A/N: As always, big thank you to everyone who reviewed. It keeps me inspired!

JON

"They're big, aren't they?" Dust and a good helping of sand crusted Ser Gerris' handsome face, hanging in clumps in his blonde hair. The viper writhed in his grip, desperately trying to twist its neck from his hands. Its whole body was as long as a man, yet Gerris held it out like a belt, one hand around its neck and the other near the tail end. Jon took a step back as the knight came closer, never taking his eyes from the gasping mouth of fangs.

Jon watched as Gerris very calmly brought the snake closer to his face so that he might inspect it in more detail. There was laughter in his eyes, devotion too. He squeezed a little tighter around the creature's neck and venom oozed from its fangs. There must be enough poison to in its mouth to kill ten men. Despite how much Gerris squeezed, the venom did not cease.

In Ser Oswell' stories, the vipers of Dorne were small and slender enough to slide underneath chamber doors and hide in children's boots, and were slimy much like a newborn eel. The animal before him was different, long and muscular, and with a great strength imbued in every motion it made. Its skin did not look slimy at all, nor did Gerris' hands seem dirtied by touching it. Even the scales are peeling with dried skin, Jon thought. It looks more like a line of muscle than anything to come from water.

"He's an old one," Gerris told him. "You can always tell by how long they get. Serpents never stop growing."

Just like dragons, Jon thought wistfully before shoving the thought away. Instead he asked, "What are you going to do with him?"

Gerris lifted his eyes from the snake to glance at Jon for a moment before returning to his prize. He laughed lightly. "Well, the Martells would have me milk its venom and then release it somewhere it could do no harm." He puffed his cheeks and blew out a breath. "But I really can't be bothered trying to find some obscure spot to let him go."

Jon opened his mouth but was stunned to silence as he watched Gerris' hand grip tighter around the viper's neck before giving it a sudden twist. The sound of popping bone was sickening. Gerris released his grip and discarded the dead creature by a pile of large stones, its beautiful coils interrupted by a bulge of bone sticking out unnaturally.

"That was unnecessary," Jon said quietly. "You could have just returned it to where you found it."

The knight nodded his head in understanding, threw his arm around Jon's shoulder and leaned in close like some conspirator. "Aye, I could have, but what would our companions think when we all ride back through this way with a big ugly snake looking for trouble? You don't want the Martells to think you frightened of a viper do you?"

"I don't care what they think of me," Jon replied with a scowl, shrugging away from his sister's paramour. In truth the Martells' opinion of him had been on his mind for over a week now, hanging over him like a storm cloud, threatening rain with every odd look he received. Prince Doran was a sickly man and not often seen outside his chambers, but his children and nieces made their opinion of him quite clear. With each thinly veiled insult received Jon found himself growing wroth and as a result spent most of his time practicing in the training yard or out on long rides with Gerris. And he's annoying enough at the best of times…

"I wish I could share your sentiment," Gerris replied with a chuckle. "But Princess Elia is an intense woman, and her piercing stares make me feel powerless as a newborn."

Jon grunted, but otherwise said nothing. He had not met the princess though her presence was felt throughout the Water Gardens. The princess was adored by Dorne as a whole and that love extended to the lowest of commoners to the highest of nobility, from the Red Mountains all the way to Sunspear. Making me the most hated man in Dorne…

He clenched his fists in frustration; not only at the Dornish, but at everyone he had met in his life that held him accountable for the rebellion. His rage was ever present most days, a simmering thing that always threatened to break the surface. For the most part Ser Oswell had taught him to focus and channel his anger into his swordplay and through physical training, but the pain and frustration never completely left and it was always the smallest of things that would sting the deepest. Why am I being blamed for something I had no control over?

Silently he unhitched his horse and mounted up. Gerris frowned up at him. "Where are you going?"

"Back to the Water Gardens," he replied tersely. "I think I'll retire early."

"But there's still another hour of daylight," Gerris complained.

Jon gave him an irate look before urging his stead onwards. The path was mostly flat and without any travellers, so he managed to make it back in half an hour, just as the sun grew fat in the horizon. A stableboy came to take his horse, giving him strange looks as he did so. Jon put it all from his mind and returned to his chambers, physically feeling the tension leave his body the moment he closed the door. He stripped himself of his clothes and washed up with a basin of water before crawling into his bed, relishing how cool the sheets felt against his damp skin. It didn't take long before sleep took him into its comforting embrace.

In the darkness behind Jon's eyelids, a fire was spreading. It started with the smallest of sparks, like that from steel and flint, and spread outwards in a hungry wave that consumed everything its yellow-red tendrils touched. Growing bigger and bigger it consumed a forest, and then a village, and then a city. In the vague and thin form of consciousness he had left, Jon tried to focus on the location, desperately searching for a sign. The eye of his subconscious came upon the stature of Baelor when something hard poked him in the ribs. With a gasp not unlike a drowning sailor, Jon jolted awake, Rhaenys standing over him.

"Look at you," she scoffed, plopping down on the bed next to him without concern. "You'd sleep all summer if I let you."

Fire, ash, Baelor, death, where am I? Jon struggled to get his thoughts in order, blinked a few times to get his bearings back. After a few moments his heart stopped pounding so hard and his breathing eased up. It was a dream….

Rhaenys frowned at him for a moment before giving him another sharp poke to the side. "Get dressed; we're having breakfast with my mother this morning."

Within Princess Elia's solar the air was pleasantly cool. The beautifully carved table where the princess took all her meals faced an open veranda that gave the occupant a view of the entire Water Gardens and let in a constantly refreshing breeze. In the centre of the table was a collection of varied and exotic fruits that were gathered from the furthest corners of Dorne and along the Stepstones. Princess Elia sat at the end of the table, her back to the open veranda and watching them as they entered.

The Princess wore an orange and red dress of deep silk that flowed in the breeze like dancing flame, the Martell sun. Yet despite the fiery choice of clothing, Elia's face was cool and statuesque, unmoving and expressionless save for her dark eyes which regarded Jon with neither contempt nor rage, but instead a sort of bored curiosity.

For a moment Jon felt the slightest bout of panic when he realised that it would be just the three of them, but quickly supressed it and took a seat. Rhaenys all but dropped into her seat, and reached out for a pear without hesitation. At least someone's enjoying themselves this morning…

"I see the years have done little to diminish your appetite," The Princess remarked quietly, watching her daughter eat. "Though, you have been blessed with your father's eternally slender build."

Though her tone was casual enough, there was something about the way the princess said 'father' that made Jon feel uneasy. Is there some game at play here? He decided to busy himself by peeling an apple.

Rhaenys chewed on her pear thoughtfully, swallowed then spoke. "Who knows? Mayhaps I'll develop gout. I am, after all, half Martell. Blood is funny that way."

"I do not think it is gout you have inherited from our family," Elia replied quietly before cutting a slice of blood orange. "I have heard you've taken a paramour."

Jon stopped his peeling, hands froze. The whole room seemed to slow down and cease any and all movement as mother and daughter watched each other. He glanced at Rhaenys and was surprised to find her expression not one of shock, but of narrow-eyed concentration. I had best prepare myself, he thought grimly.I don't want to have to break up a fight in the princess' solar.

But then Rhaenys shocked him by bursting out into laughter, a hiccupping giggle sound. "Nothing gets passed you, does it mother? Do the children exchange gossip now? I suppose it doesn't matter." she wiped at her eyes as her laughter died down and composed herself. "Are you going to tell father? You might as well tell him about your own paramour while you're at it."

Elia raised one delicate eyebrow in amusement, the slightest of smiles. "There's that sharp mind of yours, and it's only gotten stronger over time," she leaned forward. "No Rhaenys, I will not be telling your father about Ser Gerris, but I would advise caution in your future…entanglements with him. The people of Dorne are House Martell's eyes, but outside these lands you will not find the eyes watching you to be so benign."

"I love him," Rhaenys replied firmly. "I know that might seem foolish, but I do and…I don't want to send him away."

"I don't find it foolish at all," Elia replied softly, her tone holding the slightest hint of grief. "I think it brave."

There was a look of understanding between mother and daughter. They look so much alike, Jon suddenly noticed. The Princess was quite a bit thinner than her daughter, and perhaps slighter in height, yet the two women looked remarkably similar in a dozen ways. The daughter is a reflection of the mother.

The older set of eyes fell on him. "And what of you, can you keep silent?"

Rhaenys cut in before he could answer. "Jon would never betray me mother, no more than Aegon would."

"Is that so?" the Princess was looking at Jon again, eyes viperish and intense. "I would to hear it from your own mouth."

"I'd sooner die than see Rhaenys come to harm," Jon replied with equal intensity.

Elia smiled ambiguously and settled back into her seat. She watched Jon for a moment before turning back to her daughter with a soft expression, reaching out to clasp the young woman's hand, her fingers rubbing circles into Rhaenys' knuckles. "I would speak to Jon alone, if you don't mind."

Rhaenys cast a worried glance over at Jon, looked ready to protest until Jon waved her concerns away with a slight gesture. Giving them another uneasy expression, his sister reluctantly rose from her seat and left the room. Jon watched her close the door as she left before turning back to Elia, steeling himself. This is when the blow will come.

The Princess gestured to a flagon. "Some wine, Jon?"

"Yes, thank you."

To his surprise, Elia rose from her seat and poured his drink herself before moving back to fill her own. Jon paused before drinking, wondering how much the Princess shared with her late brother the Red Viper. He glanced at the red liquid, considered, swallowed.

"I want to make something clear to you," Elia said in ponderous tone, her eyes focused as she struggled to find the best possible way to convey her thoughts. "I do not blame you in the slightest for the dissolution in my marriage to Rhaegar. The man is insane, and if it had not been Lyanna Stark then it would have been someone else." Elia frowned, a beautiful expression on a face as lovely as hers. "I don't blame you at all for Rhaegar's sins, but that does not mean that I want you here. Rhaenys and Aegon are my children, you are not. I have no reason to hold any affection for you. If you ever betray them then I will have you killed, is that understood?"

It took a considerable amount of self-restraint, but Jon was able to bite back his anger and keep himself perfectly composed, kept his face a mask. "It is, my lady."

Elia nodded, paused for a moment to consider before speaking again, this time her voice held a softer note, gentler. "I hear that you plan on going to Highgarden for Prince Viserys' wedding. I think it would perhaps be better if you made some excuse to leave earlier and gave Rhaenys some time alone with her family so that she might figure out her current predicament. I would consider it a favour if you did."

A favour? The word grated on Jon's ears like the screech of a dying pig. His hands tightened around the rim of his wine cup, the knuckles turning white. And how much weight would a promise from Elia Martell hold? This woman who would tell me to stay away from my own sister…

Jon took a breath, looked at the princess. "Mayhaps it is you that men should have called you the Red Viper, my lady."

"I am looking out for my daughter," she replied, her eyes narrowed. "Gods know, someone has to and right now you are only an unneeded concern."

"You shouldn't worry then, I will be gone in two days' time," He rose from his seat with a deceptive nonchalance. He looked down at the woman before him, watched her eyes as he spoke. "But not because you wish it. I love my sister more than anyone else, and I would be a poor brother if I shed blood in her family's home."

Elia did not blink, and they parted without another word.

Jon spent the remainder of his day in a black rage. He vented what he could in the training yard, and then decided he could not linger within the Water Gardens any longer than he had to, and made preparations to leave sooner. The servant that brought his noon meal also carried word from Princess Elia, informing him that arrangements would be made to have a small contingent of knights accompany him out of Dorne's borders. To hell with that, he thought angrily as he gathered his things together. He had decided that he would leave on his own terms and that he would leave at nightfall without fanfare. I'll be damned if I let that woman get the satisfaction of watching me leave.

For the most part he was left to his own devices, with Rhaenys off with her cousins Nymeria and Tyene whilst the men went out on a ride to the nearby ruins. Jon was relieved that he wouldn't have to face his sister again; she was the one person who knew him best and would have figured out something was amiss, and that would only lead to problems. Better to leave without saying anything, he told himself over and over. It would only hurt her more if she knew of the division between me and her kin.

The sun eventually fell from its perch and the Water Gardens settled into his nightly routines, the children all abed, the servants allowing themselves to relax and wind down while their lords and ladies dined and readied for bed. Jon had made sure that his horse was ready to go, and loaded with enough supplies to last him the remainder of the trip until he could reach the Marches. He needed only a few small personal items from his chambers and he would be ready to leave the damned place and all the Martells within it. With urgency in his step and the paranoia of one trying to escape notice, Jon returned to his rooms in frenzy. Despite his distracted state of mind however, he knew right away that something was amiss when he entered his chambers. Things had been moved, windows had been opened, and most importantly, a candle had been lit in the small study chamber.

Drawing his dagger, Jon approached with slightest of movements, inching his body slowly towards the source of light. As he drew closer he could hear the sound of pages being turned rapidly, the odd word being recited aloud in a soft voice. What in the world?

His intruder was sitting at the small desk reading over one of the few books Jon's father had sent him, some ancient and vague tome from generations past. The girl looked about Jon's age, with dark hair and darker skin that was more akin to a Summer Islander than the dark olive of the Dornish, dressed in breeches and an old tunic that was a size too big for her slender frame. Her voice was soft and slightly musical as she muttered over the book.

"I didn't think the average Dornishman could read ancient Valyrian poetry," Jon said loudly as he approached, gaining a tiny jolt of satisfaction as the girl jumped at his voice. "Nor did I think they'd have mastered breaking into private chambers."

The woman had a moment of stunned surprise before her comely face shifted into a cool mask of composure. "I didn't break in," she replied matter-of-factly. "The door was open, and I did knock before I came in."

"Be that as it may, it's rude to go through other people's belongings without their permission."

To his surprise, the girl blushed in shy embarrassment. "My apologies, it was just….well, there are only two copies in Westeros of Sonnets from the Freehold, and when Rhaenys mentioned that you had one of them I got curious and…" she frowned at herself before forcing a smile and extending her hand to him. "Let me start over. I'm Sarella Sand."

Jon took her slender hand within his own. "Jon Targaryen," he said, finding himself smiling before gesturing to the book. "You needn't worry about the book, I've already examined it at length and I won't exactly need it on my travels. You can keep it if you like."

Her dark eyes widened in surprise, her expression caught somewhere between shock and joy as she looked from Jon, to the book, and back again.

How many people do I know that would get that excited over a book? Less than a handful by Jon's reckoning. He found it to be refreshing , especially coming from someone not at Summerhall. "Enjoy the read," he said as he turned to leave the room.

"Wait!" Sarella squeaked. "You're leaving now?"

"…Aye,"

Sarella's fingers caressed the worn leather of the book for a moment. "And you'll be going to the Reach?"

Jon nodded, somewhat confused. "I'll be heading for Highgarden, for my uncle's wedding."

"Would I….could I come with you?" Sarella shifted her weight uneasily as she asked, like a child trying to wring sweets from a stern parent. "I would very much like to see Oldtown and the Citadel."

"My lady, I mean no disrespect but I plan on leaving within the hour and it'll be a long ride," he exhaled. "And what would the others think?"

Sarella waved the thought away. "All I need is a few supplies and a fresh horse and I'd be ready to go, and besides, my family know I go where I please when I please. They would not complain."

They would if they knew who you travelled with. Jon knew he ought to send her away, but, truth be told, he'd much rather travel with company than spend the next few weeks with only his own thoughts to keep him occupied. And on top of that he couldn't help but find Sarella's boldness endearing. Rhaenys is always saying I need to be more spontaneous… what harm could it be?

"Alright," he relented. "If you're ready to leave within an hour then meet me at the stables. If you're not there by then, I'll have to leave without you."

Sarella beamed at him. "Thank you! I'll be there and ready, you won't regret it!"

"A word of advice though," he gestured to her slippers. "Better bring other shoes. There are snakes all over the desert, and I know how easy it is to step on them."

She snorted at that. "You know nothing."