The bronze mirror reflected a young boy standing quietly in the candlelight.
Garon Tarth adjusted the collar of his clothes, watching his reflection carefully. His hair was dark and slightly unruly, curling faintly near his temples despite careful grooming. His eyes were deep blue, clear and calm like the waters surrounding Tarth, with a faint gray tint at their edges. His features were still youthful, but already well-defined, hinting at the strength he would grow into.
For a boy not yet nine years old, he was tall and broad-shouldered for his age. Dressed in noble attire, he already carried the bearing of the heir to Evenfall Hall.
Garon let out a quiet breath.
"So this is what I look like now."
His appearance differed from Brienne's pale golden hair, instead resembling Lord Selwyn more closely. The dark hair, however, still carried the unmistakable traits of Stormlander blood. Only their eyes were the same—bright, unwavering blue.
After tidying himself, Garon left his chamber and made his way down to the great hall.
Breakfast had already been prepared. Servants moved about quickly, arranging bread, soup, cured meats, roasted vegetables, and fresh fruit along the long table. When they noticed Garon enter, they froze for a moment before bowing deeply.
"Good morning, young master."
Their expressions were different from before—filled with excitement, reverence, and a hint of awe. The events of yesterday had already spread through the castle.
Garon nodded lightly and took his seat.
Claude the steward approached quietly. "Young master, please eat. Lord Selwyn rode to Sapphire Town early this morning and has not yet returned. Lady Brienne is still asleep."
"Sapphire Town?" Garon asked, surprised. It was close, no more than an hour away on horseback.
"Yes, my lord," Claude replied.
Garon did not press further. He began eating.
The food was simple but plentiful. Dark bread, soft white loaves, bacon, shrimp, chicken, and soup seasoned with black pepper. It lacked refinement, but the ingredients were fresh, and the portions generous.
After finishing, Garon wiped his hands and stood.
"I'll go see Maester Ronnel."
The steward bowed. "Of course, young master."
Garon headed toward the tower where the maester resided.
The third-floor tower overlooked the sea, its roof often used for ravens and messages. When Garon arrived, a maid was just leaving with empty dishes.
"Garon," Maester Ronnel said warmly when he saw him. "You're up early."
The old maester wore the heavy chain of the Citadel, its links glinting faintly in the light. Among them was a pale platinum ring—proof of his mastery of Valyrian.
"Good morning, Maester," Garon said politely.
Ronnel studied him closely, then nodded. "You nearly drowned yesterday. You may rest today if you wish."
"I'm fine," Garon replied calmly.
The maester smiled faintly. He appreciated diligence, especially in a noble child.
"Very well," he said. "Let us continue."
He began with questions on heraldry.
House Royce.House Velaryon.
Their lands, sigils, histories.
Garon answered smoothly, even adding details beyond what was asked. Maester Ronnel listened with growing approval.
"Excellent," the maester said at last. "You've mastered the fundamentals."
He laid out three parchments on the table.
Geography and maps of Westeros.Noble laws and inheritance.Medicine and herbal lore.
Garon considered briefly.
"Geography," he said.
"A good choice."
After a short pause, Garon added, "And I would like to learn Valyrian."
Maester Ronnel blinked. "Valyrian?"
"Yes," Garon replied evenly. "Merchants from the Free Cities speak it in Sapphire Harbor. I want to understand Essos one day."
The maester studied him for a long moment before nodding slowly.
"It will not be easy."
"I don't mind."
So they began.
Maps were spread across the table. Coastlines, rivers, mountain ranges. Garon memorized them far faster than before, the information settling into his mind effortlessly.
Later, Maester Ronnel brought out old Valyrian texts and began teaching pronunciation through verse. The language was complex and ancient, but Garon absorbed it steadily.
Time passed unnoticed.
A knock sounded at the door.
"Maester Ronnel, young master," a servant said. "Lord Selwyn has returned."
Maester Ronnel nodded. "That will be all for today."
Garon stood and bowed respectfully before leaving the tower.
In the hall below, Lord Selwyn was waiting.
In his hand was the Maiden of Justice, now housed in a finely crafted black scabbard.
The dawn was no longer approaching.
It had arrived.