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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Storm's End is a clear landmark as it appears on the horizon. The day is crisp and chilled, without a cloud in the sky. Bright enough to herald them to the castle, lasting only until they cross the threshold to the entrance hall.
The storm breaks during dinner, thunder loud and crashing. Enough to make Daemon shift uneasily at her side. And yet, Leanna has never felt more at home. It is peak storm season as the year turns towards winter, and this was always her favorite time to be at Storm's End.
Boremund greets her when arrives from his duties along the docks, soaking wet and grinning. His hug is familiar and comforting. The massive man, more bear than human, is the only person she has ever truly allowed to see her as she is. Her confidant, her Lord, her protector.
"I heard what you did to Darriston," he chuckles as he holds her at arm's length when they are well inside the feast hall. "Good job, my daughter. Not many people have Darriston in their good graces like that."
"I would not have had the bravery to do it without Daemon," she offers. Boremund's attention finally turns to the pale Targaryen prince. His smile fades as he regards the knight.
"I take it your marriage goes well, then?" Daemon pretends not to hear from where he is seated at the table. He lifts the cup to his lips, taking a deep sip of the rich wine.
"Well enough," she promises, squeezing her father's hand. He sees through her, even as she attempts to change the subject. "We must have a discussion soon."
"Not here," Boremund squeezes her hand back. There is a deeper meaning to his words. Not here in the feast hall, and not in Storm's End secret-filled corridors. There are too many unfriendly eyes here in the heart of it. Borros, seated across the hall, is watching them fiercely.
"Of course," she answers lightly. The smile that graces her face is only in her eyes, making them glitter. Her father's expression is dark as he regards her. Entirely serious as he reads every emotion she attempts to hide. To the others in the room, the pair are cold and solemn. Yet Leanna is an open book to Boremund. After all, he was the blueprint and Leanna had built herself after him. They were hewn from stone and storm, born of thunder and raised by the gales.
"Have you eaten enough?" He presses, gesturing at the feast tables. Mostly emptied now as the hour progresses. There had been a premature darkness as the storm fell, but now night has truly fallen around the castle. Beyond the flickering candles and the great fire roaring in the center hearth, shadows are creeping in. So is the cold, for the stone walls have never retained the warmth of a fire well.
"Another goblet of wine, perhaps," she smiles lightly. Something cold sparks in Boremund's eyes.
"Perhaps we should walk instead." Boremund reaches out his arm. Leanna dips her chin, accepting his offered elbow.
Daemon's eyes return to her as she passes the table, moving out of the hall with Boremund. His eyebrows furrow, but she doesn't pause to answer his unspoken question.
