Chapter 58

The Lannister carrack was hard to miss. A great, deep-hulled vessel flying the golden lion on crimson from its mast. Once, it might’ve dwarfed all of the ships in Dawnrest's harbor, but the days where our dock hands would stop and stare at such ships was long gone. Now, it looked like just another ship as it maneuvered into berth.

I sat my horse at the head of the company, watching her come.

Twenty riders behind me, all in Tarth blue and rose, a proper escort for a great house's son. I'd considered bringing fewer, then thought better of it. We’d already missed a proper welcome to the dornish guests, and though Gerion would not care either way, I'd rather err toward courtesy.

The carrack slid alongside the long pier. Ropes went over and were caught and made fast. A gangplank ran out. Sailors began moving baggage, and after a few moments Gerion came down himself, the wind ruffling his yellow hair, a familiar grin already breaking across his face when his good eye found me.

I swung down from the saddle and met him halfway along the pier. He looked broader than when I last saw him, which was good. The poison had taken much out of him that was only now coming back.

"Lannister," I said.

"Tarth," he answered, and we clasped arms and pulled each other into a brief embrace of old friends. He held me at arm's length and looked me over, mock-serious. "You've gotten taller. Stop it."

"It's the boots."

"It's not the boots." He laughed. "And what’s this crowd you brought to greet me? I thought you had set up a parade when I spotted you from the ship."

"I considered a parade,” I said. “Decided the smallfolk would think you'd come to invade."

"With four men?" He raised an eyebrow.

"I once heard your brother say four Lannisters are worth a hundred of anyone else's."

That earned me a proper laugh. He waved his small entourage forward. A body servant in plain dark wool, two guards in good half-plate and red surcoats, and, behind them, the broad shape of Ser Sarek Hill.

Sarek had grown his beard out since King’s Landing, and it suited him. Made him look like a proper knight despite his less than ideal tendencies I was privy to. He stopped a respectful pace back and gave me a great big smile. I returned the greeting with a warm nod, and he seemed to preen a little under the attention, straightening fractionally without meaning to. 

"Ser Sarek. Good to see you again."

"And you, Ser Galladon. Truly."

"Come," I said, turning back to Gerion. "We've horses for you and yours. The keep's a ride and I'd rather not have you sleep in the saddle."

xxx

We took the coastal road up from Dawnrest, the sea on our right and the green folds of the island climbing on our left. The company spread out loosely along the track, Gerion and I in the lead, his men and mine mingling behind us with the easy familiarity guards tended to have when they weren’t killing each other during their lord’s petty fights.

The sky stayed overcast but the rain held off. Gulls cried overhead. The road climbed slowly, the harbor falling away behind us into a clutter of red-tile roofs and rigging.

"So," I said, when we'd ridden far enough that the men were out of earshot. "Tell me how it goes in the capital."

Gerion was quiet for a moment, rocking with his horse. He had a good seat, better than I expected for someone still getting used to having a single eye.

"It goes…" He weighed the word. "Simmering."

"Simmering."

"That's the kindest word I can find for it." He glanced over. "These days there are more factions at court than I can count, and they all seem to hate each other. Tywin's supporters. The old council men with their petty games. The prince’s circle. Lord Steffon. And the king…” He let the sentence go. “It's a pot on a fire, Gal. The question is when it boils over."

I nodded, looking ahead at the road. None of it surprised me.

There was a stretch of time between Duskendale and Harrenhal where the details I'd read had been thin. A few burnings. A few exiles. A widening madness, slowly, then all at once. But the daily politics, the factions, the shifting alliances, who shoved whom out of favor and when? Those I'd never known in truth.

baAnd now with new pieces on the board, Melisandre chief among them, who knew how the situation was evolving.

"Sounds like the King's Landing I know," I said.

"And King's Landing knows you too, my friend." Gerion gave me a sideways look, half teasing. "Even two moons on, people still whisper about the Sapphire Knight's brave deeds. The boy who'd not let his king's gift be twisted into cruelty."

“They do love a good story at court.”

“Stories that made you plenty of admirers,” Gerion said.

I grimaced. My mind went straight to Eddard Stark. Honorable, beloved Eddard Stark, who'd been admired by half the realm. And how many had come to his aid when he needed it most? How many had stood up when it counted?

Admiration without loyalty was worth precisely nothing when the knives came out.

"That admiration is cheap, Gerion." It came out a touch sharper than I'd meant. I let my horse take a few steps before going on. "Cheap as wine at a name-day feast. Easy to pour, easy to spill. I'd rather have one loyal man at my back than a thousand admirers at court."

He didn't answer right away, giving me a thoughtful look.

"Speaking of those who matter," I said, shifting the subject before it could darken further. "What of the king? And his fire priestess. Should I worry about my name being whispered through those lips?"

Gerion's face changed. "And what lips they are, eh?” His smile was down right bawdy. “Gods, when that woman smiles at you it feels like you're standing right next to a fire. Like something in the air changes."

I snorted. If only he knew what lay beneath that smile. 

Then again, I'd fallen for her trick too. I'd looked into the glass candle on her urging, hadn't I? Whatever Melisandre was, she was very good at making men want what she put in front of them. Some kind of charm magic, I imagined. Risky stuff. 

"Oh?" I kept my voice light. "I thought you'd seen the light of the Seven, Gerion."

"I have," he said, unapologetic. "A pity the fat septons in King's Landing don't look half as good in red." His expression sobered then. "She's a beautiful woman, aye. But dangerous. She has the king's ear more and more. Two men with treason against them have burned already—like Elmar Whitehead, but worse." He gave me a significant look. "There were none there to save them from their fate."

I let that sit for a few hoofbeats.

"I see."

I did. And I didn't like what I saw. 

The king hadn't spent half a year in Lord Darklyn's cells slowly losing his mind, and that had to count for something. From what I'd seen of Aerys, the king was… saner wasn't the right word. But he was less obviously broken. The paranoia was there. The fixations were there. But he wasn't yet the long-nailed, matted-haired wreck the books had painted. By rights, he should have had years still before the madness fully consumed him.

And still, the burnings had started all the earlier. So much for that. 

I glanced over and saw Gerion riding heavy in the saddle, the easy mood gone out of him. I'd done that. Time to undo some of it.

"You know," I said, casually, "I don't think the Faith is the only one you'd be betraying with such comments, no?"

He frowned, not following.

"There is a certain Dornish Princess," I went on, "who would mislike to hear your opinions on the king's fire priestess. A certain Princess who so happens to be here as well. Coincidentally, at the same time you've come to visit."

I watched his face do the work. The frown. The flicker of how does he know. The brief, mostly successful attempt to wipe both away.

"Oh," he said. "Is that so. Princess… what was it. Elia, is it not? I believe I've met the lady."

"You believe you've met the lady," I repeated flatly.

"Once or twice back in Sunspear."

"Gerion."

He looked at me for a long moment, then gave it up with a sheepish smile, the corner of his mouth pulling.

"That obvious?"

I snorted. "You two are not half as smart as you think you are. Just use my island responsibly, will you? I don't want to end up at odds with this princess' older brother on account of your secret courting."

"Doran doesn't know Elia's here to see me." He said it quickly, almost defensively. "She's assured me of it."

I shook my head.

"Doran Martell is as shrewd as your own brother. Trust me, you'd be unwise to mistake his passivity for blindness."

Gerion was quiet for a second, until he gave me a serious nod. The kind that meant he was actually hearing the warning, not just acknowledging it politely.

Good. That was all I could do. The warning was given. What they chose to do with it was up to them.

The road curved inland, climbing a low rise, and Evenfall Hall came into view in the distance, pale stone above the cliff. 

"There's home.” I pointed. “Mightier than Casterly Rock, some say.”

Gerion's laugh came back easily with that, and we rode on trading stories and catching up as usual.

xxx

The great hall of Evenfall Hall blazed with light. Candles burned in every iron sconce and chandelier. Eight great hearths threw heat and firelight across the room, and the high windows had been opened just enough to let the sea breeze in without chilling the company. The Tarth banners hung freshly aired along the stone walls, the orange sun and crescent silver moons standing out crisp against pale blue. Fresh rushes covered the floor, mixed with herbs that crushed underfoot to release their scent.

The hall was full. Since the tourney at Dawnrest started tomorrow, most of our vassals had ridden in from their own holdings. The long trestle tables were topped with food, the heavy dishes of dinner cleared away to be replaced by desserts. Sweetcakes drizzled with honey. Pies of summer berries. Glazed pastries shaped like flowers. A whole spread that the kitchen staff had clearly been working on for days.

A troupe of bards played from an alcove near the high table, lutes and a single pipe, voices winding through the room beneath the noise of conversation and laughter.

The dinner itself had been quieter. Father had made the formal announcements about our esteemed guests—Princess Elia, Prince Oberyn, Lady Ashara, Ser Gerion—and the hall had given the appropriate murmurs of appreciation. Whatever else, having two princely guests and a Lannister at our feast would bring great prestige to House Tarth amongst our bannermen. The news would spread to the Stormlands and beyond too, no doubt. 

I stood near the side of the room with Arlan, who was finishing telling me about the detailed map of Dawnrest he'd recently completed.

"...and the new construction near the eastern docks I marked separately, since it changes every week," he was saying. His eyes were bright. He was clearly enjoying the feast, though I noticed he hadn't touched any wine. "I can have it bound properly before we leave for Essos, if you'd like."

"That would be excellent." I clapped him on the shoulder. "Get yourself ready for the journey. I don’t yet know the specific date, but I imagine we sail in less than two months."

Arlan beamed. "Yes, my lord. Thank you."

I left him to find food and watched him weave toward the dessert tables before I moved across the room.

Ashara stood near one of the hearths, speaking politely with a few minor ladies from Houses Tudbury and Gower. As I came closer, I could see her smile was tight at the corners. Whatever the conversation, she wasn't enjoying it.

We'd barely spoken at dinner. Hadn't really talked since the disaster at breakfast that morning. I'd been kept busy by meeting Father and welcoming Gerion and a hundred other small duties, but I'd also been avoiding her, I had to admit. Working out what I wanted to say before I said it.

I came up to the small cluster.

"Forgive me, my ladies," I said, with a slight bow. "May I steal our esteemed guest for a dance?"

The Tudbury girl—a slight girl with hair the color of straw and a mother who'd been less than subtle about her interest in me at supper—gave me a simpering smile. "Of course, Ser Galladon."

The older Gower woman was less pleasant. "Of course, my lord." But the moment she thought I'd turned away, she shot Ashara a look that could have curdled milk.

I took Ashara's hand before she could say anything and led her toward the dance floor. Other couples were already moving to the music, a slow, formal step that wouldn't require much concentration.

I rested my hand on her waist. The other took her own small hand as we fell into the steps. 

"Already making friends, I see?" I murmured.

Ashara blinked up at me. She was almost two heads shorter than me. 

"Friends? Those women hate me. And I don't even know them."

I glanced past her shoulder. The two women had been joined by a few others—mothers and aunts, no doubt comparing notes. They all looked away quickly when they noticed my gaze.

"Melinda Tudbury is six and ten," I said, turning back to Ashara. "And her father wouldn't mind a marriage to House Tarth. If I'm not mistaken, Lady Gower has a daughter of age as well."

Her violet eyes narrowed slightly. "Ah."

"They're intimidated by you."

"I've never even spoken to them before tonight. Why would they be intimidated? I'm quite charming, in fact." She lifted her chin slightly, mock-affronted.

I couldn't help a smile. "Come now. A foreign beauty traipsing into their backyard? Women can be quite territorial. Especially when they're hunting for favorable betrothals."

Her eyes narrowed further. She lifted her nose another fraction. "Then I shall inform them that there is nothing to be intimidated by. After all, the dashing Ser Galladon Tarth already has a betrothal lined up with some ditsy Reach girl. We should be fast friends after that."

She finished with a satisfied smirk that made her look impish.

"All I heard," I countered, "is that you think I'm dashing."

Ashara scoffed and gave me a light slap on the chest. "You are a scoundrel, ser."

But she didn't remove her hand from over my heart.

"I resent that accusation, my lady." I tightened my grip on her waist just slightly, drawing her a half-step closer through the next turn. "I thought I had more than sufficiently cleared up the confusion from this morning."

"Hardly."

"Then should I be outraged as well? A certain prince told me you have suitors abound back in Sunspear."

She rolled her eyes. "Oberyn does not know what he speaks of. My father is as traditional as he is protective. He would not see me married until my older brother is married first." She paused, her expression turning wry. "The more he can keep his little girl from the clutches of any imaginary evil husband, the better."

I raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? You're saying your father would not approve of this unprompted visit to a dashing young knight?"

Her laugh was melodious. "I'm surprised the hall can fit so many people when your ego already occupies half of it, ser."

I laughed openly at that. A few heads turned. I didn't care.

"Well, enlighten me, then,” I continued. “I have not been told the actual reason for your visit yet. A secret visit, I might add."

"What else?" Ashara shifted her head and nodded toward where Princess Elia and Gerion were dancing. "My lady is besotted. I do not believe she would mind me telling you the truth."

I glanced over. Elia was laughing freely at something Gerion had murmured in her ear. They looked good together. Genuinely good—comfortable, joyful, easy in each other's company.

"As is my friend," I said.

I wondered, watching them, if they could actually be together. If in this version of events, with the timeline already so altered, there might be a path for them. That would be a much happier ending than the one I remembered. So much death there. So much suffering.

The thought brought a frown to my face before I could stop it.

Ashara noticed immediately. "What?"

I turned back to her, recovering. I was quiet for a moment as we moved through the next turn. Then, before I could think better of it: "Do you believe in fate? I destiny?"

She tilted her head, considering. "I believe in the gods, ser. And their will upon the world."

"And is their will definite? If they wish you to go down a certain path, to have a certain life... do you have any choice in it? Do any of us?"

Ashara studied my face. "I don't think I've ever thought much about it. Why do you ask?"

I shook my head. "It's nothing, really. My apologies for bringing up such a topic tonight."

She hummed thoughtfully. "I am surprised. A philosopher as well as a knight."

"A poor philosopher, I assure you."

"And a better knight, from all I've heard about you during my stay on Tarth."

"Oh ho. You've been asking about me, have you?"

She shrugged, but color rose up her neck and into her cheeks. "Only in passing. The people in Dawnrest and the servants here do love their young lord."

"Have you ever seen a servant speak ill of their lord to a stranger's face?"

"No. But I've seen fearful faces before. Or heard stories of young noblemen taking advantage of maids and serving girls." She met my eyes. "I saw none of that here."

I frowned slightly. "I had hoped you did not think so low of me to suspect such things."

"I did not." Her voice softened. "But I wanted to be certain. In case…" the last two words came out more a whisper than anything.

For her sake, I pretended I hadn’t heard it. But I had. The music shifted, sliding into a slower piece. I realized we'd been dancing for three songs already.

"I needs must make my rounds around the room," I said reluctantly. "My duty as host." I leaned slightly closer. "But later tonight. Two hours from now. Meet me in the gardens outside. I'll show you something special."

Her eyebrows climbed. "I hope you are not insinuating what I think you are, ser." Her cheeks turned even redder. "I will have you know I've read books about this, and I'm not ready yet!"

I cracked a smile. She was quite adorable when flustered.

"Not that, my fair lady. Just trust me, will you?"

Ashara tried to regain her composure, lifting her chin again. "Very well. I shall give you the opportunity to delight me, then."

We separated with a bow and a curtsy. Her hand left mine reluctantly, and I went about my duties as the son and heir to Selwyn Tarth, speaking with our petty lords and vassals, hearing complaints about taxes and praise about the harvests. Drinking with old men who'd known my grandfather. Discussing tomorrow's tourney with the local knights. Dancing with daughters and nieces and unmarried maidens who batted their eyelashes at me with varying degrees of subtlety.

They were normal girls. Some nice, some vapid, a few genuinely pretty. Yet I couldn't help comparing them to Ashara Dayne. Or, unbidden, to Malora Hightower.

Candles against the sun.

I danced with Princess Elia at one point too, teasing her mercilessly about Gerion. She gave as good as she got, asking pointed questions about Ashara that I deflected with what I hoped was charm.

Later, I spent some time speaking with Gerion and Prince Oberyn—at least the few times Oberyn wasn't busy pressing himself against every woman in the room who looked back at him with even a flicker of interest. The man was incorrigible, but somehow, no one seemed to mind. Even the husbands present looked amused rather than threatened.

Finally, when I judged enough time had passed, I made my way toward the door. Stopped at the kitchen first to collect what I'd ordered earlier—a wicker basket with wine and food, a folded blanket, a piece of clean cloth.

Then I made my way out into the gardens.

In truth, Evenfall Hall's gardens weren't really gardens in the southern sense.

Our family kept them more wild than manicured. The paths still ran through them, paved in white stone that gleamed in the moonlight, and there were benches and fountains scattered throughout. But the flowers grew where they wanted, in tangled beds rather than orderly rows. Trees rose high overhead—old oaks and pines that had been here long before my ancestors built the current hall after the Myrish invasion. 

The wildflowers spilled over the stones. Climbing roses tangled with honeysuckle along the low walls. The air was thick with the scent of growing things and the salt smell of the sea below the cliffs. It was closer to a godswood than a true garden, though no weirwood grew here after so many years of Andal reign. 

I found Ashara waiting on one of the benches near a small fountain.

Her dress, which I had not paid much mind under the stifling warm light of the hall, looked so different out here—silver and lavender, soft against her dark hair. Under the moonlight pouring through the gaps in the canopy, she looked like something from a dream.

I stood there for a moment, just looking at her, before I caught myself.

She turned at the sound of my footsteps. "Ser Galladon."

Her eyes went to the wicker basket at my side. They lit up when she realized what it likely contained.

"I asked Princess Elia about your favorite wine," I said. 

"Did you now?"

I nodded. "But not yet." I pulled out the piece of cloth and held it up. "First, this. Around your froggish purple eyes, please."

She gave me a flat look. "Truly?"

I shrugged. "Old Tarth secret. I'd have to kill you or marry you otherwise."

"Terrifying options, both."

I laughed. But she took the cloth and tied it over her eyes herself, her movements careful but unhesitating.

I took her hand and led her across the gardens. Down a side trail that grew narrower as it descended. To a gate I had unlocked earlier in the day, set into the cliff face and half-hidden by climbing ivy.

"Mind the step here," I murmured, helping her down the first stone stair.

Beyond the gate, a cramped stairway spiraled down into the cliff. The air grew cooler, damper. The sound of the sea grew louder, and not the distant rush from above, but a closer, deeper thrum that came from somewhere below.

I had to open two iron portcullises along the way, working the mechanisms in the dim light of torches I'd had set in sconces. Ashara held my hand tightly, trusting me even though she couldn't see.

Finally, we emerged.

I stepped behind her and untied the blindfold.

After a second, she drew in a sharp breath.

The cavern opened around us, vast and impossibly beautiful. A small beach of pale sand stretched down to a pool of clear water that connected to the sea through deep underwater channels. The cavern ceiling rose high overhead, a vault of natural stone studded with crystals that caught what little light there was.

But the real spectacle was the opening in the cliff face. A vast natural window, perhaps thirty feet across, set midway between the pool and the ceiling. Through it poured moonlight, full and silver and uninterrupted, striking the surface of the pool and reflecting up to the crystals above.

The whole cavern shimmered with refracted light. The pool itself looked like a sheet of silver silk laid across the sand.

"Oh," Ashara breathed.

I watched her face rather than the view. Her violet eyes were glimmering with the reflected light, her lips slightly parted.

She turned to me. "It's beautiful."

"It is," I said, still looking at her.

She caught my meaning. Color rose in her cheeks.

The moment stretched between us, until I stepped closer and leaned down to her. Or maybe she rose on her toes and kissed me. It happened too fast to know which.

Her lips were soft and tasted faintly of the wine she'd had at dinner. I wrapped my arms around her waist, and her hand came up to rest against my chest, where, I noticed distantly, she'd rested it during our dance. As if she'd been thinking about it too.

The kiss was brief. Intense. Over before I'd fully processed it was happening.

She took a step back, breathing slightly fast, her eyes wide. She swallowed. "That was..."

I couldn't find words for what it was either.

So instead, I took her hand and led her down to the sand. Spread out the blanket I'd brought, and sat down with her, the wicker basket between us as we ate and talked and laughed at small things and serious things and nothing at all.

The moonlight moved slowly across the cavern as the hours passed. The crystals shifted from silver to a paler, pearl-like glow. The pool's surface caught every change, reflecting it back tenfold.

We stayed until the first hint of dawn began to gray the moonlight. Until I knew we had to return before the household began stirring. And when I led her back up the stairs, hand in hand, I knew something had changed between us.