Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire or Game of Thrones. They belong to their rightful owners. Any characters you see here that are not from those stories are my own.
Chapter Five: Wind and Water
Thunder was rolling in from the West. With it came the rain.
It had been three days of rain so far. Though one could suppose that it just came with the geography. Ashemark was situated in a divot on the spine of the northern mountain range in the Westerlands. It wasn't close enough to the coast that it got the brunt of stormy weather like, say, The Crag or the ruins of Castamere, but it was still enough to get the remainder of heavy Autumn rain clouds that attempted to pass through the hills.
Jasmine watched as the rain fell. Filling springwaters that overflowed into tributaries. Watching water trickle East, down the farmlands and hills. Slowly to curve northward to meet with the Tumblestone River. Then gaze longingly at the waters that travelled West. Fast streams and steep waterfalls that led through forests and out to the Sunset Sea.
The cold rain pattered against her skin. Goosebumps raised as she rested, arms crossed, against the stone parapet. Rather than run from the rain, she welcomed it. She wished she could be one of those droplets of water. Run fast and strong until she could reach the sea, where a trick wind could stir up a storm. The kind that could rip you from the world and bring you home.
The thunder rumbled again. In a way it felt like a song. Lifting her arms, she let the rain and the wind wash over her. It made her ache with longing, but at the same time it made her feel alive. Feel free.
Storm-comer. The Maegi had called her.
The memory brought a sad smile to her face. Silent tears mixed in with the fresh water of the rain. Because that was what she was, wasn't she? A creature that rode into this world on the winds of a storm. How quaint that she now felt solace in those winds.
Her thoughts drifted to the night she was given that name; and the day after when she had gotten her foretelling.
.
.
She had gone to see the Maegi after a quick breakfast. Allowing Ryella to once again guide her to the Spicer's encampment. She recalled how the Maegi emerged from her tent as they arrived, as though she had sensed their presence in the air.
Maggy the Frog didn't look half so hideous as she seemed the night before. A part of Jasmine attributed it to seeing her in the sunlight as opposed to a night shaded by eerie green flames. The other part deemed it had been a bias from Cersei's descriptions in A Feast for Crows. Back when she had expected to see her more as a witch instead of as a human being. Descriptions from a ten year old's nightmares were bound to do that, she supposed. But in the freshness of a new day, the woman before her was simply an old woman in her eyes. A bit warty and a practitioner of blood magic and sorcery, yes, but a person nonetheless.
She had greeted the Lady Spicer and her grandson, Samwell, with a smile and a curtsy. Ryella had given an abashed greeting herself. Though whether it was out of fear or because she was going through a thought process similar to Jasmine's, she couldn't say. Once greetings were exchanged, things came to the moment of truth. For her to enter the tent with the Maegi and get her foretelling.
Upon tasting her blood, Lady Spicer had been… reluctant to go on. Oh, who was Jasmine kidding? The woman had an absolute freak-out. It wasn't even because of what she saw of her future (at least, she hoped that had nothing to do with it). It had been because it also showed her the past.
"How is this possible!" The old woman had looked at her in horror. "The places you've journeyed. The things you've seen. The things you know. How?" She had croaked. Her eyes searched Jasmine's own for answers.
Jasmine had only shrugged. "I'd have asked the same question about the people of this world. Yet, here we are."
The woman had gotten up and paced about the room. Shuddering as she scratched at her head and rubbed her eyes. Muttering quietly to herself in what Jasmine could only assume was Valyrian or some other language of the East. Struggling to process all that she was seeing. Jasmine continued to sit. Patiently waiting to see how things would play out. The minutes ticked by. It was about twenty minutes in when the woman stopped suddenly. Turning to face Jasmine with a look of bewilderment.
"You knew to seek me out." She rasped.
Jasmine went cold. A part of her had expected it, but to hear the woman say it…
"I did." she said solemnly.
The maegi looked away. Her eyes seeing something Jasmine could not. "That woman… That is not me. Neither is the child. But the words… they are near identical to the morrows I foretold the night before."
Was she seeing the TV show through Jasmine's eyes? It was an eerie thought in and of itself. Though while the show wasn't exactly accurate, it would be enough to unnerve any person of this world.
"A mummers play." She had responded. Realistically, it was the closest equivalent. "Not entirely accurate, but it gave me enough clues to help me find you."
The old woman shook her head, and continued to pace once more. It was another fifteen minutes before the woman gave in. Hands bracing on a table. Eyes looking into a distant world beyond her comprehension.
"Yet here we are." She muttered to herself. She scoffed and turned to face Jasmine. "I knew you were a strange one, Storm-comer. Even now you smell of wind and water and queer magic. But this," She shook her head "this is beyond anything I had expected. Yes, I can see why you would seek me out." She walked over and sat beside her. "Only I wish you had not. Such visions will haunt me the rest of my years, I would imagine."
Jasmine's shoulders sagged. All at once feeling guilty about the knowledge she just heaped onto the woman. "I'm sorry about that." She attempted to console.
The old woman had only waved a hand. "What's done is done." She muttered. "I suppose you have your questions, hmm?"
Oh, she had questions, alright. She'd spent the night before shuffling thoughts around. Events and timelines. Questions and consequences. Worked her brain into exhaustion until she had developed a damn flowchart of questions and possible answers. Maybe if she'd have more time, the chart would be better thought out. For a lot of the pathways she had trouble thinking up a good third question. At the end of it all, she ended up jotting down those ideas with plans to tailor them depending on what answers she'd be given to her first two questions.
"I suppose I'll start with the one I need an answer to the most. Will I ever make it back to my world?" It could be Canada, the Caribbean, it could be Cambodia for all that she cared. Knowledge of an outcome meant that she could establish a timeline for her return, and plan accordingly.
"I apologize, my child." The maegi croaked solemnly. "The wind and water may have birthed you into this world, but earth and fire shall keep your bones here. You will never return to your world."
Just like that, the world crashed all around her. For a moment all other questions had lapsed. They didn't matter. Why the fuck would anything else matter? She wasn't going home!
She wasn't sure how long she sat there, but the maegi had been as patient with her and she had been with her own horrors.
She had to shove it down. Shove it all down. She planned for that answer. She didn't want it to be real, but she had known it was a possibility and had considered what was needed to be asked. She breathed. Gaining enough composure to look back up at the maegi.
"Fine. That's the way it is." She grounded out. What the hell was it that she was suppose to ask again? She was stuck here. That meant timelines for her return didn't matter. But her future in this world did. "Will my actions affect the prophecies of this world?"
It took a while to come up with that one. A question of simply changing the future ended up sounding too vague. Any little action could technically be counted as a change. But what mattered to her wasn't little changes. Or even changes as big as the political mayhem of Robert's Rebellion or the War of Five Kings. ...Actually, that's a lie. The idea of dealing with wars scared the living daylights out of her. That being said, the long game was the White Walkers. There was only one thing she knew of that could stop them. The Prince that was Promised, Azor Ahai, Shadowchaser, and whatever other names it went by. Whomever it was (or they if the dragon has three heads, as Maester Aemon once said), that person needs to exist.
She only hoped that she didn't screw that up.
The old woman laughed upon hearing her question. "Prophecies of the world? My, you do dream great dreams! That you are powerful enough to shape fate and make it anew!" She cackled.
Jasmine frowned at that. "No need to insult me. I've just landed into a whole other planet full of dragons and magic and the like. Forgive me if I'm a little cautious over things turning from bad to worse." She muttered sarcastically.
The Spicer suppressed her cackling down to small chuckles. "Apologies, my dear. You are untrained in the arts and so you do not understand. Prophecy is no small matter. Prophecy, true prophecy, is something that cannot be changed. No matter how much you fight it. How many different roads you take. All roads lead to the same fate."
Jasmine nodded her head in contemplation. She supposed that that made sense. Well, in this world, that is. Not that she was any expert in space-time theories. So… she wouldn't make a difference. Right? Not one big enough to screw around with the white walker invasion, at least. Prophecy can't be changed.
Wait. Did she say true prophecy? What the hell does that mean? Oh god, this was starting to sound like that fan theory about green dreams being nothing but a manipulation from people like Marwyn and Quaithe. Shit. Does that mean she does change things or doesn't? Ack! This was just getting more confusing the more she thought about it.
Oh, Christ, now what is she suppose to do?
"You seem hesitant to ask your third question."
"Ha! Hesitant." She raised her eyebrow at the maegi and gave a sardonic smile. "You have no idea." She took a breath, stretching her back, and raised her head to stare at the ceiling of the tent. She sighed and relaxed her body back to its original position. "Can I be real with you for a second?"
The woman raised an eyebrow of confusion at her. Right. Saying 'be real with you' has no meaning here. But she didn't feel quite like translating and dove right into her point. "The truth is, there are plenty of things I'd like to know. What brought me here? How will I die? What's the secret of the universe? Could I kill off certain players and get away with it? What can I do to help save the world? And so on.
"The trouble, though, is knowing the difference between questions that I want the answers to, and questions that need answers. If this was my own world, or if I didn't know the way things could get played out in this world, I'd have probably asked some personal questions to remove a fear of death or know who I was gonna marry or something. But I'm here, and I know more than I should. So, frankly, those other things have to take a back seat so that I can concentrate of the big picture of events that will take place here. Otherwise, well, I doubt I'd survive long here anyways."
The Maegi watched her as she explained her problem. When Jasmine had finished, the old woman gave her a small, good-natured smile. "If you cannot decide on a question, Storm-comer, then perhaps I can offer you advice in its stead?"
Jasmine mulled over the offer, then gave a lazy shrug. "You're the one who's seen my future. By all means."
"If you wish to make the world a better place, it would be best if you did not fear so greatly for it."
She gave the woman a look of disbelief. "Don't worry about it. That's your advice?"
The old woman chuckled. "I've seen into your life, my dear. You fear too much. All it takes is a moment of hesitation and it consumes your heart with ease. That is not to say you are a coward at your core. Gods know, you gave no hesitation to help me when I was in need and offered the courtesy of my son's House, while your friend over yonder refused to enter and called me a witch." She gestured out beyond the tent where Ryella stood waiting.
"You are a kind soul, Storm-comer, but that kindness and concern for the morrows of the world can drive one mad. More importantly, such attention to concern is not necessary." The maegi glance at Jasmine's bewildered expression and gave a sigh. "Aye. Yet my saying so appears to be worsening your affliction. How else may I describe it?" The maegi paused a moment, eyes wandering as she considered a thought.
"In the other land, you studied to become a… gardener, yes?"
"Landscape architect." She answered simply.
'Big difference.' A thought she kept to herself. Now was not the time to dwell on pet peeves. Though she doubted the woman would understand the long-form explanation, anyways.
"But I suppose you can stick with the idea of someone who creates gardens, if that helps?"
The woman nodded and pressed forward with her thought. "A gardener cannot change the seasons nor summon the rain nor affect that which dwells in the forests and rivers surround. What they can do is nurture the life that grows in their garden. Sow seeds, fertilize the earth, drive beasts from the crop, and all else that helps them grow strong. A Winter can drive nature into the death and cold; but, come Spring, a strong and well-tended garden can burst forth and bring new life with ease.
"It is much the same for your own life, Storm-comer. You believe you can go forth and change the world, but you are mistaken. Your place is not in shaping the world, but in shaping your own garden and tending to those which dwell in it. Any deviations that come forth of those actions will not be by personal endeavours to seek out fate, but by fate's attempts to place your garden on its course.
"So do not take fear to heart, Storm-comer, and tend to your own life. The sooner you accept that, the happier your life shall be."
.
.
The thunder rolled again across the sky. Lightning flashing over distant hills. Breaking Jasmine out of the memory.
Do not fear and the happier your life shall be.
Jasmine made a huff of discontent.
Ya, easier said than done.
She's tried. She's really tried. But getting a person known for panic attacks to get over their anxieties about being dropped in a fantasy series of medieval mayhem is starting to seem about as successful as giving shrooms to a schizophrenic just before a psych test.
Things seemed to go well, at first. At the end of the tourney Lord Joseth Marbrand and his family had done a kindness by inviting her to stay in Ashemark. Opening their home to a strange woman from a stranger land. In a world as perilous as this, it seemed like a great way to stay safe, out of the way of fate, and a perfect place to tread the waters calmly to adjust to life in Westeros as the maegi suggested.
During the two week duration of travel out of Lannisport to Ashemark she had spent most of the journey bedridden in a wagon. Doctor's orders. Maester Harwin had not been pleased with her little excursions to the Spicer's and put his foot down that she needed to rest and heal her wounds. She tried to relax during the trip, but her mind kept tossing and layering ideas over each other about the books that sometimes she could hardly sleep without a prescribed dose of milk of the poppy.
After a while she started worrying that, as time went on, she might forget crucial plot points. So she decided to jot down plots in her sketchbook for reference. Only to then get paranoid that someone might find them and ask questions, and subsequently toss the sheet of paper in a fire. She then tried using codes and sketches for memories sake. ...Until paranoia hit her again and turned the drawings into kindling.
Things got even worse after doing a bit of math. The current year is 276AC. Which means another 22 years until the story starts rolling. That also meant that, by the time Game of Thrones begins, she, a 22 year old woman, will have already spent half of her life in Westeros.
That realization didn't receive so well on her psyche. She ended up having a full blown panic attack followed by a numbing adrenaline crash that lasted for two whole days.
When the numbness finally subsided, she spent a day walking through the castle's godswood. It seemed an apt location to think on her situation and reflect on the Maegi's words. After hours of meandering through the garden and relaxing among the flowers, trees, and wildlife, she came to a resolve. To accept her fate. To push back her fears and homesickness and try to enjoy her life as much as she could.
That night she came to dinner with a smile on her face and enjoyed the company of her hosts.
The next day she volunteered to help the kitchen staff prepare breakfast and spent the afternoon with the maester reading through a book on the histories of Westeros. As days went on she expanded her presence in the castle. Volunteering and befriending washer women and stable boys and gardeners and anyone else she happened upon. Spending time with the highborn ladies of the castle and having them teach her the 'womanly arts', as they so called sewing, dancing, and the like. Play with the children and entertain them with stories and songs. Listen to the Marbrand lords and their maester talk of trade or battle or politics or whatever current events became the subject matter of the day. Jasmine has poured her heart and soul into assimilating into this new world and keeping her concerns at bay.
The problem, though, is that she… she just can't. She can't adjust. She doesn't fit in. It's not just one thing, it's everything. The food, the clothing, the dialect, daily routines, hygiene practices, chamber pots for crying out loud! None of it fits. It doesn't matter how much of it she's seen on TV. This whole world is just too strange. Too alien. Attempts to accommodate involve rigorous amounts of mental translations and censorship. Attempts to assimilate just lead to headache and disaster. Tools she used in her home world don't exist here (what she'd give for a Cuisinart or a laundry machine), and activities that are common here are dead or dying in the luxurious upbringing of first-world, middle class city girls (apparently not knowing how to sew in this world welcomes a lot of shocked and disdainful looks from women of every social class). Every night she goes to her little room exhausted, and succumbs to twisted dreams on a straw-filled bed.
It would get easier as time moved on. That's what she kept telling herself. But she's been living in Ashemark for over five weeks now. And today marked her second month in the world of Ice and Fire.
"Wind and water birthed you into this world, but earth and fire shall keep your bones. You will never return to your world."
Two months. It's only been two months out of what was left of her lifetime.
She broke down. Fallen to her knees as the rain poured and the thunder muffled her sobs.
It was all just too much.
