NOVEL NEXT Chapter 7: Chapter 7: The Sunset
POV: Quentyn Martell
Dorne, Sunspear, next day.
"Well... Apparently I wasn't thrown into a fire accused of being a demon, what is good". Quentyn thought to yourself as he is carried by his mother to the main gate. Apparently today is the day Oberyn will leave Sunspear to get to kingsland for the tournament. —After I woke up my parents were on top of me as if I were the ring of Lord of the Rings and they were Smeagol. I think they were waiting for some more prophecy, but they only received a 'Gugu Dada' in return. Well not that they complained. And I strained my throat a lot doing that theater making me go hoarse now, will take at least a week so I can talk again like a baby normally does.
Quentyn observed the world through the half-lidded gaze of a baby. Nestled against his mother's shoulder as she carried him toward Sunspear's grand gate, he marveled at the intricate architecture around him, the tall pillars adorned with sun-and-spear carvings, a tribute to his family's crest. Yet, his focus remained on the farewell taking place today. The morning sun filtered through Dorne's dry air, casting a warm glow over the courtyard where Oberyn, prepared to depart for the tournament.
As they reached the main gate, he saw the entire retinue readying themselves for Oberyn's journey. A dozen guards stood in formation, their sand-colored cloaks catching the morning breeze, armor glinting as they moved. Each carried a spear with pride, their expressions stoic as they prepared to accompany the Red Viper on his journey to the capital.
Oberyn exchanged a few final words with Doran, who, despite his composed demeanor, seemed momentarily softened. The usual calm, calculating gaze of Doran Martell bore a trace of brotherly concern.
"You doesn't need to be the hero of the tale, brother," Doran said, his voice low but firm. "Remember that a single mistake could cost you everything, especially in the game the capital plays."
Oberyn smirked, leaning in to clap a hand on Doran's shoulder. "Ah, but where would the fun be in that? Besides, I trust the 'game' as you call it about as much as I trust the next shadow on the wall. No need to worry—I'll be careful… for the most part."
Doran huffed, an almost amused breath escaping his usual restraint. "That, Oberyn, is precisely what worries me."
With a wink, Oberyn turned away and caught sight of Quentyn in Mellario's arms. "And here he is, our little prophet!" he called out with a grin, sauntering over with his characteristic ease. He reached out and ruffled Quentyn's curls gently. "Well, little one, any new wisdom for me before I face the dragons in King's Landing?"
Quentyn cooed in response, allowing himself to relax a little, though internally, he held back a laugh. — He really would call me a prophet, wouldn't he?
Oberyn continued, "Come now, Quentyn, share some mysterious riddle with us. Or shall I be left to fend off foes and fiery maidens alone?"
Inwardly, Quentyn smirked. "If only you knew, uncle". But he maintained his baby façade, reaching out with tiny hands toward Oberyn's face, only to be met with laughter.
Ellaria approached them, draping herself on Oberyn's arm, her eyes warm as she looked down at Quentyn. "Be good, little prophet," she whispered, brushing her fingers gently against his cheek. "Take care of your mother and sister while we're away."
As Oberyn and Ellaria prepared to mount their horses, Quentyn noticed something peculiar. One of the guards, a man who had lingered close to the family the previous day, was absent. "Where is he?". Quentyn wondered, piecing together the realization that, his "prophecy" had likely stirred fear in the hearts of those around him. The absence of the guard was no coincidence; his family must have silenced him to prevent rumors from spreading.
"One life sacrificed to keep me safe", Quentyn reflected with a pang of guilt, though he forced himself to keep his infant face serene.
The trumpets sounded, and with a final wave, Oberyn and his entourage rode off, their figures gradually disappearing into the distant desert haze.
Quentyn was soon whisked back inside the castle by Mellario. The corridors of Sunspear felt oddly quiet now, the vibrant energy of Oberyn and Ellaria lingering like the echo of a fading song. His mother's embrace tightened as they walked, her hand smoothing over his curls while she hummed a soft, ancient melody.
Once inside, they joined Doran in the solar, where Arianne was already prancing around, her laughter filling the quiet room with a sense of joy. She was too young to understand the weight of their discussions, the potential consequences of her brother's words.
Doran glanced at Mellario, his gaze serious. "With Oberyn gone, Sunspear will feel… different," he murmured, running a hand over his beard thoughtfully.
Mellario adjusted Quentyn in her arms, shifting him so that he could see his father's face. "It's a quiet I am willing to endure if it means he's safe," she said softly. Her voice held a hidden layer of worry, one that Quentyn could sense even through his infant haze.
Doran placed a gentle hand on Mellario's shoulder. "He is as capable as he is reckless. But the capital is a dangerous place, and one can only hope he will take my words to heart." He looked down at Quentyn, a rare warmth in his expression. "And as for this little one, I am not entirely certain we understand what his words truly mean."
Arianne, blissfully unaware of the tension, toddled over, reaching up to hold her mother's hand. "Mother, when will Uncle Oberyn come back?" she asked, her innocent question bringing a soft smile to Mellario's face.
"He'll be back soon, Arianne," Mellario assured her, brushing a hand over Arianne's dark hair. "He's going to a big, important place called King's Landing to represent Dorne and our family."
Quentyn watched as Doran crouched to Arianne's level, his voice gentle. "Your uncle will be back with stories knights, of brave deeds and perhaps even a few daring rescues," he told her, his smile coaxing a laugh from Arianne.
Quentyn, despite his advanced thoughts, couldn't help but feel a pang of admiration for his father's ability to comfort his family, to carry a warmth that shone through his otherwise stoic demeanor. In moments like this, he saw how Doran's calm and calculated nature extended to his family, offering them reassurance even in the midst of uncertainty.
---
POV: Oberyn Martell
Dorne, Later on the Road.
Oberyn leaned back in his saddle as the Dornish road stretched before him, golden sands fading into the horizon. Beside him, Ellaria rode gracefully, her hair flowing in the warm wind as she cast an appreciative glance toward him.
"So," she began with a teasing smile, "do you miss Sunspear yet?"
Oberyn chuckled, a sound as rich as the desert sun. "Miss Sunspear? Perhaps. But I do not miss the closed doors, the council meetings, and certainly not the endless precautions my brother takes. Doran's careful consideration has its place, but the open road suits me far better."
Ellaria reached across the small gap between their horses, her fingers brushing his arm. "And yet, it's his caution that keeps Dorne standing strong," she pointed out, though her tone held a playful hint of contradiction.
"True enough," Oberyn conceded with a shrug. "But there's more to life than standing strong behind walls. To be out here," he swept his arm across the expanse, "this is where I feel alive. Where each mile brings something new. Don't you feel it too?"
Ellaria's gaze softened, her eyes tracing the landscape. "I do," she murmured, her voice nearly lost in the rustle of the desert wind. "But, Oberyn, remember why we're going. It's not just for glory, nor to escape the halls of Sunspear."
A shadow passed over Oberyn's face, his usual levity giving way to a darker resolve. "I know. Martell's honor rests on this. The so-called 'games' of King's Landing… they have taken too much from us. They may revel in their tournaments and pageantry, but I will be there to remind them of Dorne's strength."
Ellaria nodded, her gaze lingering on him. "I'm with you, Oberyn, for whatever comes". She said softly, her words a quiet promise.
As the sun climbed higher in the sky, they traveled through the desert, the sand dunes casting long shadows under the scorching heat. The guards surrounding them moved with practiced ease, their vigilance a silent testament to the loyalty they held for the Red Viper. Each guard wore expressions of stoic determination, ready to defend their prince at any cost.
Oberyn's mind drifted back to Quentyn, the so-called "prophet." He couldn't shake the odd feeling that his nephew's words might carry some deeper significance. Though Oberyn had laughed it off at the time, there was a lingering unease he couldn't dismiss. Quentyn was a mere infant, but that child had the strange, unsettling air of someone who understood more than he let on.
The words of Quentyn echoed in his mind, surfacing from the fog of memory. "Those who linger near the dragon's keep may find no rest," the baby had murmured with a gravity that belied his age. It was a simple phrase, yet it weighed heavily on Oberyn's heart, as if carrying a warning.
Lost in thought, he hardly noticed as Ellaria leaned closer, her voice gentle. "Oberyn, you're quiet."
"Just thinking of the little prophet," he replied, forcing a smirk. "The boy is quite the enigma."
Ellaria gave a knowing smile. "Sometimes, children see what we cannot. Even in a place as ruthless as Dorne, innocence has a voice." Her words lingered, leaving Oberyn to consider their implications as they continued their journey.
The rhythm of the horses' hooves melded with the sound of the desert wind, and the pair rode on, the golden sands stretching far into the distance—a reminder that, though they left Sunspear behind, Dorne's spirit rode with them, fierce and unyielding.