GOT: Reborn as a Martell

( Anders I )

Anders Yronwood scratched his head in amazement. Only two moons ago, he had braced himself for the otherworldly response he'd get from Prince Doran after announcing his son had fallen and was likely going to die. Now…he was confused.

It started with Cletus saying that the prince was behaving abnormally, running and taking his sparring lessons seriously. The fall had apparently changed something in him, although Cletus also said he'd lost much of his horse-riding skills, and much of his memory in the process. 

His knowledge of Dorne was basic, and much of his foreign tongues were forgotten, although he somehow managed to learn both Old Andalic and High Volantene, the language of the noble class of Volantis and the generally-spoken language of Lys, in a short amount of time.

He'd seen the prince spar and attend his lessons, more focused than ever. Cletus had told him that the old prince died, and he was inclined to believe it. The man he was fostering wasn't the boy he was a few weeks ago. No, he was now so much more. There was an opportunity to seize.

There were a couple of knocks at his solar's door, followed by it slowly opening. Anders smiled, and gestured for the boy to enter.

"You asked for me, Lord Yronwood?" he asked.

"Indeed, I have, young prince."

Anders could barely register how much prince Quentyn had changed. He's shaved completely, and cut his hair much shorter than the usual. He'd lost weight, confirming the rumors he heard about the prince eating much less than usual, and looked much healthier than usual.

"What do you require of me?" the boy asked.

"I merely wondered what happened?" Anders replied. "Do not get me wrong, I admire the efforts you are putting into these lessons, but I cannot help but feel something changed."

"Something has changed indeed, Lord Yronwood." Prince Quentyn nodded. "I decided to take charge, for once."

"And what has triggered this change?"

"The fall changed me. It made me realize that I have to cease lamenting on what I am, and become what I wish to be."

"And what do you wish to be?"

"A strong prince of Dorne."

"You are aware that you are not the heir to Dorne?"

"I said a prince of Dorne." Quentyn rectified him. "Not the prince of Dorne. I intend to make my family proud, and for that, I needed to change. Physically, intellectually, and mentally."

"I see…" Anders trailed. "Well, you've made quite the impression already. You've lost, what? Six, seven pounds already?"

"Hopefully I'll lose more." The prince shook his head before looking down at his chest. "Being stocky isn't really comfortable."

"You've been like this ever since we've started fostering you."

"Well, no better time to change than now." The prince smiled. "I am due to come back to Sunspear in two years, correct?"

Anders nodded.

"After your sixteenth nameday."

"Well, I wish my family to not be able to recognize the man I have become."

"That, they won't." Anders chuckled. "I barely recognize you if I'm being honest, prince Quentyn."

The prince smiled.

Quentyn rarely smiled. In fact, the smile shocked Anders to the core. He had such a sweet smile, much like his uncle, that fucking bastard. If he ever got his hands on the Red Viper again…

But Anders shook himself out of this. Now wasn't the time to bring back sour memories, and it wasn't the time to compare prince Quentyn and prince Oberyn. The prince's smile was a genuine one, but he had a hard time accepting the resemblance.

"Lord Yronwood, are you alright?" the prince inquired.

"Yes, fine." Anders responded. "In truth, I wanted to know how you were faring after your fall. We have not had much time to talk recently."

"My wrist has healed, and although it does still hurt, fortunately it is the left one. As such, there is little risk when I spar, or so Maester Morgan says." The prince replied. "And most of my scars and bruises have healed, although I may bear some for the rest of my life."

"Well, you know what they say about scars." Anders chuckled. "They make the maidens blush."

Prince Quentyn stood in shock for a second before chuckling.

"We're dornishmen, Quentyn, we can joke about things like this." Anders calmed down. "Right. Well, I won't hold you any longer, it has reached my attention that you have a spar with my nephew Archibald. Or so ser Raymund told me."

"Ser Raymund Drinkwater is a good teacher." The prince acquiesced.

"The best in Dorne!" Anders laughed. "Right, I won't hold you up, prince Quentyn, you may go."

The prince nodded and turned to exit the door, before Anders brought his hand to his forehead, slapping it.

"One more thing, I had almost forgotten." He cried out as Quentyn approached the door.

"Yes?"

"Lord Franklyn Fowler and his three daughters are coming in a month. He and I have much to discuss, and I know you had a particular interest in their house."

Quentyn looked pensive for a moment.

"Fowler…" he whispered. "I thank you, Lord Yronwood, good day."

...

Archibald I

The prince hit the sandy floor of the courtyard once again, as Archibald chuckled.

"Well, I lasted three seconds longer than last time, it's improvement, isn't it?" Quentyn asked Ser Raymund.

"Better." Ser Raymund acquiesced, not letting a smile go through. "Your positioning is good, but you need to work on what happens next. Go again. Archibald, please go light on him."

Archibald nodded. He was always going to go light on him anyways. People had always told him that he was tall and strong, and could not control his strength. Since childhood, he has tried time and time again to control this strength, and it had been a true test every time.

And when his friend came to him and ask for his help, well that was enough for him to concentrate at holding in his blows. Not like he was very experienced with the sword in the first place, but he was surely better than the prince who hadn't touched a sword in ages.

They went for another dance, their sparring swords clashing. It wasn't long till Quentyn was on the back foot, as he struggled to parry another blow. Once more, it seemed, this one wouldn't last long.

However, the prince darted to the side, and tried something different. Instead of continuing to parry Archibald's blows, he ducked down and went straight for the legs. A good strategy, especially considering how slippery and quick the prince was.

Quentyn got a strike on Archibald's left leg, but this wouldn't be enough, as he just struck at the prince's side, sending him rolling on the ground once more.

"You're hit." Archibald told him.

"Aye." Quentyn acquiesced. "But so are you."

"Yours is fatal." Archibald shook his head. "Not mine."

"Try walking on a battlefield with a leg and a half." Ser Raymund cut in. "Good progress, prince Quentyn. However, you still need to work on your guard and your footwork.

Speed seems to be your strong point. Make the enemy run. Archibald is tall, but he tires easily. Weaken him, slow him down, and then look for an opening.

"Hey, I don't tire easily!" Archibald protested.

"Faster than the prince." Ser Raymund corrected. "You need to cut down your opponent before he gets a chance to outmanoeuvre you. Make sure the prince cannot flank you, Arch, you got too confident, and the prince is right, you cannot continue fighting with the wound he inflicted you."

Archibald laughed as in the distance; Cletus chuckled.

"Well, it seems that Quentyn is improving, isn't it right, Arch?"

"He's not catastrophic."

"I'll take that as a compliment." Quentyn smiled as he downed some water.

"Impressive." Came a voice behind them, which Archibald instantly recognized as his cousin Ynys'. He knew Quentyn had a massive crush on her, and was waiting for Quentyn's face to turn completely red the second they'd see each other.

"You've changed a lot, Quent." The dark-haired woman smiled. "And Arch, you've gotten taller."

"Maester Morgan says I still haven't finished growing." Archibald grinned.

"Sorry, my memory is a bit tight right now." Quentyn looked at Cletus and Archibald, then at Ynys.

Cletus stepped in.

"Quentyn fell a few moons ago. He forgot a lot of things."

"Oh, I've heard." Ynys raised an eyebrow. "I didn't know about the memories. Do you recognize me? I'm Ynys. Cletus' older sister?"

Quentyn suddenly grappled his forehead with two fingers, as if in pain, as the three Yronwoods looked at each other in confusion.

"Ynys…" the prince breathed out, before relaxing, back to his normal self. "Yes, I remember now. Bits and pieces, I'm sorry if it's all mixed up."

Ynys just smiled, while Archibald expected Quentyn to go red any second now.

"My sister has just been betrothed to Ryon Allyrion." Cletus explained.

Any moment now…

"Oh?" Quentyn acted surprised, but Archibald knew that surprise was feigned. "My congratulations. Is there a wedding date?"

Any moment now…

"In six moons actually." Ynys replied.

Any moment now…

"Well, congratulations to both of you." The prince kissed Ynys' hand. "I do hope he makes you happy. And if he doesn't, just ask for Arch, and we'll get rid of the problem." He winked.

Ynys chuckled.

"That won't be necessary, thank you for your concern. Good day, my prince."

Quentyn smiled as Ynys went on her way, as he and Cletus resumed their conversation, leaving Archibald baffled.

The new haircut? Fine. The new habits? Fine. The lessons? Fine. The running, sparring and outdoor activities? Why not, he's much better this way.

But Quentyn not blushing the second he sees Ynys? Or not reacting when she announces her marriage, seven hells, even congratulating her? Who are you and what have you done with Quentyn Martell?