When the blood of the dragon meets the soul of the dragon, the continent begins to burn.
The Baratheons are steadfast, strong, and formidable. Leanna Baratheon is no different. She is the storm, and no one, Targaryen or other, will bring her down.
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Leanna pauses beside the carriage, looking up at the young knight that sits on horseback beside it. She smiles sweetly up at him, a show for all watching.
"Thank you for accompanying me, my Lord."
Daemon's chin dips slightly in affirmation. Atop the sleek black stallion, he remains the regal and dangerous figure of legend in this city.
The inhabitants of the castle seeing them off pity her. She knows it. She knows what they whisper about him. What kind of monster deserves a sweet, simple girl like her? He must be ruining her in the dark of night. She is too naive to understand the cruel hand she has been dealt. He will kill her one day, and she will never see it coming.
Leanna keeps her posture relaxed, but firm. She is not so uptight as to be a rigid figure, but not slouched enough to warrant whispers. Elegant is her aim, and she knows she is achieving it as she pulls at her skirts and steps across the damp ground.
The waiting carriage is flagged with black and red. She would have it black and gold, but there was little use bringing the issue before her king and his heir, lest she offended her new family. She was a Targaryen now, and they would have it known as she traveled through the lands.
They were traveling a rather roundabout way. Instead of cutting through Kingswood, like her party had on their journey here for the wedding, they would arch around the forest and head South. They would hit Fawnton, Harvest Hall, Grandview and every House in-between before reaching Storm's End. Her strategic visits to speak with each lord.
Daemon has been blunt with her since the night he last entered her chambers. Certainly, her words were too bold. Too confrontational. She ignores his ill temper with ease, even though she can feel his gaze burning a hole in her back as she enters the carriage. His anger is not something unfamiliar, nor unexpected.
In the peace behind latticework windows, she releases a breath. As the carriage begins to rattle out of the courtyard, she reaches for the chest on the opposite seat.
Stormswaith is a comforting sight. Its weight familiar in her hands. Something about it brings her ease. Perhaps it is the memory of Boremund bringing it to her on her fifteenth birthday. Years after her training with a blade had begun. It was marked with a promise, and the history of their house. Leanna would not be quick to forget that night. It was the very beginning of her journey. Now, she prays, the end will come into sight.
They are well past the beginnings of the boundaries that line the Kingswood when she hails the carriages to stop. Daemon, atop his broad warhorse, looks confused for only a moment. Leanna's guards are quick to respond to her, however. The native Stormlanders cut the tall gray mare free from the front of the carriage.
Daemon scoffs as Leanna rises into the saddle, her dress shed for dark riding leathers. Her dark cloak remains, hiding the sword at her waist. Leanna brushes the neck of the horse, grinning at her guards. These two men have known her longer than she can remember. They will not be as fooled by her antics. They know her for the girl that can, and will, fight tooth and nail for all she cares for. They know what this trip is for.
"Now it will be quicker if we all ride on horseback, will it not?" Daemon muses.
"We will ruin the image then, will we not?" Leanna answers. As she turns, the pommel is revealed to him. She sees his eyes take in the hint of the blade. He falters, and she seizes the moment by urging her mare into a lope towards the front of the caravan.
Daemon follows her doggedly. Refusing to let the matter die. "You carry a blade. You are no knight."
"I do not need to be a knight to defend myself in battle."
"That is often why the battle is left to the knights, though. You will not face bloodshed."
"We pray for that outcome, certainly. But it does not pay off to assume complete safety on such a journey. That would make me a fool. I hope, above anything else, you are beginning to learn that I am not one."
"Not a fool, but an idiot for thinking you can carry your father's blade into a fight and walk out alive."
"Lady Leanna is the best fighter Storm's End has seen in generations, my Lord." Daemon twists, staring at the guard. Leanna does not gloat. She allows the information to sit for only a moment before she changes the subject.
"Jesper Cafferen is young. He was recently blessed with an heir from his new bride, a marriage that my father arranged and has proved incredibly fruitful for both Houses Cafferen and Bolling. This will not be the visit we need to worry about. Jesper has ever been my friend, and I entrust his allegiances will not change anytime soon."
"You should not trust anyone in times like these," Daemon warns.
"You are most certainly correct in that matter. However, Jesper has been a firsthand witness to Borros and his faults. Borros, on Jesper's wedding night, made an attempt to ferry his bride away and seduce her. Thankfully Crissa is not a foolish girl to be swayed by a man with status, or else Jesper would have been humiliated to the point of proposing a duel. Over which he would have most certainly died, and our good standing in Fawnton would fall to his unsavory cousin. No, Jesper is our ally. This visit will cement my tidings to House Cafferen, and word will begin to spread ahead of us."
"And yet I am already becoming bored by the complexity of drama amongst petty nobles."
Leanna hisses a scolding in his direction, though she cannot hide her smirk. "I understand your misgivings, but I am depending on you to be the diplomat at my side. Have my back as my husband, and as a prince."
"What do I get from it? A cold bed each night and your harsh words?"
Her expression grows cold. Trying not to betray herself to her guards, yet understanding the meaning behind his words. Bringing back up her warning from all those nights ago. He would not be quick to forget her words. Her position in this marriage was too aloof, even for him. Yet she still expected him to behave as though they doted on each other every waking second.
"There is another time to discuss this."
"It's not like we are quick to run out of time. Or road," he scoffs. "What better time to air out our grievances?"
"When we do not have an audience," Leanna sniffs. She refuses to look at him. To acknowledge his grievances.
He must learn to hold his tongue. She will not tolerate anything else, for his words could mean utter destruction for her, for her name.
It was too dangerous for Daemon to consider acting like he did in King's Landing. They were used to his antics there. In the Stormlands, expectations were different. The Targaryens did not often venture South into the smaller settlements. The commonfolk did not know what to expect of the young prince. The last Leanna wants is for Daemon to soil her name before she can even stake her claim.
The prince is glowering on his horse. Leanna ignores him, turning her careful eye to the land that stretches out before them. Moving from developed towns close the capital into rural farmland. To their left, the Kingswood is dark and intensely green. Fall is beginning to hint along the edges in the form of golden-green leaves and grasses that turn towards yellow straw. Harvest time was for celebration, and that time was every drawing near.
After harvest, winter would soon take these lands. Be it in temperature or something more sinister, change was creeping in. Leanna must do everything to keep it at bay.
