GOT: Reborn as a Martell

Quentyn shook his head."I made a vow. I lost a father and a mother; I'm not losing her too."

"You're a fool. A fool in love, but a fool."

"I know. I hope Dorne can forgive me if I die here today."

"You know they won't."

...

Quentyn didn't answer, he just looked towards the ground, in shame. If you put a woman over a kingdom, what does that say? Archibald would be tempted to say that you care more about your loved ones than a crown but others would think otherwise.

But what's done is done. Quentyn won't budge, and he might as well continue.

"Was the late attack due to your negotiation with the Queen?" Archibald asked in turn.

"She doesn't even know I'm doing this." Quentyn shrugged. "All the more reason to get through this with utmost speed and discretion."

Arch rolled his eyes. Great, so not only are we doing a rescue mission, but the attackers don't know we're doing this.

At least, the snake was right on one point: it was stupidly easy to get into the city. The guards didn't even blink at them coming in.

However, a surprise awaited them in the city.

A knight, clad in Westerosi colors, was waiting for them.

"Lord Henry Sunglass, I presume?" Quentyn asked, seeing the knight, without a horse.

"You presume well, Prince Quentyn." The knight came forward, short brown hair in the wind. "I trust you have fulfilled your part?"

"With what you did and is coming, I think you only need to head to the Queen, tell her what you did and she'll be glad to grant you Sweetport Sound back. Ser Triston is waiting for you, in Dorne."

"I'm glad to hear it, Ser Triston is a loyal man."

"Take care of yourself, Lord Sunglass."

The man nodded, with a half-smile, and walked off. Meanwhile, Arch continued along the city.

On a normal day, they would have been packed with people, but today…there was no one. The streets were empty, and the houses seemed like they had been deserted for days. As for the few men they encountered, all were armed to the teeth, and did not hesitate to be a hindrance.

The streets themselves felt like they were crushing you between their walls and the sun. The heat battered Archibald and he felt like he had been struck with fever. The walk was beginning to take a toll on him, and he already emptied half of his water.

Still, they reached the Black Walls, in the inner city.

Well-named, these ones. Black as night, dark as ink, towering over what looked like a succession of palaces.

There were guards there, and they were much less understanding than the ones at the edge of the city.

Nevertheless, from the top of her horse, the snake did not hesitate to take a proud air:

"My name is Nymeria Maegyr, daughter of Daelena Maegyr, of the Old Blood of Volantis, and I demand to be let through!"

The guards hesitated for one moment, talked to each other in Volantene, and left.

"What did they say?" he asked Quentyn.

"They're fetching a superior."

Soon enough, indeed, an older man came, and the snake said the same thing.

The Volantene then pointed at Arch and Quentyn. He didn't need a translation for what the man asked.

There was a short argument, and right as Archibald thought that it was over, and they would be refused access to beyond the Black walls, the large gate creaked open.

The three of them went through, although accompanied by two guards.

They navigated the infinite labyrinths of the old city, coming across pristine white palaces, until they reached a smaller, but no less beautiful, mansion. A woman was standing at the door.

She was in her forties, with long, silver-gold hair. With a wave, she dismissed the escort.

The snake got off her horse and threw herself in her arms. Again, words in Volantene were exchanged, but Archibald once again needed no translation.

"Come," the woman beckoned.

Archibald and Quentyn looked at each other. Time was of the essence; they couldn't say here forever.

"I'm surprised your guards were let through," the woman said with a thick Volantene accent, "few are the ones who can cross the Black Walls."

"They were not going to let a daughter of the Old Blood without her personal protectors," the snake said, "besides, they are not my guards. Mother, this is Prince Quentyn Martell and Ser Archibald Yronwood. Prince Quentyn is…my daughter's father."

The woman stared wide-eyed for a moment, examining them both, but spending most of her gaze on Quentyn.

"Send the big one away, we must discuss."

What? No! Archibald wasn't going to let that happen.

A glance from Quentyn was enough to prove that it was foolish to argue, and the door leading to the inner courtyard slammed on Archibald's face.

Annoyed, he instead moved through the rooms of the small mansion, observing the rich paintings and sculptures throughout the home. The library itself was well-stocked with a massive amount of books. Taking one off of the shelf, he flickered the pages, reading through what looked like the history of Valyria.

Why anyone would be interested in the history of slavers was beyond him.

He skimmed through more pages and placed it back on the shelf.

During this time, he felt uneasy.

It was as if there were eyes watching him from every corner, every crack in those pristine, white, walls.

Archibald shrugged it off. Probably only an illusion, considering the manse was huge but empty.

He continued to move around, looking at the vases and ornate boxes of jewellery. The snake's mother truly was not lacking of anything, but the relative isolation of the manse surprised him. There were almost no guards, but most of all, where was the rest of the family?

A door slamming shut took him out of his reverie. Out of it came Quentyn, with the two women.

"That was quick." Archibald pointed out to Quentyn, who had ditched the hood and the eyepatch.

"Nymeria's mother is an eietae," Quentyn explained, as if the word meant something, "considering she had a bastard, she became 'soiled', 'impure', if you wish. She is still of the Old Blood, but she cannot stay with the rest of the family, and she loses her right to vote in the important Volantene elections. Needless to say, it was not hard to convince her to leave."

Archibald nodded, but remembered something.

"And the children?"

The snake's head snapped to him, with a slight smile.

"You remember, big man? You're smarter than I thought." She laughed. "Haelaena, Talisa and Myaelis are all in Norvos, they will be fine. And aren't you happy to get out of here?"

Archibald frowned. He wasn't going to let innocents die, either. Everyone knew how the Volantene old blood planned to go if Daenerys took the city.

They left in a hurry, under the intrigued gaze of a few guards, heading towards the Black Walls. The ride was uneventful, until they came upon the same patrol they'd been sent to earlier.

A few words were spoken, but it seemed the men refused to let them through.

The tone was rising, the spirits were flaring, until…

A few hands pointed to the sky. Three dragons were circling the city.

One of them dove to the outskirts, still visible from afar, down near the docks. A burst of flame later, and the walls crumbled.

This was their chance.

The panicked guards fled, leaving the gate open for them to pass through. The group took advantage of this, running down the streets where chaos seemed to have set in.

Suddenly, another dragon came in, flying much lower, and decidedly much larger than the others. It flew over them, ignoring their ant-like presence, straight to the Black Walls.

The horse that was carrying both women reared up, scared, throwing both riders into a pile of silks on the road. Arch caught the older one, while Quentyn managed to cushion the snake's fall.

He helped the woman to her feet, her silver hair untouched, but a frown on her face. She'd have to touch the Volantene ground.

A roar was heard, and all turned their heads towards the dragon, which was hovering around the Black Walls.

Dragonfire came out, but the flames did nothing to the impressive fortress…but they very much did damage to the gates, which cracked under the heat.

Soon, a large cheer came from everywhere around them.

Dozens of people exited the previously deserted houses, like a tide ready to submerge them. Almost all had tattoos on their face, whether of horses, cows, ships, swords or skulls. Some of them wore rags, most had clothing, but almost all of them carried something. Knives, sticks, cutlery, even sharp sticks.

And they were all proceeding to the Black Walls.

This is what happens when you have one freedman for five slaves.

Thankfully, on foot, the group did not really attract more attention. The slaves had risen, but they were much more interested in the people who were living behind the Walls than their pitiful appearance.

However, shouts became clear in the distance.

"We have to move," Quentyn gasped as he took out his sword, the valyrian steel shining under the sun.

"Let's get out of here," the snake nodded.

Archibald looked at the lady with them: with that dress, they'd never be able to run. Grunting, he lifted her and carried her in his arms.

The small alleys followed one another, until they heard screeching in the distance.

Shit.

Dozens of horsemen came along the alley. In turn, slaves came out to greet them with their fists raised: the fools.

No sooner did the tattooed men come out did they get slaughtered by a flurry of arakhs. Of course, it wasn't long till the Dothraki reached Arch's group. Luckily, the street filled with obstacles proved too much of a maze for them to come galloping at full speed.

Archibald immediately dropped the lady as gently as he could, taking out his hammer.

"You'll likely want to stay out of my way and close your eyes, my lady, this won't be pretty." Archibald warned.

Luckily, the first screamer wasn't for him. Quentyn sliced him almost cleanly in half atop his horse, the forward part of the body dropping to the ground, while the horse kept on running.

The sand snake, for her part, skilfully speared the next horse, which came tumbling to the ground, throwing its rider onto the pavement, where valyrian steel made sure he met his end.

More kept coming, though.

Under the swarm coming, Archibald drew his hammer, swinging it wildly.

The first horse got knocked out, sending its rider on the pavement, head first. The second one tried to jump on him, to try and slit his throat. Unfortunately for Arch's attacker, the hammer's pointy end went to stick itself in his side before he could reach him. Another blow made sure he would never have even a chance to get up.

However, he forgot the first. Not dead, the Dothraki ran, not at Archibald, but at the lady behind him, arakh in hand, forehead bleeding, hopping as if his leg was injured, screaming obscenities.

Archibald rose his hammer, but the screamer held his throat, blood gushing out. The lady had produced a dagger out of nowhere and hit cleanly.

"This way!" the lady took his hand, and ran at full speed, towards the left, in an almost deserted alley. Horses would never pass there.

Archibald spared a look behind him, but no worries to be had, Quentyn and the snake were following.

The alley led to a small garden, where they could stop to take their breath.

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