GOT: Reborn as a Martell

( Oberyn )

Sunspear's courtyard was bustling with a lot more activity than usual, with everyone from the guards to the cooks being on high alert.

Indeed, it was today that his nephew, Quentyn, was scheduled to return from his fostering in Yronwood. 

And if he would have been surprised by this decision to come back as soon as the official fostering period ended, there wouldn't be a lot of things he could be surprised by now.

The fact that Quentyn had become an overnight sensation in Dorne had kept him in Sunspear, organizing and directing the efforts to produce the so-called "Quenticilin" medicine here, as well as any other miracle product the boy came up with.

But that had also caused headaches. Because Quentyn was still fostered in Yronwood, this meant that the efforts to spread this medicine through Dorne came from Yronwood, a thought which made him irate.

To the people, although it was Quentyn who was credited with the move, it was Yronwood that gave out the most supplies, thanks to his nephew being there. And he had worried that this would continue if Quentyn chose to stay.

Luckily, his nephew chose to come back to Sunspear. A decision which greatly benefitted him, and would give him less headaches as Quentyn would spearhead efforts from here instead of orders by raven from the other side of Dorne.

The irony wasn't lost on him. Indeed, he was only suffering the consequences from his actions all the way back when he was young and foolish, bedding Lord Edgar's paramour. In truth, the girl wasn't even worth it, but sticking it to the Bloodroyals was.

And in his stubbornness, he'd caused the death of Lord Edgar, and nearly caused a civil war to erupt in Dorne. His brother had calmed Lord Ormund down, and sent Quentyn to be fostered in Yronwood as a means to remedy his mistakes.

Truth be told, he'd always felt responsible for the predicament Quentyn found himself in. Taken and isolated from his family at a young age, and being influenced by the Bloodroyals, all the while Lord Ormund, then Lord Anders, revelled in the idea of raising the next Prince of Dorne. 

That was, if everything went according to plan.

Yet, he never once visited his nephew. Not like he was welcome in Yronwood, but the prince wasn't a prisoner there, and had travelled as far as Starfall and Sandstone. Why he didn't visit though, he had no idea.

Guilt, perhaps? Or fear? But fear of what? A young, chubby boy, who likely is too young to remember the events that led him to be there?

Oberyn sighed, as a few knocks on the door of his solar woke him up.

His cousin, ser Manfrey, entered.

"The procession has arrived, Prince Oberyn."

Oberyn nodded and fixed his hair.

"Thank you, ser Manfrey." He replied courteously. "Have everyone be ready."

His cousin nodded and left.

Oberyn on the other hand took his spear and brought it by his side, running down the staircase leading from his solar to the courtyard, a few guards escorting him along the way.

It was there that he met a few of his daughters: Obara, Nymeria, Tyene and Elia, the others being at the Water Gardens with their mother.

"Where are your cousins?" Oberyn inquired as they all shared a look.

"Trystane is with Perros Blackmont at the gate." Elia answered.

"And Arianne?" Oberyn sighed, already knowing the answer.

Nymeria and Tyene shared a look.

"She's preparing herself." Tyene finally let out.

"Well go get her, please." Oberyn stiffened. "Like it or not, this is a time of rejoicing, to bring the family back together."

Tyene nodded and ran off.

"Right." Oberyn addressed the rest of them. "Please try not to make a fuss, will you?"

"No, father." They answered in unison.

"Good."

Despite these meagre assurances, he couldn't help something was bound to go awry somewhere. Oh well, so long as the matters didn't go back to him…

Oberyn shook his head and took his position, in front of Sunspear's main gate, as cheers echoed through the walls of the castle, the procession likely making its way up through the city.

Through the corner of his eye, he could see that Tyene had succeeded in her mission, and her niece took her place at Trystane's side, although her expression left no doubt as to whether or not she was forced to be here.

At least she was there, which was a good start.

He'd deal with the rest later.

As the large gate of Sunspear's castle opened, Oberyn took a deep breath and waited. A few Martell guards led the way, with a small carriage behind them. In the middle of this procession, though, stood five men atop their horses. Two of them carried the sigil of House Yronwood on their shirts, one man being tall, bald.

And heavily built, while the other was shorter, with long hair.

The three others bore no marks identifying their house, and were all similar in stature. However, none were chubby or round in stature, which confused him.

He got a better look at them once they unhorsed. One of them was blonde, which couldn't be Quentyn, and the other he finally recognized as Gulian Qorgyle, the son of the man who had fostered him in Sandstone.

This only left the boy in the middle of the three, a boy of six-and-ten, with short hair, a lean build and a sly smile. As he walked confidently towards him, Oberyn's heart nearly stopped.

Quentyn had changed indeed. But why the nickname?

Suddenly, it all clicked as a small tree frog poked its head out of the boy's pouch, quickly pushed back into the shirt by a finger, as Quentyn looked directly at him.

"Well, uncle, it's a pleasure to be back." Quentyn called out to him.

Oberyn quickly composed himself.

"Nephew. It has been a while and we are all glad to have you back at home in Sunspear." Oberyn declared.

Quentyn nodded and waited for a moment, before looking confused.

"Is that it?" he asked.

It was Oberyn's turn to look confused.

"I mean, not even a sorry?" Quentyn asked. "Not a single sorry for not being able to control your cock or your pride?"

The courtyard fell silent, as he felt Manfrey repress a laugh in the background.

He grew tense for a moment, but Quentyn smiled and laughed.

Oberyn laughed in turn, and they shared a brief hug.

As they did, Quentyn moved and whispered to him.

"I meant every word."

Oberyn looked at him, shocked at the sheer determination in his eyes, before leading him towards his family.

Quentyn greeted ser Manfrey first, before moving on to the tricky part.

"Arianne." Quentyn nodded and hugged her. "You've grown very beautiful, sister, it's a pleasure to meet you once more after all these years."

"Happy to see you too, brother." Arianne grit her teeth as they exchanged greetings.

Could have gone worse.

"You're my big brother, then?" Trystane asked in turn, helped up by his friend.

Quentyn chuckled.

"Yes, Trys, I'm your big brother." Quentyn moved to hug him as Trystane smiled innocently.

The rest of the introductions went fairly smoothly, and with no incident, although Obara did repress an urge to hit him when he tried to hug her. Fortunately, Quentyn saw the signs and opted just to shake her hand.

It was then Quentyn's turn to make his own presentations.

"Uncle, everyone." He cleared his throat, before pointing to the men who had unhorsed behind him. "These are my friends, Archibald Yronwood, Cletus Yronwood, Gerris Drinkwater and Gulian Qorgyle. They have kept me company and treated me as one of their own when I was at Yronwood. 

They have treated me with nothing but respect and dignity during my stay. I expect you all to do the same in turn."

Quentyn directed that last statement towards his sister, who just turned her head away from him.

With the formalities done, and the crowd slowly dispersing, it was Oberyn's turn to address the men Quentyn came home with.

"You are all welcome here." He said, as they all bowed respectfully. "You are my nephew's friends, and I have had arrangements made for you to have rooms of your own. Maids will show you to them and will answer any questions you may have. 

On behalf of Prince Doran, I welcome you to Sunspear."

The men nodded and gave their respective thanks, but Oberyn scarcely noticed, too focused on the large chariot that was being unloaded in the background.

"Are these your things?" Oberyn asked, surprised.

"Yes." Quentyn answered bluntly. "I've got a lot of stuff in there, and since I'll be here for a while…"

"Good point." He cut him off. "Come with me to my solar, we have much to discuss."

Quentyn looked surprised, and when he didn't follow him upstairs, Oberyn called out to him:

"Well, come on, nephew. I'm sure you are tired and you'll want to rest. We don't have all day."

"Right." Quentyn simply responded and followed him up the staircase, with neither exchanging a word until they entered his – or rather Doran's, repurposed to be his – solar.

He proposed a glass of wine to Quentyn, who promptly refused.

"About what you said in the courtyard…" Oberyn broke the silence, seating himself.

"Don't tell me you're going to deny it." Quentyn laughed. "You're the reason I was stuck in Yronwood for ten years, uncle. Ten years. 

Do you know how long that is? Of course not, you've been wandering about the free cities and Dorne, doing your own thing without a thought about the nephew who is paying for YOUR mistakes stuck away from a family that has grown to hate him."

"Your family doesn't hate you Quentyn…"

"You're a fool if you think so." He answered simply, crossing his arms. "I could tell that none of your daughters liked me, and it looked like Arianne was dragged into the courtyard by force. Do you realize that thanks to your actions you may have caused a rift in House Martell that will never heal?"

Oberyn was fuming.

"Quentyn, listen, I am sorry about the reasons of your fostering in Yronwood, and I promise, one day you will understand, but…"

"Oh, for fuck's sake!" he let out angrily. "I damn know what happened. The deals you made, the sneaky little plans you drew up with father. I've had ten years to think about it!"

No. That wasn't possible.

"What plans?" he asked.

"You know damn well which ones." Quentyn scoffed. "I'll say no more here, but I will need explanations from you and father as to why the fuck you think any of it would work, or, why you didn't bother telling the people it would actually concern."

Oberyn grit his teeth. He could try to dig further, but it seemed that Quentyn's resolve stayed true to the words of their house, as it stood unbent and unbroken.

"Your father wants to see you indeed. We scheduled a meeting for tomorrow, but it seems like storms have rendered the road to the Water Gardens impracticable for the next week or so. We shall meet then, after the tourney."

"Good. I've got a lot to say to him. Most of it he won't like." Quentyn answered. "Wait, tourney?"

"Your return to Sunspear is quite the sensation." Oberyn smiled. "There will be a feast tonight, and a tourney, I hope you know how to fight."

"I don't know how to joust if that is what you mean."

"Not that. There will be a melee pitting fighter against fighter in one-on-one combat, as we Dornish do. A highly-disputed one at that."

"Congratulations on your future victory." Quentyn replied icily. "Try not to poison your blade this time. Let's keep the body count below five."

"That won't be necessary." Oberyn smiled in return, fighting the urge to lay it all in front of Quentyn. "Although I expect you to perform quite well. I was told Lord Anders considered knighting you."

"Consider is the key word." Quentyn replied. "I wouldn't describe my martial abilities as more than "capable"".

There was a short pause, and it was Quentyn that broke the silence.

"Were there any developments?" he asked. "From the other kingdoms, I mean. When we left Yronwood, we had just learned that Jon Arryn had died."

Oberyn stopped for a minute, before composing himself and nodding.

"The Usurper has entrusted the handship to Lord Eddard Stark, or that's what everyone is saying anyways."

"It hasn't been confirmed, then? Why?"

"The Usurper is on his way to fetch his dog in Winterfell as we speak. I trust he will offer him the handship there." Oberyn shrugged. "We never know, though, he might refuse."

Quentyn sighed and covered his head in his hands briefly, sighing deeply.

"No, Lord Stark is too loyal to the Usurper to refuse. He will accept."

Quentyn referring to the self-proclaimed king as "The Usurper" brought a little warmth to his heart. It seemed that the Yronwoods were also vying for vengeance.

"Although." Quentyn continued. "This will bring a lot of changes to the kingdoms very fast."

"What do you mean?"

"A northman taking the handship?" Quentyn laughed. "We haven't seen that since Cregan Stark and the Hour of the Wolf, and you know how that ended. There is no place in northmen's hearts for politics. I give him six months before something happens."

"You think he'll resign?"

"No." Quentyn shook his head. "But at some point, the politics will catch up to him and the kingdoms will be divided somehow. The gods only know how."

Oberyn thought for a moment. This argument was sound. And if the kingdoms were divided, this could be a chance to slip through the cracks…he'd have to think about it. There was a lot to write to his brother about this meeting, and it would have to be sent by raven before dusk.

"In any case, I hope to see you at the feast." Oberyn finally answered. "There will be a lot of people there, and we can discuss the production of your miracle medicine on the morrow. Rest well, Quentyn, although…may I ask something?"

Quentyn, who had already stood up, looked surprised.

"Go ahead."

"Why come back? You look like you harbor resentment towards us."

"You mistake me and my intentions, uncle." Quentyn replied, showing no emotion. "I harbor no ill will towards you. I just wanted an apology."

"Well, I trust you have it. But I doubt you came back for that reason alone."

Quentyn shook his head.

"Father promised me something a long time ago." He said, opening the door to exit the solar. "I've come to claim it."

And with that, he was gone.