Robert stood at the edge of the Spine Mountains, gazing across the vast skies of Essos. It had been years since he set foot in Westeros, and now the invitation to his brother Borros Baratheon's wedding was tugging at his heart. A wedding between Borros and Alys Stark, the daughter of the Warden of the North, was no small affair, and Robert couldn't miss it.
Cannibal waited patiently nearby, the great black dragon's scales gleaming faintly under the early morning sun. His massive wings shifted lazily as if he already knew this flight would take them across the Narrow Sea to the familiar Stormlands.
Robert ran a hand along Cannibal's thick scales and murmured, "Ready for a proper ride, old boy? We've got a wedding to attend."
With a sharp roar that shook the rocks around them, Cannibal lowered himself, and Robert climbed onto his back, settling into the saddle he'd fashioned over the years. With a powerful thrust of his wings, Cannibal launched into the air, the force so strong it rattled Robert's bones. The wind howled in his ears, and the world below became a blur.
The flight was long and breathtaking. Cannibal soared effortlessly over the seas, his wings slicing through the air like a shadow of death. As they flew higher, the ships below looked like scattered toys in a pond.
Robert's cloak billowed behind him as he took in the familiar sight of Westeros slowly appearing on the horizon. It had been years since he had ridden across the Stormlands, trained in its halls, and fought its battles. He couldn't help but feel a pang of nostalgia.
"Storm's End," he muttered to himself, his voice lost in the wind. "It's been too long."
Cannibal began his descent, and the wind carried a faint cry from the dragon—one that sent shivers down the spines of those below.
Storm's End was just as Robert remembered: an indomitable fortress standing against the fury of the sea. The massive stone walls seemed to defy the stormy winds that always battered the coastline.
As Cannibal descended toward a clearing near the castle, the people of Storm's End stopped in their tracks, staring in awe and fear at the black dragon. Some ran for cover, while others merely gawked. The sight of a dragon, a beast they had only heard of in stories or from travelers, left them stunned.
Cannibal landed with a heavy thud, the earth trembling beneath his weight. Robert dismounted smoothly, his black cloak swirling behind him as he walked toward the keep. His arrival had not gone unnoticed.
Borros Baratheon himself emerged from the gates, flanked by guards and family members. The Lord of Storm's End had grown into his role as the ruler of the Stormlands, tall and broad like a true Baratheon, with the same storm-colored eyes Robert shared.
"Well, look who decided to honor us with his presence!" Borros boomed, his voice echoing across the courtyard. He grinned broadly as he strode forward.
Robert smiled and spread his arms. "Did you really think I'd miss my brother's wedding? Even if I had to cross the Narrow Sea, Borros?"
The two brothers embraced tightly, clapping each other on the back. There was no bitterness or tension between them—only the bond of family.
"You could've ridden a ship like a normal man," Borros teased, nodding toward Cannibal, who was now perched calmly in the clearing. "Instead, you brought that monster of yours to scare my people half to death."
Robert laughed. "Cannibal enjoys the air more than the sea. You know how dragons are."
Inside the great hall, Robert was greeted warmly by his family. Lord Boremund Baratheon, their father, looked at Robert with pride and a touch of surprise.
"You've built yourself quite the kingdom, Robert," Boremund said, gripping his son's arm tightly. "And now you come here riding a dragon like some ancient king of Valyria."
Robert shrugged modestly. "It's nothing compared to the legacy of House Baratheon, Father."
Boremund smiled, his voice softening. "You do us proud, son."
The warm reunion filled Robert with an odd sense of belonging. He hadn't felt this way since before his departure years ago.
The day of the wedding was a spectacle worthy of the Baratheon name. Lords and ladies from across Westeros had come to witness the union between the Stormlands and the North.
The castle courtyard was adorned with banners of the Baratheon stag and the Stark direwolf, their sigils rippling in the salty breeze. Music filled the air, and feasting tables groaned under the weight of roasted meats, pies, and barrels of ale.
Alys Stark was every bit as regal as her Northern heritage suggested. She wore a white cloak adorned with embroidered direwolves and looked both proud and serene as she stood at Borros's side. Her hair was braided elegantly, and her gray eyes carried the cold wisdom of her family.
Borros, clad in black and gold, beamed with pride as they exchanged their vows before the gathered nobles. Robert stood near the front, watching with a quiet smile.
After the ceremony, the feast began in earnest. Laughter, music, and toasts rang throughout the hall.
Robert raised his goblet during the first toast. "To my brother Borros and his beautiful bride, Lady Alys Stark. May their union be as strong as the walls of Storm's End and as enduring as the North's winters!"
The hall erupted with cheers, and Borros grinned as he lifted his goblet in return. "And to my brother Robert! The dragonlord of Essos who somehow managed to ride a storm back to us!"
More laughter followed, and Robert drank deeply, enjoying the rare moment of peace and celebration. Lords approached him throughout the evening, eager to hear tales of Stormrage, his kingdom in Essos. They were curious—some in admiration, others with a trace of envy.
Alys approached Robert later in the evening, a faint smile on her lips. "You're quite the legend, King Robert Stormrage."
Robert bowed gallantly. "Only to match the stories told about the Starks. My brother is lucky to have you."
"And you're lucky to have dragons," she replied with a wink before being pulled away by Borros.
As the celebrations stretched into the night, Robert stepped outside onto the battlements, gazing out at the roaring sea. Cannibal was visible in the distance, a dark silhouette against the moonlit sky.
Borros joined him a few moments later, a mug of ale in hand. "You're leaving tomorrow, aren't you?"
Robert nodded. "There's much to do back in Stormrage. My people need me."
"You've built something amazing, brother," Borros said. "But don't be a stranger. You'll always have a place here at Storm's End."
Robert smiled, his heart warmed by the words. "And you'll always have a brother watching over you—no matter how far away."
The two brothers stood there in silence, the wind whipping around them, as the waves crashed against the cliffs below. It was a fleeting moment of peace, a reminder of the bonds that could never be broken.
The following morning, the winds blew strong across the cliffs of Storm's End. The sea churned with white foam, and the sight of sails appeared on the horizon, glinting in the golden light of dawn. Robert Stronghammer stood at the battlements alongside his brother, Borros Baratheon, both gazing out toward the approaching ships.
Borros squinted against the glare of the morning sun. "What is this? Who flies those banners?"
Robert grinned broadly as the ships drew closer, their dark hulls slicing through the waves with practiced precision. The flags they bore were unmistakable—Stormrage banners, emblazoned with the black dragon sigil, fluttering triumphantly against the wind.
"Do you think," Robert said, turning to Borros with a smirk, "that I came to my brother's wedding empty-handed?"
Borros blinked in surprise and turned his gaze back to the fleet of ships. "You brought an entire fleet of gifts?" he asked, half in disbelief and half in awe.
"You're my brother, and this is a grand occasion," Robert said with a casual shrug. "I'd be a poor guest if I didn't bring something worthy of House Baratheon."
The galleys anchored in Storm's End harbor, their sails furled and ropes cast onto the docks. Sailors disembarked swiftly, shouting commands and carrying heavy crates from the cargo holds. The crowd gathered quickly—lords, ladies, smallfolk, and servants—watching with wide eyes as ship after ship unloaded its bounty.
The crates were stacked high, opened carefully to reveal their contents. The treasures of Stormrage poured forth:
Exotic spices of vibrant hues, packed in ornate containers. Saffron, pepper, cinnamon, and cloves from the deep corners of Essos.
Luxurious silk and cotton, dyed in deep reds, blues, and golds, soft as a whisper under the touch.
Precious dry fruits: almonds, figs, dates, and apricots, filling the air with a sweet aroma.
Rare gems and trinkets, fashioned by Essosi craftsmen, glinting in the sunlight.
The gathered nobles murmured in astonishment as the wealth of Essos appeared before their eyes. Whispers of Robert's success and his Kingdom of Stormrage spread like wildfire through the crowd.
"By the gods…" Borros muttered, clearly overwhelmed. "You've brought half of Essos with you!"
Robert laughed heartily. "A small token, Brother. Your wife is from the North. You need some proper warmth for your halls!"
Lord Boremund Baratheon arrived shortly after the ships were unloaded, accompanied by a retinue of Stormlords. The patriarch of House Baratheon was visibly impressed, though he tried to keep his expression stoic.
"These are gifts fit for a king," Boremund said, running his hand across a bolt of shimmering crimson silk.
Robert inclined his head. "It's only right that the rulers of Storm's End receive treasures befitting their stature."
Boros clapped Robert on the shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "You've outdone yourself, Brother. This will make the northern lords think twice about calling us 'poor stormlanders.'"
"Then let's make sure these goods are shared," Robert said with a wink. "Let them see that the marriage of House Baratheon and House Stark brings prosperity to all of the Stormlands."
As the day wore on, the crates were carefully distributed to Storm's End's storerooms, and gifts were presented directly to Borros, Alys Stark, and their honored guests. The news of Robert's arrival, riding a dragon and bringing riches from across the Narrow Sea, spread like wildfire through the gathered nobles.
"Robert Stronghammer—a king in Essos and a brother of House Baratheon. He's no mere bastard anymore."
"Does this dragonlord intend to make himself a power in Westeros as well? And what of the Targaryens?"
"He built a kingdom out of nothing, while we fight over petty scraps of land."
But Borros, seeing the looks of admiration from his peers, only grinned with pride. "Let them whisper," he said to Robert later as they sat together in the hall. "For once, House Baratheon looks as rich and powerful as any other, and it's all thanks to you."
Robert raised his goblet. "To House Baratheon—and to House Stark. May this marriage bring prosperity for generations."
The hall erupted with cheers, and the feast continued long into the night.
As the celebrations quieted and the lords retired to their chambers, Robert stood alone on the battlements of Storm's End. The wind whipped at his cloak as he gazed out at the dark sea, the ships bearing his banners now resting in the harbor below.
Cannibal, somewhere in the distant mountains, slumbered. His people in Stormrage continued to thrive.
But as Robert watched the horizon, a flicker of doubt crept into his thoughts. He had built a kingdom, forged a legacy, yet Westeros was still his home—a home filled with family, ambition, and love he'd once lost.
"Eddard," he murmured softly to the night air, the name still carrying weight in his heart. "You should've seen this."
Borros approached quietly, ale in hand, and stood beside his brother. "Thinking of going back to Essos already?"
Robert turned to him with a smirk. "Not just yet. I'll enjoy the company of my family a little longer."
"To family," Borros said, raising his mug.
"To family," Robert echoed, staring out at the sea that would soon call him home again.
The feast had ended, the halls of Storm's End now quiet save for the distant clatter of servants cleaning up the remnants of a grand celebration. Lord Boremund Baratheon, a man of proud lineage and the storm in his veins, sat across from Robert Stronghammer in the quiet chamber lit by flickering candlelight.
"So," Robert said, leaning back in his chair with a knowing smirk. "You're serious about this?"
Boremund grunted, the corners of his mouth tugging upward. "I am."
"You want to come back with me to Stormrage?" Robert asked, clearly amused. "Essos is not like Westeros, Father. It's dangerous. The lands are vast, the cultures foreign, and—"
"And I care nothing for that," Boremund interrupted, his tone firm but not unkind. "I'm an old man, Robert. I've seen many things in my lifetime, but the idea of flying on a dragon?" His weathered face lit up like a boy hearing tales of knights and dragons for the first time. "By the gods, I never thought I'd see the day."
Robert laughed, a deep rumble that echoed off the stone walls. "So, it's not to see your grandchildren, but to feel the wind on your face atop Cannibal?"
"Both," Boremund admitted with a glint in his eye. "I want to see this kingdom you've built with my own eyes once more. And yes, I want to see your children—my grandchildren." His expression softened for a moment. "I've not always been the father you deserved, Robert. I may not have given you my name, but you are my blood, my son, and by the gods, I'll not miss my chance to see your legacy."
Word spread quickly through Storm's End that Lord Boremund Baratheon himself would be traveling to Essos with Robert. The castle buzzed with activity as servants packed Boremund's belongings—robes, armor, and personal effects. Some of the younger Baratheon men whispered in awe.
"Lord Boremund is riding a dragon," they marveled. "Can you imagine?"
Others were skeptical. "The Cannibal? That dragon eats men! Lord Boremund is mad to trust it."
But Boremund dismissed the mutterings with his usual stern demeanor. He stood tall at the battlements, watching as Robert prepared for their departure.
The day arrived when Robert and Boremund would leave for Stormrage. Cannibal perched just outside the castle gates, his massive, dark form blending ominously with the clouds overhead. Smallfolk and nobles alike gathered in droves to witness the event. For many, it was their first time seeing a dragon, and their faces were a mixture of awe and terror.
Robert stood at the dragon's side, arms crossed and grinning. "You're sure about this, Father? Cannibal doesn't like strangers."
"I wasn't named Stormlord for my cowardice, boy," Boremund shot back, stepping toward the dragon. His storm-gray cloak billowed in the wind as he tilted his head up to meet the beast's fearsome gaze.
Cannibal let out a low rumble that vibrated through the earth, but Robert placed a calming hand on the dragon's flank. "He'll listen to me," Robert said. "Just hold tight and don't fall off."
Boremund climbed the crude makeshift saddle, his movements steadied by Robert. Once seated behind his son, he gripped the leather reins with white knuckles. "This had better not kill me, Robert!"
Robert chuckled as he swung up in front of his father. "Hold on, old man. This is going to be a ride you'll never forget."
Cannibal spread his colossal wings, sending gusts of wind that sent dirt and grass flying across the field. The crowd gasped as the dragon lifted his mighty body into the air, the sound of his wings like thunder.
Boremund held on for dear life as they soared higher and higher, the cliffs of Storm's End shrinking beneath them. The sea sparkled like molten silver in the morning light, and the world seemed to stretch endlessly before them.
The wind tore at their hair and cloaks, and Boremund shouted in exhilaration. "By the gods, Robert! This is madness!"
Robert turned his head, his face lit with pure joy. "No, Father. This is freedom."
Boremund looked out at the vast expanse of the world below. The winds of the sky whipped his face, but he felt alive—truly alive. "This is what it feels like to fly…" he whispered to himself, a boyhood dream finally realized.
Author's Note:
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