Finding the harbor wasn't a daunting task; it stood out as the bustling heart of Dragonstone, teeming with activity and vibrant energy. Spotting Stannis and Davos engaged in conversation with a group of sailors, I approached them with a polite smile.
"I hope I'm not interrupting," I interjected, mindful of their engrossed discussion.
Their attention shifted towards me, their expressions blending surprise and curiosity. "Ser Healer, you're not interrupting; we were just deliberating on how we will send the first shipment of dragonglass to Winterfell," Stannis clarified, intrigued by my unexpected presence.
"Already?" I exclaimed, taken aback by the swift progress.
"We already had a stockpile of dragonglass at our disposal, which I am planning to dispatch soon. However, the subsequent shipment might take longer as we'll need to commence mining operations," Stannis explained, shedding light on their preparations.
"I understand. I'm in no rush for it, so please take your time with the arrangements," I reassured him, appreciating their dedication to securing the valuable resource.
Returning to our earlier topic, Stannis inquired, "Have you concluded your exploration?"
"Yes, the castle is truly remarkable, even its interior holds fascinating secrets. However, I merely wanted to inform you that I will be taking my leave now. I have thoroughly examined Lady Shireen once more, and she is in perfect health," I conveyed, eager to provide reassurance.
Stannis regarded me, his brow furrowing. "I was hoping to express my gratitude for all you have done. Are you certain you must depart so soon?" he queried.
"Regrettably, yes, Lord Stannis. I have pressing obligations awaiting me in Winterfell, necessitating my swift return," I explained, a touch of urgency lacing my words.
"Very well," Stannis acquiesced, understanding the weight of duty. "I shall arrange for one of my ships to transport you to White Harbor."
"There's no need, Lord Stannis. I have my own means of travel, and I wouldn't wish to burden you with such trivial tasks," I politely declined, acknowledging his gracious offer.
He appeared on the verge of insisting, but then a flicker of realization crossed his features. He remembered the extraordinary swiftness with which I had arrived at Dragonstone, realizing that a slow ship wouldn't suit my needs. With a nod, he relented, respecting my decision.
With our exchange concluded, I set off towards the uninhabited side of the island, the very spot where I had initially landed.
As I got closer to my destination Vaylara's annoyance was palpable as she glided beside me, her frustration growing with each passing moment.
"So, how do you plan on returning, then?"
I glance at her, acknowledging the persistence of her inquiry. It's about time I provide a clear answer.
"I intend to fly, of course."
Vaylara's eyes widened with disbelief, her voice tinged with skepticism.
"Flying requires much more than just raw power. It's a skill that requires finesse and time to master."
I shrug nonchalantly, brushing off her concerns.
"Eh, you're overcomplicating it. Flying is a lot simpler than you think."
Vaylara opens her mouth to retort, but before any words escape, Wings sprout from my back.
With a single powerful flap, I ascend into the open sky, leaving Vaylara momentarily speechless below.
Having reached the desired altitude, I settled into a glide, gracefully navigating northwards through the open sky. And just as the wind whispered around me, carrying me toward my destination, Vaylara reappeared beside me, her expression a mix of defeat and resignation.
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The ship's gentle sway provided a soothing rhythm, allowing him to delve into his thoughts regarding his upcoming adventure to Winterfell. Although he lacked a solid reason for the visit, his penchant for exploring intriguing destinations would certainly come in handy this time.
As he immersed himself in contemplation, Ellaria approached from behind and encircled him with her arms. Her touch brought comfort and familiarity.
"What occupies your mind so deeply, my love?" she inquired, her voice laced with curiosity.
"The same enigma that, I'm sure, plagues the thoughts of every noble in Westeros at the moment," he replied, his gaze fixed on the horizon.
"Hmm, it won't be long until we reach White Harbor, provided we don't make any unnecessary stops along the way," Ellaria remarked.
"Unfortunately, my dear, we have to make a detour to Dragonstone today for resupplying. However, it shouldn't delay us by more than a day," he explained, a tinge of annoyance in his voice.
Engrossed in each other's company and the tranquility of the breeze, they savored the moment before he remembered something important.
"How are the girls faring?" he inquired, his concern evident.
A smile graced his paramour's face as she responded, "Nymeria's seasickness has improved, although she still experiences occasional bouts. As for Obara, she's simply restless due to the lack of activities aboard the ship."
"I believe you should go and inform them that we will soon be reaching port. That should lift their spirits," he suggested, a tender note in his voice.
It wasn't long before the sight of Dragonstone's port emerged on the horizon, marking their impending arrival.
The ship gradually approached Dragonstone's port, its imposing cliffs and ancient castle looming ahead. The crew prepared to dock, and as the vessel glided into position, a sense of anticipation filled the air.
Ellaria took her leave, gracefully navigating the deck and disappearing below to deliver the news to their daughters. Meanwhile, he remained on the ship's deck, taking in the sight of Dragonstone with a mix of fascination and nostalgia. The island held a rich history, once home to the formidable Targaryens and their dragons.
As his gaze fell upon the stark, volcanic landscape, a rush of memories inundated his mind. It had been ages since he last trod upon this island, a time when his desert sister held sway as the lady of the castle.
The recollection of those tender moments spent with his dear sister was bittersweet, for it was swiftly eclipsed by a surge of anger, fueled by the knowledge that the brother of the Usurper now ruled over this land. But revenge simmered within him, a fire that would not be extinguished easily.
This journey, he knew, would grant him a valuable understanding of the new dynamics at play—variables that would either aid or impede his quest for vengeance. With determination etched upon his features, he vowed to make the most of this opportunity.
Lost in his contemplation, he started at the sound of approaching footsteps. Ellaria reappeared, accompanied by Nymeria and Obara. The presence of his beloved and their daughters brought him back to the present, momentarily grounding him in their shared reality.
The girls, now brimming with excitement, ran towards him, their youthful energy uncontained. Nymeria's complexion had regained its color, and Obara's restlessness had transformed into eager anticipation.
"We're finally making port!" Nymeria exclaimed, her voice filled with relief.
"Yes, my darling," he replied, beaming at their enthusiasm. "Dragonstone awaits us for a brief respite before our journey to Winterfell."
As the ship docked and the gangplank extended, they disembarked onto the ancient stones of Dragonstone. The island's eerie beauty surrounded them—the remnants of a forgotten empire.
Soon, they found themselves in the market next to the port , where merchants and traders had set up temporary stalls. The scent of spices and exotic goods filled the air, mingling with the sea breeze. He led his family through the bustling crowd, his eyes scanning for supplies that would sustain them on their onward journey.
He dispatched his men to secure the necessary provisions and set about exploring the surroundings. To his surprise, the island buzzed with activity, far more bustling than he had remembered from his previous visit. Curiosity piqued, he couldn't help but wonder what had transpired to attract such a multitude of ships and people.
It didn't take long for him to uncover the reason behind the heightened activity after a quick chat with one of the locals. It appeared that Lord Stannis's daughter had contracted greyscale, and the White Mage had journeyed to Dragonstone to cure her.
Astounded by the speed of the mage's success at curing an incurable disease, he lamented the missed opportunity to meet the Healer. However, a small part of him was relieved that the encounter hadn't transpired, as it would have necessitated interaction with the stoic Lord of Dragonstone.
With provisions secured and pleasantries exchanged with the locals, they embarked on their ship, bidding farewell to Dragonstone. As they set sail, the island gradually receded from view, becoming a mere silhouette on the horizon. The ship's gentle sway resumed, offering a comforting rhythm that soothed his thoughts. His mind now brimmed with visions of Winterfell and the adventures that awaited them in the North.
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Anxiety fuels his desperate sprint through the nightmarish hallway. His heart races, pounding in his chest. Fear grips him, pushing him to his limits. The hallway, shrouded in darkness, stretches endlessly ahead, mocking his efforts to escape.
The clanging of chains reverberates through the air, haunting his every step. Their relentless pursuit never falters, growing louder with each passing moment. He pushes himself harder, trying to outpace the ominous sound, but the chains remain steadfastly close, a constant reminder of his impending doom.
Suddenly, his foot catches on an unseen obstacle, and he crashes to the ground. As he struggles to rise, the hallway morphs into a room of distorted mirrors. The rattling chains fade away, replaced by an eerie silence that fills him with unease.
Confusion washes over him as he tries to comprehend the abrupt transformation. His own reflections in the mirrors come to life, closing in on him with malevolent intent. Their whispered pleas for salvation echo through the air, sending shivers down his spine.
Then, a horrifying sight unfolds before him—the reflections start bleeding profusely from every pore. Blood drips down their distorted faces, staining the mirrors with a surreal crimson hue. The horror of the scene intensifies, engulfing him in a suffocating nightmare.
In a jolt, he awakens, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding against his ribcage. Trembling, he frantically checks his body, his hands trembling over his skin, searching for any sign of wounds. Gradually, he realizes that it was all just a haunting dream, a mere illusion crafted by his restless mind.
"Nightmare… It was just a nightmare" he mutters.
Relief washes over him as he takes in his surroundings. He finds solace in the safety of the ship's cabin, its sturdy walls shielding him from the terrors of the night. The journey back to the citadel offers hope, a sanctuary far removed from the darkness that haunted his dreams.
He sits upright on his bunk, his breath still rapid from the remnants of the nightmare. His mind races, piecing together the fragments of the dream that shook him to his core. Determination flickers in his eyes, fueled by the urgency to protect others from the looming threat.
Casting a quick glance around the dimly lit cabin, he gathered his thoughts. His voice quivered with a mixture of fear and resolve as he muttered to himself.
"I need to warn everyone. Whatever knowledge we could gain from that monster is not worth the danger. He must be killed and not allowed to continue his masquerade as a healer."
A/N: Sorry about the late updates guys I went from Student to Unemployed… again. So it's kinda hard to get in that writing zone after having gone through an average of 15 rejections per day.
Anyway If you guys want to read ahead you can find me on Pa treon