Check out advanced chapters on : patreon.com/Veni_V
---------------
The Journey to Dragonstone
The dungeon was dark, dank, and bitterly cold.
A crisp click echoed as the corridor door swung open.
The sound of armor and chains jingled in the darkness.
Garlan lay atop a pile of rags, turning his head to look sideways. In this gloomy place, there was little to do but sleep.
Though he received wine, bread, and meat daily, and occasionally was permitted to visit the training yard for fresh air, his confinement was wearing.
Someone new was arriving.
Armored guards escorted a tall figure, bound hand and foot.
The jailer led them forward. He unlocked the cell adjacent to Garlan's, and the rusty iron door creaked open. "This one," the jailer muttered.
The guards shoved the prisoner inside. The newcomer struggled briefly before staggering into the cell.
By the faint torchlight carried by the guards, Garlan barely made out the prisoner's features.
He waited until the jailer and guards had left the black cells.
"Brienne of Tarth," Garlan said quietly. "Why are you here?"
Brienne, hearing a familiar voice, approached the iron bars separating their cells.
When she failed to respond, Garlan offered, "I am Garlan Tyrell."
"Lord Garlan?" Doubt colored her tone.
"Was there another battle outside? How did they capture you?"
Brienne recounted her misadventure.
They shared the dungeon for only a day before Garlan was removed the following morning.
Brienne didn't know where they'd taken him but assumed House Tyrell had paid his ransom.
The sunlight outside the dungeon was blinding to Garlan, like needles piercing his eyes. He squinted, his eyes narrowed to slits.
He followed his escort, the shackles now removed from his limbs.
They walked toward the sea. Had his family reached some agreement with Storm's End? Had Cole consented to release him? They passed through the water gate and proceeded directly to a ship's deck.
Garlan observed sailors busily preparing the vessel, alongside knights in armor bearing swords.
The soldiers delivered him aboard, then departed. He saw Cole approaching, dressed in dark blue. Men greeted Cole as he passed, and he acknowledged them with a nod before reaching Garlan.
"Ser Garlan, how have you fared?" Cole asked with formal politeness.
Garlan wanted to tell him he'd nearly moldered in that dungeon, but instead forced a smile. "My Lord Marquis, why have you brought me here?"
"We journey to Dragonstone, ser. To meet with the king and your father, Lord Mace. I believe King Stannis will receive us most warmly."
"Dragonstone?" Garlan regarded him with confusion.
Days ago, Storm's End had been preparing for war. He'd assumed King's Landing's forces approached. Yet today, walking free, he found the atmosphere oddly relaxed, with no sign of imminent conflict.
Cole patted his arm and sighed. "I can only say that war is coming, ser."
With that cryptic remark, the white-haired youth departed, leaving Garlan to ponder his meaning.
As the ship set sail, Garlan noticed that no one seemed particularly concerned with his presence.
"Ser Tyrell." A knight greeted him.
Garlan did not recognize the man. He rarely attended tournaments or feasts, so his circle of acquaintances was limited. However, he recognized the sigil on the knight's armor—House Dondarrion of Blackhaven.
"Good day, ser," he returned the greeting.
"I didn't expect to find you aboard," said Jafer Dondarrion. Their houses shared a history of alliance against Dorne, prompting the knight to initiate conversation.
Garlan guessed the reason and felt a twinge of concern.
They spoke for a while, with Jafer sharing what news he knew. Brienne had known little, but Garlan admired the woman's courage in seeking vengeance for Renly single-handed. Foolish, perhaps, but Garlan felt a kinship in that folly.
The ship's quarters were cramped, and Garlan soon encountered Cole again.
They sailed for nearly two days before reaching Dragonstone. During the journey, Cole revealed much to Garlan. The world had changed dramatically during his imprisonment.
Dragonstone lay closer to the North. Though the waves of Blackwater Bay weren't as fierce as those in Shipbreaker Bay, the winds cut considerably colder.
Garlan's clothing was woefully inadequate—Cole had not been generous enough to provide prisoners with warm garments. He wore only the padded shirt that normally lay beneath his armor. When storms had lashed Storm's End, rain had dripped into his cell, and he'd relied on rare sunny days when guards would permit him brief exposure to sunlight.
A thin man greeted them at the dock—or rather, greeted Cole.
A heavy oak gangplank connected ship to shore, and the white-haired youth descended first. He removed his gloves and clasped hands with the gaunt middle-aged man.
Though temporarily free at sea, Garlan found himself a prisoner once more upon landing.
Several soldiers kept watch over him as he gazed at the island where Aegon the Conqueror had been born. On a seaside hill stood a castle resembling a crouching black dragon, with winding stairs traversing treacherous cliffs.
Though the soldiers appeared stern, they showed him no malice, addressing him respectfully when giving directions.
"Lord Hand," Cole greeted the Onion Knight with a smile. He had changed into clean attire and finally looked the part of a proper knight.
"Please, don't mock me, ser."
"If I address you by name, His Grace would likely rebuke me for impropriety." Cole replaced his gloves. "Did you receive my letter?"
"The raven arrived yesterday. Maester Pylos read it to me. I didn't expect you so soon," Davos replied.
"Thank the weather for that, my lord."
Together they ascended toward Dragonstone, the fortress perched high on the mountain.
"What is His Grace's position regarding events across the Narrow Sea?" Cole asked as they climbed.
The Onion Knight shook his head. "The king's health..." He glanced around and fell silent. "Better you hear from him directly."
Halfway up the path, a figure in red blocked their way. Melisandre's crimson robes fluttered in the wind as she gazed toward the horizon.
She turned, her lovely face causing many a heart to flutter.
"My Lord Marquis, I've awaited you. Might I have a moment of your time?" She descended toward them with measured steps.
Cole glanced at Davos. He knew the Onion Knight had long been at odds with the priestess, yet the man remained silent.
"I must see His Grace first, my lady."
"The king rests now and wishes not to be disturbed," declared the knight standing behind the red woman. Ser Axell Florent regarded Cole with cold disdain.
Cole glanced at Davos again and noted how the Hand slightly lowered his head.