GOT: Reborn as a Martell

( Gerris POV )

For the first time in nearly three hundred years, orange and red banners flew over the walls of Blackhaven. And this time, they were here to stay.

Gerris looked at the castle with a sense of pride. Everything had gone perfectly well, with Ned leading the men into the walls of the city, which was completely unprepared for such an assault.

The small garrison retreated into the inner keep, a towering behemoth of grey stone perched atop a hill overlooking the city and the valley outlining the Adder river, but it was nowhere near enough. If the reports of the city dwellers were true, Blackhaven had been stripped of its men with every new allegiance: Robert, Renly, Joffrey, Tommen…

Only three score men were left, which was nowhere near enough to guard each of the inner keep's gates. There were a few casualties on the Dornish side, but the castle fell.

And now, Gerris looked on into the Adder valley, at the stream of troops heading towards the inner Stormlands, and Summerhall.

Perched between two mountains lined with forests and brush, under a dazzling sun and with Dornish banners flying, one could think they were in Dorne.

Well, according to the Targaryens, we are.

A screech came from the sky, sounding the arrival of dragons.

Gerris, like everyone, looked with marvel at the cream-colored creature of legend flying between the hills and mountains, likely in search of something to eat.

The dragon then disappeared from sight, and routine continued.

Gerris would not stay long in Blackhaven, the armies would march towards Summerhall, since, if Quentyn's scouts were to be believed, Tarly had finally started to march towards them.

We only needed to put order in Blackhaven, and prove that Dorne had no malicious intent. It must be said that the previous occupations of the town by Dorne had been brief, but bloody.

This time, none of that.

Food and medicine were distributed to the people, and soon enough, with a few guards to promote order, everything settled down. It was almost easy, and Quentyn did not hesitate to be extremely harsh with the ones that broke the explicit rules in place.

Blackhaven was Dornish territory, and therefore considered an ally of the Targaryens.

Two men of the Golden Company were gelded and hung in the gallows for having raped the wife of a shopkeeper, who was generously compensated. Five more lost a hand for having stolen goods, and a few Uller men were sent to latrine duty for having gotten into fistfights with locals.

Those examples had the merit of setting things straight. Since the first day, there had been no incidents to report, and Gerris could hope that there wouldn't be any for a while.

And as to cementing Blackhaven as a piece of Dornish territory, well, the ceremony in the courtyard proved just that.

King Aegon and Queen Daenerys were not present, but Quentyn was there, along with Gerris himself, Gulian, Ned and a dozen men-at-arms, as well as Lady Allyria Dayne.

Well, Dayne no longer.

"Lady Starlight, by virtue of the powers conferred upon me by the Iron Throne, I name you Lady of Blackhaven, and Warden of the Adder Valley." Quentyn smiled at the brown-haired woman, who knelt before him. "The keep and its lands are awarded to you and your descendants in perpetuity. Rise, Allyria Starlight, Lady of Blackhaven."

Allyria rose, her brown hair tied in a braid to avoid it flying in front of her face.

"I thank you, my prince," she said while bowing simply.

"Your parents would be proud." Quentyn offered her a simple smile. "I cannot bring them back, but I promised your fa…uncle I would not speak a word of your parentage until you had a keep of your own to rule, and I kept my promise."

"My uncle told you?" Allyria asked, confused.

Gerris raised an eyebrow. What are they talking about?

"Well, Cletus' tales were…descriptive, if I may allow so myself," Quentyn hid a cough, "but brown hair, even dark brown, in a Dayne…that is unheard of. All I needed was to go to Starfall to seek confirmation."

Allyria nodded.

"I hope Blackhaven will suit you," Quentyn finally said, kissing her hand, "and I hope it will wipe many mistakes created by your uncle and my father."

"I loved the Marches," Allyria answered with a smile, "the sigh of the mountains and the sweet smell of flowers, the songs of the birds and the colder air. I asked to be betrothed to Lord Beric in part due to this, and to be able to protect Ned from Gerold. You rid me of him, protected him and gave me a keep, and for that, I thank you."

Quentyn bowed his head, while the Dayne lady took her leave, with Ned following closely behind.

Gerris, for his part, could only be confused.

"What happened?" he asked, once everyone had relatively cleared the courtyard. "What is this family affair I've missed? And why did Elinor not tell me?"

"Elinor knew nothing of Allyria's parentage, only Alyn and Allyria did," Quentyn replied. "Have you noticed the color of Allyria's hair?"

"I did." Gerris nodded. "Dark brown. What does this mean? She's a Qorgyle bastard?"

"Not a Qorgyle one, a Stark." Quentyn gave a knowing smirk. "Eddard Stark's bastard, to be precise."

"Eddard Stark's?" Cletus gasped. "But…with…"

"Ashara Dayne, precisely," Quentyn said with a nod. "You can understand why Lord Alyn was not keen to disclose that information."

Gerris acquiesced.

"Speaking of your wife, how is she?" Quentyn asked.

"As happy as could be." Gerris laughed while remembering Elinor's pale silver hair and her lavender smell as they parted in Sunspear. "She should be returning to High Hermitage soon, if only to see the affairs of her keep. Julian and Dyana will stay at the Gardens in the meantime. I hear my eldest is quite fond of yours…"

"Please!" Quentyn laughed in return. "All Ellaria tells me is how Julian keeps splashing Aliandra and little Qarl Vaith in the pools, he's a little terror!"

Gerris smiled fondly, thinking of his son. "Well, he's my little terror, and hopefully he grows to make a great knight.""I'm sure that with you and Elinor as parents, he will grow up to be a perfect one," Quentyn commented.

"You know…" Gerris spoke with a twinge of sadness in his voice, "I never got to properly thank you for it."

"For what?" Quentyn asked.

"For everything." Gerris' smile grew wider. "If you hadn't gone against your father, you wouldn't have been Prince of Dorne. Your inventions wouldn't be as known as they are today, I would not be such a prized match, and Elinor might never have been mine. But more importantly, Dorne would not have been the same without you."

"And who told me that I should always persevere?" Quentyn replied, looking at him in the eyes, "Who told me that I should never let go? That, in the end, each suffering that the gods inflict on us is to make the rewards even greater? Who supported me throughout these efforts? Who went to fetch me flowers in the middle of the night? Who supported me when I chose Nymeria instead of any other woman? Who helped me rule when I was in far flung corners of the world?"

"Gulian, Arch…" Gerris started, but was immediately interrupted.

"Don't be foolish, Gerris, it was you," Quentyn said with emotion in his voice. "I could not have gone so far without you. And Arch, and Gulian, and Ned, even Cletus, but you are my dearest friend, and I want to thank you."

Gerris didn't know what took him, but he hugged Quentyn tight, trying his best to not let tears flow.

"I'd go to the edge of the world for you," Gerris said, his arms still around Quentyn. "For my dearest friend."

"Stop, you'll make me cry," Quentyn half-choked on his shoulder.

"Let us speak of happier things, then." Gerris broke the hug. "I heard the King named you Master of Coin."

"The Queen did." Quentyn wiped a small tear from his eye. "The King named Ser Jon Connington as Hand, as expected."

"And you accepted?" Gerris asked, surprised. "I thought you wished to not touch anything related to the Iron Throne."

"It's only provisional," Quentyn replied. "The Small Council needs positions to fill, and since it is my gold that is bankrolling everything, I might as well have a say in it. When they'll take the Kingdoms, and we get our share of the Rock, they can as well name someone else, for I'll be going home."

"I understand that." Gerris nodded. "Do not take offense, but I do not like it here. The weather is too dull, even if the sun is shining on this day, and it is too cold. The mountains make me feel cramped, and I long for the warmth of Dorne."

"It makes two of us." Quentyn sighed. "I promise that once this is over, we will go home immediately, and have a feast like no other to celebrate."

"Your wedding, I suspect?"

Quentyn said nothing, but did smile.

"Have you finally found someone?" Gerris asked.

"No." Quentyn shook his head. "But I will marry when I return to Dorne, that much is certain. Whether it is Nymeria or someone else is still unknown."

"Have you considered the Stark girl?" Gerris asked.

Quentyn's answer was once again negative. "Sansa Stark is a sweet girl, but she also longs for home, and deserves to be loved. I can give her neither the North nor love."

"I understand." Gerris shrugged. "But she seemed to like Dorne."

"Liking Dorne, perhaps, but it is not her home." Quentyn sighed. "When this is finally over, I shall give her back to her family."

"As much as she likes her family, it seems to me that her place is more in the South than with them, else I have a very skewed view of Northern women," Gerris risked. "She acts like a Southerner, almost a Dornishwoman. She's grown to our customs, and she's not shy of telling some suitors off."

"We'll see," Quentyn said with a shrug "If she wishes to stay, I shall not oppose it. Perhaps she could marry a Dornish lord? Ned, perhaps? But I still think she would rather leave and meet her family once again."

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