Game of thrones: A storm is coming

The morning light revealed a sky streaked with pale gold and soft blue as Daeron's carriage rumbled along the winding roads away from King's Landing. The tumult of the capital—its betrayals, whispered intrigues, and the bitter taste of grief—gradually faded into a distant murmur behind him. In its place, the promise of a quieter realm filled his heart with a tentative hope.

His departure from the Red Keep had been bittersweet—a final farewell to a court mired in tragedy and scandal—and now his path led him to Runestone again , the ancient stronghold of House Royce in the Vale.

Here, his long-absent presence was expected to bring at least a measure of stability to troubled times. And perhaps somewhat tender moments to experience.

Before reaching the Vale, Daeron had made a deliberate decision regarding his company. He had ordered most of his guards to remain behind, instructing them to relax and enjoy the peaceful countryside of the North.

Only one companion would remain at his side on this leg of his journey: Ser Cryston Cole, someone who recently joined his retinue, but loyal to Daeron.

His witty banter was somewhat annoying and yet amusing to Daeron, because Cryston would always speak directly. And Cryston valued Daeron's character and behaviour, treating his subordinates like a friend, something rarely seen in nobles.

As they rode along the dusty road, Daeron leaned over to Cryston with a wry smile.

"Remember, Cryston," he said in a low, half-joking tone, "your silence is golden. I expect you to keep your mouth shut until further notice. No witty remarks please."

Cryston grunted in acknowledgment, though his eyes twinkled with mischief as if already plotting a witty remark for later. "Understood, my Prince , I'll be quiet as a grave." he replied, his tone light despite the grudging manner in which he acquiesced.

The countryside rolled past in a blur of green fields and ancient stone walls as the carriage wound its way into the Vale. Soon, the great silhouette of Runestone appeared on the horizon—a grand yet austere structure built of rough-hewn stone and timber, set against a backdrop of rugged hills and whispering forests.

The horses came to a gentle halt in the courtyard, and Daeron dismounted with practiced ease, his eyes sweeping over the scene. Acnologia flew above letting out fierce roar , announcing his arrival.

Near the entrance stood a figure that immediately lifted his spirits: Lady Rhea Royce, now the Lady of Runestone. She stood with a brightness in her eyes and a warm smile . Her presence was as warm and welcoming as it was resolute; the trials of recent months after her father's passing had not dimmed her spirit but had instead honed it to a fine edge.

Beside her, her cousin Gerold—whose thoughtful gaze betrayed a quiet inner struggle over life's choices—watched silently.

"Daeron!" Rhea called, her voice ringing clearly across the stone courtyard. "I'm so glad you've arrived safely. I've missed you, truly."

Stepping forward, Daeron embraced her greeting with genuine warmth. " Rhea, it is a pleasure to see you again. The Vale seems all the more gracious with your presence," he said, his tone sincere and gentle.

Gerold offered a small, wry smile as Daeron drew nearer. "Indeed," he murmured softly, his voice carrying a weight of unspoken reflections, as if he were silently measuring the choices of his cousin being with a prince about to go away for years.

Together, they made their way through the courtyard into the great hall of Runestone. The hall, though austere compared to the opulence of King's Landing, exuded its own timeless majesty. Heavy wooden beams, intricately carved with ancient symbols, supported a vaulted ceiling where sunlight filtered through stained glass windows, casting colorful patterns upon the stone floor. Every step echoed with the footsteps of history.

As they strolled through the hall, Ser Cryston Cole trailed behind them. However, before he could draw too near, Gerold intercepted him in the corridor with a raised eyebrow and a gentle shake of his head.

"Ser Cryston," Gerold said in a low voice, "perhaps you should let these two have their private reunion."

Cryston paused, glancing between Gerold and the pair disappearing through a side chamber. "Are they…?" he began in a tone half in disbelief, half in teasing lilt, "Are they indulging in some… family matters?"

Before Gerold could clarify, soft giggles and even quieter moans filtered from behind the closed door. Cryston's eyes widened comically, and he muttered to himself, "I don't even know how to feel about this—should I be jealous? Or perhaps delighted that our noble prince has cucked the prince I hate? Or maybe I should just be sad for my own lonely self, left here with nothing but observing these absurd situations ." Gerold patted his shoulder sympathetically, sharing a small smile at Cryston's conflicted amusement. " Maybe you can become a kingsguard, or even join the night's watch." Gerold advised.

Cryston gave him a glare , " I don't plan to embrace celibacy, thank you very much."

Meanwhile, in a secluded chamber off the main hall, the air was charged with a different kind of intimacy. Rhea had taken matters into her own hands that very night. After much talk and revelations, among which Daeron had confided in her the details of how he had secured an annulment for her unhappy marriage to Daemon.

Rhea, overcome with gratitude and the desire for a fresh start, had led Daeron into her private quarters. What transpired there was both passionate and tender, a brief reprieve from the relentless storm of court intrigues.

Their laughter, soft moans, and whispered confessions had mingled in that intimate space, forging a memory of rebellious freedom against a backdrop of political despair.

At dawn, as pale light filtered through the high windows, Daeron awoke to find Rhea still sleeping peacefully beside him. He gently brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, smiling at the quiet contentment that had replaced the passion of the previous night.

For a few blissful moments, the world outside ceased to exist—there was only the soft rhythm of breathing and the warmth of shared embraces.

Later that morning, after the tender parting of lovers, Daeron and Rhea embarked on the next leg of their journey. Riding high on Acnologia, Daeron's mighty dragon, they soared from Runestone toward the lofty spires of the Eyrie.

The flight was majestic and silent—a soaring dance above valleys and misty peaks. Rhea clung tightly to Daeron as the wind tousled her hair, and in a rare moment of vulnerability, she murmured, "I will always remember this moment, Daeron. Thank you for being here when I needed you most."

At the Eyrie, Lady Jeyne Arryn greeted them with warmth and an understanding smile. "Daeron, Sister Rhea, it has been too long," she said as she enveloped Rhea in a tight embrace.

She then smirked at Daeron, " It seems you two had a nice journey."

Daeron laughed and replied, " Every journey becomes beautiful with wonderful company." He stared at Rhea who blushed like a maiden.

Jeyne glared at him, " You said you'll take me on a ride on Acnologia too! When were you planning to do that?"

Daeron shrugged, " We can go now if you want."

Jeyne immediately cheered up and grabbed his arm, " What are we waiting for! Let's go . After that we'll have a nice supper together and we can talk about your adventures."

Rhea laughed from the side , " Your mood changed very fast Jeyne." To which Jeyne just ignored her and skipped happily, dragging Daeron along who had a helpless smile.

After a brief ride on Acnologia who looked grumpy to be used by his partner as a flying mount to give ladies a tour. He nonetheless acquised after some promise of a hearty meal and neck scratches. Even dragons love neck scratches after all.

Rhea sat in front of him and Jeyne on the back. She was giddy with joy as they took flight. They flew over the mountains of the Vale , even scaring away some mountain tribes who were lying in the forest.

After the brief ride, three of them dined together. Jeyne asked, " When will you be back Daeron? "

Daeron wiped his mouth and replied, " Not anytime soon. At least 10 years or so if things go accordingly."

She dropped her spoon and asked seriously, " Do you want my help? You are someone I will always consider a friend. Not to mention sister Rhea would also help you if you want."

Daeron looked at her for a moment and said, " For now, just build up your strength. Grab control of Vale firmly. Make sure the Vale is united and you two are safe and in control."

Rhea put her hand on Daeron's , " Don't worry about Vale. You just keep yourself safe. Your plans are too crazy and dangerous."

Jeyne looked curiously , " Hey! tell me as well! You two are already keeping secrets from me!" She pouted.

Daeron laughed , " It's nothing much, I just told her I wish to become a king across the narrow sea."

Jeyne was gobsmacked, " You call that nothing? What is wrong with you!" She almost yelled.

Rhea sighed, " I said the same thing Jeyne. He is just too stubborn."

Daeron spread his arms , " Come on! That's a pretty simple thing. The key issue will be holding the crown."

Jeyne gave an exasperated look, " You really need no help? I can send 5,000 soldiers to support you. Sister Rhea can do the same."

Daeron shook his head. " That won't be necessary. I have Acnologia with me." He then paused and smiled, "Our fury burns all."

Rhea smiled, " Quite a catchy house words. It seems your talents aren't limited to charming maidens and beating princes."

Daeron gave a mock bow, " I aim to please, my lady." Which earned a chuckle from the girls.

After the hushed conversation, Daeron assured Jeyne that he would return as soon as possible, promising that his path would eventually lead him back to the Vale when the storms of war had subsided.

After their heartfelt reunion, Daeron dropped Rhea off at Runestone. Now, as the lady of Runestone and guardian of the Vale, Rhea's responsibility was clear.

Standing in the grand entry of her hall, she addressed Daeron with firm yet gentle authority: "Daeron, I must focus on stabilizing the Vale in these troubled times. I will wait for the day when you return in triumph , all your enemies vanquished."

He took her in his arms , pressing a gentle kiss to her lips. "Take care of yourself, Rhea. Your strength will guide the Vale until my return," he promised, his eyes reflecting a mix of determination and bittersweet regret. Rhea melted into his embrace for a long moment, the quiet promise between them carrying the weight of unspoken hope.

With those parting words, Daeron turned away. The political undercurrent of the realm was as palpable as ever—a realm still reeling from recent tragedies, with factions jockeying for power in the shadows.

Otto Hightower's dark schemes still cast a long shadow over the court, and whispers of scandal and betrayal drifted through every corridor. Yet, for a fleeting moment, as he watched Rhea's warm smile fade into the distance, Daeron allowed himself to believe in the possibility of renewal.

The day at Runestone passed with a mix of solemn preparation and lighthearted camaraderie. Noble courtiers mingled in the hall, discussing the latest news from distant lands, while others whispered excitedly about the recent acts of bravery on the lists.

Laughter occasionally punctuated the serious discussions—a reminder that even amid sorrow, life and humor could still bloom.

In one corner of the great hall, a group of younger nobles listened as Cryston recounted the events of the tourney in exaggerated detail.

"And then, the prince's red steed—The Red King, as they call it—carried him like a whirlwind!" he declared, causing bursts of laughter to ripple through the group.

Even among the grieving and scheming, a sense of absurdity lingered—a kind of dark humor that allowed them to cope with the overwhelming burdens of their world.

As evening approached, Daeron found a quiet moment to reflect on his journey thus far. The roads away from King's Landing had been long and treacherous, but here in the Vale, he felt a tentative peace—a brief respite from the storms of political intrigue and personal loss.

Daeron clutched the small satchel containing his few prized possessions and allowed his thoughts to wander over the memories of the past few days—the tender parting with Rhea, the laughter shared with Cryston and Gerold, and even the chaotic whispers of scandal that had followed him from King's Landing.

He knew that every step he took away from the capital was a step toward a new beginning—a life unburdened by the relentless schemes of a treacherous court.

Yet, even as hope glimmered on the horizon, the weight of sorrow and loss pressed upon him, a constant reminder that freedom often came at a steep price.

And so, with the memory of Runestone's ancient walls and the warmth of Rhea's farewell echoing in his heart, Daeron prepared to continue his journey as he climbed on Acnologia, his partner snorted and took flight into the sky .

The world beyond the Vale awaited—Winterfell with its storied legacy, Casterly Rock with its tales of golden ambition, and ultimately, the distant shores of Essos where destiny, conflict, and the promise of kingship intertwined.

It is in those distant lands Where Daeron shall build his everlasting utopia, his Avalon.