GOT: Reborn as a Martell

"Look, I see that you are annoyed by the Valemen, but Lord Royce was right. Torrhen knelt, but he saved the North from suffering Dorne's fate.

The Dragon's Wroth essentially ensured that we wouldn't be a major power for three generations, and even then, Morion Martell squandered it for his futile quest of vengeance. You have a golden opportunity to save your people and ensure their prosperity."

...

Prince Daeron stayed silent, laying back in his chair, likely contemplating the possibilities.

"You think it would work?" he finally asked.

"I think it would be a hard sell for me, but I can convince King Aegon and in turn he can convince Queen Daenerys." Quentyn smiled.

"And Lord Edmure?" Prince Daeron asked in turn.

"Lord Edmure will be happy with his Westerlander keeps, and a position on the Small Council," Quentyn surmised.

"Have you thought about making him Hand?" Prince Daeron suggested.

Quentyn leaned back in his chair, a slight smile appearing, likely joyful to see Connington leave. Not that he was a bad Hand, but one that lacked a lot of tact.

"It could work, yes, I could discuss it. King Aegon wishes for peace as much as you and I, and Queen Daenerys will not mind to see Lord Connington step down."

Prince Daeron nodded to that. "I…cannot promise anything," he said, crossing his hands, "but the proposition in itself has the merit of being discussed."

"There is one more thing, though," Quentyn pointed out.

"What would it be?" Prince Daeron asked, confused.

"You cannot accept Lord Edmure's proposal of giving you a keep in the Westerlands." Quentyn promptly replied.

"Why?" Prince Daeron frowned.

"Because you exist, simply," Quentyn replied, shaking his head. "As long as you draw breath and have heirs capable of riding dragons, you are the biggest threat to King Aegon and Queen Daenerys' rule."

Prince Daeron's voice was curt as he spoke, "I would not turn against them." .

"But how can they be sure? Or how can they be sure that the Northmen will not grow sick of them after ten years, and plot to put you on the throne? How can they be sure that Lord Edmure does not fancy himself King, or Lord of the Westerlands, and use you, his vassal, to achieve his goals?" Quentyn asked. "Lord Jon, I will speak to you in all honesty, because I know this is what you would prefer. You cannot be far away from the monarchs; they will keep you close."

"I would be a hostage," Prince Daeron snarled.

"No." Quentyn shook his head. "You would be a Prince of the Realm."

"I am no Prince!" Prince Daeron stood up.

Quentyn just looked at him from below, his gaze unflinching.

"You are, no matter what you say. To Aegon and Daenerys, you will always be Prince Daeron. With your dragon, to everyone, you will always be Prince Daeron. Only the Northmen will see you as Lord Jon Stark. Your claim is weak, it is true, but so are both Aegon's and Daenerys'."

"I will not be a prisoner, nor will I accept Dragonstone or Harrenhal," Prince Daeron angrily replied.

"Then do not be. A Prince is no prisoner. Again, you are seeing this the wrong way. Be a Prince to them, but be Jon to you," Quentyn said. "A mummer's farce, yes, I do admit. But it is necessary. If you refuse, the realm will bleed, whether you wish it or not, in one day or a hundred years, but it will bleed."

"And what do you propose?" Prince Daeron scoffed. "To play a mummer's farce, in their capital, that nest of vipers?"

Nymeria twitched, but kept silent.

"I'd offer you Summerhall," Quentyn replied.

Prince Daeron looked at him, confused.

"Summerhall?" Prince Daeron asked. "It is a bunch of ruins."

"Summerhall was a keep given to me by King Aegon and Queen Daenerys," Quentyn simply said,."I could give it to you…as my sister's dowry. I would make sure you have a household guard, and I would pay to restore the castle. Aegon and Daenerys would be happy to have you just a week or two's ride or a few days' flight from the capital, and I and Arianne would be happy to be close to Dorne. Summerhall's lands are rich and fertile, and you would lack for nothing."

Prince Daeron seemed to relax at these words, and sat back down.

"Summerhall is…a generous proposition. If you would agree to restoring the keep, I would be inclined to talk to Arianne about it," Prince Daeron answered.

"If you would agree to this, I could also convince the King and Queen to extend Summerhall's lands further, and I would also personally dispatch a team of builders to model Summerhall after Sunspear," Quentyn continued.

"After Sunspear?" Prince Daeron looked confused. "You mean to decorate it in the Dornish style so Arianne would feel more at home?"

"Yes, but also installing proper bathrooms, running water, showers, flushing toilets, everything."

Nymeria repressed a laugh at how wide Prince Daeron's eyes went as Quentyn listed the new Dornish advancements.

"That is something that I need to discuss with her," Prince Daeron interrupted Quentyn's listing. "But speaking of Sunspear, we must talk about my sister."

Quentyn moved his seat forward, adjusting his position, leaning ever forwards.

"Princess Sansa is a guest at Sunspear, and I can assure you, she has been treated with the respect and comfort befitting her station. Not a hand has been laid on her," Quentyn assured. "However, her stay in the capital has been…marked."

"Marked?" Prince Daeron asked.

"The Lannisters were not kind to her. While her virtue is untouched, her mind and body, less so." Quentyn sighed. "We've done our best to make sure that these days are behind her."

"The Lannisters will pay, in due time." Prince Daeron nodded. "Though, I think you already have executed most of that vengeance."

"Indeed." Quentyn smiled back. "Which is why I will also argue for Cersei's head to be included in our agreement should the North remain in the fold."

"A most welcome proposal, but where does Sansa stand in all of this?" Prince Daeron asked.

"I would agree for Princess Sansa to be traded back for my sister." Quentyn frowned. "But I fear that this is not on the table. So, I will settle for the Dornishmen you hold."

"You mean to accept the dozen Dornishmen I have, in exchange for Sansa? Nothing else?" Prince Daeron looked confused.

"Nothing else." Quentyn shrugged. "You have nothing of real value to offer me. Gold? I have that. Grain? I have it too."

"Timber," Nymeria heard herself spout.

Quentyn turned around, looking surprised, but gave her a gentle smile.

"Timber." Quentyn nodded. "That is a good thought. Let us say, the weight of Princess Sansa, in thousands of trees? Over a long period, of course."

Prince Daeron looked thoughtful, and instead replied. "Hundreds."

"That sounds reasonable to me." Quentyn nodded with a smile.

"And when can I expect to see my sister again?" Prince Daeron asked, his gaze unflinching.

"I'll send a raven to Sunspear as soon as we are done. I shall have her put on a ship in Ghost Hill and brought to Greenstone, then Storm's End, and from there to the capital, once it is taken," Quentyn replied. "Good weather permitting, of course."

"Then I'll release your Dornishmen whenever Sansa is brought," Prince Daeron countered. "Though, will your monarchs agree to this?"

"Princess Sansa is none of their concern. They have no say in how I wish to release my…"

"Hostages."

"I'd have said guests, considering Princess Sansa seems to be taking a liking to Dorne, but yes."

"I shall not debate on pointless words, though, have we discussed everything?" Prince Daeron then asked. "I'd rather you were in charge of the negotiations; we would have had peace in no time."

"I would have liked it that way too, but I fear that all I can do is counsel." Quentyn sighed deeply. "My own counsel which is being drowned out in the shouts of victory…"

"Aye, I've tasted that too," Prince Daeron agreed.

"One more thing, before I forget." Quentyn bit his lip. "Your children will have to forfeit their claims on Sunspear, of course."

Prince Daeron stared at him blankly for a few moments, but agreed to this too.

"Now, comes the difficult part." Quentyn sighed as he stood.

"Whatever do you mean?" Prince Daeron asked, confused.

"Right now, King Aegon and Princess Daenerys are preparing for battle, and not many things will let them back down, let alone the news that I negotiated with you in secret." Quentyn shook his head. "It will be hard to convince them to leave it. Though I have some idea."

"How will I know that you've succeeded?" Prince Daeron asked.

"If we are to give battle, it will be on the field next to Tumbleton, when both battles of the Dance occurred, surely," Quentyn explained. "I have no doubt that you will be atop your dragon, at the hour, and so will our own. If you see white smoke coming from the woods, then it means that there will be no battle, and I have succeeded."

"And if not?"

Quentyn took a deep breath, and looked at him with sad eyes.

"Then I wish you good fortune in the wars to come."

Prince Daeron and Quentyn shook hands, and the Prince left the tent with his large guard, as silently as he had entered it.

"Do you believe in this peace?" Nymeria asked Quentyn.

"I cannot do anything else than believe in it," her lover just replied, running a hand through his hair, "because I do not know what I shall do if it does not happen."

"There will be fire…and blood." Nymeria warned.

"There will be screams, tears and shouts," Quentyn replied in a low, ominous, voice. "And the only winners will be the dead."

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