GOT: Reborn as a Martell

( Nymeria POV )

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.

...

The moment his gaze met hers, he smiled and gave the balm back to the girl.

"Hello, slept well?" he asked.

"I could've slept better if you were there when I woke up," she said with a small grin.

"I didn't want to wake you, especially since I wanted to help these people…"

Quentyn's face reddened slightly as he washed his hands with soap, cleaning the few traces of blood

"I know," she cut in, taking his arm as they walked around, "how many did they receive?"

"About a hundred more since last time." Quentyn answered.

"The Dragon Queen won't like that the expenses are continuing this way…" she trailed off, not even needing to complete her sentence.

Quentyn understood, simply nodding.

"It makes our meeting with Queen Daenerys all the more pressing," he said softly while they exited the tent.

Nymeria's grip tightened.

"Do you think she'll accept?" she asked, with a dose of worry.

"I think there's no reason for her to refuse. After all, it costs her nothing…"

"I have to hope so."

Something tightened in her throat: what if she refused?

She shook her head. Quentyn was right. There was no cost involved for the Dragon Queen there.

Still, it's with a nervous step that both of them made their way to the center of the camp, from where the red dragon banners were fluttering in a weak, dying, wind.

As usual, Nymeria groaned when arriving. For her, who was used to having several weapons hidden on her person, having to give them up was always a chore.

Although she kept one on her at all times, Queen or no Queen. And if Quentyn knew, he certainly didn't protest. As a matter of fact, she suspected he also hid one weapon on him, although she never knew where.

The two of them entered the main tent, which they had begun to know quite well.

The Dragon Queen was there, sitting over her desk, gently tapping on the edge.

Behind her, Ser Barristan stood silent, watching her, slowly cooking in his white armor, while the two Dothraki guards even further behind were the opposite: they were shirtless and with their arakhs clearly visible at their side.

"Your Grace."

Both of them knelt in front of her, waiting for them to give them leave to stand.

Nymeria hoped that the Dragon Queen would soon be gone: this little experience was becoming an annoyance, and kneeling certainly wasn't her favorite activity.

"Rise."

Queen Daenerys' voice was terse, almost impatient.

"Have a seat," she beckoned.

Nymeria and Quentyn didn't have to be told twice and both quickly sat in front of her.

"What is it that you wished to discuss this time?" she asked.

"It concerns a rather private issue…" Quentyn started, "you see, Nym is half-Volantene."

Queen Daenerys' eyes narrowed.

"My family are part of the Old Blood," Nymeria continued, "as a matter of fact, my mother's uncle is one of the ruling members of the city."

Queen Daenerys suddenly raised her hand up.

"I know what you wish to tell me. You wish to be able to negotiate a peace between Volantis and us."

"I think we could try to make it work," Nymeria nodded.

The Dragon Queen let out a soft chuckle, before turning to her white knight:

"Remind me, Ser Barristan, what the Volantenes did with the peace envoys we first sent them?"

"I'm afraid we don't know, Your Grace," the bearded man spoke bluntly.

"In this case, remind me what piece of them we got back?"

"Their heads, Your Grace," the knight's gaze was piercing the both of them now, "and carved on their foreheads, the mention: 'we will not kneel to the dragon whore'."

"Thank you, ser Barristan."

Queen Daenerys put on a half-smile.

"You can see why I am circumspect in how your attempt will succeed."

"I…" Nymeria tried to speak, but the words had difficulty coming out, "I would at least wish that, should you take the city, you spare my mother."

The Queen looked at her sharply, then. With a kind of sadness, compassion, even.

"When we stormed the western half of the city," she finally explained, "there were many Volantenes that could not flee to the other bank. Those that were not slaughtered by their slaves decided to barricade themselves in the city. Some set fire to their homes. Others decided to fall on their swords or drink poison.

They did not spare anyone, either. All of their families followed them: wives, uncles, sons, daughters, elderly or children. They think I reserve a fate worse than death for them, and they do not hesitate to make it known to all. I am sorry."

Nymeria's heart fell. She did her best to fight back tears.

This couldn't be! This couldn't be how it all ends.

"Surely, Your Grace, there must be a way…" Quentyn made to say, but Nymeria immediately cut in.

"What if I decide to go save her?"

Both Quentyn and the Queen's face immediately snapped to her. It took her a moment to realize she was indeed the one that uttered these words.

"What if I decide to go in the city and talk to her? I could convince her to leave."

Quentyn immediately shot her a worried look.

"Nym, it's too dangerous. They will kill you."

"They wouldn't dare harm a Maegyr."

Queen Daenerys laid back in her chair for a few moments, and shrugged.

"I wouldn't see why I couldn't let you."

"I will go with her." Quentyn immediately spoke up.

"That is out of the question," the Queen shot back. "I will not let the Prince of Dorne risk himself in something as foolish as this."

"But, Your Grace…"

"That's a command, Prince Quentyn," the Queen's tone was more confident this time. "Your paramour may try to do as she wishes but I will not let you risk your life for one of my enemies."

"Very well, Your Grace." Quentyn fell back in his chair, his eyes looking defeated.

"As for you," the Queen's gaze shifted back to Nymeria, "you may do what you wish to get your mother out. But I grant myself the right of giving her mercy or not.

This is not a condition, it's a fact. As for how much time you have, let us say that the masters of Volantis have kept me waiting long enough. In three days at the latest, we shall attack. Am I clear?"

Nymeria sighed, but nodded.

"Very, Your Grace."

"You may take your leave, then."

Quentyn and Nymeria both rose at the same time, both looking defeated. None of them said a word as they exited the tent, then the camp.

By the time they were back in the Dornish camp, the temperatures had cooled, but none of them had uttered a word.

Suddenly, Nymeria had an idea.

"Come with me."

She almost dragged Quentyn by the arm, towards the stables.

There, they each mounted a sand steed, and she kicked her mount forward.

"Where are we going?" Quentyn asked.

"You'll see!" she almost laughed. "We must get there before the sun goes down!"

And so, they rode. Past Volantis and up the Rhoyne, into the hinterlands. Following the Rhoyne, they eventually made their way towards the cliffsides, overlooking Volantis, far in the distance.

She knew these roads almost by memory, and soon, she found her way to the place she had been looking for.

A trail almost cut into the side of the hills, it twisted and turned, before they finally reached the hilltop. There, she stopped, and descended from the horse, attaching it to a tree nearby.

"We're here."

She let out a sigh.

Before them, there was a small row of trees, over which stood a view overlooking Volantis, but also, the fabled place she used to go to when she was a child.

Quentyn approached, his footsteps following hers.

They made their way through the small hedge, and then, Quentyn gasped.

There lay a scene out of this world.

Almost carved into the stone lay thousands of pools consisting of blue water, all atop of each other, as if in a staircase.

The rock was completely white, and slippery, too, that looking from afar, one could think that it was snow.

The thousands of pools were almost perfectly carved into the rock, as if a god had taken great care in sculpting this work of art. That's where they got their name from: the God's staircase.

Hundreds upon hundreds of bright blue dots appeared, lining up the landscape.

She took Quentyn's hand and beckoned him to follow her, gently coming down the slippery rock and finally, let himself enjoy the view.

The pools gave a view over the valley of the Rhoyne below. Volantis was slightly hidden behind the veil of the small hills in front of them, but one could make out, in the distance, the sea and the ships dotting it.

While Quentyn took in this scenery, she undressed herself.

Then, with a malicious smile, she told him to do the same.

Gently, she tiptoed into one of these pools.

The sensation of the hot water almost burned her skin, but she didn't care. It soothed her.

Quentyn came close, the both of them sitting in the pool at the same time, the hot water gently kissing their skin.

The pools were not deep, going to waist-height at most. In some of them, you were lucky if you even wet your ankles! But Nymeria knew where to go to, and this pool was her favorite.

"My mother brought me here when I barely knew how to speak," she finally let out, looking at Volantis in the distance, "then, we came together a couple of times. Me and my sisters."

She sighed.

"Then, mother decided it was better for me to go to Dorne. Bastards in Volantis weren't well looked upon. She brought me here, and she told me that she loved me and would never stop loving me even though we were so far apart. I was eight."

She could feel Quentyn's hand on hers, but he stayed silent.

"I came back once, at four-and-ten, and, on my last day, we came here again. I had hoped to visit her again, but things never came to pass."

"It's beautiful."

Quentyn finally let out.

"I always thought that the Winterfell baths were like these, but in the North, and with snow instead of stone." Nymeria chuckled.

"Why bring me here now?" Quentyn asked.

"Because I need to find my mother, and I might not come back."

Quentyn suddenly clasped her arm with his hands, his legs kicking up water. His gaze met hers, and his eyes were determined.

"I am not losing you," he said with determination.

"You don't know that." Nymeria sighed. "The Queen asked you to stay and it's better if you do."

"To the seven hells with her," Quentyn growled. "I don't care about her or her precious crown. I'd trade her crown for you any day."

"What are you going to do? Defy her?"

"Yes." Quentyn nodded.

"It's risky, Quentyn. We might never come back. Dorne needs you more than it needs me."

"Dorne…can go fuck itself. I don't care about Dorne if I can't have you. Dorne needs you as much as it does me."

"People will recognize you."

"They won't. Not if I disguise myself as your guard. We can figure out something."

"Quent…"

"No," he put his hand on the back of her head, bringing her close to him, "we either do it together, or we don't do it at all."

Nymeria looked in his brown-golden eyes for a few moments before closing them. Her heartbeat raced.

She couldn't ask him to do this. Queen Daenerys was right, her mother was a slaver, her life might already be forfeit. And there is no guarantee that even getting to meet her will allow to get her out of the city, let alone alive.

And yet…she was her mother. The mother that taught Nymeria how to read, how to write. The one that taught her to get along with her sisters, and the one that sang her to sleep and told her about the legends of Old Valyria…

But she couldn't ask Quentyn to lay his life for her. He couldn't ask him to risk everything he built to come crashing down because of her. He couldn't see Aliandra being raised alone, without a father or mother. Hadn't she made that argument to her own father, a few months ago?

Her heart was being torn apart, but in the end, she reopened her eyes, and exhaled.

"I've made my decision."

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