Carliene Stark

Chapter 79

Carliene

I let the brown horse guide me through the night, half sleeping on its back as it slowly walked on, the rhythmic motions calming me, while keeping me wake enough not to fall off. By some twist of fate we were going in the right direction, as I realised when we came to cross the Kingsroad. Soon the scent of salt and sea was on the breeze again. I knew that heading north would probably be the quicker path, but it also meant passing King's Landing again and I never wanted to pass or go near that city again unless it was to server Cersei what she deserved.

So I decided I would try and travel along the coastline, keeping Blackwater Bay to my left. If I remembered Maester Lewin's lessons on geography correctly the land formed a tongue out into the ocean and somewhere at it's tip I hoped to find a harbour where maybe there was a ship who's captain could be persuaded to take me to Dragonstone. 

If I ever made it that far. The first three days I found myself battling a fever, which made my very bones feel so heavy that in my delusion I would have believed that the great sept must have collapsed right on top of me. The fewer dreams were worse. I could scarce distinguish between hallucination and reality, believing myself in the hands of the enemy one moment and riding down to the capitol in the company of my father and sisters in the next.

But at the end of every day I would have made it just a little closer. Once again I found myself grateful for not having inherited my mother's red hair as it surely would have made me more recognisable. Wrapping the hilt of the Lannister sword in black cloth I tore from my oversized tunic and telling myself that they all believed me to be dead, I almost became accustomed to the strange sort of security that came with the anonymity. I could have started fresh, left my name and all the pain that clung to it behind, but at that time that thought never occurred to me. 

I only knew that I needed to go on, believing that my quest was more than the crazy idea of a fewer dream. Believing that somehow it would be true and the dragon queen had come to Westeros. 

A week into my travels I happened upon a small fishing village, where I was able to acquire a proper meal and a bed for my coin. From the locals I found that I was traveling along a stretch of land called Massey's Hook, which ended in the castle of Sharp Point, seat of house Bar Emmon. From there it was only a short stretch across the Gullet until Dragonstone.
Longing to regain some strength I allowed myself to rest in the village for two days, probably paying the locals far more than I was due for, but I was bad at negotiating with money as I realised. But I managed to acquire some provisions and even a coat to keep me warmer at night.
As I was riding along a longer stretch of beach, already having lost track of the amount of days or weeks I had been traveling for, something caught my eye on the glimmering sea. An array of black dots that grew slightly larger as they passed. I realised that it was a fleet, larger than any I could have ever imagined. They were heading towards King's Landing. Their sails were probably black, but I could not make out a sigil from this distance. 

"I hope it's three red dragons" I mumbled under my breath, tightening my grip around the reigns as the horse snorted in response. I thought about turning and heading back to the capital, almost fearing that I would miss some great battle and the downfall of the lions. 

But I had come so far, turning back would only mean more lost time. And something deep in my inner instincts told me that time was a precious thing not to be wasted. As did the raven that somehow followed me along my travels, appearing every days, watching and croaking. I wasn't sure if it was always the same raven or if this part of the world just had a lot of wild ravens in it, but I could always count on it to be around.

After crossing the wendwater I entered a town that had and actual inn. The people were grey and hard, mostly traders or fishermen of some sort. As I cupped my cold hands around a bowl of thin onion soup a well-fed woman slid onto the bench across from me.