GOT: Reborn as a Martell

( Gerris )

On any other day, Gerris would've been thrilled to finally leave Dorne to explore more of the world. Somehow, though, this was the worst time the gods had chosen to grant him his wish.

With Elinor pregnant at Sunspear, he felt that his duty was now at his wife's side, helping her during these times. Despite being excited at the prospect to visit more of Westeros while on Quentyn's diplomatic mission, he was constantly worried with the developments at home.

Not only was Elinor pregnant, she was now the heir to High Hermitage, which put both his wife and himself in a peculiar situation.

With Gerold Dayne dead, it was Elinor that would inherit High Hermitage, and the old Darius Dayne had had no other issue than the two siblings. On the other hand, Gerris was heir to Yoricksbank, but had no less than four siblings. 

The problem was that his four siblings were all girls, and house Drinkwater followed the same Andal rules as house Yronwood, meaning none of them could inherit.

This meant that inevitably, there would be a succession crisis. If Elinor gave up High Hermitage, which she wasn't prepared to do anyways, it would leave quite a burden on the young Lord Dayne. And if Gerris decided to give up Yoricksbank, it would cause another lot of problems.

It was an issue that he had hoped to talk over with his wife, but once more, his unforeseen trip to the Reach had stopped any actions he could've taken.

And gods know how many arguments he and Elinor had over this.

Quite ironically, Elinor supported him going away for some time, saying that she'll be just fine in Sunspear, and that he'd likely be back in a few moons, and would have time to witness the birth of their child.

He disagreed. The last time he thought he'd just be gone for a couple of moons, he ended up wed to the most beautiful woman he'd ever met in the Dornish capital, far from the banks of the Greatwater.

Gerris never thought that he'd end up wed so early, either. He was after all, a son of minor nobility, even if said nobility had married into one of the most powerful houses of Dorne, and possibly the Seven Kingdoms. But with the Dornish situation changing rapidly, his father did not miss the opportunity to wed him to Elinor Dayne, something that infuriated him at the time.

Not only would he have lost the freedom that he had enjoyed until then, but he also knew that his father had eyes on possibly having one of his children inherit Starfall. And with his sister wed to Lord Anders, this would've meant Drinkwater blood in two extremely powerful Dornish houses.

Gerris cared little for the scheming of his father, or of Lord Yronwood for that matter. What he cared about was living the best life that he could, with his friends.

But life had decided otherwise, and when he first met his betrothed, his jaw nearly dropped. She was gorgeous, with her long, blonde-silver hair and deep, purple, eyes. A beauty right from the tales of Old Valyria.

Gerris knew that a woman he would share the rest of his life with had to be more than just a pretty face to look at, but it certainly helped forget whoring and flirting for a long time. And as they got to know each other, he felt comfortable around her, and had started caring.

He couldn't tell when he started to think that he loved her. Was it when he stopped going whoring or trying to seduce girls with Cletus and Will because he thought it wouldn't bode well with Elinor? Or when they had the marriage at Sunspear's sept? Or was it when Elinor announced to him just a few days prior to him leaving for the Reach that she was bearing his child? He knew not. 

And he could care less. Mayhaps, as he will get older, their relationship would turn as sour as the Greatwater's grapes, but for now, he would like to enjoy his moment of happiness, and the dreadful wait that came with it.

In any case, he hoped that he would be back to help Elinor with the last steps of her pregnancy. With him away, he worried for her every day, despite all of his friends stating that if Elinor accepted for him to go, then he had nothing to worry about. After all, Cletus always told him that he worried too much.

However, this trip hadn't been as smooth as anyone had expected it to. The trip from Ghost Hill to Stonehelm went smoothly, although the autumn storms could be seen forming around the Stormlander coast as rain fell on their arrival.

It was the first time that most of the party had seen rain in moons, and it made Stonehelm castle all the more intimidating. For a castle, it was massive, probably the size of Yronwood's keep, if not bigger. And Yronwood was probably the largest citadel in the whole of Dorne, being challenged only by Sunspear's double walls. If Stonehelm was larger than Yronwood, he wondered at the size of the legendary Storm's End, or even Highgarden.

It was there, hosted by Lord Gulian Swann, that they learned of the events in the capital, with Lord Eddard Stark having lost his head and Renly Baratheon having been crowned at Highgarden. Therefore, their travel sent them northwest, along the banks of the Slayne, towards Summerhall.

Amongst the ruined palace of the Targaryens, more news came by raven. The Reach had called their banners, and marched towards the capital. It seemed that their negotiations would be dead before they even started, with the small party unable to catch up to the Reacher host before they laid siege to King's Landing.

Nevertheless, Quentyn ordered them to press on towards Ashford anyways, in a journey through the northern Dornish Marches, where snow covered the mountaintops and passes between Summerhall and the Cockleswhent valley. Their prince had hoped to meet the now King Renly before he could amass his troops.

Unfortunately, it had seemed as the Reacher host had managed to form itself with great speed, their entry at Ashford being greeted by the castellan of the castle, who in turn told them that Lord Ashford had joined King Renly's host, which had departed Highgarden.

Gerris thought it would just be wise to turn back, or head towards Highgarden and wait for more news there, but again Quentyn proved stubborn and pushed them towards the Mander and Longtable, where they were again greeted with the news that King Renly's host had crossed the Blueburn not two days prior.

Once again, Quentyn spurred them on, this time towards Bitterbridge, following the Mander as it twisted and turned north.

It had been nearly a moon's turn since they left Stonehelm, and during this time, if Gerris excluded how tired and soaking wet he was from the pouring rains they had endured between Stonehelm and Summerhall, he could only gasp at the differences between both sides of the Dornish Marches.

While Dorne was hot, sunny and filled with vast deserts, hills and mountains, everything in the Reach once you've descended from the Dornish Marches was as close to flat as possible. There were some hills here or there, but they were not as imposing as the Dornish ones.

The climate was colder than in Dorne. Arguably, it was still hot, but nowhere near the scorching Dornish sun Gerris had been used to during his entire lifetime. What amazed him the most, though, were the Reach's rivers. 

The Cockleswhent, as Ashford's castellan had told them, as one of the Reach's smallest rivers. Yet it dwarfed both the Greatwater and the Greenblood in terms of width.

While the Greenblood was the well-known Dornish river, and the beating heart of Dorne, with canals reaching far and wide from its shores, the Greatwater was the beating heart of Yronwood, supplying the Fowlers, Yronwoods and Manwoodys with a steady stream of water, which allowed for mass agriculture, despite the river's small size. 

And if he was honest, Gerris preferred the Greatwater due to its blue waters, whereas the Greenblood was always murky.

The Cockleswhent seemed to be out of another world. A large river, with clear, blue water, and plentiful, too, if the castellan's words were true. For a moment, he had wondered whether it matched the Rhoyne, which the Orphans were so fond of.

Then he saw the Mander. A magnificent blue-green coloured river, from which forests and fields without end would appear and stretch as far as the eye could see, fading beyond the horizon. A river that dwarfed anything he had seen before. It was hard not to be amazed at the sight.

And while the river itself was amazing, the fields stretching for leagues and leagues were just as impressive. In Dorne, there were very few fields, even on the lands of the Drinkwaters, where the Greatwater flowed freely, with its dozens of canals allowing for the growth of several crops. 

But here…Gerris just marvelled at the amount of grain and wheat that could be harvested from such huge areas of land.

It, at least, kept him distracted from the long road they had taken. But even then, the wonder soon ceased, and soon began the boredom. Just like the deserts of Dorne were impressive the first time you saw them, the Mander and its shores just gave more of the same sights as the party made their way north.

Finally, Gerris had had enough and rushed to the head of the two-hundred strong party, where Quentyn was conversing with Gulian.

"Quent." He asked from atop his horse, looking at the pair.

The two stopped whatever they were saying.

"Yes?" the prince asked, stopping his own horse to hear Gerris over the soft wind that had started blowing in their direction.

"We've followed you this far, and we'll be ready to follow you even further, but don't you think that we shall never catch up to the Reacher host?" Gerris confessed. "We have yet to ride hard, and instead have been pacing slowly along the river."

"We need to transport the tents, the food, and the equipment." Gulian answered before Quentyn could even speak. "If we were to ride hard, we would have to leave much of it behind."

"We don't even need most of the stuff there!" Gerris protested.

Indeed, Quentyn had been insistent on bringing a lot of baggage, including spices, fruit, desks, tables and the sort. All of which weren't really needed.

"You would be right if we were at war." Quentyn answered. "But it's Reachers we're dealing with. Appearances matter a lot, and we are to make a display of our power and riches while dealing with them."

"Is that why your cousin is coming with us?" he asked, and nearly immediately regretted it, expecting Quentyn to slap him right there, but, to his surprise, Quentyn remained perfectly calm.

"No, she's coming because she's a better diplomat than a lot of you lot, has been to the Reach before, and knows to keep calm when dealing with arrogant pricks like some of the people we'll be dealing with." He smiled. "I'd much rather see her at my side than Will, Arch, Lucian or Cletus."

"True enough." Gerris conceded. "But can we even be sure that King Renly's host will be camped at Bitterbridge and won't already have made a move towards the capital?"

"Oh, I'm quite sure." Quentyn smiled, with Gulian chuckling next to him.

"What's so funny?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

Gulian gave him a Myrish spyglass, pointing north.

Gerris' cheeks grew red before he even started looking. Sighing, he picked the spyglass, and indeed, on the horizon, he could see thousands of tents filling the banks of the Mander, bearing the sigils of many houses: Rowan, Hightower, Tarly, Caron, Connington and others he could not recognize.

"You win." Gerris shook his head, handing the spyglass back to Gulian. "Shall I do the trot of shame back to the end of the convoy?"

"I think you've embarrassed yourself quite enough." Gulian laughed. "Just forget about it and try to look presentable when we eventually reach the camp."

Gerris just nodded along as the group made their way towards the large camp.