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Chapter 72 - Chapter 68

Chapter 68: Water Garden

Richard POV

A moon and a half later

It was early morning in the woods of Neméos, a few miles east of Castamere. The forest was quiet, save for the soft rush of the nearby stream and the occasional chirp of birds waking with the sun.

I sat on a broad, flat rock by the water's edge, dressed in my usual black, simple clothes made for movement, loose at the shoulders and sleeves rolled up. 

Across my lap rested a longsword, dark and patterned, its edge catching the pale morning light. 

I worked it with a whetstone, slow and steady, each stroke producing a familiar shkkk sound as metal kissed stone.

The sound had a rhythm to it. Almost meditative.

I paused and turned the blade slightly, tilting it to catch the light better. The dark ripples along the steel shimmered faintly, layered lines of folded metal, dancing like waves. 

On Earth, this would be called a Damascus steel sword. But in my world, most would mistake it for Valyrian steel.

But it wasn't.

After all, it lacked the true qualities and materials of Valyrian steel. 

It was just normal steel, folded over and over again until it looked the part.

Still, it was mine. My fifth attempt at making Damascus steel, and finally, one I could be proud of.

I ran my fingers lightly along the flat of the blade. It was cool to the touch and solid in the grip.

It had been a month and a half since I started taking the forge seriously. 

Before that, blacksmithing was a side pursuit, something I returned to between responsibilities, when I had a spare hour or needed to clear my mind.

"Hmm. Looks about right," I said to myself, turning the blade to check the edge one more time. 

Both sides were even, clean, and sharp. I'd done well enough with the sharpening process.

I slipped the whetstone into my pocket and rose, brushing a bit of dust from my trousers. The sword rested comfortably in my right hand. It was finally time for me to test it.

One of the perks of working in the wilderness was that I had endless options for targets.

I scanned the treeline until one caught my eye. 

A sturdy pine, trunk about a meter wide, roots half-cloaked in moss and early morning mist.

"That'll do," I muttered.

I made my way toward it, my boots crunching over twigs and leaves. I stopped a few paces from the tree, adjusted my grip on the hilt, and exhaled.

There was no need to hold back completely, but still I didn't want to shatter the blade on the first test either. So I decided to use an adequate amount of strength and speed.

I swung with a measured force, just enough to see how the steel held.

Swish.

The blade cut through the air with a sharp whisper. It bit into the trunk cleanly, driving deep on the first stroke.

But halfway through, something changed. I felt it.

The resistance shifted, the feedback in my arm grew uneven. I could hear the steel beginning to protest. A faint, splitting ping traveled down the blade, followed by visible cracks.

Two-thirds of the way in, the sword snapped.

Still, the tree groaned and began to fall, its balance broken.

It came crashing toward me. I didn't move. I raised my left arm and caught the trunk with an open palm. With a simple motion, I shoved it aside.

Crash.

It landed several meters away, flattening a patch of undergrowth.

I looked down at what was left of the sword — broken near the middle. The pattern along the edge was still beautiful, but the fracture was clean. Too clean.

I turned it in my hand and studied the break. Impurities in the steel. I could see them—tiny flecks of unmixed carbon, slight warping near the core. 

I must've made some mistakes during the folding process or maybe the heat had been off.

It was my fault.

"I still need more time," I muttered, then sighed and tossed the broken blade into the underbrush.

It was frustrating, but not unexpected. This wasn't Valyrian steel. It was just regular iron and carbon, folded by hand, no magic to hold it together.

Still, I needed to be better.

If I wanted to forge something truly worthy… a real Valyrian steel sword… there was no room for errors like this.

This was the real reason I'd taken blacksmithing seriously over the past six weeks.

A moon and a half ago, I learned the truth — from my future self, no less. The real method of crafting Valyrian steel, the materials, the process, and the sacrifice needed to make it.

But knowing the secret wasn't enough. Not if my hands couldn't follow through.

I looked up. 

The sun had climbed just above the trees, painting the forest in warm gold. The light touched the stream, making it shimmer.

"It's time to head back," I said quietly.

Castamere wasn't far. An hour walk, maybe less with speed.

I had preparations to make. In another week, I'd be leaving for Casterly Rock — Cersei and Jaime's nameday celebration.

There was much to do. I needed to prepare the escort, the gifts, and the arrangements for my absence.

With my business finished here, I turned from the stream and began the walk to my keep.

Elia Martell POV

It was a hot, golden afternoon in the Water Gardens of Dorne—the kind of heat that made the marble tiles shimmer like sunlit glass.

Sunlight filtered through the leaves in fractured beams, turning the water to molten gold.

I drifted alone in one of the shallower pools, beneath the wide, swaying fronds of a palm.

My dress—thin, white, and weightless—floated around me like the petals of a pale desert blossom. Arms outstretched, face tilted toward the sky, I let the water cradle me.

The pool was a balm beneath the sun, cool and silken against my skin.

I breathed deeply, slowly, letting the garden fill my lungs with its layered scents—sharp citrus from the lemon trees, the sweetness of jasmine, and the faint, spicy breath of fireflowers curling on the breeze.

The quiet helped still my thoughts. I had not always known such peace.

A year ago, I would not have floated here—unguarded, alone, at ease.

Thinking of the past, It had been several moons since I returned to Dorne from the Westerlands. 

During that time, my mother continued arranging meetings with suitors, though I no longer wanted them.

Each man tried, in his own way, to charm me, to win me over. But I never bent. My heart was still set with another man… one I still had love for.

One morning, in a quiet courtyard, a suitor—arrogant and insistent—cornered me. 

He was the son of the head of House Wyl. He tried to kiss me without leave—and perhaps would have gone further. 

He thought himself entitled to me, all because I offered a few polite smiles and compliments I didn't mean.

He did not expect me to fight back.

But I did.

I kicked him where it hurt, and as I did, I screamed for the guards.

Oberyn was nearby, thank the gods. He came running at once.

When I told him what had happened—my brother showed why he was named the Red Viper. 

He had beaten the man bloody.

Later, my elder brother Doran, along with our mother, saw to it that the suitor from House Wyl was exiled from court… and he left with less than he came with—his lower member no longer with him.

Though I was safe, the ordeal left me shaken.

In Dorne, there were many bold men—men who might harbor the same thoughts as that son of House Wyl.

The risk lingered in my mind.

So I refused to meet with any more suitors. I somewhat withdrew from court life, from strangers, from company.

I spoke only with my kin.

I wanted to go back to the time when I was still a girl—frail and quiet, tucked away from the world.

My mother noticed, of course. 

After watching me slowly withdraw from court, she brought me to the Water Gardens, hoping that the warmth and stillness might heal something in me.

I think she hoped I would connect with the younger ladies there—daughters of stewards and lords, ladies of minor houses come for the season.

I tried. Slowly.

And then I met Ashara Dayne. She was only thirteen namedays at the time.

She was already bathing when I arrived—laughing, carefree. Her laugh was wild and her smile sweet, like the sea at twilight.

Her long dark hair floated behind her in the water, streaked with silver-lilac that caught the sun.

She carried herself with a kind of light, a quiet joy that seemed to lift the world around her.

Not long after came Ellaria Sand, bold and bright as flame. She was Ashara's age, the bastard daughter of Lord Harmen of House Uller.

Her eyes were sharp with mischief, her spirit quick. She teased without cruelty and listened without judgment.

There were other young ladies I came to know, but these two became my closest companions.

When my mother offered me a choice of attendants to bring back to Sunspear—a formal lady in waiting—I asked for Ashara and Ellaria both.

It was a little irregular, having girls younger than me serve in that role, but no one argued.

They helped me find joy again.

Ashara would read poetry with me beneath the lemon trees, humming softly while I stitched.

Ellaria would tug me into the pools, coaxing laughter out of me with her games and scandalous tales.

Together, they were the first people I had truly let in other than my family.

As I grew comfortable in their company, I began to open myself once more to the idea of court… and even to the idea of suitors.

So I returned to Sunspear.

Ashara and Ellaria made it bearable. No—more than that. They made it fun.

When men came calling, the three of us would observe them like judges at a tourney.

Ellaria could spot a liar in moments. Ashara, more quietly, would note who stood too close, who interrupted others, who made a servant flinch.

They saw things I did not. And with them beside me, it felt… safe.

Refreshing, even. Like opening the shutters in a room long closed.

Now, back in the present, I was once more in the peaceful Water Gardens. 

Ashara and Ellaria had gone off somewhere, leaving me alone for the moment.

And as always, when left in the company of my own thoughts, my mind began to drift—drift toward the one place I wished it wouldn't. Toward the man I had fallen for more than a year ago. Toward Galahad. Toward what might have been.

That night—when he refused me—I regretted how I had handled it. I had poured my heart into a cup, brimming and full, and shattered when he would not drink.

I had replayed that day countless times since, turning it over like a stone in my hands, wondering what I might have said, what he might have felt—if I had been braver, more confident, and straightforward.

I sighed, the sound barely a ripple in the water. Perhaps I would never meet such a man again—gentle and strong, joyful and wise. 

A man who could sing, who could fight, who could even cook. 

As my mind continued to wander further about Galahad. I was snapped out of it with a welcomed distraction.

SPLASH.

A sudden spray of water shattered the stillness.

My eyes flew open. 

The heavy thoughts scattered like dry leaves in a gust of wind. I straightened in the pool, legs folding beneath me, and turned toward the sound.

The surface was calm again. Empty.

I frowned.

Then—without a sound—I slipped beneath the water. It wrapped around me like silk, cool and clear. I opened my eyes and saw slanting beams of sunlight breaking through the ripples.

And then—SPLASH!

Two shadows burst from the water in front of me, shrieking with laughter, flinging great handfuls of water into my face.

I gasped, sputtering, half-blind and entirely startled.

"Ashara! Ellaria!" I cried, breathless.

They were already giggling, eyes alight with mischief.

I couldn't help it. I laughed too.

And just like that, with their company, the thoughts of the past momentarily went away.

Author note: Here is a new chapter. Enjoy it. Feel free to point anything out. Also feel free to ask any question as well.

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