Game of Thrones: The Legend of Quentyn Martell

POV: Third Person 

Dorne, Sunspear. 

The sun was high in the Dornish sky, casting its warm glow over the garden of Sunspear, where vibrant flowers stood out against the golden sands. Mellario and Doran Martell were seated in the shade of an orange tree, framed by vines that crept along the stone walls of the courtyard. In the distance, their eldest daughter, Arianne, run across the lawn, her contagious laughter slicing through the air, the pure energy of childhood shining in her bright eyes.

Doran watched the scene with a melancholic smile. He held a cup of tea in his hands, inhaling its fragrant aroma, occasionally glancing at Mellario, who cradled Quentyn in her arms. She rocked the boy lovingly as he gazed around with attentive eyes, seeming to absorb every detail with curiosity.

"It's been over a moon since Oberyn left" Doran murmured, breaking the peaceful silence. "He must be nearing King's Landing by now. I can't help but worry about what he might find there."

Mellario gently stroked Quentyn's head while Doran's gaze was lost on the arid landscape in the distance. "He knows how to look after himself, my love. Oberyn always has. Besides, this isn't just an ordinary visit, but a tournament gathering all the great Houses. It's an opportunity to observe them closely, to understand who our allies and enemies truly are."

Doran sighed, his face shadowed by a sense of foreboding. "That's true. But Oberyn doesn't go unnoticed. And Quentyn's words still echo in my mind. The roses of ice… innocent blood… all those images he spoke before Oberyn left."

Sensing her husband's unease, Mellario turned her attention to their son, who was watching her with an intense and almost curious look. With a slight smile, she leaned closer to him. "My little prophet… What do you have to tell us today?"

Quentyn, who seemed to be absorbing his mother's attention, made a trembling sound as if searching for words from the depths of his mind. And then, finally, he murmured in a soft but clear voice: "Mama."

Mellario's eyes lit up with joy, and she drew him closer, kissing his forehead. "Oh, Doran, he spoke again! Did you hear? He said 'mama'!"

Doran, with a hint of comic sadness, crossed his arms, frowning with mock disappointment. "First, it was 'Ari' when he began babbling, and now 'mama.' Seems I'm in third place on my own son's list of words."

Mellario chuckled softly, amused by Doran's expression of disappointment. "Oh, my love, he'll get to 'papa' eventually. Perhaps he's just testing us. Or maybe he knows 'mama' sounds sweeter."

Doran smiled, defeated. "Maybe he's just saving the best for last." He gently held Quentyn's tiny fingers, feeling the delicate movements of the baby's hand. "But these words he's spoken… the prophecy… They're like pieces of a puzzle we still can't assemble."

Mellario grew serious for a moment, her gaze fixed on her son's small face as he watched her with large, thoughtful eyes. "It's true. This tournament in Harrenhal might be more than a celebration, after all. Maybe we'll have the chance to hear rumors and understand these prophecies better." She sighed, turning to Doran. "Do you trust Oberyn will find answers?"

"If anyone can find answers, it's him," Doran replied firmly. "Oberyn has always been able to see beyond what others perceive. And for him, a challenge is a motivation."

With a resigned sigh, Doran leaned back, taking in the peace of the garden for a few moments. In that brief moment, he felt grateful for the tranquility in Sunspear, though he knew the world beyond Dorne was far from peaceful.

---

POV: Third Person

Crownlands, King's Landing.

The grandeur of King's Landing was something to behold. Its bustling streets, filled with voices, echoed the excitement that had spread throughout Westeros as the Harrenhal tournament drew near. Noble houses from every corner of the realm were arriving one after the other. The vibrant banners and family crests were visible from afar, decorating the city's gates and walls, making it impossible to ignore the importance of the coming event.

At the city's entrance, the Starks stood out, newly arrived from the North. Ned Stark was mounted on his horse, with a serious and reserved face, as if uneasy amid so much ostentation and wealth. Beside him, Robert Baratheon laughed heartily, his laughter echoing as he greeted men and lords along the way. His energy seemed unbreakable, even with the fatigue of the journey.

The Lannisters were also present in the city. Tywin, as imposing as ever, observed everything with a calculating gaze, appearing to study every detail around him. Jaime Lannister, in his shining armor, radiated the pride and confidence of a young knight who believed himself invincible. And Cersei, at his side, exuded beauty and power, making it clear she wasn't there only to watch but to be seen and admired.

Amid the commotion at the entrance to King's Landing, another prominent group made its arrival: House Tyrell of Highgarden, with their green banners adorned with a golden rose, the symbol of their house.

At the heart of their entourage, Olenna Tyrell stood out, riding with a dignified bearing and a presence that seemed to challenge even the sternest figures in the capital. Though advanced in years, her keen spirit and sharp wit were renowned across Westeros. With a gaze that seemed to pierce even the most hidden intentions, Olenna was a figure both feared and respected. Beside her, the rest of the Tyrell family — including the somewhat self-important Mace Tyrell — seemed almost like mere accessories compared to the brilliance of their matriarch.

With the Tyrells now joined by the Starks, Baratheons, and Lannisters, the arrival of the great houses underscored the significance of this gathering in King's Landing. The most powerful families of Westeros were here, each with its ambitions and alliances.

Lords and knights from various regions were setting up camps on the hills surrounding the city, raising colorful tents, hoisting banners, and preparing for the festivities. The atmosphere was filled with anticipation and expectation, and rumors about the Harrenhal tournament and its potential consequences lingered in the air like promises of something grand and perilous.

---

POV: Oberyn Martell

King's Road.

Finally, the great capital appeared on the horizon, a towering silhouette against the sky already tinged with golden hues from the approaching evening. From the King's Road, Oberyn Martell could see the high walls and towers that rose above the buildings of King's Landing, the symbol of a vast and often brutal kingdom.

He rode ahead of his entourage, with Ellaria beside him and his loyal guard, Ferran, who had accompanied him since the beginning of the journey. Ferran was a sturdy man with a scar running from his eyebrow to the corner of his mouth, a remnant of a fight in Essos years earlier. He was as loyal as a wolf and as dangerous as a viper when armed.

Oberyn slowed his horse and turned to Ellaria, pointing to the city in the distance. "So, we've reached the nest of vipers," he joked, a hint of irony playing on his lips.

Ellaria laughed softly, gently tightening her reins. "It seems this is the first time someone arrives at the nest without being devoured. Let's see how long that lasts."

Oberyn shrugged, his dark eyes shining with excitement. "We'll put on a good show, my dear. I want everyone to see that House Martell is more than a shadow in the south. Let them know we are the storm that threatens, that the sun in Dorne burns hotter than any other."

They approached the city walls, where the vibrant colors of Dorne stood out amid the crowd. The banner with the sun pierced by a spear was prominent against the more neutral tones of the banners of the lords and knights already present.

Oberyn raised his hand, signaling to the guards at the gates, who, upon seeing the Martell sigil, opened the passage, allowing them entry. The city buzzed around them, with merchants shouting their wares, children running between the stalls, and nobles in refined attire moving with their entourages. Oberyn and Ellaria exchanged glances, both absorbing the magnitude of what lay before them.

"Now, let's prepare for this tournament," Oberyn said with a mischievous smile, adjusting his posture on his horse as they advanced through the streets toward the area designated for House Martell. He looked at Ferran and gave a slight nod. "We have our mission, Ferran. And our mission is to show the power of Dorne to anyone who dares doubt it."

Ferran, loyal as ever, nodded with a determined smile. He knew that wherever Oberyn went, there would be challenges and likely blood. But that was precisely why he followed the Prince of Snakes.

As the first lights of evening began to glow, and the city prepared for another day of the tournament, Oberyn and his group finally found their place in the capital. The great event that had drawn all the major houses of Westeros was about to begin, and Oberyn, with his wit, strength, and charm, was ready to face whatever came—whether in courtly games or on the battlefield.