Jon III

The Boneway proved treacherous, with rivers swollen by autumn storms blowing in from the Sea of Dorne. As Carmyn feared, the Fowler twins were just as bold and wanton as rumor made them. One had a bastard in her belly, with no notion of who the father might be. "Some Northman, I suspect," she said. The other twin implied she would not disdain a bastard of her own whilst sending Jon a saucy look.

They did not stay long at Skyreach.

At Yronwood, they met Quentyn Martell, who seemed oddly afraid of Sarella. What was there to fear from her, Jon wondered. The girl was bookish, and reminded Jon oddly of Maester Luwin. When the Red Messenger appeared, she and Hoster Blackwood would talk of little else. In her pack, Sarella had certain instruments she used to make note of the comet's position in the heavens, and she inquired of other maesters they met regarding rainfall and the unseasonable coolness.

It was easy going, queerly easy going, with abundant food and fodder. Watering the horses, which took such pains and planning when they set out, faded from their minds as time passed. Dorne seemed to Jon a fair green land, with a climate akin to a Northern summer, save the food was queer. Sweets and spices and flavors Jon had no name for could be found in abundance. Even the bread was different. Good, but different. Dornishmen liked theirs flat and fluffy, preferring to spread half a hundred different types of jam over it rather than butter.

"Ah, the babe likes Dornish food, I think," said Carmyn Uller with satisfaction. She rode well even with a big belly, declaring their babe would be born in Hellholt once they returned. Fat Maester Cartman at Wyl said she had three or four moons left to go. But she was already so big! It worried Jon. Did they have time to go to Sunspear and back? "Dearest Jon, are you well?" she asked.

Jon looked up from his plate. Was he so easy to read? "I could ask you much the same question, my lady," he answered.

She clicked her tongue in exasperation. "Poor Jon. Dour Jon. Lonesome Jon. Do I not pay you enough attention? Did you mislike it when I loved you with my mouth last night? Your seed settled my stomach; I'll have you know."

Gods, they were at table! Hoster and Sarella and all the Wyls could hear! Sometimes Carmyn Uller was impossible. Did she embarrass him intentionally? He tried to sputter out a reply, but she cut him off.

"Peace, beloved. I've been riding these sands since I was a girl. Our babe troubles me not at all. At Hellholt there are hot pools to soak in and cool chambers beneath the Earth to sleep in. Even so, I don't mind the heat at all. This fair weather shall make our journey even easier. You needn't worry over me."

"Not you, no," said Sarella Sand darkly. "I've been all over Dorne with Father, before he married the Northern lady. Never have these lands seen such an autumn."

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"The weirwoods grow well," Hoster Blackwood pointed out. He was seven feet tall if he was an inch, uncomfortably hunched over the banquet board. "I had not expected that. It is a breed for cold climes, I thought."

Sarella's viper eyes flashed. "You noticed it too, didn't you? And now the Red Messenger flies above. Messenger of what, I ask you? There was a bird from Hellholt. Lady Larra Blackmont sent one there, and Maester Yshtar forwarded it to us. Their new heart tree has been growing faster since the comet appeared. It drinks blood even more greedily than before. Oh, and a GREEN MAN FROM THE ISLE OF FACES CAME TO VISIT!" she shouted, shocking the whole hall. Jon almost spilled his goblet of wine. "He rode an elk of all things, offered to carve a face on her tree. It's big enough now, he said."

"How would the Green Men even know of our errand?" Hoster asked in confusion.

"How indeed!" Sarella complained to everyone and no one in particular. "Powers are rising, Hoster, powers we don't understand." Just as quickly as her outburst came, she grew quiet, almost whispering. "I feel as if no one knows but us, and even we know next to nothing. It is a bitter, helpless feeling." Shimmering tears leaked from the corners of her eyes.

Hoster Blackwood got up and led her from the hall, turning to apologize to everyone before they left.

"They are definitely fucking," Carmyn said once they were gone.

***

At The Tor, they met another Northman. Myria Jordayne, the heir, was wed to one Roose Ryswell, a proud young knight who boasted for all to hear that he was cousin to the famous Domeric Bolton.

"Aye, and I was named for his father, Roose Bolton," he went on. Jon was glad for the man, a third son, making so fine a match. They found many a castle with at least one Northern resident. A landed knight sworn to Yronwood was married to a Forrester girl, Jon remembered. Just as many Dornish houses had sent their sons and daughters north. Jynessa Blackmont and Robb were only the most famous. Jon wondered what would come of it all, in the end. It was a comfort to know he was one of many, and there were others who had followed new loves to a new land.

Their welcome was as warm as could be wished. Some serving man suggested the Northern gods were bringing the rain, which sent Sarella up the wall. "Not because he's wrong, but because I fear he's right," she said to Jon, Carmyn, and Hoster privately.

Truly? The gods could do all that? Well, he'd been around Sarella and Hoster long enough to know that blood made them grow. In the stories, Jon couldn't recall the gods ever doing anything, not directly, anyway. They just were, in rock and soil, wind and water; the gods could be found in all. When you died, you returned to the gods.

What happened, then, when they returned the land to the gods? Jon would leave that question to Sarella and Hoster.