GOT: Reborn as a Martell

( Nymeria POV )

Nymeria slowly raised her head from her bed, the sunlight forcing her pupils open like two pincers.

She straightened up, rubbing her eyes, then putting her hand over her forehead, trying to distinguish the figures in the room.

It only took a few moments to regain her composure and her bearings.

The tent had not moved since last night, but the skies had cleared completely. Whereas they had been subjected to dark grey clouds for the past week, today the sun had deigned to finally make an appearance.

She looked to her side, and sighed.

The bed was empty, of course. Judging by the sunlight, it was past mid-day, and Quentyn likely did not dare wake her up when he'd gone.

By accident, her hand drifted to her hair, once again dishevelled.

"Sleep well, Princess?"

The childlike voice came from behind her. She rose up, taking care to bring a sheet over her body, covering most of her figure with it.

In the back of the large tent was a small girl, with blonde hair and little brown eyes who looked almost sheepishly at her, with an elegant smile. Of course, the girl was four-and-ten, five-and-ten perhaps, but a girl nonetheless.

"Well enough, Julia."

Julia was the girl she and Quentyn found in Lys. The poor thing was a victim of a slaver raid on Greenstone just a few moons prior. With Stannis' fleet gone, the pirates had started raiding the coast from Tarth to Driftmark, taking care in avoiding the Dornish coasts, now too well defended.

Julia had been taken as a prize by the slavers and sold in Lys. Lucky for her, the Dornish had been there almost as soon as she and a few other Estermont girls were disembarked from their own ship. A good thing, too: what would've happened to her if no one had come to her rescue?

Nymeria chased away these thoughts. Quentyn and several Dornish lords with him had been scandalized at the sight of Westerosi subjects being sold into slavery in Lys. Almost all of their ransoms had been paid, sometimes by blood rather than gold.

And while most of them had been sent back to Dorne, while waiting for a return to their homes, whether in the Stormlands or further away, they had decided to take Julia with them.

Indeed, she had served House Estermont as a servant, and Quentyn and Nymeria saw the advantages of bringing her along. And among those…braiding hair.

And thus Julia of Estermont found herself in the service of the Martells…a few moons before her overlords, if all went well.

Nymeria approached the serving girl, and waved her hand.

"No need to pour me a bath, I shall manage."

"As you wish, Princess."

Nymeria sighed and went to find a dress to clothe herself with, preferably one comfortable enough for her to ride, while asking Julia to prepare to braid her fine, long, hair.

And the girl was talented, that she could tell!

Her braids were intricate, and she did not hesitate to put a lot of work into making everything perfect, sometimes bringing fine silk strings or jewels into the long braid.

"Julia," Nymeria said while the girl was busy with her work, "please, stop calling me 'princess'."

She couldn't see her reaction but if she were to guess, it was certainly one of surprise.

"I'm sorry…my Lady?"

"My Lady is fine, I've told you before."

"I meant no disrespect, my Lady. But I was told that when a girl and a boy lay together, it is because they were man and wife. And if you lay with the Prince of Dorne, then you must be the Princess."

Nymeria sighed. Julia was a sweet girl, but incredibly naïve.

"Things are different in Dorne, the Prince and I are not wed."

Julia stopped combing Nymeria's hair for a brief moment.

"But you will wed?"

Nymeria laughed.

"I am a bastard. Even in Dorne, marriage between bastards and legitimate lords are not well looked upon."

Julia continued combing, not saying a word, as if thinking about something.

"I think I understand, p…my Lady," she spoke in a sweet tone, "but…even if it is not well looked upon, you may still?"

Nymeria was taken aback by the question.

"I suppose we could." She shrugged. "But it would not do well for the Prince's reputation – or mine. Many lords and ladies are expecting a match with another Dornish house."

"But he is the Prince, he can tell them off!"

Nymeria chuckled at Julia's sincerity.

"Being a Prince does not mean you have absolute power over your lords," she trailed a little, "even if I wish it were the case…"

"A Prince is better than a Lord, though?"

"It is, Julia." Nymeria sighed. "But a Prince cannot rule if every Lord hates him."

Julia said nothing, instead finishing the final touches in Nymeria's hair.

When she was done, Julia brought a mirror.

Her fine, long, braid was done perfectly once more. It was shorter than she usually wore it, but the hair had been arranged with more intricacy and care than she could have ever done herself.

"You did a fine job, Julia." Nymeria smiled as she saw herself in the mirror, tapping the little girl on the shoulder. "Take the rest of the day to rest."

"Thank you, my Lady."

Julia's brown eyes looked at her, almost admiring her beauty.

Nymeria repressed an urge to laugh. A compliment was a compliment, even if it came from a Stormlamder girl. And the fact that she probably looked up to her gave her a warm feeling in her heart.

Before she left, however, she turned to ask Julia,"Do you know when the Prince left?"

"Shortly after dawn, my Lady."

Nymeria nodded in thanks. As to where Quentyn went, she had an idea.

Taking her spear, she stepped outside, into the sun.

The clouds had finally left Volantis, except for a few small white drops spread out over the horizon.

Nymeria hastily put on a cloth to protect herself: it would not do for the sun to burn her skin or cause her to sweat too much!

Leaving the tent, she took a look around her. Most of the tents had taken refuge amidst the shade, while many were already bathing in the river. It was true that the heat was rising, and the waters of one of the Rhoyne's affluents were a welcome respite.

Walking around, she also spared a look at some of Quentyn's knights.

Ned Dayne looked more jovial than usual, wearing a bright smile while arranging his saddle. Archibald Yronwood was standing on a fallen log, a drink in hand, over a small crowd of young squires.

Deziel Dalt was sharpening his sword, trying his hardest to keep under the shade. Daeron Vaith and Ryon Allyrion were discussing over what looked like dead rabbits. Finally, Lucian Toland was outside his own tent, accompanied by a lady very lightly clad.

Nymeria ignored all these little ones, and instead left the Dornish section to head straight towards the camp of Daenerys Targaryen.

She had an audience with her later, but for the moment, she would do well to find Quentyn.

Looking around a few tents to try to find her way, she finally recognized the large flags of Queen Daenerys' tents and found her way from there, amidst a melting pot of Essosi: Lysene, Volantene, Ghiscari, Dothraki…there was every possible race between the Narrow Sea and the Five Forts!

Nevertheless, after crossing some exotic individuals, she finally found the tent she was looking for.

It was a tent from which emanated a dark smell, where most were looking to stay clear or get out of. With a confident step, she went inside, pushing aside the cloths of the entrance.

Inside were hundreds of people, either on beds or on the ground. Some of them were burned, others had missing limbs, open wounds, or worse. Yet, most of them shared something: they had marks on their bodies. Marks burned with iron, or marks that had been cut into their flesh with various objects: whips, knives, daggers…

Nymeria felt pity for these people, all the while knowing her own family was likely contributing to their suffering.

It was then that she spotted Quentyn, talking to one of the girls in charge of the wounded. He held a kind of balm in his hand and was explaining how to lay it on the wound of the poor soul the girl was helping.

She pressed her pace, arriving in front of him.

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