriminate killing. Besides, that unborn Byron Swann was currently nothing more than a shadow of a possibility.
"What are you thinking about?" Gael's voice came from behind him. She held a piece of pale blue fabric—the very one Johanna had just been admiring. "Johanna says this cloth would make a beautiful cloak. What do you think?"
Daemon snapped back to reality, taking the fabric and running his fingers over the soft fibers. "It's beautiful. It matches Dreamfyre's color perfectly." He looked past Gael to Johanna, who was laughing at something Mysaria said. Their platinum curls and long black hair mingled like two gentle clouds. "She's much more cheerful lately."
"Of course," Gael nodded with a smile. "With us around, no one dares bully her anymore." Mysaria leaned in too, holding a wooden box of fresh berries. "Prince Daemon, Johanna also said she wants to learn swordsmanship from you. She says she wants to protect herself, and protect us, in the future."
Daemon paused, then smiled. "Alright. When we get to King's Landing, I'll teach her."
Just then, Alyn Redwyne shouted from the crow's nest. "Prince! Rain House ahead! The people of House Wylde are waiting at the pier!"
Everyone looked where he pointed. In a bay on the northern shore of Cape Wrath, a gray stone castle stood by the water. The roof was covered in dark brown tiles, and the banner flying atop the keep—a blue-green maelstrom on gold—was striking in the wind. It was the sigil of House Wylde.
Rain House was built right against the sea, its pier extending into Shipbreaker Bay. Several small boats were docked at the shore. Knights in silver armor stood in formation, waiting. The young man leading them was particularly eye-catching. He stood tall, his armor chased with the maelstrom sigil of his house. A bronze-hilted longsword hung at his waist, and his eyes were sharp as a hawk's. It was the heir to Rain House, Jasper Wylde.
As the fleet docked slowly, Jasper hurried forward. He bowed to Daemon, his movements precise and respectful, but his voice carried the sharp edge of youth. "Prince Daemon, Princess Gael, I am Jasper Wylde. I welcome you on my father's orders. Rain House has prepared fresh water, meat, and freshly baked oatcakes. Your fleet may resupply and rest here for half a day."
Daemon dismounted, his eyes landing on Jasper's armor. It wasn't opulent, but it was impeccably maintained, without a speck of rust in the joints—a sign of someone who trained regularly.
He remembered the records about Jasper from his past life: the future Master of Laws, known as "Ironrod" for his rigid adherence to the law. In the Dance of the Dragons, he would firmly support Aegon II, and even when executed by Rhaenyra, he would insist to the end on male-preference primogeniture.
But the Jasper before him was just a youth with a hint of greenness in his brow, his eyes full of reverence for the true dragon, lacking the ruthlessness of his later years.
"Thank you, Ser Jasper," Daemon nodded. "We only need to replenish water and food; we won't trouble you too much."
Jasper waved his hand quickly. "The Prince jests. It is our honor to have a true dragon visit Rain House. My father specifically had the kitchen prepare a specialty of Shipbreaker Bay—roasted tuna, and sea fruits preserved in honey. You must try them."
He led everyone into the town. The streets of Rain House were paved with smooth stone, and wooden houses on either side were draped with fishing nets and drying seaweed. The air was filled with the scent of sea salt and oatcakes. "House Wylde has been loyal to Storm's End since Aegon's Conquest, nearly a hundred years now. When the pirates of the Three Whores attacked last year, it was Duke Baratheon who sent troops to help us repel them."
As they walked, Daemon listened to Jasper recount the history of Rain House, but his gaze unconsciously assessed the young man. He spoke logically and clearly, knowing the relationship between his family and the Stormlands like the back of his hand. Occasionally, when he mentioned the law, his eyes would shine especially bright. Clearly, his interest in law was already showing, gradually merging with the future image of "Ironrod."
But thinking of his future inflexibility on the Small Council and his eventual beheading, Daemon couldn't help but ponder: If the Dance of the Dragons really broke out in the future, would this young man walk a different path?
"Little Daemon?" Gael's voice interrupted his thoughts. "Ser Jasper asked if you wanted to visit the castle's lookout tower. You can see all of Shipbreaker Bay from there."
Daemon snapped out of it and smiled at Jasper. "No, thank you. I must ask you to arrange for the supplies to be loaded as quickly as possible. We sail again this evening."
Although somewhat disappointed, Jasper nodded in agreement. "I'll arrange it immediately. Resupply will be complete within the hour."
While supplies were being loaded, Johanna dragged Mysaria to the pier to look at the fish, and Gael went with Jasper's sister to a fabric shop in town. Daemon stood alone by the gunwale, looking at the silhouette of Rain House.
Jasper happened to pass by. Seeing Daemon deep in thought while looking at the castle, he couldn't help but ask, "Is the Prince thinking about the route through Shipbreaker Bay? If you are worried about pirates, I can send a few small ships to escort you to Tarth."
"No need," Daemon shook his head, his gaze resting on the Cannibal circling in the sky. The black dragon's shadow fell on the sea like a moving ink stain. "With them around, pirates won't dare approach."
Jasper looked up at the Cannibal, his eyes full of longing. "The deterrent of a true dragon really is more effective than a fleet. I admire the Prince for being able to command such a powerful dragon at such a young age." He paused, then added, "I couldn't go to the tourney in King's Landing last year, but I heard the Prince unhorsed Lucas Tyrell with a single strike and led the Vale lords to repel the mountain clans. Truly heroic."
Daemon smiled but said no more. The sun began to dip west. Resupply was complete, and Gael, Mysaria, and Johanna returned to the ship.
Jasper led the Wylde family in seeing them off at the pier. He looked at Daemon's figure—silver hair, violet eyes, standing tall with Blackfyre glinting cold at his waist. Above him, the Cannibal and Dreamfyre circled like two guardian clouds. He suddenly felt that the prince before him had a shadow of Aegon the Conqueror, a natural majesty that inspired awe.
"Set sail," Daemon ordered Alyn Redwyne. The blue and white sails of the fleet rose again, the grape sigils glowing golden-red in the sunset.
The outline of Rain House gradually receded. The maelstrom banner of House Wylde fluttered on the pier, and Jasper's figure grew smaller until he was just a black dot.
Johanna leaned against the railing, looking at the distant horizon, and whispered, "The people of Rain House are truly kind. Much friendlier than the people at Stonehelm."
"You'll meet more good people in the future," Gael patted her shoulder, the sunset reflecting in her pale violet eyes. "Tarth is coming up soon. Mother says the beaches there are all white sand, and they have delicious fruit wine."
Daemon stood at the prow, looking at the waters ahead. The direction of Tarth was hidden in the twilight, like a gem concealed in sea fog.
The Cannibal and Dreamfyre flew side by side high above, their dragon shadows falling on the sea, interweaving with the shadows of the fleet's sails.
He knew that Tarth, their next stop, held new sights and stories waiting for them. But the encounter at Rain House, the youthful face of Jasper Wylde, and his thoughts on Johanna and House Swann had all become unforgettable marks on this journey.
The sun sank completely below the horizon, and night gradually enveloped the sea. The lights of the Redwyne fleet came on, like stars scattered on the water.
The roars of the Cannibal and Dreamfyre echoed in the night sky, carrying anticipation for Tarth and determination for the future. Daemon tightened his grip on Blackfyre, the lights and dragon shadows reflecting in his violet eyes. He knew that no matter how many unknowns lay ahead, as long as his people were with him and the dragonfire burned, he would not retreat.