44 GOT : Chapter 44

Every word he spoke made her wish that she had never left Dorne and stayed at the Gardens paradise. But she went anyways. Not because Quentyn asked or because she wanted to see the Reach again. But because…she wanted to.

"I miss Dorne too." She confessed. "I miss the warmth, the feeling of the sun kissing my skin and the smell of spices in the markets."

He smiled.

...

"I hope we can come back, soon." His voice echoed of sadness. "But we have a duty to do."

Nymeria nodded sombrely. The impossible task that Prince Doran had given his son. To kill the Tyrell-Baratheon alliance.

None of them spoke after that, each happy to just let the moment linger on while the noise died out in the distance.

She finally rested her head on one of the oak tree's branches, and looked at her cousin.

"Have you been able to find out what happened at Riverrun?" she asked, getting back to the matter at hand.

"I've talked to several lords and knights." Quent replied, picking a small leaf from the ground. "But I've had nothing too detailed. All I know was that a combined host of Northmen and Riverlanders met the Lannisters besieging Riverrun, and that despite the Westermen having the numbers, they were defeated. I've got no idea how many were killed on each side, but it seems that it was bloody."

"Mayhaps Renly was smart to feast here and let his enemies fight." She chuckled.

"Mayhaps." Quent nodded back. "But there is silence from Dragonstone and it seems that the Westermen have regrouped at Harrenhal. If Renly waits too long…"

"He loses the initiative or could get caught with his breeches down."

Quentyn nodded, but a sudden twitch of his eye led him to look under one of the tree branches.

"What the…" her cousin reacted in surprise.

"What is it?" she made to rise, concerned as what was happening, but her fears were quickly put to rest.

"Look at who I found spying on us." Quentyn showed her the last thing that she expected to see. His tree frog. The same frog that they'd left in the camp when heading to the kingly feast.

"Didn't we leave him at our tent?"

"How in the seven hells did you get here?" Quentyn brought the animal to his face, but it seemed that this had no effect on the green creature, who didn't even let out a croak.

Her cousin quickly let it rest on one of the oak branches and shook his head.

"Sometimes I don't understand Achilles at all."

"Only sometimes?" she raised an eyebrow and laughed.

Quentyn chuckled along, resting his head on the oak wood, trying to ignore the presence of his pet right next to him.

"You never told me how the meeting with the Queen went." Nymeria said, her eyes filled with curiosity. It had been a few hours since that meeting happened, and her cousin had not said a word about it to her or his group.

"Not well, I'm afraid." Quentyn frowned. "I think I might've bottled it."

"How so?" she asked. "Did you concede some terms?"

"No, nothing of the sort." He blushed. "I…I went for some Arbor Gold."

Nymeria let out a heartfelt laugh.

"And let me guess, you weren't used to it?" she teased.

"You're absolutely right." He looked down, ashamed. "I didn't think it would be this rough, yet by the end of our meeting, I feel like I'd said things that were…out of place."

"Did you insult her?" she asked, eyes intent on knowing what exactly had transpired.

"Not directly, no." He shook his head. "The meeting went fine, or so I thought. I put on the act, but I am not a good mummer. Playing the part of someone I am not was quite hard."

"Especially inebriated as you were. But this wasn't critical, I'm sure the Reachers underestimated you regardless."

"Probably." He shrugged. "As you say, the Reachers would always underestimate us. I did tell her that acquiring medicine would be impossible until we had produced enough to keep everyone in Dorne healthy."

"And did she react by saying the smallfolk's lives didn't matter?"

"Not quite."

"Surprising."

"Indeed, I also thought that the Reachers would scoff at their smallfolk like they were less than dirt, but she did understand my point. She did however, in no uncertain terms, threaten me with withholding grain shipments from the Reach."

"We can just import more from the Free Cities." She raised an eyebrow. "Except you wanted to distance yourself from them."

"I don't enjoy buying grain from fields where hundreds of slaves are worked to death."

"If we don't and the Reachers make good on their promise, I don't think you'll have a choice."

"To be fair, I don't think the Reachers will make good on their threat either. They will have a lot of surpluses from the summer harvests and numerous smaller houses will still be willing to trade with us for gold to replenish the gold they have emptied from their pockets in the past years." Quentyn shook his head, placing the leaf in the still waters of the Mander. 

"But I did remind them that their position in this alliance was…highly beneficial for them. I did ask for them to give us something in return for our spears."

"You made a promise in your father's name?" Nymeria slightly panicked, knowing the implications of such an act.

"Technically my father said to try and stall by any means necessary, which includes this sort of situation." He explained, but shook his head once more. 

"No. I didn't make any promises, but I did encourage them to give us some of what we demand. Either one of our enemies, or relax their tariffs on Dornish goods. I didn't promise we would support them should we do so."

"Wait till they hear you gave plenty of gold to Dragonstone…" she chuckled. "I think they might reconsider your terms. Especially since I don't expect you to gain much from that worthless obsidian you stash at Spottswood."

"I have a few things in mind for that, don't you worry." He winked. "But yes, I do hope that our transactions with Dragonstone were done in secret through the usual channels in Lys, otherwise we are going to have a much bigger problem than just discussing terms. Especially since both the Reacher and Stormlanders seem to ignore Stannis' very existence."

"I'd wager the Santagars were discreet enough." She shrugged. "And it pains me to say that you can trust these fools. They are good for nothing much, but when it comes to shady business with the Free Cities, they are always trustworthy."

"Them and the Wyls. But I'd rather not come to rely on them just yet." Quentyn spat out.

"And did you attack the marriage issue?" she asked.

"Ah. Yes, but I was far gone by that point." He replied, his cheeks glowing red.

"You were far from subtle then." She chuckled. "Did you break down the door?"

"That's one way of putting it." He shook his head. "I might've bungled that one. Especially considering the conversations with the men tonight, it seems that it is very much an open secret."

"We can't break their alliance that way, then?"

"I fear not." Quentyn seemed disappointed. It was a setback to be sure, for this alliance could very well break the Seven Kingdoms in less than six moons. "But the young Queen is young, and although she is beautiful and quite smart, she does have a weakness."

"And what is that?" she asked, curious.

"She's fairly naive." Quentyn answered while placing another leaf on the waters of the Mander. "It might be our only chance to influence her, to play on her fear of losing her crown."

"And what did you tell her?"

"I told her to make an heir with her king."

"You what?" Nymeria shook in disbelief. "I thought we were trying to avoid reinforcing their alliance. Securing an heir would be…well it would end the little hope we had of breaking it apart."

"I know." Quentyn acknowledged. "But as it stands the Stormlanders are very much the lesser partner in this relationship. The Tyrells bring more men, supplies, food, and there is discontent amongst some Stormlords that the Reach will be getting the Handship and more than three-quarters of the Small Council."

"I…don't follow." She looked on, confused. "First you tell me that there is no way of driving a wedge in their alliance, and now you tell me that the Stormlanders are not happy with the potential spoils of war. Shouldn't that be an opportunity enough?"

"Well…mayhaps, but I doubt that it'll work. The Reachers will promise and the Stormlanders will gladly eat up whatever scraps the Tyrells deign to present them." Quentyn's voice sounded uneasy for a moment, but he quickly picked himself up. 

"What I am worried about is the Queen's ambition. If she fails to get an heir, then the Tyrells could switch their support to someone more…appropriate. And there is a king who needs to secure an alliance."

"You are worried the Tyrells would join the Lannisters when the Lions have their backs to the Wall?" she scoffed.

"The Westerlands have more men than the Stormlords, and they are united, whereas quite a few Stormlander houses have either joined Stannis or stayed neutral." He countered. "A defeat doesn't change the fact that they can field fifty thousand men or thereabouts. With the might of the Reach…well the kingdoms would soon fold."

"It seems highly unlikely." She shook her head. "The Lions are on the verge of breaking."

Quentyn sighed deeply, watching the branches of the oak tree for a moment, and stood.

"Alright." He conceded. "We can try to drive a wedge between the Stormlords and the Reachers…"

"Conceding already?" she interrupted with a smile. "I remember you being more stubborn than that."

"Me bottling things with the Queen gave me quite a nasty blow." He admitted. "But I need you to trust me when I say that the Reach-Westerlands alliance is a real threat. One that we should absolutely consider."

"Fine." She stood up, clearing the dirt from her clothes. "I'll keep it in mind. But we now shift our efforts towards breaking this ship apart."

Quentyn nodded in response.

"Don't fret too much about what happened with the Queen, cousin." Nymeria chuckled, running a hand through his curly hair. "Everyone fails once in a while. Even you. And if you say that the Queen is naive or insecure about her position, then you haven't failed at all."

"Let's hope so." He sighed, resting an arm on one of the oak leaves. "People often say that my father and yours are like the sun and the spear of House Martell. My father is the unflinching sun, but yours is the spear that Dorne needs to strike. I always thought I would be the sun."

"You look a lot more like the spear to me." Nymeria laughed. "In truth, I think all Martells in their youth are the spear, and they eventually grow into the sun. My father told me stories of yours when he was younger and he definitely was a spear too. It's just that my father…well he never grew up. Not after what happened to Aunt Elia."

Quentyn nodded, and took her hand, both of them walking along the now quiet banks of the Mander back to the Dornish part of camp.

"I promise that we shall get revenge for her." He said, his voice sweet as if he was trying to seduce her. "I will see the men responsible pay, and I will make sure their deaths will not be quick."

"If only I could be there to see it." She beamed in thinking of Lorch, Clegane and Lannister pleading for their lives.

"I hope you will be." He confessed. "And I hope Dorne will be too."

She looked at him once again, intrigued, but Quentyn didn't say another word. And the frog that was now sitting atop his shoulder didn't make a sound either.

"And the Reachers…do they buy into the fifty thousand story?" she finally spoke up, ending their silent march.

"All of it." Quentyn scoffed. "It seems that Daeron the Young Dragon's attempts at glorifying his conquest had an effect on all of Westeros. In good and bad."

"Earns us a reputation." She chuckled.

"Quite a nasty one too, but it may just be for the best." Quentyn winked back. "Let them fear us."

Nymeria could agree to that.

And while they talked, the noise around them continued to die out into the night, so much so that when they reached the large tent flying the banner of House Martell, they could barely hear a thing.

She breathed out a sigh of relief as she finally got rid of the expensive dress that she'd spent the day in. Mayhaps Arianne would've loved such an attire, but it certainly wasn't fit for her.

Quentyn did the same, casting aside his expensive attire with a satisfied groan.

"I didn't think I'd be able to hold more than an hour in this thing."

She didn't answer. Instead, she looked at her cousin's form and bit her lip, quickly closing the distance.

"Do you remember what we told ourselves the first time we did this?" she asked, running her hands through Quentyn's back.

"Once." He swiftly replied, casting aside her last items of clothing.

"How many times since then?"

"Did you count?"

"No."

"I thought you were tired."

"I am. We will have to be quick. But first…get rid of your frog. It puts me off when he watches us having sex."

Quentyn shook his head and ran towards his pet, quickly shoving it into a little pen in the far side of the tent, closing a curtain as well to ensure they would not be disturbed.

"Satisfied?" he asked with a sly smile.

"Not yet." She smirked.

Usually, their night would go on well past the hour of the wolf, as each of them would end up as if they had fought a battle. She would count a few bite marks on her elbows and neck, while Quentyn would boast a few scars in his back as her nails would often be marked with blood.

But this time, neither was in a physical condition that would let them go for that long. No, tonight, they only looked to find their release quickly.

There were kisses and the like, but they did not drag it out. After a few moments, Quentyn's manhood was inside of her, and they locked into a steady rythym to find their footing. They stared hungrily into each other's eyes, sometimes muffling the sounds of their moans by bringing their mouths and tongues together in a short struggle for dominance.

It wasn't long till she found her release, screaming out as she collapsed onto the pillow under her, while Quentyn soon followed, spilling his seed inside of her once again, and kissing her one last time.

Their dance lasted less than half an hour, both being exhausted from the day's errands, the feast and the short fucking. Quentyn slowly rested atop her, sliding a hand into her hair and one on her right breast.

She looked to her right, seeing Quentyn smiling as he rested his head on her elbow, closing his eyes. She smiled too, and stroked his hair for a few moments, making small curls of his dark strands around her fingers.

"Nym?" Quentyn whispered, slowly moving his hand from her breast to her own right hand, holding her fingers delicately. "Can I confess something?"

"Of course." She whispered back. "Anything."

"Would you swear to never repeat it to anyone?" he asked, his voice almost desperate.

"You know I would keep any secret you give me to my grave."

Quentyn opened his dark eyes, his tired gaze meeting hers. He moved in for a small kiss on the lips and then whispered in her ears, in a cracked voice that was almost too low for her to hear:

"I'm sorry, Nym, but I love you."

It was as if she was struck by lightning. She wanted to scream at him that they could never be. He was a prince and she was only a bastard. Not only a bastard, but his cousin to boot. He would marry a lady of important standing, and he would rule Dorne. She would be lucky to find any landed knight that wished her hand.

But she also couldn't deny the feeling inside her that came up every time they kissed or locked eyes. She couldn't deny how she felt whenever Quentyn shared a bed with someone that wasn't her. She couldn't deny how she felt good every time she was with him. 

It was more than lust, or friendship or even blood. It was more than that, she knew it. But she was a Sand Snake, a daughter of the Red Viper and of the Old Blood of Volantis. She wasn't weak and would never be.

Yet for the first time since she was a babe, a tear ran down her cheek. Why? Why did it have to be him? She cursed the gods for such a poisoned gift, and slightly clenched her fists.

Time to be brave.

She unclenched her fists, bringing her shaking hands towards his cheeks while Quentyn's eyes still lingered on hers, and whispered the words she'd never think to ever voice once in her life.

"I love you too, little prince."