VI. The Water Gardens
By the end of the year autumn was nowhere in sight, not a single pale whisper of it, and Jon was left staring at Starfall with misty eyes even as the sun beat down upon him.
There it stood, pale and fair, lonely towers guarding the river's mouth. Silent and forlorn, bidding him goodbye with a simple raised hand, just like his mother who yet stood atop the gate, watching him go. Even as he watched the wind picked up, blowing his hair past his eyes and a moment later raising up the banners of Starfall in salute.
"Come on, Jon." Arthur told him. "You'll be back here before you know it."
Jon didn't respond. He simply wheeled his horse towards the north. Towards his new home.
Over the next five days their group — Jon, Arthur and half a dozen riders handpicked from the castle's men set off up the valley. This was no lavish party like the last time. Jon had underestimated how swiftly a small company could travel, when not borne down by ladies and servants and gifts.
They stayed for a night each at High Hermitage and Blackmont, then rode up the rolling hills and deepening clefts into the Red Mountains, then all the way down once again through the Prince's Pass.
Lord Fowler was at his castle to host them this time. Their stay was nothing remarkable, save for Jon's gladness at a soft bed and warm dinner.
Soon, they were back on familiar pathways. They passed under shaded bouts and well-trod tracks on a downhill slope, until Jon saw familiar yellow banners in the distance beneath the wheeling gulls of the Sea of Dorne. Yronwood greeted them out of the horizon.
"Jon! You've grown!" That was the first thing Archibald Yronwood exclaimed when he met their company outside the gates.
Jon grinned, "You're only twice my height now, Archibald!"
"Don't catch up too fast, lad!" He laughed, "Have you been well, Ser Dayne? We were surprised to receive your raven!"
"I have. About-"
The man shook his head. "Come on in."
In the courtyard, Gerris and Cletus were watching a pair of knights spar. They waved and Jon ran over. "Where's Quentyn?" Jon asked the moment they were in conversational distance.
"He's at the Water Gardens." Cletus answered.
"What? His fostering-" Jon was surprised.
"He'll be back. It's just for a few months. Prince Martell missed him, but he's not one who can travel so far."
"Oh." The other boys may have been good friends, but Jon had always felt the gap in ages. Quentyn was the one he was closest to out of the three.
Jon watched the two men sparring before them. They were decent, but Jon could make out their deficiencies. One left his sword-arm too limp, and suffered for it each time he blocked and swung. The other had poor posture, and would easily tire if the match dragged out much longer.
"They're doing pretty well, wouldn't you say?"
"Huh, what?" Jon looked at Gerris. "I guess…"
Cletus chuckled, "You don't guess. Go on, let's hear it from the Sword of the Morning's pupil. They're just hedge knights looking for employment, so don't be shy."
With a slight blush, Jon pointed out what he had just noticed. "Look how he sways every time he blocks or strikes. His grip is poor. The only reason he's still in the fight is because his opponent's already flagging."
"Good catch! I didn't even notice that." Gerris muttered. "You could teach me a thing or two sometime, eh, swordsman-to-swordsman. Quentyn's no fun to spar against, with that spear of his…"
"There won't be time for that. Sorry, boys." Arthur called out from behind Jon. We won't stay long."
"What's going on?"
"No ships." Arthur sighed. "None going to White Harbour, at least. Few ships ply the Sea of Dorne, and most of them won't dare risk the Narrow Sea storms. We would have to land in the Stormlands and travel overland to Storm's End."
Jon caught the implicit warning. There were still Targaryen loyalists in the Stormlands.
"Looks like you'll be seeing Quentyn again before we do." That was Cletus.
"What do you mean?" Jon quizzed him.
"If you're travelling to the North, the fastest way is by ship. And the closest place you'll find one is at Sunspear."
Jon was tired of sand.
Arthur was tired of Jon's complaints.
The next leg of their journey to Sunspear had started on a bright day. The road from Yronwood to the Greenblood was well trod. Merchants, travellers and armies alike had all carved a trail through the sand. Even if their footsteps were washed away in each and every storm, the maps, markers and storehouses each had left behind served well.
Though it would've been faster to take a ship to Sunspear from Yronwood, there were none forthcoming. Yronwood's harbour was small, and it would've been weeks before the next sizable ship from Sunspear or Storm's End arrived to take them onboard.
The desert was unlike anything Jon had ever seen. Nothing but sand and sand for miles and miles. Hot, dry, dusty sand that choked him every time he took a breath, stung his eyes and rimmed his nose. He had wrapped the thin cloak around his face and head in a particular style shown to him by Arthur. It kept the sun and the worst of the wind out of his face, at least.
Their company carried plenty of water, but Jon found himself parched every time they stopped for the night. Wells and oases were plentiful along this route, but nonetheless they made sure to conserve their water.
The days trudged on, one hot step after another. The aching limbs and sore feet were just the start. But Jon persevered. None of the adults seemed to be struggling so much, so he wouldn't either.
Eventually, the hardest part of the journey ended. The dunes seemed to get lower and lower, and small hamlets and villages started appearing near sources of water and trickling streams. They followed the streams south and west until these trickles had joined together and formed-
"There's the river!" One of the riders called out. The whole party sighed in relief, but Jon sat up in his saddle trying to figure out what they were talking about. He peered into the horizon, seeing nothing but a dense collection of low houses.
They ascended a dune, and Jon finally saw it. It was nothing like the Torrentine, with its mighty, rushing noise and foam-embattled banks. It was a slow and quiet river that seemed to crawl rather than flow, and burbled rather than roared.
What he had taken for houses were instead floating on water. At the advent of the river, right where many streams joined it, were a multitude of boats.
Excitement suddenly rose up. These were the orphans of the Greenblood!
The sheer variety and colours displayed in that little boat-village became apparent to Jon the closer their party got to it. The boats were each painted in different colours, with pictures and illustrations drawn on them with messy hands and intricate intentions.
Jon could make out images of things he had only ever read of. As the company broke off into pairs and trios to barter for supplies and news, Jon followed Arthur. But he couldn't keep his eyes off the boats even as his uncle discussed passage with various boatmen and boatwomen. The nearest boat was bright green — such green he hadn't seen for days. Light blue and sky-hued paint played atop the greens, in waving, flowing lines like the surface of water. Silver fishes floated just above, upon the rim of the boat. Colourful designs, circles and spirals filled the deck of the boat and even climbed up into the low hut, and the walls of the thatch hut had been plastered over and painted a bright red to contrast the rest of the boat.
Not all the boats could fit their party of eight, plus the dozen horses. The boat they eventually rented out was guided by a teenage lad named Deete and his older brother Drylle, who was a man grown. Their elderly mother also lived on the boat, in a tiny, squared off corner.
The Swimming Swallow was perhaps the biggest of the ships in the area, but it was still a tight fit. There was a space at the far end of the boat, normally for storing goods. They tied their horses there, though only eight would fit on-board. Four others, they bartered off for supplies and passage.
In the hold, the armsmen rolled out blankets to sleep on. Jon and Arthur got the cabin, which they shared with the boatmen and their mother. Only one of the men would man the long pole they used to guide the boat at a time, so there was still plenty of space for them all.
Though Jon had never been on a boat before, it did not feel much different from solid ground. When he bought it up with Drylle — the older of the boatmen — the man grinned. "This river's no Mother Rhoyne. She's gentle. We'll be floating along like this the whole way."
"Huh." Jon stared at the bright, green-tinged waters. A few fish swam past the boat. Drylle went back to manning the rudder oar. The rudder itself was an interesting contraption. It was like a huge oar that stuck out the back of the boat, directing the water's flow. No one man could actually steer a boat as big as this one with a normal oar or pole.
Upon that serene river, Jon recuperated from the exertions of the earlier travels. He did relatively little other than eat, drink and relax for the first couple days.
On the third day, he joined the rest of the party in practising swordplay. The gentle movement of the boat under him tripped him up several times, but after a while he became accustomed to it.
At that, Arthur nodded approvingly. "I'll teach you how to fight aboard a ship properly later. It's a good skill to have."
"Have you fought at sea before, Uncle?" Jon asked. He racked his head and couldn't remember any such moments.
"Myself? No. Nothing beyond sparring, not even a pirate raid. But my mentors, Sers Hightower and Selmy, they did."
"Oh? Please tell me more!" Leaning forward in excitement, Jon settled down for the story that was no doubt coming.
Arthur only sighed, realising the trap he'd been pulled into.
The day's training ended, and as night fell upon the desert he wove a tale of a young Barristan, just weeks before he was to slay Maelys the Monstrous, facing down a nigh equally monstrous sellsail known as Grazzar the Grim. Barristan won the day, certainly, but it still made for an exciting story.
By the end of the tale most of the adults had started to return to their duties. They had been paying half a ear to it anyway.
"I want to see it someday," Jon said. "The Stepstones. Tyrosh. Maybe even further?"
"Gotten a taste of the wide world out there already, eh, Jon? Most Dornish lads usually wait a few more years to gallivant off to Essos."
"I don't mean right now… just when I'm older."
"Then nobody'll stop you. But I think you'll have your hands full with the North for a few more years anyway. You could tick off the Wall, maybe see a glimpse of a Giant or a Mammoth. Sounds good, doesn't it?" He ruffled Jon's head as the boy grinned. "Off to sleep, now!"
The days passed by on the river, as they floated south and east. As they floated on, Jon noticed one thing.
Deete liked to spend his time doing… nothing. Jon couldn't imagine what that would be like. Didn't he get bored? Yet the older boy would simply sit for hours and hours at the stern away from the others, watching the river. Upon being questioned, Drylle only shrugged, "If there's work, he'll help. Don't bother him otherwise."
Jon's curiosity won out, eventually. One day, Jon approached the older boy at the far end of the boat.
Deete made no sign he heard Jon approaching. "Hi." Jon called out. "C-Can I join you?"
No response for a moment. The boat rocked a little as if it'd scraped a sandbank ever so lightly. Deete whipped his head around, "Sorry, I didn't see you there… Jon, right?"
Jon took that as an invitation. "Am I bothering you? I'm really sorry. I was just wondering what you were doing."
The older boy chuckled. "Don't worry. I was bored too. When I was your age, I mean."
"Aren't you bored now?"
"Nah! It's a pretty day and a pretty river. I could watch it forever."
"Oh. I understand." The explanation felt half-hearted to Jon. But he decided to not press. Deete, seeing as the conversation was over, went back to gazing out over the river and the desert quietly.
Jon did the same, and found himself relaxing. The heat of the sun, the voices and noises of the others on the boat, the calling of birds far above, they all faded to the background. The only thing that remained was the rushing of the water. The water, and something more. There was something in the water, Jon suddenly felt a strength in it - a shape. Fish? Something underwater? No. It flowed.
Jon felt its flow, and the way the boat cut through it like a knife through thread.
Jon plucked on that thread.
The boat rocked violently. Pans clattered to the ground. Horses screamed in protest. Jon yelped and nearly went askew. Before he could fall overboard, Deete grabbed him by the back of his shirt and threw him back.
"What the hell was that?" Someone shouted from the back of the boat.
"Sandbar or something! Must've been underwater, so I didn't catch it!" Deete called back.
Jon racked his head. Was there? No, the river was clear on both sides. Panting, Jon looked up at Deete. "There wasn't a sandbar. It was something else."
Deete gave him a measured look. "Don't come up front anymore. Wouldn't want you to fall overboard, now."
"But-"
"Time to go back - show the good Ser you're just fine before he comes for my hide."
From that moment, Deete avoided Jon. It should've been tough to do so on a boat, but the older boy somehow managed. At times, Jon caught him staring at him intently. But whenever Jon looked, Deete averted his gaze and avoided their eyes meeting.
Other than that bit of awkwardness, the rest of the week passed quickly, and soon Jon smelt something familiar. Salt, almost like home. The Summer Sea was near.
The Greenblood ended at Lemonwood, where more and more boats lay in the shade of the castle. It was not a small village like where they had embarked, but a full on city. Jon had never seen a city before! It sprawled across most of his view, splattering it with a thousand colours, sounds and smells. It was no normal city either - it floated on the water, as a thousand boats just like the one he was on bound together. There were buildings and alleys and streets and entire avenues of wood, cloth and water.
The sheer scale of Planky Town threatened to baffle him. His uncle said there were more than forty thousand people here. Forty thousand. There were not even four thousand smallfolk around Starfall and the nearby villages combined. In the entirety of the Valley Jon had grown up in, there were perhaps sixty or seventy thousand folk.
There was this din in the backdrop. A steady noise that continued ceaselessly. It had grown imperceptibly as they approached the mouth of the river, but Jon only realised it upon laying eyes on the city. Towering over the city to its East was a tall, yellow castle with wide walls and two short towers. The yellow bricks fit the name of Lemonwood.
That wasn't their destination, however. It was early in the day. More than early enough to get a head start on the next phase of their journey. The Water Gardens lay a score leagues to the east, along the coast. It hadn't been on the original plan, but it added less than five days to the journey, and Jon had fervently requested his Uncle to meet Quentyn at least once.
As they disembarked the Swimming Swallow and bid the boatmen farewell, Jon met Deete's eyes for the first time in a week. He seemed nervous and anticipatory. Had he decided something?
He had. He beckoned Jon over. "Sorry I avoided you. You did something that surprised me completely."
"I don't even know what I did." Jon protested. "I just… felt the water, and the next thing I know, I'm falling overboard."
"I had two tongues of water in my grasp, around the boat. You broke my grip on one. That unbalanced us."
"Tongues? Grasp?" Jon stared, confused. The words he knew. But the sentence made no sense.
Deete scowled in frustration and raised a hand to his face. "Sorry. I'm not the best at explaining." After a moment's thought, he asked. "You are headed to Sunspear first, right?"
Jon nodded. "I want to meet my friend first. Then we'll come back here."
"If you get the chance," Deete said. "In Planky Town, in Lemonshade, ask for Old Melia. I don't know if she'll talk to you, but she can explain a lot better than I can."
"Wait, wait, why can't you explain-"
"Jon!" That was Arthur calling. "No daylight to waste!" The boat had already been unloaded, and the horses saddled up. They were waiting on him.
"I'm coming!" Jon called back. He turned around, only to find the older boy already gone, clambering back onto the boat. It was too late to ask anything more.
The mystery tormented Jon for the next two days, but his worries were all obliviated at his first sight of the Water Gardens, the great Palace of the Princes of Dorne. To the south was the distant shape of a great cliff and city built upon it. Sunspear held true to its name, thrust upwards into the shadow of the setting sun like a great black tooth.
The Water Gardens themselves were less intimidating, but more regal. There was more green around than Jon had seen in weeks. Trees at regular intervals, lawns stretching out of the gate all around the walls of the palace, vines overhanging every wall. Waters fountained and fell in many-tiered waterfalls and gathered in ordered pools everywhere.
The armsmen at the gates wore orange tabards burnished with the spear and sun of House Martell. They saluted Jon and Arthur and let them pass without challenge. Arthur had already sent a rider ahead.
Just within the gardens was a welcoming party. Jon drank in the details of each member. There was a young woman, of an age with Allyria, dark skinned and richly garbed. She stared at him proudly, and suddenly he felt himself blushing and turning away. There were three women beside her - one was blonde and just as old. The others were girls. Jon's age, and even younger, half hidden behind her father.
There was no mistaking the man. Tall, dark-haired, watching him like a hawk. This was Oberyn Martell, the infamous Red Viper of Dorne. Jon glanced at his uncle for reassurance and found a face just as tense.
"Well met, Lord Dayne!" Oberyn stepped forward with a jovial smile, "I bid you welcome to the Water Gardens. My brother sends his greetings as well. His leg pains him, so he awaits you at the court within."
"Greetings, my Lord of Martell. Well met to you too."
"Shall I introduce my companions?" Oberyn responded after a moment as Arthur and Jon dismounted. "Princess Arianne, my niece." The first woman Jon had noticed curtseyed. "And my own daughters, Tyene, Elia and Obella."
"And my nephew," Arthur answered in an easy tone, "Jon."
"Sand." It was Elia. Jon froze, for just a moment. Then he remembered. All three girls were just like him. Sands in the palace.
"It's a pleasure to meet you." He greeted them formally, bowing to Oberyn Martell first, then Arianne, and finally the Sand Snakes.
"See, he's nice. Be nice, Elia." Tyene lightly cuffed her younger sister.
"I'll have Lady Lance joust with your dresses." Elia shot right back.
"You-"
Jon watched the interplay, bewildered.
"Girls, girls." Oberyn Martell shushed them. "You must be tired after your journey. Don't let their bickering keep you from a bath and a meal. We must greet my brother first. Come on."
On the walk into the Gardens, another figure came tearing through the hedges.
"Jon!" A familiar voice cried out. One Jon had been looking for all this time.
"Quentyn!"
Quentyn crashed into Jon. The two nearly fell together. "There you are! I thought I was going to miss you, the way uncle has me practising."
"Damn right," Oberyn called back instantly. "Some lunk of a Stormlander put you in the dirt. You shamed my name."
"I didn't know you have shame, father." Elia giggled.
With a long suffering sigh, Quentyn put an arm around Jon's shoulder. "This is a pit of vipers alright. I want to go back to Yronwood."
"I'm surprised you're here. Wasn't there a whole thing with your uncle?" Jon ventured, saying as little as possible. Oberyn was still in earshot, after all.
Quentyn nodded. "Yes, but I'm no Mors Martell. Father brings me home from time to time. And speaking of Father…"
Their party entered a shaded awning. On a modest, yet comfortable throne sat an older man, half covered in a blanket. Upon entering, Arthur knelt and Jon followed suit. "Greetings, my prince. I'm honoured to be hosted by you."
"No, no, the honour is mine, Lord Dayne. It is not every day that the Sword of the Morning leaves his tower. You and your… nephew are welcome to the Water Gardens."
What was the pause for? It took Jon a moment. He groaned internally. That, once again.
But nothing came of it. Arthur and Prince Doran exchanged a few more pleasantries, then sent him off to lodgings. The chambers chosen for them were wider and more spacious than anything at Starfall. High vaulted ceilings, wide windows with airy curtains, a cool breeze wafting the smell of oranges.
That night, Jon had the most comfortable sleep in weeks. He put aside all thoughts of the strangeness on the river and Deete the Boatman, of the sly Viper nesting a few paces away, the Prince's behaviour, and of the girls. Surprisingly, the last one was the hardest. He simply slept.
In the morning, breakfast was buttered and honeyed bread and meats, along with a veritable pile of blood-oranges. The harvest was good these days, Quentyn mentioned, between bites of oranges. After breaking fast together, Quentyn took Jon around the Gardens.
The gardens were nothing like anything Jon had seen before. The terrariums, the water farms, the aqueducts and fountains, and more. He spent the better part of the day touring.
In the afternoon, after having lunch with Prince Doran and Arthur, they headed to a corner of the palace set up as a sparring field. Oberyn Martell was there, dressed in a gambeson rather than robes.
"I said I'd show you how my Uncle Oberyn fights, didn't I?" Quentyn told Jon as he grabbed a spear.
"I heard that. You've been bragging about me, have you?" Oberyn took a spear as well. "This merits a special demonstration, in fact. I can hardly show off against a child."
He pointed his spear past Jon. "Ser Dayne! Will the Sword of the Morning do me the honour?"
Arthur froze.
He couldn't! Jon thought. The travelling would have taken its toll. Sparring with Jon was tough enough. His uncle was in no shape to fight the Red Viper, still hale and hearty. He opened his mouth.
Arthur laughed, light and easy. "I knew you would ask. How long has it been, eleven years?" Only Jon saw the worry in his eyes. But Arthur shook his head at Jon almost imperceptibly, and he could say nothing.
"I hope all these years of childrearing haven't dulled your skills. Will you use a sparring sword?" Oberyn gestured at a weapon rack.
"Nay." Arthur answered simply. "Let me fetch Dawn."
Writing has been a struggle for most of the last year. Glad I got this out just a few days shy of the anniversary of the last update. Protip: if you enjoy writing fiction, it does not mean you'll enjoy any other type of writing as a career. Fortunately, I'm now working a completely different field with both far better pay and better work-life balance and it's been lovely getting back to writing for a hobby
Up next, in Chapter VII - The Blood of the Green, two legends face off, and some people get some answers.
