GOT: Reborn as a Martell

The following chapter is more a collection of chapters that I couldn't release individually, all clamped into one.

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[ Interlude ]

The Dornish Exile

The school of dolphins that had followed the northbound ship finally broke off and fell beneath the waves, back into the depths of the icy ocean.

The Dornish ship The Greenblood's Pearl was making good time in its northbound course as Daemon was left to lament on his failures by the prow.

He had tried to defend his honour, and the honour of Dorne. And he had failed.

At least he had kept his life, thank the gods. But now he was bound for Pentos, then Norvos. Never to see the coast of Dorne again. Such was the price for trying to kill a prince. Or traitor, depending on how you looked at it, he supposed.

He reminisced about the good times he'd had spent in Dorne, and what lied ahead of him now. Ten years was a long time, but he heard that there was plenty to do in the Free Cities. And besides, the Dornish, to satisfy their lust for blood and glory, had joined several sellsword companies in Essos. He could maybe find old friends from Godsgrace in the various companies in and around Norvos.

Yes, maybe that would be a good thing, seeing old friends.

Daemon lost himself in his thoughts, and did not notice the cliffs appearing on the left side of the ship. These were tall cliffs, towering over the sea where the waves would crash down in a thunderous roar.

He raised an eyebrow.

There were such cliffs around Andalos, but they should have appeared on the right side of the vessel, not left. That only left one option.

Worried, he ran towards the captain of the Pearl, Aldeman Martell,a tall man with a grey beard and a few scars that had spent his life at sea. A cousin twice removed of the current prince, the man was tasked with escorting Daemon to Pentos, while a few Norvoshi guards would bring him on the way.

Stange, he hadn't noticed anyone particularly Norvoshi on the ship. Mayhaps they would come and escort him from Pentos.

Still, Daemon rushed to the captain, who was yelling at a poor boy trying to fix a knot or some kind of sail.

"Captain, these are the cliffs of the Vale are they not?"

"Aye." The old man answered. "We have passed the Bay of Crabs and the cliffs you are seeing are the jagged rocks located between Runestone and Gulltown."

"That must mean we have passed Pentos!" Daemon cried out. "Are we to make landfall in Braavos, then?"

"Aye." Was the only answer he received.

For a moment, Daemon was relieved. There must have been a sort of misunderstanding or meteorological event in Pentos, and they would have to dock in Braavos instead.

Not that Daemon complained. After all, he always wanted to see the Titan in person.

"But we're making a stop first." The captain continued.

"At Gulltown?" Daemon asked.

"Eastwatch-by-the-Sea." The captain growled, turning towards Daemon with vengeance in his eyes.

Daemon's heart skipped a beat.

"What?" he stuttered. "The prince said that I was to go to Norvos, not…"

"Prince Quentyn wanted you exiled." The captain glared at him. "But Prince Doran is the one in charge and he is very, very angry at the fact that you tried to take his son's head and wishes no less for you to take the black."

"Prince Doran granted me mercy…"

"Prince Doran granted you your life!" the captain pointed straight towards his heart. "He did so per his daughter and son's wishes. That does not mean that he does not want you punished. When we land at Eastwatch, you will take the black, and you will take your vows."

"And if I refuse?" Daemon gulped, knowing the answer.

The captain drew a steel dagger from his side.

"Then I will personally thrust this into your heart, Sand."

Daemon looked at the blade, and nodded sombrely.

"You will be watched day and night, Sand." The captain continued. "Do not try to escape. And even if you tried, I dare say the seas around here are quite cold and treacherous. Waves the size of mountains roll through the Shivering Sea, and I doubt you'd last long out here."

Daemon looked down, a lone tear running down his cheek as he looked towards the North.

He left the captain and made his way below decks. When he was finally out of sight and earshot of anyone else, he fell down on the ground, and cried.

...

The Disgraced Maester

So far Dorne had been an…interesting experience.

The weather was nothing like that of the Riverlands, or that of Oldtown for that matter. The sun would blaze at all hours, and you were lucky if there were any cool temperatures before the night fell.

What he saw however, was a changed kingdom, much different to anything he had ever seen.

The new "Hospitals" that had broken ground in Sunspear were already flourishing, and the talk of miracle powder being produced at every street corner turned out to be true, with the smallfolk and merchants alike doing their part in producing medicine and potions everywhere.

There were no grey sheep overseeing these enterprises, only healers and heads of various guilds. And in each place where the medicine was produced, there were also little gardens, with a wide variety of flowers.

The disgraced maester guessed that they were cultivating these different flowers for their extracts, which could then be useful for a wide variety of purposes. 

Not to mention the different shops in the Shadow City selling a wide variety of products he'd never seen before, or at least not in these quantities: soaps, peppers, spices, blood oranges, lemons, and things that he couldn't put a name on.

There were small black seeds that split down the middle, which grounded and boiled could wake up the dead. There was fruit that he'd never seen the like of, even in Oldtown, forming the colours of a rainbow. There was even a dark substance that was apparently used for lighting, but that reeked a stench of the seven hells.

He had read about all of these wonders when at the Citadel, but actually seeing them in person was a whole other experience.

All in all, Dorne proved to be nothing like he expected it to be when he was younger. And he certainly didn't expect to be invited into Sunspear's palace, of all places.

He stood, waiting in the halls, waiting to be led into the rooms where the man behind everything he'd seen down in the Shadow City was, pondering his next scheme.

When the doors opened, he was almost disappointed at the sight.

He didn't expect for Prince Quentyn to be an old, wise, man. He wasn't stupid. But the sight of a boy with a large scar on his face didn't come to mind when thinking about the brains of this whole operation.

"Welcome to Dorne." Prince Quentyn said as the doors closed behind the old man.

"Thank you, my prince." The man nodded. "I must admit that I am surprised that you asked for me."

"I was surprised, that is all."

"Surprised?"

"Yes, surprised a man of your talents was kicked from the Citadel." He simply answered. "From what I could hear from the few maesters around here that are old enough to remember you, it seems that you were kicked from Citadel for necromancy, and that the maesters have revoked your chain and achievements."

The old man made a move to speak, but the prince beat him to it, as he stood and smiled.

"Quite a waste, if you ask me." He pointed to spot around the old man's neck where a chain should have been. "I see that you have the knowledged, although you may not have the links to show it, perhaps more than anyone in Dorne. And what is better yet, we have several things in common."

"What things?"

"First of all, we both hate the grey rats."

The old man smiled at that. Rats, sheep. All the same.

"I cannot trust them for the life of me, which is why you will see no maesters involved in the production of medicine or any tasks around Sunspear."

"A wise choice, my prince." The old man answered. "The new ways seem to scare off the grey sheep."

The prince nodded, and handed him a book.

"Secondly, we both yearn to discover the secrets of life, and magic." The prince continued, patting the pet tree frog the old man had mistaken for a statue on his desk.

He opened the book, revealing a bunch of drawings of various species of animals, birds, insects and even humans, with accurate measurements and notes.

"Indeed, it is very well made…" he whispered. "And very accurate."

The prince nodded.

"And finally, we both want the advancement of our society to continue."

The old man nodded at that.

"I can give you a lot." The prince finally steadied, taking the book away. "We might have managed to produce medicine that can cure half the diseases on this Earth, but we still lack the ways to completely and efficiently produce them. Some of the diseases we seek to cure, we have not found ways to do so."

"I came here to help, my prince."

"So, you did." The prince winced. "But I've also heard that you cut living people open at the Citadel. Whether these are rumors, I care not. I have in mind to cut living people open, but I wish to leave them very much alive and well at the end of that ordeal. While you are here, I will not allow any cutting that isn't sanctioned by my person.

However, in exchange for your services and should you manage to perform your duties correctly, I will reward you beyond your wildest dreams, and fund any projects you desire so long as you keep the death toll extremely low, and remain loyal to me."

"Sometimes the pursuit of saving lives will cost a few sacrifices, my prince." The old man replied. "Life is closely related to death, as you well know."

The dornish prince nodded sombrely.

"There are some slavers and pirates that attacked the coast of Dorne some moons ago that are rotting in the cells." He replied. "Prove to me that you can be useful to me, and I shall grant you whatever you wish for your studies."

The old man smiled. This could be interesting indeed. The boy before him had already healed half a kingdom, and there could be great things that awaited beyond the horizon. 

And if he could continue his work on the studies of life, death and magic without the grey sheep scorning his every move, there was a possibility that he could open the gates to a new era in the southernmost of kingdoms.

"Do we have a deal, Lord Qyburn?"

"I believe we do, my prince."

...

( Tyene )

The blonde-haired snake sighed as she walked out of the gates of Sunspear.

Only a few weeks ago had she enjoyed being there, with her friends and family. Yet the castle had changed so much in these few weeks, she couldn't recognize it anymore.

The days of her father's regency were over, and while Arianne was the centre of attention then, it was certainly not the case now. It was as if she had never existed, actually.

Nearly no one mentioned her name, and when they did, it was in derogatory terms. Sylva, Garin, Drey and the others were gone, and even Obara had seemed to move on with life.

But could Tyene really move on? It felt wrong, leaving the castle to Quentyn. It felt wrong leaving him the Sun throne, and it felt wrong to feel that way towards her own kin.

Of course, Tyene condemned Daemon for what he had tried to do. But Arianne never desired for her brother to be hurt. No more than she, who became a prisoner in a gilded cage for weeks after Daemon's folly.

Why did the prince, her uncle, have to punish her daughter so?

But she had relented, seeing that Dorne accepted it, albeit begrudgingly so.

Obara went back to training, Elia went back to riding horses, and the three youngest snakes stayed at the Water Gardens as if nothing had happened. And the least said about Nymeria, the better.

What had captivated her half-sister about Quentyn so much? Tyene herself had spent some time with her cousin, and hadn't found anything exceptional about him.

She had tried to seduce him into doing her bidding, as she had done with men previously, thinking that if Nymeria had succeeded, it would be easy for her to do so. But her cousin was resilient, and looked at it as some kind of game. In the end, it was her that felt used.

In the weeks spent at Sunspear, she did discover that he was smarter than most. But he wasn't particularly handsome, even with the scar ripping across his face. He wasn't that good of a fighter either, both the Yronwoods besting him in combat. Seven hells, he wasn't that good in bed either, for the short nights they had spent together.

So why in the seven hells did Nymeria continue to follow him around?

She thought that her half-sister had successfully seduced her cousin into doing her bidding and being the actual power behind the seat of Sunspear, but that turned out to be completely washed away when Nymeria had laughed to her face.

"I have as much sway over him as the wind has on a mountain" she had told her.

And it certainly didn't look like Nymeria was secretly taking all of the decisions in the castle, far from it.

Did Arianne's insults wound Nym so much that she had turned her back on them?

It was possible, but it didn't explain her relationship with Quentyn, much less why she continued to dance around him.

The last explanation was that Nymeria just liked being around him.

She scoffed.

Bar Obara, Nymeria had always been the most hot-blooded out of the lot. Why turn to someone who was as cold and calculating as their uncle? She would never know the answer.

Even if she and Nym were close once, their relationship was now fractured, and she doubted that her Volantene sister would ever trust her with her deepest secrets again. But all wasn't lost. She still had family she could trust.

She sighed, and took one last glance at Sunspear, saddled her horse, and turned north, heading straight towards the Water Gardens.

...

( Eddard )

The council meetings of the day had thoroughly tired the Hand of the King, as he poured himself a cup of ale in his solar.

He knew what he signed up for when he accepted the honor of becoming Hand, but what he didn't expect was that the southerners would be this tiring. 

Besides that, there were the issues of the crown's massive debts, and the whole issue of the Lannisters potentially being behind the assassination attempt on Bran. All of which made the new Hand extremely uneasy, especially after only a moon of his tenure.

Yet, today was a relatively calm day, and Lord Stark could finally shift his attention towards a letter he had recently received.

Even before revealing the contents of the letter, he could tell that this was a special kind of letter. Instead of coming through the ravenry, it came through a runner, and was given to him personally, its seal untouched. What surprised him, though, was the seal on said letter, a sun split by a spear.

Ned had had few encounters with the Martells. He had met some at the tourney at Harrenhal during the Rebellion, and that was it.

But recent events had made such that prince Quentyn Martell, Prince Doran's first son, had sent him a few letters. Most of them were benign.

The prince sought to trade for Northern timber, which was quickly granted. The young prince hadn't even hidden where the timber was going, as the Dornish saw to raise a new fleet to dissuade pirate raids along the coast.

The Dornish never had a strong fleet despite their coastline, and Ned didn't think much of it. After all, the crown had given its approval during Jon Arryn's tenure as Hand, and trading with Dorne had already been done through White Harbor for generations.

What surprised him more, though, was that it was prince Quentyn writing to him, and not prince Doran. A fact that was then detailed by the fact that the young prince had taken over the Sunspear regency in place of Prince Oberyn.

And while Robert seemed to disinterest himself completely in the affairs of his southernmost kingdom, Ned knew that this was no small issue.

Dornish law meant that women could inherit, and as it turned out, Doran's eldest was his daughter Arianne. Yet, if Varys' spies were to be believed, the Dornish succession was settled in favor of prince Quentyn.

While many council members gave it no thought, Ned knew that this meant that Doran's daughter would have to be betrothed to someone of equal status to her. He didn't receive any letters requesting a betrothal to his son Robb, and he knew that Hoster's request for Edmure had also been denied. And with reports of Dornish emissaries reaching Highgarden, Ned's stomach turned.

Dorne and the Reach had been close during the Rebellion, and while the Reach had graciously fallen back into the fold, the Dornish had harbored immense resentment towards the Iron Throne. For good reasons, he might have added, although he kept these thoughts to himself.

A marriage alliance between the two would make an old threat resurface, and could possibly be a danger to Robert's crown. However, his concerns weren't taken seriously. There had been no betrothal announced, and the envoys could very well be tradesmen, as the Dornish had come to the forefront of the Marches' attention.

Something that had been overlooked in these past weeks were the rumours coming from the Sea of Dorne. Traders from the ports of Yronwood, the Tor, Sunspear and Lemonwood were all talking about miracle powders and potions brewed in the major Dornish cities that could cure an untold number of diseases. 

Could it be that the Reach had confirmed these rumors and sought to acquire the medicine? He knew not, and maybe this letter could bring some answers.

Ned broke the seal and started reading.

The first part was normal, with talk of trading disputes and the like, but the second part was intriguing to say the least.

Now, I must write to you of something I have discovered.

I know what really happened to Jon Arryn. His death is unnatural.

Ned winced. He had his suspicions that his foster father didn't die of a fever like everyone claimed, and had launched a secret investigation into his death, one that hadn't come to fruition as of yet.

I cannot tell you who did it, or at least not in person. We must meet. I however cannot come as the situation in King's Landing is unnerving. The lions are everywhere, although they had no part in this crime.

Ned had suspected the Lannisters of being behind Jon Arryn's death for reasons still unknown, but the Dornish prince, for all of his loathing of the Lannisters, said that they had no part in it. Strange. Stranger even was the rest of the letter.

Trust no one, Lord Hand.

Beware the Spider.

Beware the Mockingbird.

Beware the Lions and their pet rat.

Beware the Stags and Flowers.

Do not even trust me, although my life could very well be forfeit should this letter fall into the wrong hands. I am taking a tremendous risk writing to you, but I feel as it is in the interest of the kingdoms to do so.

Why? What did the young dornish prince have to gain from giving him this cryptic warning?

One more thing, Lord Hand. I trust you are an honourable man, as I have heard and read. You will find that the capital is no place for honor. In your interest and that of your family, shed that honor and do whatever you need to survive.

And if you wonder how I figured out these things despite not having set a foot past the Boneway, know this:

As he continued reading, Ned's face went white. He quickly squashed the piece of paper and obeyed the commands of the letter's last sentence.

Burn this letter as soon as you finished reading. No one but you and I must know of it.

As he watched the paper turn to ash in the solar's fireplace, the Hand of the King had just found a new set of problems. Could he even trust the contents of this letter? How did the Dornish prince find all of these informations? Were there Dornish spies in the Red Keep? And what really happened to Jon Arryn?

He would need to send a reply, soon. Preferably through a runner.

But in the meantime, he would find an answer to his questions through the only way he knew how. Investigating.

...

I need some power Stones guys ...