The party finally emerged from the shelter of the Kingswood, passing the towering walls of Bronze Gate, and arriving at Storm's End, perched majestically upon the cape.
Robert Baratheon, with the fervent hospitality of the Storm Lord, urged them to rest at his castle for a few days. However, the coalition of Dorne and the Iron Islands politely declined his offer.
They rested at Storm's End for only a single night. At dawn the next day, they boarded a ship bound for Dorne.
The vessel sliced through the deep blue waves of Shipbreaker Bay, making a brief stop at the Isle of Tarth.
When dusk fell again, Brienne stood at the harbor of Evenfall Hall, watching the ship sail into the distance. Her shadow stretched long under the setting sun, and she remained there, motionless, long after the ship had vanished.
The ship continued south, heading for Sunspear in Dorne. Its prow cut through the golden waves of the Summer Sea. With every rise and fall of the tide, Elia was carried further from her past and closer to her homeland.
The sea breeze grew warmer, and the scent of desert and spices began to mingle in the air, reminding everyone that Dorne was near.
---
When the ship finally entered open waters, Euron lay alone on the deck, letting his body rise and fall gently with the waves. Only now did he truly feel a long-lost sense of security. The stars in the night sky seemed close enough to touch, and the sea breeze caressed his face with a salty, familiar scent.
On this boundless blue, he was the sovereign. No matter how many pursuers King's Landing sent, no matter how the Mad King raged, once at sea, this was Euron Greyjoy's domain. He knew every current here, could predict every shift in the wind as if reading the lines on his own palm. And with his friends swimming in the depths below, any threat from the land seemed insignificant and laughable.
Surprisingly, until the ship was far from the waters of the Stormlands, no sign of pursuers from King's Landing appeared. Perhaps the Mad King finally realized the futility of chasing an Ironborn captain on the open sea; or perhaps a sane minister still remained at court to dissuade him from a chase destined for failure.
As the ship sailed through the jagged waters of the Stepstones, a sailor's shout came from the crow's nest. Everyone looked in the direction he pointed and saw a solitary small boat drifting with the current. On it, a colorful figure was waving frantically at them.
It was a tall man, standing as steadily in the tossing skiff as if on solid ground. Most striking was his incredibly luxurious cloak—woven from rare feathers of red and green, shimmering brilliantly in the sunlight. His skin was as black as the deepest midnight, a typical feature of the Summer Islanders. The magnificent feathered cloak fluttered from his shoulders in the wind, like a rare, giant bird ready to take flight.
As the boat drew closer, the Summer Islander in the feathered cloak flashed teeth as white as snow, revealing a smile that was both weary and relieved—as if he had finally seen the dawn of hope after endless drifting.
When the Summer Islander spoke, it was in fluent Common Tongue, tinged with an exotic accent: "Greetings in the name of the Lord of Light! I am Jalabhar Xho, the rightful Prince of the Red Flower Vale of the Summer Isles."
Oberyn's lips curled into a half-smile. "Prince? Let me guess—you lost in your famous 'Ritual of Battle' and were exiled?"
Jalabhar Xho immediately straightened his back, his dark face becoming solemn with agitation. "They are usurpers! I was on my way to King's Landing to petition the great King Targaryen for gold and swords. I will reclaim my glory and my throne!"
Euron couldn't help but laugh aloud, a sound sharp with mockery in the sea breeze. "Petition King Aerys for help? Trust me, my friend, the only thing you'll get is a cup of sour wine thrown in your face, followed by 'Get out of my sight'."
Jalabhar Xho froze, his magnificent feathered cloak trembling slightly in the wind, mirroring its master's sudden confusion and helplessness.
---
The arrival of this dark-skinned stranger drew the attention of everyone on board. Ashara and Arianne came out from the cabin with Elia and little Rhaenys, stepping onto the deck. Jalabhar Xho, with his cloak of red and green feathers fluttering in the breeze, looked like a tropical bird that had landed among them.
The Prince from the Summer Isles seemed not to mind being the center of attention. Instead, he nodded politely to everyone, his white teeth striking against his dark skin, his mannerisms revealing a natural aristocratic grace.
One-year-old Rhaenys widened her violet eyes, full of curiosity about this sudden "Big Bird Man." She giggled, toddling unsteadily on her small feet, circling Jalabhar Xho. Occasionally, she reached out a small hand to touch the splendid feathered cloak. Whenever the feathers brushed her face, she let out a bell-like laugh, her innocent joy infecting everyone present.
Seeing this, Jalabhar Xho gracefully dropped to one knee so the little princess could admire his cloak more clearly. His eyes shone with a gentle light, as if he had found a rare warmth and joy in these strange waters.
This was the first time in many days that Euron had seen Elia so clearly. She stood in the morning light on the deck, her face paler than he remembered, looking as though a strong gust of sea wind could blow her away. When she noticed Euron looking at her, their gazes met briefly in the air before Elia unnaturally lowered her eyes, her long lashes casting fragile shadows on her pale cheeks.
Euron took a step forward, the wind catching the dark hem of his tunic. "Princess Elia," his voice much softer than usual, "are you feeling any better?"
Elia instinctively tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, a simple motion that seemed to cost her effort. "Much better," she replied softly, her voice nearly lost in the sound of the waves. "Thank you for asking."
She never looked up to meet his eyes, her fingertips unconsciously tracing the wood grain of the railing. The air between them seemed to solidify, with only the cries of gulls and the slap of waves filling the suffocating silence.
Elia did not linger on deck. Shivering slightly in the damp, salty chill of the wind, she turned and went back into the cabin. Her pale figure disappeared into the depths of the corridor as if she had never been there.
Euron turned his gaze to Jalabhar Xho, who was surrounded by the others. The Summer Isles Prince waved his jewelry-laden arms, recounting tales of his distant homeland, drawing gasps of wonder. Euron's fingertips tapped rhythmically against the gunwale, a glint passing through his eyes—this exiled prince might become an unexpected piece in a larger game.
To onlookers, Euron appeared to be idly staring over the side. Two pink dolphins were chasing the ship, leaping through the waves and emitting crisp, pleasant calls, carving joyful ripples in the azure sea.
But in Euron's mind, calculations were flying: If I support Jalabhar Xho to retake the Summer Isles, what does the Iron Islands gain? An ally on a vital trade route? A strategic base to supply the fleet? Or perhaps... a springboard to even more distant lands?
The sea breeze brushed his dark hair, and reflected in his eyes were the endless ocean and infinite ambition.