GOT: Reborn as a Martell

( Nymeria POV )

Martell banners fluttered in the winds, overlooking the Mander, around the town of Tumbleton.

They were close to here, once, when they sought out Renly Baratheon, but never did Nymeria think she'd venture so far north.

Staring at the opposite bank, she narrowed her eyes. In the distance, she could see activity, with blue and grey tents being pitched under the ever darker skies over the Reach.

The cold wind blew her braid sideways, but she stayed still, trying to get a look at the famous dragon that had been brought from the North. But she saw nothing, the skies remained empty. Would they have been lied to? Surely not, some of the prisoners of the Battle of Kinrock swear they had seen the dragon rain down fire on their comrades underneath the walls of Riverrun.

Then, where was it?

With a sigh, Nymeria put on her black coat and headed back to her own camp, walking slowly as she did so.

Her father's passing had taken a toll, and nearly losing Quentyn too had almost finished her. She still wore black, in mourning, but slowly, she had begun to cope with it. She still had a mother, and her grief would be unmatched by Ellaria's or the young ones, no matter how many keeps Quentyn gave them.

She saw some commotion near Quentyn's tent, the large golden one, with double Martell banners floating above all the others.

She could see some horses with knights on foot, waiting for something – or someone.

Her curiosity peaked, Nymeria stepped towards the tent, under the gaze of the guards present, who did not impede her entry into the tent.

There, she saw Quentyn, sitting at his desk, facing two women, both clad in green.

"What is happening?" she asked.

Both women turned around, but neither seemed too distressed about her sudden appearance.

"See for yourself." Quentyn rose from his seat, handing her a letter.

Nymeria read it closely, and scoffed.

"The rats are cornered, and are looking for a way out."

"Watch your tongue, snake." One of the women stepped towards her, with no fear. "You'll see how hard I bite."

Nymeria smirked.

"Fierce, that little one," she said to Quentyn without skipping a beat, "are you sure you don't wish to wed that one?"

Quentyn let out a soft laugh.

"I made a promise, in the capital, when I left, to Lady Margaery. As long as I am not wed, I would still accept her hand, should she desire it to be so." He shook his head. "Her conditions though, seem unreasonable to me."

Both women bowed their heads, resigned.

"Listen, my ladies, I appreciate Lady Margaery's offer, but she makes a mistake in thinking that I would pass off Floris Flowers as mine own." Quentyn frowned. "She is not my blood, and will not inherit Sunspear. That is my word on the matter."

"And…without the child?" The other woman, whom Nymeria now saw held a small child. "As in…you wouldn't say it is yours, but you would keep her with you?"

Quentyn thought on it for a moment, and turned to Nymeria.

"It would solve a lot of our problems," he finally sighed.

"The Tyrell girl? I've said it before, she'd be too soft for our bed," Nymeria replied.

"She does not have to share it," Quentyn countered. "She'd only have to give me heirs. And, well, Jennelyn is in my service…"

"Hah." Nymeria smiled back. "You're taking me by the feelings, then. It could work, love, but…"

"But?" Quentyn asked.

"You'd need a large dowry," Nymeria replied without a second thought. "If the Reachers think for a moment they'd get out of this without a scar…"

"I doubt they will." Quentyn shook his head. "But as it stands, I have my little idea on the question of the dowry."

"Isn't she married, too?" Nymeria then asked. "To the boy-king?"

"That can be changed." Quentyn sighed. "As I said, it does fix our situation quite nicely."

"I'll leave you to arrange the details," Nymeria stated with a shrug, "but you'll see no opposition from me."

Quentyn turned back to the two women.

"Lady Elinor, is there any trusted person for you to convey my answer to Lady Margaery?" he asked.

"I can…" Elinor Tyrell began to say, but Quentyn immediately cut her off.

"Out of the question. The capital is not where you would wish to be, I can assure you of that. You'll be escorted to Highgarden and your cousin…once we are finished here." Quentyn tapped on the table. "As I said, is there any trusted person for you to convey my message?"

"Ser Arys Oakheart escorted us here, he's a loyal man," Elinor said, her head bowed.

Quentyn winced at the mention of the Kingsguard.

"Ser Arys thought he was escorting us for a negotiation mission," the other Tyrell girl said softly. "If you say that it is your answer and it is to be opened by the Queen only, then he'd do as told without a second thought."

"I don't doubt it…" Quentyn sighed with annoyance. "Well, if there is no one else, entrust this letter to Ser Arys."

"Will you wed her?" Elinor asked, whilst Quentyn put his personal seal on the letter.

"If she agrees to my conditions, I will." Quentyn nodded back.

Both women seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

"And…me?" The woman with a babe in her arms asked, her voice so soft Nymeria could barely hear her.

"Well, if Lord Yronwood deigns to present himself here, then we'll see…" Quentyn looked at her with a pained expression.

It took a few more moments for the new young Lord Yronwood to appear in the tent, and his face, initially fully displaying his annoyance at being summoned, quickly turned to shock as he made eye contact with the young Tyrell girl.

"Lord Yronwood, nice of you to join us." Quentyn smiled. "Please meet your son, Samwell."

Nymeria enjoyed seeing Cletus Yronwood's cheeks turn red with embarrassment, while he walked towards the Tyrell girl, gently taking the babe from her hands.

"He's got your family's blonde hair," Nymeria amusedly remarked.

"As it stands, Lord Yronwood, you have two choices," Quentyn pointed out. "Either you wed Lady Alla right now and your son, Samwell Waters, becomes Samwell Yronwood."

"There is another option?" Cletus asked. "No, I do not wish to hear it, my prince. I shall wed Lady Alla, right now if needed."

He slowly handed the babe to Lady Elinor, and took Alla Tyrell's hands.

"If my lady would have me, of course."

Alla smiled weakly and nodded eagerly.

Cletus pressed a chaste kiss on her lips, and smiled back.

"We can postpone the wedding a little, but I'll at least give my approval on the betrothal." Quentyn looked at the two of them. "Lady Alla, does your father know of this?"

"You ought to ask him yourself, my prince, my father was part of Lord Tarly's host and we have not heard word from him since." Her face darkened at these words.

"I see." Quentyn bit his tongue. "I'll send word to Stonehelm on the evening. The prisoners should be there or at Summerhall. I doubt he would have much say in the matter, though if I am honest with you, my lady."

"Thank you, Prince Quentyn," Alla replied with a smile, taking back little Samwell in her arms.

"And you have my thanks as well, for saying yes to this wedding," Cletus replied.

"I am not so cruel as to deny a man's love, Lord Yronwood. Now go."

The three thus excused themselves, allowing Nymeria to take a seat in front of Quentyn, pouring herself some wine.

"How did the meeting with the two monarchs go?" she asked.

"As expected, they'll let Connington lead the negotiations, even though they'll open them," Quentyn replied.

"Connington?" Nymeria asked, surprised, while bringing the cup to her lips. "The man is too prideful by half."

"Indeed. I think the two monarchs will be too happy to lead the dance. In any case, they should be prepared to…steep asks."

"What do you expect?"

"Northern independence, Riverlander and Vale compensation for the war, surely. Small Council spots, if they are brave enough to ask for them…" Quentyn sighed. "I don't see them asking for more. Their position is fragile and they know it. I don't think they'd push for anything else."

"Good, then it would be easy to scale them back, though an independent North will not go well."

"That's a mild way of putting it. I may just have a compromise, though."

"You always do." Nymeria rolled her eyes.

"Don't look at me like that!" Quentyn laughed. "I just prepared a lot of things. I know they want peace as much as we do. But that's not the most important thing to me."

"Pray tell, what is?" Nymeria leaned her head on her hand, looking at him slightly mockingly.

"Arianne is with them."

Her expression immediately changed, as she nearly bolted up out of her chair.

"What?"

"It seems that Prince Daeron had led an expedition to Highgarden, and took the Dornish along with him back to Riverrun. Arianne was with that party." Quentyn looked down at the table, then back at her. "I expect he heard of Princess Sansa being held in Sunspear, and likely took Arianne and the Dornishmen to trade them for her."

"And she would be here?" Nymeria asked.

"That's what the herald announced, anyways," Quentyn replied.

"And you would trade Sansa for them?"

"Any day." Quentyn nodded. "I have asked for Princess Sansa to be escorted to Ghost Hill, ready to sail to Greenstone, then the capital if the winds are favorable."

Nymeria bit her lip. She also knew that Quentyn would rather have Arianne close to him, so as to keep an eye on her. Despite his popularity in Dorne, some other lords would have liked to set their sights on Sunspear, Willas Tyrell chief amongst them…

She took another swig of the wine, before a guard entered the tent.

"My prince, my lady. They have arrived."

Quentyn nodded, and immediately rose. Nymeria gently fixed his hair, and he helped her fix some of her braids, undone by the wind.

Before stepping out, Quentyn took his Valyrian steel sword, and sheathed it in its golden scabbard, which now prominently stood out thanks to the sun-shaped sapphire on the top.

They exited the tent hand in hand, waiting to go to the edge of the Mander.

It was there that Nymeria got a glimpse of the North's dragon.

A massive creature, almost double Rhaegal's size.

Its scales were a pale blue, and its wings were so large it made the bright blue waters of the Mander turn dark as its wings spread over it.

The ground shook as it landed, revealing a dragonrider on a saddle, like the Targaryens of old. Though the rider looked nothing like a Targaryen.

He was of equal height to her, with dark, brown hair, and a lean build, but that was all that she could see, before Drogon and Rhaegal landed in turn.

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