Game of Thrones: The Legend of Quentyn Martell

Third Person POV

The chamber was filled with warmth, not just from the Dornish sun that filtered through the open windows, but from the presence of the Martell family. Mellario of Norvos, Quentyn's mother, sat up in bed, her face glowing with the joy of childbirth, gazing lovingly at her newborn son. Doran Martell, the ever-calm Prince of Dorne, stood at her side, his hand gently resting on Mellario's shoulder as he observed the infant with a serene smile.

Arianne, just a few years older, leaned over the cradle with wide eyes, her fingers lightly brushing Quentyn's chubby cheeks. "Father, look at his eyes! They're so... so beautiful! They look like bright gold!" she exclaimed with wonder, her voice full of childish excitement.

Doran chuckled softly. "Aye, they are. He will be known for those eyes," he said, his voice full of quiet pride.

Mellario, with a tenderness only a mother could have, gently stroked her newborn's head, feeling the softness of his fine hair. Her eyes were filled with a protective love that she knew would last a lifetime.

Near the door, Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper, watched everything unfold with his typical mischievous grin. Silence was never something Oberyn could maintain for long. He stepped forward, leaning down to take a better look at little Quentyn. "With eyes like those, little Quentyn here will have no trouble charming the ladies when he's older," he teased, in that characteristic tone, always ready for a joke.

Mellario laughed softly, amused by her brother-in-law's irreverence. "Always thinking about the women, Oberyn."

Arianne giggled. "You think so, Uncle Oberyn? Maybe he will be just like you!"

Oberyn's grin widened, clearly pleased with his niece's response. He looked over at Doran, who immediately responded with a tired expression but with a glimmer of humor in his eyes. "Gods, I hope not," Doran said, his voice carrying that dry tone he was known for, though with a hint of undeniable affection.

Oberyn shook his head as he stepped closer to the cradle, kneeling beside Arianne to inspect the baby more closely. He couldn't resist a bit of playfulness, but there was genuine affection in his movements. "I've no doubt, Arianne. He'll grow up with a sharp mind, and perhaps an even sharper sword." His eyes darkened slightly, the playful tone fading as his thoughts turned to more somber memories. "Elia would have adored him, you know?"

There was a brief, almost imperceptible pause, but it was heavy with emotion. Oberyn straightened up, his gaze still fixed on little Quentyn—not just as a proud uncle, but as a brother deeply feeling Elia's absence. He smiled, but it was softer, almost melancholic. "I'll see her in a few moons, at the tournament in King's Landing. She'll want to hear all about her little nephew."

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POV: Quentyn Martell

At the mention of the tournament and Elia Martell, Quentyn—or rather, the mind of Alexandre within him—suddenly grew more alert. The tournament. The tournament. It had to be the infamous one, the Tourney at Harrenhal. This was when it all began, the cascade of events that would lead to Robert's Rebellion and the downfall of the Targaryen dynasty. Alexandre had a vague idea of the timeline now—just a few short years before the horrors of war would strike.

As the family continued to talk, Alexandre felt a pang of urgency. He needed to do something—anything—to change what was coming. But how? For now, all he could do was listen and learn.

Once the room had emptied, and Quentyn was left alone in the cradle, Alexandre's thoughts began to race. What do I do now? He couldn't speak, he couldn't walk, and he was utterly dependent on others. "Being a baby sucks", he think to himself.

But his mind quickly shifted to more serious matters. He wasn't in some simple fantasy world. This was Westeros, a world where politics, betrayal, and war ruled. And in a few short years, Elia Martell and her children would be brutally murdered during the Sack of King's Landing. Could he stop it?

Now, lying in the cradle, Alexandre's mind raced with possibilities. He starts thinking about his qualities. His father had been work as a military, disciplined and hardened, while his mother was a kind and pragmatic doctor, being descendants of immigrants. But he took a different path and became a lawyer, with this he has the ability to think critically and understand complex systems, especially legal and political ones. Changing the laws of Dorne to something more progressive, like animal rights or even basic human rights, was likely out of the question. But he knew that his experience would give him an edge in the political games that defined Westeros, specifically in the ability to get followers.

Aside from that I practiced physical activities since I was young and when Anderson Silver became famous in the country, like other children, I also wanted to start practicing MMA. But of course his mother denied it and told him: "I didn't raise a child to have him get punched in the face for fun!".—Well, it's kind of understandable now.

After much begging, in addition to the help from my father who mentioned that a man has to know how to defend himself, eventually she relented, allowing me to sign up for a jiu-jitsu gym, because there are no punches. — Ironically, I had grown to love the grappling art despite thinking it was "gay" in the first class to wrestle around with other guys. Kids. My hard work had paid off, and and I earned a black belt.

furthermore, Alexandre had other hobbies—he'd spent his school days playing guitar and drawing, though I could only laugh at his first attempt at drawing: the final clash between Naruto and Sasuke, which was basically a drawn purple blob of the final clash. And of course, cooking had been a necessity when living alone, though he had a particular passion for Italian food even though He´s a Spanish descent. "Lo siento, bisabuela," I thought with a smile, knowing his Spanish ancestors would probably be a little disappointed with his love for pasta and pizza.

Like every teenager, I was a gym addict, knowing about exercise and diet that will help him transform my body and avoid possible injuries. But my body, enhanced as it was, would only get him so far. The real battle would be fought with words and alliances, much like in the courtroom. I would need to leverage my knowledge of history—particularly my fascination with Roman conquests and the strategies of Alexander the Great. Those would be my weapons. "After all, I don't need to reinvent the wheel; just make it run differently".

As a former lawyer and citizen of the digital age I understood the importance of appearing it's more powerful than than actually being. I will have to use the teachings of Machiavelli, that was clear: to be a successful ruler, it was better to be feared than loved if one couldn't be both. A leader should appear merciful, faithful, humane, and upright, but he must be prepared to act against these virtues when necessary. "The end justifies the means," echoed in his mind. Alexandre would have to embody these principles as Quentyn, blending charm and ruthlessness when the situation called for it. It wasn't about being a good person—it was about being a successful one. 

My love for survival shows it will be of great help. Alexandre had always been obsessed with wilderness survival, binging documentaries and TV shows about surviving in jungles and remote islands. "Survivorman," "Man vs. Wild," you name it, I watched it. I had picked up a surprising amount of practical knowledge from them—how to find water, make fire, build shelter, how to do Desalination. Skills that might actually come in handy in the dangerous world of Westeros, especially if I found himself in a tight spot or on the run.

I had traveled to several countries, and though it was mostly for leisure, I had absorbed valuable lessons about architecture, and techniques that could be useful in this medieval world — The Constructions of the Persian Empire will be very important here. He paid close attention to what the tour instructors were saying — after all, I had to pay pay dearly for it.

He also did an exchange for high school in the United States. He didn't learn much because the teaching there is not the excellence that the films portray. He thinks that many are even functionally illiterate. I starts to think about the time in high school where he, another friend who was doing an exchange from France, and a chicken, were talking. The guy had said that his father working in the wine production at Bordeaux. I asked if it was a state or a city and he replied that it is a city located in the Nouvelle-Aquitaine region, The girl said: "only America has states because it is the United STATES of America".

The guy looked at my face as if to say: "This b*tch has to be from Alabama, the only possible explanation is that her parents are blood relation". I just gave a sideways smile and did the pose with my open palm close to my shoulder and thought: "she is hot" — but on the outside I just said: "she has a point!". 

Another moment that made me question human stupidity, was in the United States during the pandemic. I didn't just find one... or two, but THREE attendants with masks but with a hole in the nose. Obviously I asked them why they pierced their masks. They replied: "that it was to make it easier to breathe". — you must ask yourself: "did you correct them?". Of course not!. One thing about me is that I never correct stupidity but always add more fuel. So I said: "Great idea, I'm also having trouble breathing with mine, I'll do it when I get home". 

I'm the kind of guy that when someone calls me wrong I never say they're wrong. I impersonate the person. I call receivable prank. I didn't want to do it but since the opportunity was given to me, why not? One time a guy called thinking he was calling a cell phone technician and reported having a problem with the charger. I spent about 30 minutes scolding him, asking him to open the device and tell me if there was corrosion, I asked him to clean it and how to do it. Then I said: "Ok, we're almost finished, I'm going to need you to take the charger cable, do you have it in your hand?... okay, I'll wait... ready. Now I'm going to need you to take the cable... stretch it... and stick it up your ass". After that I just put the cell phone on speaker and started to cry laughing while the guy cursed me. Good times.

Ok, back to business. Alexandre also recognized that Dorne, isolated from the rest of Westeros, had unique opportunities. As a place historically less involved in the bloody conflicts of the Seven Kingdoms, Dorne could be fortified, its resources better utilized. If he could strengthen Dorne's economy and military without raising too much suspicion, it might survive the coming storm.

Of course, all this would take years. But Alexandre had one advantage the people of this world did not: foresight. He knew the chaos that would unfold. If he could anticipate it, steer clear of the worst of it, and prepare, perhaps he could change fate—not just for himself, but for Martell, for Dorne.

As the sun began to set outside the window, casting long shadows across the room, Quentyn smiled to himself. His first steps might be small, but they would be deliberate.

"I may not be able to change everything," he thought, "but I'll be damned if I don't try."

But when he was lost in his thoughts the door creaked open, and a figure slipped in—Oberyn, with his usual mischievous grin plastered on his face.

"Ah, little Quentyn," he whispered, bending over the cradle to look at his nephew. "Already deep in thought, huh? Perhaps you'll turn out more like me than your father would wish," he teased, his eyes twinkling with that ever-present playful gleam.

Quentyn stared back with newfound clarity, though still bound by the limitations of his infant body. Oberyn's presence was a reminder: this man, the Red Viper, would be both an ally and a key player in what was to come.

Oberyn speak. "where did it end up?". But the eye shone and said "found". He bent down picking up a silver ring with a symbol of a sun embedded in that was under the bedside table. "Can't lose this," he muttered to himself . He looked down at Quentyn one last time, his smile still there. "You and I, my nephew, we'll have much great fun together."

As he left the room again, Alexandre realized that time was not on his side. Oberyn would be the first piece he needed to move on the board.

And as the night deepened, one thought solidified in Alexandre's mind: the tournament at Harrenhal would be my first real test. I didn't know yet how I would influence its outcome, but one thing was certain—that event would shape the future of Westeros, and this time, I'd be ready.

But before making a plan, I can't just think about my qualities and capabilities. I have to know myself, list my defects and shortcomings, and how to correct them or at least make sure they don't create a problem in the future.

Sun Tzu said: "Know yourself and your enemy, and in a hundred battles, you will never be in danger."