Kapitel 393: Chapter 394: Landing
The "Imp," Tyrion Lannister, found himself once again aboard a ship.
The unrelenting gales and violent waves of the Narrow Sea made him utterly miserable. Every night, he relied on wine to barely lull himself to sleep, only to wake up nauseous once more.
Late one night, he climbed out of the ship's cramped cabin and vomited over the railing onto the deck.
A full moon rose above the mast, its pale light illuminating the young Griff, who was looking at Tyrion with open disdain.
"Lord Tyrion, if you handle the sea so poorly, why insist on coming with us to Dorne?"
Tyrion pulled himself upright against the ship's rail.
"Sailing to King's Landing is no different. A ship is a ship."
He glanced behind him, where over a hundred large ships carried the mercenaries of the Golden Company, their hulking forms rising and falling with the tumultuous waves.
After their last conversation, Griff had actually followed Tyrion's suggestion. Instead of landing at Griffin's Roost, he had redirected the Golden Company to Dorne.
To say Tyrion was surprised would be an understatement.
The Golden Company was a disciplined force of over ten thousand soldiers, including five hundred knights in full plate. For such a formidable army to abruptly change its landing plans based on the suggestion of an outsider seemed unlikely.
Even though the Lannisters and the Golden Company had agreed to an alliance, it was an informal one, lacking true binding strength.
Tyrion suspected Dorne had always been one of Griff's alternative destinations.
If Griff's true identity was Jon Connington, it made sense for him to wish to reclaim his former seat, Griffin's Roost. But why choose Dorne as a fallback?
The Martell's?
Griff had mentioned that Prince Doran Martell once promised to help the Golden Company return home. But that promise had been as worthless as a beggar's coin—and now, with Doran dead, it was worth even less.
For the Golden Company to cross the Narrow Sea to assist Dorne, the Martells must have offered something tangible in return.
But what could House Martell possibly offer now?
Staring at the enigmatic young Griff, a realization dawned upon Tyrion.
Arianne Martell.
Could it be that Griff intended to marry Arianne?
She's my fiancée, Tyrion thought bitterly.
Though he knew Arianne had only agreed to the engagement to secure Lannister support, Tyrion couldn't quite rid himself of his fascination with the seductive Dornish princess.
His suggestion to redirect the Golden Company to Dorne had been partly selfish—a faint hope to save her.
And now, he was accompanying the Golden Company, enduring seasickness and humiliation, simply to see her again.
Even knowing she could never love a dwarf...
Who could love a dwarf? Tyrion thought, his heart sinking.
"What are you staring at?" Young Griff snapped, uncomfortable under Tyrion's gaze.
"Why do you dye your hair blue?" Tyrion asked abruptly.
"To honor my late mother. She was Tyroshi," Griff replied without hesitation, his tone rehearsed, as though reciting a scripted answer.
Tyrion burst out laughing. "You're worse at lying than your father."
"My father never lies," Griff retorted, glaring.
"And I never get seasick," Tyrion shot back mockingly.
Young Griff snorted and turned on his heel, retreating in clear frustration.
Tyrion leaned back against the railing, drinking and vomiting alternately, a picture of misery.
---
The voyage was interminable. Days and nights blurred into each other as Tyrion drifted between drunkenness and nausea, barely aware of time passing. Finally, the day of their landing arrived.
With Sunspear's ports blockaded by the Stormlands fleet, the Golden Company chose to land on the desolate shores of the Broken Arm, in the northeast of Dorne.
The coastline was a treacherous stretch of jagged rocks, far from an ideal landing site.
But it was safe.
The Stormlands fleet, which had already bested the Redwyne fleet of the Arbor, would surely destroy the Golden Company's ships if they met at sea.
Tyrion slumped over his saddle as his horse waded through the shallows to shore. Once on land, he immediately leaned over and vomited again.
The landing was agonizingly slow. By the time Tyrion recovered from his seasickness, only about a thousand men had disembarked, with many ships still waiting offshore.
At this rate, it would take three to four days to get the entire Golden Company ashore.
Griff decided not to wait. He led a thousand men inland as an advance force, with Tyrion tagging along.
They trekked westward across the dry, sweltering White Sands. By midday of the following day, they spotted their first castle.
The white walls gleamed in the sunlight, stark against the deep blue of the Dornish Sea. Banners depicting a green dragon devouring its own tail fluttered atop the towers.
"That's Ghost Hill, seat of House Toland," Griff said.
"A dragon as their sigil?" Young Griff scoffed, his tone filled with scorn.
"A green dragon," Tyrion remarked, his voice laced with intrigue. "A curious choice, wouldn't you say?"
Griff's sharp glance suggested he understood the hidden implications in Tyrion's words but chose not to respond.
Young Griff, however, sneered. "Such an insignificant house—what right do they have to use a dragon for their banner?"
Tyrion chuckled, eager to share his knowledge.
"House Toland's original sigil wasn't a dragon. Three hundred years ago, when Aegon the Conqueror attempted to subjugate Dorne, Ghost Hill was his first stop. Riding his dragon Balerion the Black Dread, he landed here and was challenged to a duel by a Toland knight.
Aegon accepted and killed the knight with Blackfyre. Only later did he discover that the 'knight' was actually a mad fool dressed in armor, while the true lord of Ghost Hill had already fled with his family.
To commemorate this 'victory,' House Toland adopted the sigil of a green dragon devouring its own tail."
"How disgraceful," Young Griff scoffed.
---
The sentries of Ghost Hill quickly noticed the approaching force. A lone knight rode out to meet them.
"The Golden Company?" the knight called, squinting at the banners of the golden skulls. "What business do you have at Ghost Hill?"
Griff answered calmly, "Yes, we are the Golden Company. But today, we march under a new banner."
At his signal, the standard-bearer lowered the golden skull banner and unfurled a new one—a black flag emblazoned with a red three-headed dragon.
The knight's eyes widened as the flag snapped in the sea breeze.
"That's..." he stammered, his voice trembling.
Griff pointed to Young Griff and declared:
"Go back to your lord and tell him this: I bring with me Prince Aegon Targaryen, firstborn son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell.
By the laws of succession, he is the rightful king—Aegon VI, ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, protector of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men."
(End of Chapter)
Wöchentlicher Energiestatus
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Rangliste 
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Stein