GOT/ASOIAF:House In The Wastes

The sun scorched the barren landscape of the Red Waste, a desolate stretch of desert where few dared venture and even fewer survived. For Taren and his younger brother Orin, it had been days since they had last tasted water. The shimmering city of Qarth was far behind them now, its towering walls and bustling streets a distant memory—one that burned like their thirst. Their parents had died trying to escape the city, leaving Taren, only fourteen, to bear the burden of guiding Orin to safety.

Orin stumbled beside him, his small body trembling with exhaustion. At just ten years old, his eyes were sunken and his lips cracked, yet he followed his brother with a blind trust that weighed heavily on Taren's shoulders.

"We're going to die," Orin whispered hoarsely. His voice cracked, not just from thirst, but from a fear neither boy dared acknowledge.

Taren clenched his jaw and scanned the horizon, desperate for any sign of hope. But there was nothing—only endless sand and the unforgiving sun. The heat played tricks on his mind, making distant shapes shimmer like water, though he knew they were nothing more than illusions.

But then... there it was.

A flash of blue in the distance, glimmering beneath the harsh sun like a jewel. An oasis? It had to be. Taren's heart leapt in his chest, his mind racing at the thought of cool, fresh water. He grabbed Orin's arm, pointing frantically.

"Look! Water!" Taren's voice was strained, a mixture of disbelief and desperation.

Orin's eyes widened. He blinked, unsure if what he saw was real, but Taren had already started running. With renewed energy, both boys sprinted toward the gleaming blue, their dry throats aching at the promise of relief.

As they approached, they slowed in confusion. The water wasn't set in the sand as they had expected, but rather inside a strange stone basin. A rectangular pool, bordered by smooth tiles, stood before them. Taren had never seen anything like it. It wasn't a spring or a pond like those his parents had described, but he didn't care. It was water.

Without a second thought, the boys collapsed at the edge and plunged their faces into the pool, greedily gulping down the cool liquid. They didn't notice the three-story house standing nearby, nor the lush greenery that seemed entirely out of place in the Red Waste.

After several long moments, Taren lifted his head, panting. He wiped his face with the back of his hand and looked around for the first time. "Orin... what is this place?"

But before Orin could answer, a voice interrupted them.

"Hey! What are you kids doing?"

Both boys froze.

Taren slowly turned his head, eyes wide with fear. A man had emerged from the large house next to the pool, casually strolling toward them. He was tall, with short hair, and wore the strangest clothing Taren had ever seen—a bright red pair of shorts that clung to his legs, and no shirt at all. His skin was tanned, and he walked with an easy confidence.

Taren pulled Orin behind him protectively. "W-who are you?" he stammered, his hand instinctively reaching for a knife that was no longer there.

The man stopped a few feet away, hands raised as if to show he meant no harm. "Relax, I'm not going to hurt you," he said with a smile. His words were friendly, but Taren didn't trust the easy tone. No one in the world was that friendly—especially to slaves.

Orin peeked out from behind his brother, staring at the man with wide eyes. "Is this... is this your water?"

The man chuckled, shaking his head. "Well, I guess you could say that. But there's plenty for both of you. My name's Mark. You boys look like you've been through hell."

Taren narrowed his eyes, suspicion gnawing at him. "Where... where are we? What is this place?"

Mark looked around as if seeing his house and pool for the first time. "This?" he said, gesturing to the pool. "It's just a pool, man. You know... for swimming."

Taren blinked, confused. Swimming? He had no idea what that meant. None of this made sense—the house, the water, the man in strange clothing. Nothing about this place belonged in the Red Waste.

"We... we thought it was an oasis," Orin said softly, still half-hiding behind his brother.

Mark tilted his head, his smile fading slightly as he observed the boys. "You guys really don't know, do you? How long have you been out here?"

Taren didn't answer. His mind raced, trying to understand the situation. They had fled from Qarth, from death, only to stumble upon... this. Was it a dream? A trick? Some kind of trap?

Mark sighed, lowering his hands. "Look, you're safe here. You don't have to worry anymore. Come inside, get some food. You look like you could use it."

Taren hesitated, but Orin's stomach growled loudly, breaking the tense silence. The younger boy glanced up at his brother with pleading eyes. Taren clenched his fists, torn between his mistrust and the desperate need to protect his brother.

Finally, he nodded. "Alright. But if this is a trick..." He didn't finish the sentence, but his eyes conveyed the threat clearly.

Mark simply smiled again, turning toward the house. "No tricks. Just food and water. Follow me."

With cautious steps, the two boys followed the strange man into the house, leaving behind the endless sands of the Red Waste—and stepping into a world far beyond their understanding.