A Vow Without Honor

The Battles

Myra

However intimidating Dragonstone had been from her ship, the feeling grew tenfold as she stood at its base, staring up at its grotesque carvings and misshapen outcroppings from the docks. Whatever good feelings she had possessed when they started their journey toward the island had fled in fear of it.

"This place doesn't feel right," Jory mumbled next to her, looking no more comfortable than she did.

Ser Davos appeared beside them, looking as at home on the island as he had on his ship. His son was still dealing with the crew.

"You get used to it," he commented, shrugging at the terrible statues as if they depicted the Seven. "If you will follow me, my lady."

The interior of Dragonstone did nothing to ease the dread growing inside of her. Every hall was dark, barely lit by the torches on the walls or whatever sun that managed to trickle in from the outside. More carvings awaited them, shaped in ways that did not seem possible.

Perhaps Old Nan had been right after all.

Jory was eying the statues with an unease she had grown accustomed to over the past few days. His eyes darted to and fro, waiting for some stone creature to lash out at them, but each was no livelier than the empty halls they travelled. Still, that did not stop her from reaching out to move his hand, which lingered dangerously close to his sword hilt.

She doubted Stannis would be as forgiving as his brother when it came to drawn steel. From what she had heard, he was not forgiving at all. A mind for justice, yes, but the two seldom went hand in hand.

For his part, Jory complied, but she could not be certain for how long.

Finally, their path came to an end at two great, wooden doors. The threshold, like much of Dragonstone, depicted dragons and fire, terrible images. Two guards stood at the entryway, the stag of House Baratheon emblazoned on their chests. It occurred to her that she had not seen any other guards or even servants since they left the docks.

Ser Davos turned to her. "My lady, allow me a moment alone with Lord Stannis, and then I'll retrieve you."

She nodded, watching him slip through the large door as though it weighed nothing.

One of the guards was eying her. She returned his gaze until he had sense enough to look away.

With a tug on her arm, Jory led Myra away, out of earshot.

"I don't like this, my lady," he whispered, his gaze on the offending guard.

"So I gathered," she replied, unable to help the smirk. "But wasn't this your idea?"

Jory blinked. "Lord Stark told you?"

"He didn't have to. Father would have never come to the decision on his own. He'd rather tie me to the mast of a ship until I reached White Harbor before putting me in the middle of another mess."

The captain of the guard paled. "My lady, I-"

"I'm grateful, Jory," Myra said, cutting off what was no doubt an apology. The man looked surprised. "Really I...these past few days, I feel as though I have been the cause of so many things. For once, I want to be able to fix something."

His face softened, but any reply was prevented by the door opening.

Ser Davos nodded from the threshold. Myra took a deep breath. This was it.

The Great Hall of Dragonstone was perhaps the least strange room in the entire castle. There were fewer dragon motifs, replaced by stark lines and abrupt angles instead. Pillars gave way to vast openings on either side, looking out at Blackwater Bay and providing the most light she had seen. But there was something about the simplicity of it, and the lack of any formal decoration, that gave her even greater unease than the grotesque statues outside.