Garin had already lived an interesting life. It was hard to imagine what had happened to him. Magic wasn't that uncommon in the world. In fact, it was quite common. Not that every human was capable of it, but there were quite a lot who were.
This was to be expected, though.
Magic was treated as special, despite its relatively widespread use. Those with talent were regarded as superior to those who didn't have it. This was especially true for the Valyrian Freehold, where magic and their inhumane experiments led to the creation of Wyverns.
Garin had come to call the lizards Wyverns and not Dragons, because that's what they were. Calling them dragons was honestly a sad sight, but very fitting for the Valyrians, since they were petty and unendingly arrogant. How Garin came to know that they were called Wyverns and not dragons was thanks to his 'death'.
On that evening, when the moon came out and shone down on him... when he heard and saw the cruelty that was being done to his people and his lands, when the pain of everything became too much, he felt like he had died. Something died, and he was most definitely certain that his soul had gone through some kind of death.
For some reason, he felt like his willingness to die, just to have his revenge and stop the Valyrian cruelty, was what brought that change inside him. He died, and with this, he unlocked a power, so foreign, so ancient and deep that it was hard to describe.
He had become the Archmage.
Before, Garin never had the talent for water sorcery like many of their most valued warriors. But now... now he did.
In fact, he had talent for every conceivable magic there was, is and will ever be.
His mind had been enhanced to unimaginable degrees. He saw connections and could deduce things that seemed to be held together by threads, and yet they proved correct. Everything he saw, heard or thought was saved in his mind, which now held endless space for knowledge and information.
The most impressive change, though, was what he called the reactor of energy, which fueled spells, enchantments, and powers of any kind. This energy seemed to grow as he used it more and more. There were very few limits to it and what it could potentially do with time and training.
When Garin awoke, he found himself in water. He pulled himself out of it and observed what his outburst had created. A place of ruin, of death and one that would remind everyone of what happened on that day.
Garin held a great rage in his heart and knew that he would kill all of the Valyrians and their lizards, but that day hadn't arrived yet. Before that, he had to grow stronger and more knowledgeable. He could have simply learned and used the same blood, fire and other types of magic that the Valyrians themself used, but he refused. He wanted to grow on his own and not by using their pathetic excuse for magic.
It was more or less luck that Garin found Nymeria. In the initial moons, he had hidden himself and experimented with his new magic, trying to find ways to use his power.
He wanted to find out whether some of his people, the Rhonyar, had survived. So he worked hard to create a locating spell, which used a variation of blood magic. He used his own blood to locate those of similar constitution and heritage.
And he had succeeded.
What he didn't expect was to find Princess Nymeria in Westeros, no less. In hindsight, she had been the best and smartest of them. She had known that the campaign would be fruitless and managed to slip through the dragonlords' claws.
And not only that. The brilliant and capable Rhonyish Princess took control of an entire House and started another war to unite the rest of the Houses of an entire kingdom.
Their reunion had been... heated and emotional.
Garin liked Nymeria and vice versa. But when they saw one another, two souls of similar heritage and passion, they seemed to forget everything around them.
Garin only found out the next day that she was already married and had a daughter. That was awkward and not a pleasant experience for him, as he didn't like taking away a woman who was already wed.
He might have thought differently once, but the experience with the Valyrians had changed him.
...
After he understood what was happening and, very vaguely, explained what had happened to him, Garin chose to stay for a while and help Nymeria in her conquest of Dorne.
At the moment, Garin had power. Or the potential for immense power. What he lacked was experience and knowledge.
His first attempts at water magic had been embarrassing for him, even if they were already at the peak level of what the most powerful and competent water sorcerers were capable of in this world.
His mind was no longer accepting of the very low bar of magic application that existed in that world.
Garin could feel water around him. He could sense it flowing beneath the earth, hanging invisibly in the air and resting within every living thing. It was important to him that he first get a feel for his abilities and the capabilities they might bring.
Yet whenever he tried to command more than a small amount, the water either refused to move or responded with far greater force than intended.
The reason for this, Garin concluded after months of testing, was the influence of what humans considered divine. The mythical gods and the like.
The first cup Garin attempted to lift shattered against a wall. The first bucket rose so quickly that it struck him in the face and enraged him.
The first time he tried to draw moisture from the air, he covered himself, Nymeria and half of her chamber in cold dew. He had tried to demonstrate what he was now capable of, after months of training, only for it to fail miserably.
Nymeria laughed until she could no longer stand. Her husband Mors, on the other hand, did not find it amusing. He saw the potential for magic I was insinuating as a danger to his rule and authority.
The Prince of House Martell watched Garin as a man might watch a brightly coloured snake resting near his infant daughter. He knew that Garin was dangerous, poisonous and simply strange, but he was also certain that nothing good could come from allowing him too close.
Besides, he was also incredibly jealous. This, at least, was understandable. And his opinion did not improve when he learned what had occurred between Garin and Nymeria on the night of their reunion.
Mors first attempted to have Garin poisoned, and it was not an especially subtle attempt.
Garin had been invited to supper. A servant had placed a silver cup before Garin, and the moment he touched it, he could feel the liquid within.
Wine was mostly water, and the poison mixed into it was not, even if it was diluted at that stage. It was also water, but the differnet ingredients were what alerted Garin that someone had done something to it.
Garin stared at the cup for several breaths, fascinated by the difference. The wine felt soft and flowing, while the foreign substance within it was sharp, heavy and strangely resistant to his attempts to manipulate it. He did not know the poison's name, but he could sense where it ended and the water began.
So he separated them.
The wine rose from the cup in a dark red tongue. The poison remained behind as a thick, oily residue.
Seeing this, the entire hall went silent.
Garin guided the wine through the air, let it circle above his hand, and then returned it to the cup without spilling a single drop.
He then pushed the poisoned residue across the table toward Mors.
"Your servants should be more careful," Garin said. "Those are some strong wines you consume here in Dorne, Prince."
Mors stared at the poison, while Nymeria stared at her husband in anger. Naturally, she knew what must have happened, which made her livid.
The servant responsible tried to flee after seeing the cold look on Mors' face, when questioned what he had done by Nymeria. Not only did he lie, but Mors blamed the servant for it.
The servant was killed, by Mors himself, no less. Which was supposed to keep appearances up, but fooled no one.
That was the end of the first attempt.
The second involved three assassins waiting in Garin's chamber with knives. He had long ago discovered that the water in a man's body was much easier to sense than the water in a cup, since the body consisted of roughly 70% water.
For one brief moment, as the assassins rushed toward him, Garin had felt the blood moving through their veins. He knew instinctively that he could seize it. He could stop their hearts, rupture vessels inside their skulls or tear the moisture from their bodies until they became dry husks upon the floor.
The possibilities appeared in his mind. In the end, Garin chose another approach. Blood was bothersome to deal with.
He pulled the water from the washbasin beside his bed and manipulated it.
It struck the first man in the face and wrapped itself around his head. The assassin stumbled blindly, clawing at the water that moved through his fingers whenever he tried to clear his mouth or nose.
Garin sent another stream across the floor beneath the second man's feet at the same time. The assassin slipped, struck his head against a table and collapsed.
The third managed to reach him, but Garin caught the knife between two fingers.
His body was no longer entirely human, one could say. He was now the Archmage, and with it, his biology had grown far more powerful. His bones were stronger, his flesh more durable and his movements much faster than they had once been. But most importantly, his mind and brain were moving at speeds that belied comprehension.
The blade failed to cut his skin. He twisted it from the man's hand and struck him once.
The assassin flew across the room and broke through the door.
Garin made a show of the three and placed them all in the privy where Mors found them in the morning.
...
Nymeria was livid and almost beat her husband senseless. She dictated what happened in their marriage, and as a warrior princess, she had considerable power and influence.
Mors eventually stopped attempting to kill Garin.
Because Nymeria threatened to throw her husband into the sea if he made another attempt.
After that, the two men reached an agreement.
Mors would not attempt to murder Garin, and Garin would not behave improperly toward Nymeria and take her to bed.
Their true understanding came several weeks later, when Mors asked Garin to accompany him beyond the walls of Sunspear.
The Martell host was preparing to march once again.
Men had filled the dusty fields beneath the rising sun. Horses drank from wooden troughs. Wagons stood loaded with grain, arrows, spare weapons and barrels of water. More barrels waited upon carts behind them, and still more would have to be gathered before the army could leave.
Garin knew of the greatest obstacle to conquering Dorne and making it prosperous. It was not the castles, nor the mountains and not even the armies of the petty kings.
It was a lack of water.
Dorne was not the Rhoyne. There were no endless waters flowing beside every road. Away from the Greenblood and the Torrentine, rivers were few and unreliable. Deserts were what Dorne had most, and so wells were jealously guarded. Springs could decide the wealth of entire Houses.
Mors led Garin to a patch of cracked earth beyond the camp.
"You claim to be a water sorcerer," he had said.
"I am," Garin said, not wanting to get into an argument and explain that he was far beyond a Water Sorcerer.
"You threw a bucket at your own face."
"That was some time ago."
"It was six days ago."
"I have improved since then."
Mors folded his arms.
"Find water and prove that my wife was right about you."
Garin looked across the dry ground. He didn't have to prove himself to Mors, and they both knew that. But for the sake of Nymeria and his enjoyment during his remaining days here in Dorne, he chose to do what the man had asked.
Garin closed his eyes. He allowed his magic to spread through the surroundings.
The sensation was difficult to describe. He did not see through the earth, nor did he hear the movement of water beneath it. Instead, he felt an absence surrounded by countless smaller presences.
Ironically, it was this moment, that Garin had understood a very essential and crucial detail.
All along, he had been using magic wrongly. Ever since he woke up, he had tried to use the magic around him to manipulate water to do his bidding. But that was not what he should have done.
The different mythological presences, the different wills ingrained in the world's magic, were interfering with him and trying desperately to stop him from growing more powerful. Something that was not really possible.
What he should have done was use his OWN energy to accomplish the same effects.
He had a reactor inside him, or inside his soul, that produced energy which he could use to power his spells. So why was he doing things the hard way?
...
He felt like an idiot, but the changes were immediate and laid the foundation that was the limitless staircase of Garin's future.
There was water everywhere, but it was far below the ground and hard to reach.
He used his own energy to draw up water deep beneath the ground and ordered it to push through the stone. A large geyser of water shot out of the ground in the next minute and wet all of the men and women who were there that day.
That was the true start of Garin's magical path.