Bonus at 150 stones
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Storm's End, The Stormlands.
Storm's End stands atop the cliffs of Shipbreaker Bay.
The walls facing the Narrow Sea rise one hundred and fifty feet high, their stone surfaces scrubbed smooth as glass by a thousand years of waves.
The castle's name is fitting; the wind here never ceases its roaring and circling, whistling through the wall-slits with a mournful wail.
But today, the sound of the wind was drowned out by the clamor of a grand feast.
The afternoon sunlight slanted across the courtyard as Aemond Targaryen looked up at the sky.
Morghul was weaving through the clouds; the young black dragon was exceptionally excited.
The unfamiliar territory, the strange currents, and the new scents made it restless.
It would dive occasionally, its wingtips nearly brushing the spires of the highest tower, before pulling up again amidst the gasps of the nobles below.
"It is very much like you."
Helaena had come to his side at some unknown point.
She had not arrived on Dreamfyre, but had traveled by carriage with Aelyn Rogar.
She was currently wearing a pale blue gown, her long silver hair draped over her shoulders.
Her clear purple eyes gazed at Aemond, filled with worry.
Aemond turned to look at her, his purple eyes softening slightly.
"When a dragon chooses a master, it selects one whose heart and mind are in sync. Morghul knows what I want."
Helaena said uneasily, "I know what you want. That is why I am afraid... Aemond."
"Lately, I have seen so much... Blood will stain the earth red, and dragons will tear at each other. The gods are forsaking us Targaryens..."
Aemond took her hand. That hand was ice-cold and trembling slightly.
"The gods have never favored us," he said softly.
"What does bloodshed matter? What do the dead matter?"
He raised his hand, his fingertips lightly brushing her cheek.
"Helaena, let there be oracles or prophecies. I only need you to live, to live better than everyone else."
Helaena stared blankly at Aemond.
Just then, a dragon's roar echoed from the sky.
Everyone looked up.
A forty-meter-long blue dragon burst through the clouds, Tessarion, the 'Blue Queen'.
A moment later, Daeron Targaryen landed steadily in the outer yard.
He patted Tessarion's neck and turned to walk toward the main keep.
The ten-year-old boy was full of vigor, his silver hair flying in the wind.
His face was handsome to the point of being almost feminine, but the heroic spirit between his brows was unmistakable.
"Blood and Fire!"
The boy looked at the family members who had come to greet him and opened his arms, smiling brightly.
Aemond went to meet him and gave his younger brother a firm hug.
"Your riding skills are getting better and better, Daeron."
"It's my talent," Daeron winked.
"Lord Hightower says I'm a natural dragonrider."
He turned to the others, greeting Aegon, Helaena, and Aelyn in turn, before saying with a laugh, "I heard I won't be the youngest in the family for much longer?"
Aegon nodded lazily. "Yes, Mother is due again. It's twins this time."
"That's perfect." Daeron took an exquisite wooden box from beside his saddle.
"I brought some soothing tea from Oldtown; it's a rarity from the Far East of Essos. The Hightower merchant fleet returned from the Jade Sea three months ago. The Maesters say it's excellent for pregnant women."
Aegon took the box, which was carved with the sigil of House Hightower.
"You are very thoughtful, brother."
At that moment, Ser Criston Cole approached with two members of the Kingsguard, his gaze falling on Aemond.
"My Prince," Cole said, "the Queen asked me to remind you that today is the celebration for the Lord of the Stormlands. Do not cause any trouble."
Aemond smiled. "What does the Ser think I would do?"
"I do not know." Cole looked him directly in the eye, pausing for a moment.
"Lord Boremund invited you out of courtesy to the Royal Family; it does not mean he agrees with our position. The Stormlands... are still the territory of the Blacks."
Aemond's smile remained unchanged.
"Thank you for the reminder, Ser."
Cole gave a standard knightly salute and then led his men toward the castle's main hall. They had brought gifts by the King's command.
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Inside the Round Hall of Storm's End, candles burned brightly.
Lord Boremund Baratheon sat in the high seat.
The seventy-year-old Lord Paramount was still burly, laughing and chatting heartily with the surrounding nobles who came to toast him.
The long tables were arranged in a line.
Aemond was seated on the right side, and fifteen feet across from him were the seats for the Blacks.
Aemond took bread and salt from a maidservant and ate them carefully.
This was the ancient guest right, signifying that a guest, even a mortal enemy, could not be harmed while under the host's roof.
Those who trampled upon guest rights would violate the most sacred laws of gods and men.
He could feel the gazes coming from the tables: some respectful, some curious, some scrutinizing, and some hostile.
Aemond had not appeared in public for two years.
What was the Prince like now, the one who had executed Vaemond by the King's order in the Throne Room and confronted Prince Daemon in open court?
"Prince Aemond."
A clear voice spoke. Aemond, who was talking with Helaena beside him, turned to look.
A graceful young girl stood before him, extending her hand.
The girl was about fourteen, with beautiful black hair cascading like a waterfall.
Her face was bright and lovely, and her eyes were a deep blue.
She was Cassandra Baratheon, granddaughter of Lord Boremund (and daughter of his heir, Borros).
Behind her, three younger girls followed: Maris, Elene, and Floris.
The people of the Stormlands called them the 'Four Storms'.
Aemond took her hand with a smile and performed a standard hand-kissing salute.
"Lady Cassandra, a pleasure to meet you."
A flush rose to Cassandra's face.
"My Prince, I have long heard of your many deeds. Taming Vhagar on Driftmark, defending the royal dignity in the Throne Room... I admire you greatly."
"Sister has been picking out dresses since yesterday," ten-year-old Maris chimed in playfully from behind.
"She changed through over a dozen sets."
"Maris!" Cassandra glared at her sister in embarrassment before turning back to Aemond.
"Prince, I wonder if... Might I invite you for a walk after the banquet? In the glass gardens of Storm's End, the roses are currently in bloom."
This was an obvious signal.
Beside Aemond, Helaena's fingers tightened slightly, while Daeron raised an eyebrow with interest. Aegon and Aelyn looked at Aemond with meaningful expressions.
Aemond released her hand, his smile gentle but maintaining a polite distance.
"I thank the Lady for her gracious invitation. However, I came to Storm's End primarily to celebrate the Lord's birthday; I fear I will not have much leisure time."
The smile on Cassandra's face stiffened for a moment, but she quickly recovered a proper demeanor.
"Of course... it was presumptuous of me."
She curtsied and withdrew, a flash of resentment crossing her eyes as she turned away.
The three sisters followed her.
Elene whispered, "I told you, the Prince would reject you."
Maris said defiantly, "Eldest Sister, you are so beautiful, yet he didn't even look at you properly..."
"Both of you, shut up," Cassandra scolded in a low voice.
What she wanted, she had never failed to get.
Cassandra's gaze swept coldly across the hall, finally landing on the three brown-haired youths in the seats of the Blacks.
Specifically, on Jacaerys, who was wearing a black eyepatch.
A thought began to sprout in her mind.
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