Game of Thrones: The Legend of Quentyn Martell

POV: Oberyn Martell

King's Landing, Red Keep.

Oberyn shifted uncomfortably, his gaze drifting to the floor for a moment before he forced himself to meet his sister's eyes. He could see the love and curiosity there, as well as a hint of worry. "Quentyn is well," he replied, keeping his voice steady. "He has beautiful eyes that will be a weapon against women. But as his uncle I will guide him properly".

Elia nodded, a soft smile gracing her lips as she imagined her nephew. "I do wish I could see him and your girls. Rhaenys too, I would like them to know each other, it's strange to think they'll grow up so far apart."

"Yes, but that's the way of it," Oberyn said, masking his discontent. "These lives we lead, bound by duty…" He let his words trail off, not wanting to burden her with his own frustrations.

As they continued talking, the door opened, and a small figure waddled into the room, guided by her nursemaid. It was Rhaenys, Elia's daughter and Oberyn's niece, her face lighting up at the sight of so many familiar people. The child wore a simple dress in Martell colors, her hair gathered in little curls around her shoulders.

"Look who's here!" Elia exclaimed, opening her arms. "Come here, my little sunbeam."

Rhaenys laughed and ran into her mother's arms. Elia lifted her up, peppering her cheeks with kisses as Rhaenys giggled, her laughter infectious. Oberyn watched, captivated, and reached out to tickle her side. The little girl squirmed, kicking her legs in delight.

Oberyn grinned watching this scene. "Do you know who I am , don't you, little one?". He asked, delighted. "I your favorite uncle."

Elia laughed, looking down at her daughter. "She know everything about you brother. I tell her stories about your adventures."

Oberyn's expression softened as he looked at the little girl in her mother's lap. "Well, I'll make sure to leave an impression," he said, leaning forward to tap her nose lightly, making her giggle. "We're Martells, after all. We make the world remember us."

They were interrupted by a knock, and Ser Lewyn Martell, Oberyn's uncle and a member of the Kingsguard, entered the room. His presence was stoic as always, his white armor gleaming even in the soft candlelight. He nodded in greeting, his face softening just slightly as he took in the sight of his family gathered together.

"Uncle Lewyn," Oberyn greeted, inclining his head respectfully. "It's good to see you."

"And you, Oberyn," Ser Lewyn replied, his voice measured, but a faint smile tugged at his lips. "It's been far too long."

Ellaria nodded her greeting as well, and Lewyn bowed politely in return. His eyes held a warmth as he took in the group, but he quickly resumed his stern composure, a reminder of the strict expectations of the Kingsguard.

"You are keeping watch over Elia, then?" Oberyn asked, though he knew the answer.

"Yes. She is well-guarded and respected here, as much as I can ensure," Lewyn replied. He looked toward Elia with a protective glint in his eye, though there was a sense of helplessness there as well, as if he knew the limits of his power. "But I don't think King's Landing was meant for Martells."

Oberyn chuckled, sensing his uncle's distaste for the place as much as his own. "That much is clear. My sister's strength is remarkable."

"She's endured much," Lewyn agreed, his gaze shifting to Rhaenys, who had wriggled her way onto Oberyn's lap. "But the children bring her joy, and we'll continue to keep her and the children safe."

Rhaenys, meanwhile, had taken to playing with the small dagger tucked into Oberyn's belt, her tiny fingers tracing its handle. She looked up at him with wide, curious eyes. "Rhaenys wants!"

Elia gasped, pulling the girl's hand away gently. "You're too young for that, my love."

Oberyn, however, only laughed. "She has spirit. Perhaps when you're older, you'll have a blade of your own." He ruffled her hair and looked at Elia, whose expression was a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

"Hopefully not for some time," Elia replied, rolling her eyes playfully.

Lewyn cleared his throat, his gaze softening as he regarded Oberyn. "If the tournament's anything like past years, you'll have plenty of chances to test your own blade, Oberyn. But remember — keep your head in what matters, and don't let the lords get the better of you."

Oberyn gave a knowing smile. "I'm well aware, Uncle. I'll be careful." He raised a brow, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "But a little danger can be good for the soul, don't you think?"

Lewyn shook his head, though there was a trace of a smile on his face. "Just be careful."

Oberyn sent a playful glance to Rhaenys before turning back to his uncle. "Uncle Lewyn, since we're both here, why don't we see if all this Kingsguard service has dulled your skills?" he said, a challenging glint in his eyes.

Lewyn's stoic mask cracked, and a smirk appeared. "Careful with your words, boy," he replied, his voice tinged with amusement. "Being a Kingsguard doesn't make one weaker; it requires discipline, something you may lack."

Oberyn let out a teasing laugh, with a spark of challenge in his eyes. "Well then, Uncle, how about showing me that Kingsguard discipline in a more… open area? I'm sure a spear needs room to breathe."

Lewyn, with a restrained smile, nodded and gestured for him to follow. "Very well, nephew. Let's head to the outer courtyard. There, you'll have all the space you need — and perhaps I will too."

In the open yard, a light breeze stirred the Dornish banners, and the off-duty guards discreetly formed a circle to watch. Oberyn spun his spear, twirling it with practiced ease before adopting a relaxed stance. Lewyn unsheathed his sword, taking a firm, balanced position, his gaze calculating but tinged with amusement.

Oberyn initiated the spar with a quick thrust aimed at Lewyn's chest, which Lewyn deflected smoothly to the side, countering with a low sweep. Oberyn leapt back, his movements light and agile, feet almost dancing across the ground as he observed every nuance of Lewyn's actions.

"Is that it, Uncle? I thought the Kingsguard demanded more than that." Oberyn teased, sliding the spear up and down with precision and elegance, preparing for his next strike.

Lewyn simply raised an eyebrow before advancing, launching a calculated sequence of strikes. Oberyn stepped back once, then again, twirling his body in a nearly choreographed movement, evading Lewyn's blade by mere inches. With a swift turn, Oberyn seized an opening, switching the spear from one hand to the other and aiming a lateral strike that forced his uncle to duck just in time.

"What's the matter, Uncle?" Oberyn said, panting but grinning. "That sword seems too heavy for you."

Lewyn scoffed, amusement in his gaze. "Your big mouth might be your greatest opponent, Oberyn."

Lewyn advanced with a fiercer sequence of strikes, pushing Oberyn back toward the edge of the courtyard. Oberyn started to spin his spear faster, using its reach to keep Lewyn's sword at bay, creating a safe distance as he prepared his next move.

In a sudden shift, Oberyn crouched and swept his spear toward Lewyn's legs, aiming to topple him. Lewyn jumped to avoid the blow, but Oberyn had anticipated it. In the same instant, he used the base of the spear to launch a quick jab toward his uncle's chest.

Lewyn managed to deflect the attack with his sword but lost his balance slightly. Oberyn seized the momentary weakness, twirling the spear around his body and landing a light touch with the opposite end on Lewyn's shoulder, signaling his victory.

Breathing heavily, Lewyn stepped back, wiping the sweat from his forehead. "Impressive, Oberyn. The spear truly is your most loyal ally."

Oberyn grinned, satisfied. "Just as your sword is yours. Maybe next time, I'll have to go easy on you, Uncle."

Lewyn laughed, his expression both tired and respectful. "Perhaps, but remember — discipline is what separates a warrior who wins from one who survives. Don't let that confidence blind you, Oberyn."

Oberyn nodded, stowing his spear with a thoughtful look. "You're right, Uncle. There's always a lesson to learn, even in moments of victory. But it's good to know you've still got it."

They shared a respectful nod before sheathing their weapons, the onlookers dispersing with whispers of admiration. Elia, who had been watching from the sidelines with Rhaenys on her lap, gave her brother an approving smile.

As he approached her, Oberyn's expression softened. "Elia, will you accompany me until Harrenhal ?".

Elia's face held a hint of sadness, but her smile was genuine. "I'd love to, Oberyn. But Rhaegar has already made arrangements for me to accompany him back once he returns. Still," she said, glancing at him warmly, "I'll see you at the festival, and we'll cheer for you there."

Oberyn leaned over, kissing her cheek softly. "That's all I need to hear," he replied. "Just be safe, both of you."

Rhaenys, from her mother's lap, reached out to Oberyn, babbling happily. "Uncle´s strong!"

He laughed, touching her small hand. "For you, my little niece, I'll win it all." With a final nod to Elia, he straightened, preparing himself for the journey ahead.

After exchanging more words, Oberyn and Ellaria said their goodbyes, taking one last, lingering look at Elia and Rhaenys. Rhaenys waved, a big, toothy grin on her face, and Oberyn felt a tug of affection in his heart as he turned to leave.

They made their way out of the Red Keep, the sun dipping lower in the sky. As they walked through the courtyard, Oberyn's gaze lingered on the horizon, the memories of his family grounding him. He felt a renewed sense of purpose; the tournament would be a grand spectacle, yes, but it would also be an opportunity to assert the strength of Dorne and remind the nobles of Westeros of the Martells.

"Ready for Harrenhal?" Ellaria asked, breaking the silence as they reached their horses.

"More than ready," Oberyn replied, mounting his steed with a flourish. He shot her a grin. "And you? Ready for the chaos?"

She smirked, mounting her own horse beside him. "I was born ready, my prince."

With a final glance back at the Red Keep, Oberyn nudged his horse forward, Ellaria following suit. The ride to Harrenhal awaited them, a promise of fierce competition, high stakes, and a stage upon which he would proudly bear the Dornish name. Whatever lay ahead, he would face it with fire in his heart and steel in his hand, for his family and his legacy.