Chereads / GOT/ASOIAF:House In The Wastes / Chapter 14 - Chapter Fourteen

Chapter 14 - Chapter Fourteen

Garth had been in Eden for two months, and while he had adjusted to his new life, the sheer oddness of the place kept him in a constant state of bewilderment. It was like stepping into a fever dream and staying there long enough that the madness felt almost normal.

The first thing Garth had learned was the reason why it had been so cold when he first woke up. Apparently, Mark Lantrun—his absurdly handsome, silver-disco-suit-wearing rescuer—had a preference for cold temperatures. Not just a preference, actually. The man couldn't function in anything warmer than a chilly winter day. Garth didn't know the full story—only Clara, Taren, and Orin knew about Mark's literal inability to breathe in hot climates—but it explained why the entire house was kept freezing cold. The source of this cold was something Mark called "air conditioners," which, according to him, were a marvel of technology he'd created with his powers.

"You mean the cold just... comes out of the walls?" Garth had asked incredulously the first time Mark explained it.

"Well, technically, it's being pumped through vents," Mark replied, waving a hand like it was no big deal. "But yeah, more or less."

"Pumped? By what?"

"Look, buddy," Mark had said, leaning back and crossing his arms smugly, "I make magic happen. Don't worry about the details."

Magic was an understatement. Garth didn't even try to understand how these "air conditioners" worked. As far as he could tell, everything Mark did was on the edge of madness, but somehow, it worked.

Luckily, Garth and the other liberated slaves didn't have to endure the arctic chill of the Lantrun household for long. Mark, always the showman, had raised an enormous circular building from the sands of the Red Wastes, surrounding his house and garden like the walls of a fortress. Garth had been there to witness the construction—if you could call it that. Mark had thrown his hands around in what could only be described as the worst orchestra conducting Garth had ever seen. Apparently, Mark had tried and failed to become an orchestra conductor after one day of lessons, deciding it was "too boring."

But the result was spectacular. The building rose out of the ground, piece by piece, until a massive, luxurious living space stood where there had been nothing but desert before. Garth remembered standing there, slack-jawed, watching as Mark finished his performance with a dramatic flourish and a rainbow-colored cloak billowing behind him. The golden walking stick in his hand, which stood upright even when he let go of it, was the icing on the cake.

"I think I nailed it," Mark had said afterward, striking a pose.

Garth had nodded, still too stunned to argue.

The accommodations Mark provided were nothing short of extravagant. Garth's new home was beyond anything he could have ever imagined. The rooms were spacious, filled with soft beds, fine furniture, and thick carpets. It was like living in the palace of a king—except better, because there were no tyrannical rulers here. It was hard to believe that only a few months ago, he had been trudging through the Red Wastes as a slave, and now he was living in a place that felt like heaven on earth.

One day, while Garth was settling into his role managing the merchants that had begun flocking to Eden, Mark had introduced him to Clara Lantrun. He had seen her from a distance a few times—always wrapped in a thick white fur coat, despite the unbearable heat outside—but now he had the chance to meet her properly.

"Garth, this is my mother, Clara," Mark had said, sweeping his arm dramatically.

Clara had smiled brightly, holding out a glass of champagne. "Lovely to meet you, darling! Drink?"

Garth, still trying to process everything, had accepted the glass without thinking. "I, uh, don't usually drink..."

"Well, you do now!" Clara had laughed, her voice like bubbles. "Champagne is the drink of the gods, my dear. Or at least, it's my drink. Close enough!"

Garth had quickly discovered that Clara's bubbly, charming personality was infectious. It didn't take long for him to warm up to her—though whether that was her natural kindness or the effects of champagne, he couldn't quite tell. Either way, he didn't care. Clara was a force of nature, sweeping through Eden with kindness and compassion that knew no bounds.

He had watched in awe as she cared for the children who had been broken by slavery, not just healing them with her powers, but listening to them, comforting them, and helping them rebuild their lives. She had a way of making everyone feel seen, like they mattered, no matter how shattered they had been by their pasts.

"You've got to try these, Garth," Clara had said one afternoon, handing him a plate of macarons while sipping champagne. "They're heavenly."

Garth, who had never seen such colorful little treats in his life, had hesitated. "What are they?"

"Magic," she had replied with a wink. "Trust me."

He had taken a bite and nearly fallen out of his chair. "What... is... this?"

"Told you," Clara had said smugly, sipping her drink. "I've got a knack for finding the good stuff."

It wasn't just Clara's love of fine food and drink that captivated Garth. She was also deeply devout, something that intrigued him more than he had expected. Clara followed a religion called Catholicism, and she had given Garth a book—the Bible—so that he could learn about her faith.

"This is what we believe," she had said, pressing the book into his hands. "It's important to us. You should read it. It might give you some perspective."

Garth, always eager to learn, had gladly accepted. The more he learned about Clara's faith, the more fascinated he became. He was documenting everything, eager to understand what kind of religion could inspire such powerful beings.

Naturally, he had assumed that Mark, being Clara's son, would share her devotion. But when he broached the topic with Mark, he was in for a surprise.

"Oh, me?" Mark had said, laughing. "I'm an atheist. Think religion is a load of nonsense, really."

Garth had blinked in confusion. "But your mother is Catholic..."

"Yeah, yeah, I know," Mark had waved a hand dismissively. "Technically, that makes me Catholic too, I guess. I just don't believe in any of it. But hey, I'm not going to argue with her. She's got the champagne."

It was impossible to get a straight answer from Mark on anything, but Garth had learned to roll with it. After all, in a place like Eden, normalcy was relative.

Two months had passed, and Garth had settled into his role in this strange paradise. His unique skills—reading, writing, and speaking multiple languages—had made him invaluable to the growing community. As more merchants arrived, drawn by the incredible goods Mark was selling for absurdly low prices, Garth found himself acting as the liaison between the traders and the Lantruns. It was a busy, rewarding job, and Garth found a strange sense of fulfillment in it.

One day, while helping organize the newest shipment of spices and silks, Garth had turned to Mark and said, "You know, this place really is like heaven on earth."

Mark, who was casually lounging in a chair with a glass of wine, had smirked. "That's the idea, buddy. That's the idea."

Garth couldn't help but laugh. Eden, as strange and unpredictable as it was, had become his home. And for the first time in his life, Garth felt free.