Jon II

Their first stop in Dorne was Blackmont, where the Torrentine River came down in a white rush from its headwaters in the Red Mountains of Dorne. Lady Larra Blackmont received them cordially, more than cordially. She sat Jon at the place of honor on her right, promising to plant the tree and even water it with blood after the new Northern fashion. Their companions, Sarella Sand and Hoster Blackwood, promised to see to it.

Jon had wits enough to know why the Lady Larra was so pleased. Her daughter had wed Robb Stark, and would be Lady of Winterfell in time, with an heir in her belly already. It was a more favorable match than such a house could hope for. The Blackmonts were an old family, but not terribly rich or influential. The son, young Perros Blackmont, was of an age with Arya and seemed to have liked his time in the North. Aye, just about everyone who attended the wedding at Barrowton had nothing but good things to say. That, of course, made Carmyn terribly jealous.

"Whores will try to fuck you just because you're Northern," she whispered heatedly in the night. "That sad, somber face of yours makes a girl want to see what you look like when you have your pleasure."

"You see to that often enough," he replied saucily. After all, this was pillow talk.

"Not often enough, I think. You will have no seed for anyone but me, Jon! I will bear your babes, no one else!" There was a fire in her dark eyes, and her breath smelled of the spiced meat they'd supped on. When she mounted him again, Jon did not resist. Sometimes, the night would be half done before Carmyn let him sleep. If some girl they passed during the day looked at him in a way Carmyn misliked, Jon might not sleep at all.

Jealous, she was, and greedy to have Jon all to herself. At first, he didn't understand why she wouldn't marry him if she loved him so well.

"Hellholt is too full of Ullers as it is," she explained one night. "My father, Ser Ulwyck, is brother to Lord Harman. Both of them have trueborn children and bastards too. If we wed, soon enough there'd be a score of Ullers at our family's castle. Too many. You are my paramour, but don't understand what it means. I shall take no man to bed but you so long as I live. I swear it. My children shall be from your seed. You are my love, my companion in this life. I knew it when I first looked upon your face. I know Dornish ways may seem queer to you, but I promise I will make you happy."

So far, Jon had no reason to doubt her.

From Blackmont, they made their way down the Torrentine to the lands of House Dayne, High Hermitage first, and finally...Starfall.

In that ancient castle, a certain mosaic hung on the wall, intricately wrought and lifelike. The beautiful woman it depicted almost seemed real. She had the most striking purple eyes he'd ever seen. He asked their host who it was.

"Lady Ashara Dayne. They say she was the most beautiful maiden of her time," explained Lady Allyria, who ruled while Lord Edric was in his minority and off squiring in the Stormlands.

Jon couldn't breathe. Could it be? Could it be? There had been whispers at Winterfell. He'd felt queer ever since they saw Starfall on the horizon. He staggered back, clutching his chest. The purple eyes on the mosaic seemed to stare back at him, seeing, knowing.

"Jon, what's wrong?" Carmyn asked in alarm. She'd been annoyed he was even speaking to Allyria, but now her jealousy was forgotten, worry plain on her face.

He paused to gather his breath. "I think, I think Ashara Dayne might be my mother." The words came out so softly, almost causing him physical pain as they tumbled from his lips. This was the first time he'd dared voice such thoughts out loud. His father was a thousand leagues away, and there was none here to forbid him the notions that were racing through his mind.

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The Lady Allyria Dayne studied Jon intently. Her hand rose to his cheek. "Mayhaps. Mayhaps. Those cheeks, that jaw...mayhaps. They said she and Lord Stark fell in love at Harrenhal. Might be you're kin of mine, Jon Snow."

Carmyn hissed and pulled Jon away from her, ending the moment. "Whoever he is, he's mine now!" she declared forcefully. Her hand, dark and delicate, rested on her silk-covered belly, now showing a gentle roundness. "This is his babe. I claimed him for myself!"

To that, Lady Allyria laughed uproariously. "Someone has finally tamed wild Carmyn Uller! The love goes that deep, does it?"

"Yes!" Carmyn answered seriously. "And I will thank you not to touch him."

That night, well, sleep was not a consideration.

***

Things turned queer after the Torrentine. Much preparation went into the crossing to Sandstone. They prepared water, horses, and wrapped silk around their heads against the sun. Indeed, they planned to travel mostly by night to avoid the worst of it. That is, until it started raining.

"It's never been like this!" Sarella Sand shouted, almost in alarm. Jon could barely hear her over the storm. A great squall blew in from the Summer Sea, and driving sheets of rain buffeted that parched land. When it passed at last, the desert bloomed. Half a hundred different sorts of wildflowers and queer grasses sprouted up on their path, an unfurling carpet of greenish gold leading the way to Sandstone.

Gwenyth Qorgyle had been a girlhood friend to Carmyn, and was there to greet them. Jon was surprised to find that she had married a Northman. "This is Rickard Fisher. We met at the wedding." It was completely unnecessary to say which wedding. "How do you like that, Carmyn? I've got one too!"

Rickard was very happy they were bringing a weirwood to Sandstone, though Carmyn sulked a bit. She had wanted to make Gwen jealous, she said. The North was fashionable these days. What could be more fashionable than marrying a Northerner or taking one for a paramour? They gave Lady Gwen a special Bolton Bag with a scorpion design, after the sigil of her house. Ladies loved those bags, and to this day Jon had no notion why. Well, Jon knew little of fashion, but Gwen Qorgoyle swore her father would execute bandits before the heart tree and give their blood to its roots the Northern way. Once she got the handbag, she might've agreed to anything. Sarella and Hoster seemed queerly pleased. They left a parchment with instructions for Sandstone's maester on taking measurements.

As they approached Hellholt, Carmyn grew fretful. It was a pleasanter journey than he'd been led to expect. Another squall passed, a cool rain that seemed to wash away the heat. Jon wondered at their good fortune, and wondered at Carmyn's worries.

Ere they approached the Brimstone River, Jon smelled a familiar smell. It reminded him of the pools at Winterfell.

Carmyn noticed right away. "You hate it, right? I promise you'll get used to it, and if not, we can travel! We can go anywhere you like, Jon! Just don't leave me!" she babbled in worry.

Mayhaps it was cruel, but her unfounded fear made him smile. "There are pools at Winterfell heated with the warmth of the Earth, the same sulfur smell as your river. There's even one in our godswood. The Brimstone smells almost the same, actually. I like it, Carmyn, truly. It smells like home."

For half a moment, it did not seem as if she understood. Her features contorted physically from confusion to comprehension, and finally joy. "Home! Exactly. This is your home, our home from now on. Now come on, let's plant that tree so you can have your gods as well! We'll rest at Hellholt for a while, then it's back north to the houses in the Boneway. You will under no circumstances ever be alone with the Fowler twins when we get to Skyreach."

Jon laughed aloud. "Whatever you say, dear."