They were falling inside nothingness, soft waves of colours around them, flying, falling – floating. A thousand endless lights danced around them like firefly's on a summer night. It was a summer night, was it not? Dragonflies swirred over the lake, buzzing here and there, too fast to follow. The lake turned purple, black and blue, a splash of red and yet, dark blue-green swallowed it whole. Their teeth sank into the offered fruit, the taste of pomegranate on their lips and – salt. The cool breeze tugged on their hair, teasing them out of their daydream. Yarrow stood at the edge of the forest.
A few of the very oldest tales of Garth Greenhand present us with a considerably darker deity, one who demanded blood sacrifice from his worshippers to ensure a bountiful harvest.
The words haunted them. Blood, blood and more blood. Blood magic worked. They knew that. A life for a life. Would it work for them? No - It was a bad idea. Even if it was just a test, a small little thing – oh, it could go so badly. A second life meant a second death. Not today.
But they failed at skinchanging, at this point they might never learn it. Perhaps they lacked the innate ability? Should they not try something more in their blood?
Yarrow bit into the apple. Sweet taste filled their mouth. That was an idea. Rowan Goldtree, a bountiful harvest, vines and fruits – something brewed in their head. It could go so wrong, so very wrong, yet, fly far.
The knife was small, sharp and clean. Had they not cleaned it for this purpose? Yarrow stared at it. Just a tiny little cut, a few drops of blood and perhaps – Yarrow run a finger over the handle – perhaps a plant would grow, just for them. An apple tree blooming in winter.
They cracked the apple core open and let the seeds fall onto the forest soil. With one last inhale they took proper hold of the blade. No time for doubts, not now. Yarrow pressed the knife into their skin until a shallow cut appeared. Red drops of blood rose from their palm, dripped over their fingers and onto the soil. The blood ran along the blade. Yarrow let it fall to the ground. Drop after drop dripped onto earth and watered the seed.
Yarrow stared at the seed. They needed it to grow. It had to grow, it had to! Nothing was changing in front of their eyes. But what plant grew in a day? A magical one.
They swallowed. It had to.
What would they do if not? What, what, what – die? Eternal winter and dragonfire. Could you negotiate with Death? Ask him to stay away for another night? Until an eternal night? What of him, the king of night and ice? They shivered.
A shout. Yarrow turned around. It was getting cold anyway.
They ate and drank, trained with Andrew until their entire body ached.
"You did well today." Andrew put his arm around their shoulder. "I got something for you. I - uh, talked with some old friends and well . . ."
He pushed something into their hands. A notebook? Yarrow blinked. "Thank you."
"Writing or drawing your dreams might help." Andrew scratched his neck.
Warmth bloomed in Yarrow's chest. "Thank you," they repeated, "Thank you, Uncle."
"Uhh – my pleasure." Andrew pat them on the back. "Now I am starving – Let's go inside, huh?"
They suppressed a laugh. On some days he was more awkward than they ever were. Aspen waved at them, they nodded back. He spent this day with the Maester, trying to make sense of numbers and economy. Occasionally Yarrow felt like a cheater, whenever their memories proved to be useful and not nightmare inducing. It faded whenever they had another sleepless night.
Yarrow enjoyed the winter sun. They tilted their head back, let their hair fall free and smiled. Snow glittered on treetops like sugar on pastry. A bird settled on the branch before them, snow fell to the ground. It was the little things like this that made life worth it. The first unfurling of a leaf, the flap of moth wings against silver moonshine, the soft breeze and the anticipation of buds ready to burst into pink petals.
A single stubborn seedling greeted Yarrow. Their mouth stood open. It worked! Yarrow laughed and kneeled next to it. Soft fingertips touched one of the three leaves. It worked. Yes!
They were overcome with joy. This meant – everything. Everything was different. Magic worked. They could do magic! Had they not always dreamt of it? Magic. Sure, they knew magic was real, but to see it firsthand, was different. A good different. Endless possibility ran through their mind. Oh, if they had found eggs while they visited Silverwing's lair! Ah, to hatch dragons. . Perhaps it was better like this. They were still a child, but a magical child! What a joy. What a relief. Right, now it was just a tree, but one day . . They would learn all there was to learn about magic and blood. All of it. Yarrow nodded, resolute. Yes, they would learn magic.
With every passing day they visited their little tree, soon no longer little. Within two weeks, the seedling turned into a proper tree, blooming during winter. A wondrous sight. Yarrow attempted to fertilize the blossoms by hand and the tree gifted them with apples so red they were purple and black.
Yarrow raised the apple to their mouth. It smelled heavenly. They bit down. Flavour exploded over their tongue, sweet and – bloody.