Chapter 7: Quentyn I
A.N: Here's an early chapter, the next one is going to be a big info dump about Baelon's actions during the previous years. And after that comes the juicy family drama.
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"HOLD YOUR F*CKING GROUND! FOR EVERYONE THAT HITS THE BUCKET, I WANT TWO OF THE DRAGONSPAWN DEAD!"
'I hate f*cking arrogant lords, sitting on their asses watching us do their dirty work.' He thought.
Quentyn was a veteran of more than a dozen battles, he fought as a sellsword in Essos for years to provide for his family in Dorne, in there he faced all sorts of people, Dothraki, other sellswords, and Unsullied.
But while these guys are not as fearless as unsullied, their efficiency and peculiar equipment make them almost more annoying to deal with than those puppets, for every time one of them dies or gets injured, instead of just marching over him, they hold their formation by pulling him inside while another one quickly replaces him from the rear.
Fighting the unsullied felt like facing tireless wargs, but they didn't have the sense of cohesion that these fuckers had.
He was too old for this sh*t, when he was recruited as a man-at-arms by Qoren Martell, he thought the Stepstones would be the end of it, but now he has to deal with this bullsh*t!
He attempted to put a hole in his enemy's head with his spear, but he was too skilled with his queer round shield.
His attention was grabbed by the screams of his comrades from the center of the battlefield, there he saw a most peculiar sight.
Two men, distinct from these peculiar footmen, were wreaking havoc on their side.
The first one was a very bulky tall man wearing heavy armor like it was made from leather, holding off almost a dozen soldiers with his huge shield, while clobbering a poor bastard with his mace.
The other one's unique silver-white hair denotes him as the Targaryen Prince.
Quentyn thought he saw the best swordsmen in the realm, he remembered clapping for the First Sword of Braavos as he won his fiftieth challenge in a single night, he remembered the Rogue Prince cutting through men and charging through arrows, and for him to disappear with the Crabeater, a fearsome swordsman himself, in a cave and coming out carrying the top half of his body.
He saw a lot of swordsmen, Khals, knights, or just soldiers fighting skillfully, but he never, ever, saw someone who could cut through so many people so effortlessly, his sword was a blur, cutting through men like butter, while his movements were brutally efficient, dodging attacks from what should be blind sides as if he had the reflexes of a cat.
He thanked the gods that they weren't in his proximity, although he swore that the prince looking in his direction for a second.
'Must be my imagination, he thought
"ROCK!"
A few seconds after the warning, he fell forward on the ground as something pushed him from behind.
Damn these catapults! They can dodge them since they are aiming for the center of their troops, but the soldiers in their rush of getting away from the impact zone, push the others forwards toward the enemy wall of spears.
He suddenly rolled away from an enemy spear, but it still managed to scrape his left arm, before he could get screwed over he frantically stood up.
He dodged another thrust, and finally managed to puncture his opponent's leg, only for him to get replaced in quick order. F*ck! This is so demoralizing!
At this point, they're just going to get massacred!
"REINFORCEMENTS!"
"THE DAYNES ARE HERE!"
"THEY ARE CROSSING THE BRIDGE!"
"THE SWORD OF THE MORNING CAME TO THE RESCUE!"
Finally! Took them long enough! Now they could just charge through their flank and free some space for the infantry.
He felt dread as instead of the roars of joy that he expected, his rear echoed with the screams of agony and suffering.
Realizing that the battle is lost, he just threw his weapon down, letting the infantry walk past him.
He fell on his arse, exhausted.
'I did all I could' He thought.
His face was covered in a man's shadow, he looked up to see the smirking face of the prince.
"Hey, what is your name?"
He frantically stood up, bowing in front of the man.
"Q-Quentyn, your grace."
"I saw you while we were fighting, you held up quite well against our spearmen, and with such shabby equipment too, don't you think, Rodrick?"
"Yes, your Grace."
"Alright, Quentyn, can I call you Quentyn?" Asked the prince.
But before he could respond he just continued talking.
"How about a job offer, Quentyn?"
"A job offer? Your grace."
"Well yes, you look like you may come from Sunspear, and with your skill with a spear I assume you're at least somewhat knowledgeable about the people, am I right?"
"Y-yes your Grace! I worked as a guard for a while there, before the War on the Stepstones."
"Oh? Then that is great! You see, I require someone who could tell me details about it, any you can spare."
Before he could respond, one of the purple-mantled men at arms approached the prince.
"Your Grace! We finished gathering the hostages."
"Very well, which ones did we catch?"
"Lords Vaith, Gargalen, and Toland, they tried to escape from the other bridge, but surrendered at the sight of your Dragon, Your grace."
"Hmm... What about the rest?"
"Lord Allyrion died in battle, Lady Jordayne is at Sunspear, while Prince Matell managed to escape through some boats borrowed from Planky Town along with some men at arms."
"Well, that complicates matters, but not so much, they have nowhere close enough people to hold the castle, and even if they try to escape through the sea, the Velaryon fleet would catch them as it is at a state of alert due to tensions in the Stepstones.
Alright, send a raven to Sunspear, tell them that we are willing to discuss terms of surrender and that he shall be allowed to remain as the Lord of Sunspear and its surrounding territories."
"Yes, your Grace!"
"Well, where were we? Quentyn my friend, tell me about the people of Sunspear."
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I can't understand what goes through the man's mind!
Who brings someone who just fought against him into the castle of his previous lord?! Doesn't he fear my betrayal?
They stood in front of the gates of the shadow city, shadow town really, as they opened.
Prince Baelon and Lord Dayne were adamant to bring a thousand of their finest spearmen into the city, they couldn't afford the risk to be outnumbered inside.
As the gates fully roze, Prince Qoren Martell approached with one of his servants holding a plate of bread and salt.
"Welcome, Prince Baelon, to Sunspear." Welcomed the Prince of Dorne, if it weren't for his twitching eye, you'd think he was completely sincere.
What a fucking viper.
"Thank you, LORD Martell. We look forward to your hospitality."
Hah! Now he's as red as his sigil!
Qoren signaled for his servant to serve bread and salt, only to be stopped by the person he now knew as Ser Rodrick.
He stared down at Qoren, looking between the bread and salt and back to him, sending the message without words.
With a sigh, Qoren slowly took a piece of bread and dipped it in salt, before taking a big bite out of it.
The stocky knight looked back to his liege and nodded, allowing the rest of us to do the same.
Martell ushered them inside, most of the men set out to secure the castle while the remaining men at arms followed Qoren as he lead them to the hall.
"Lord Martell, before any of the usual pleasantries, I would like to tackle the gritty business first, please." Although it sounded like a request, it was anything but.
*Sigh*
"Of course, Prince Baelon. Let us go to my solar then."
Prince Baelon signaled for Lord Dayne and Rodrick to follow, while he ordered the rest of the guards to keep their distance, but stay close nonetheless.
As the Qored led the prince to the corridors, he and the rest of the lords were led by the servants to a small, but lavish, feast prepared for them, with Lady Jordayne already sitting on the table.
Each of them sat down, and while the Lords sat on the main table, leaving the middle seats for the Prince, Dayne, and Qoren, Quentyn proceeded to sit in the corner, uncomfortable with his awkward situation.
The Lords started talking while the festivities began, dancers danced and mummers acted, and after a while, the Lords begrudgingly started partaking in the drinks and food.
The atmosphere only lightened as a widely smiling Prince and his sword shield came with Lords Martell and Dayne in tow.
"My Lords! I am happy to announce, that after today! Dorne is once and for all in its rightful place under the authority of the Iron Throne! So please, do not hesitate to celebrate!"
Well, that was quick, either Prince Baelon is a beast at negotiation, or something is wrong.
He took another sip of his drink.
Not my problem, anyway.
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He woke up suddenly to loud knocks in his small room.
He quickly took his sword and stood next to the door, and cautiously opened it with his foot.
He almost stabbed with his sword before seeing the unmistakable purple mantle of the Prince's men at arms.
If the Prince wanted to kill him, he would have done it already.
"Yes?" He asked.
"You're the last one, the Prince said to gather everyone into the throne room."
"For what?" He answered
"You'll see." The man answered with an almost imperceptible smirk.
Smug bastard, do all of the princes retinue have the same sense of humor?
He followed the man to the throne room.
The Prince was sitting on the big a$$ chair in his full regalia, leaning on his sheathed ancestral sword.
But that wasn't what took his attention, it was the bleeding wound on the side of his face. It seems someone was naughty yesterday.
He turned his sights to the man kneeling in front of the throne.
Qoren Martell was disheveled, with a big bruise on his cheek.
"So everyone's here? Excellent!" Asked the prince.
The fact that he still has his characteristic smile says a lot about his endurance, even though the wound was treated the pain should still be there.
"Qoren Martell, you have been deemed responsible for the assassination attempt on not only yours truly but also the rest of the Lords allied with our cause. You broke guest rights, the most sacred of our traditions."
"You have no proof!" Interjected Qoren.
"No proof? The man who injured my face was a knight! And he admitted to doing so under your orders. We are not discussing your innocence, but rather the degree of your punishment!
And let it not be forgotten, that just yesterday you swore your fealty to the Iron Throne and your new Lord Paramount" He nodded towards the Dayne Lord, who was currently cleaning blood off his almost glowing white sword. "So you can add treason to your charges, to be honest, you have two options."
"The block."
He stands up while unsheathing Blackfyre.
"Or a trial by combat."
Qoren blanched, he knew that he wasn't going to live either way, but he still attempted to save his hide.
"I want the black!" He shouted.
"You could, but then you can be sure that your lands will not fall under a Martell's rule again, with your daughter getting disinherited and sent to the silent sisters."
Qoren's face was as ugly as it can be, after a while of warring in his mind, he responded.
"I-... I choose the block, but you have to promise! Promise me that my daughter will rule Sunspear when she reaches maturity."
The Prince stepped in front of Qoren.
"Very well, I promise."
And Qoren Martell was no more.
"Lord Dayne."
"Yes, your grace."
"You have a nephew, right? How old is he?"
"Yes, your grace, he is of four name days, I believe."
"Good, methinks he can make a great lord consort for our littlest Martell."
Dayne's smile cut his face in twain.
"Of course, your Grace."
"Alright, after completely securing the castle, both little Alliandra Martell and her mother are to move with us to Starfall. Alleras, you are to choose a suitable castellan for Sunspear in their absence.
I believe it is time for you to fully assume your position as Lord Paramount."
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It has been a few days since they arrived on Starfall, the army, along with an impressive amount of smallfolk from Sunspears shadow city and Planky Town, settled on the decent town situated on the mouth of the Torrentine.
The news of the successful and historical conquest of Dorne wasn't disseminated to the rest of the world yet by order of Prince Baelon.
This night, all of the people were gathered next to a big clearing on the bank of the Torrentine on the edge of the town.
It seems to be some kind of celebration, people gathered around campfires to fight the night's chill.
He took a sip out of his water flask, enjoying the sound of chattering and the water flowing on the river.
He was startled out of his reverie as a smiling woman handed him a... parchment box?
He looked around, only to see other men and women doing the same to the other people gathered here, while others put small wooden poles with candles on them in different places on the clearing.
After a while, the Prince walked out of the crowd, holding a similar strange box until he stood next to the foremost candle.
He turned around and looked from left to right as if he was looking each one of us in the eyes.
Lord Dayne walked behind him, a slight smile on his face.
"People! I have something to say to you!"He started.
"I would like to apologize, not only for the deaths and suffering brought on you by my actions! But also instead of my predecessors! For failing to bring Dorne into the fold, to liberate them from poverty and famine, and for their arrogance! For the folly that made them believe that conquest was a tool for glory, and revenge, instead of unity, and peace for years to come!"
"In this war, we fought each other! We held spears and swords and maces and killed, injured, and ruined each other's lives! We hold great enmity and animosity for the other man, not knowing that all along, we all wanted the same thing! Which is peace, prosperity, and happiness for our families and all that we hold dear!"
"Which is why! To honor our wishes, and the wishes of the people we lost, we have to forgive! To forgive, but never forget, the lengths and efforts that took to achieve our dreams! To put an end to the endless warring, raiding, and killings among us!"
"So I propose, to create a new tradition! A tradition to honor the dead, and to hope for the future! Here, where a star fell thousands of years ago! We look up! We look to the stars, for they are both where the souls of our beloved reside in heaven! And where we look up to when we dream of a better day!"
The prince lit the open side of the box, causing it to light up like a lantern.
"And so, we send our good wishes to our dead brothers and sisters, and our hopes and aspirations for the future! To the stars!"
Prince Baelon let go of his lantern, letting fly up to the sky, illuminating it in a resplendent light.
Lord Dayne swiftly follows, letting another one to soar.
And then another, and another, and another.
Quentyn like a man possessed mimics the other people around.
And as hundreds of lanterns lit up the sky like stars in the night, Quentyn couldn't help but hope for the future.
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