After the mind-shattering revelations that had been made a few hours earlier, Oberyn Martell was lounging in his chambers as he retired for the night, with a goblet of wine in his hands, lost in thought.
A man from another world, born again as my nephew! Not just a man, but a great general and an unparalleled genius in the arts of war, a what was it he called … ah yes, a prime minister, the equivalent of the Hand of the King in his lands, a man who has commanded armies of hundreds of thousands of men, betrayed by his own king …. And now the Gods have seen it fit to have him take birth again as my nephew with all his abilities intact. Did you know of this brother? What would you have made of it, I wonder? I miss you Doran … now when I need it the most … you are gone, Mellario dead in childbirth, and now Elia … are our lives naught but playthings for the Gods, to be given and taken at a whim?
He snorted, and then threw away the goblet to a side, even as it cluttered on to the floor and walked up to the window and stared at the moonlit sky.
He remembered the joy in his brother's face when it was announced that his lady wife had given birth to a son. All of Dorne had rejoiced at the birth of another heir to the seat of Dorne.
As the years passed, the child had proven to be exceptional in studies, be they military, political or literary. The maesters had raved about the boy's skills, going so far as to suggest an invitation to study in the citadel itself at the tender age of seven. Doran had been so proud.
Of course, now he knew the real cause of his nephew's brilliance. However, Oberyn had thrown it all out of his mind. Regardless of who or what his nephew was, Quentyn was the sole child of his siblings who now lived. House Martell truly was in dire straits. His mother was not long for the world, and he had no legitimate heirs. A concerted effort by their enemies would see House Martell being wiped out for good.
Hmph…he snorted, let the Septon's waste their thoughts on matters of life and death and of being reborn, let the Maesters waste their minds on matters of other worlds, it is my world that requires my attention. Everything else is but noise. Whatever he may be, he is still my nephew and will be my liege lord, all that I need to do is to discharge my duties as the spear of Dorne in his defense.
I am a simple man, and will remain and die such a man. Anything else is not my concern.
China.
Once a land made up of six great kingdoms, the very mention of whose name made all sit up in wonder and awe, even as it induced envy and spite in all of its neighbors.
Now, it was naught but a complete wreck and a smoldering ruin, with its people scattered to the four winds. The few unlucky to survive, forever doomed to be slaves to the tyranny of a young monarch who sought to impose a draconian rule of law upon all those lands. The young king of Qin, a visionary beyond his time, he now knew, would achieve his goal of uniting all of China but it would be a pyrrhic victory at best. An empire forged upon ashes, one whose past and history would be swept aside by an ocean of blood, it would not … no it cannot last. He could see it, even as he was led to his execution.
The King of Zhao had willingly, greedily, believed the farcical evidences planted against him by the Qin, and was having him executed in secret, because he dared not do it in public. The king was jealous of the fact that Riboku was now seen as the king in all but name of Zhao, as he led the resistance against Qin, and was eager to stamp his authority over the people again. Furious at being upstaged by his own servant, the King of Zhao loathed his greatest general with the intensity of a thousand burning suns and had eagerly seized upon the plot hatched by Qin and had willingly partnered with them. As long as he was guaranteed his life and his wealth, he had no care for the people of his kingdom, and would not bat an eye if all of them had perished in front of his eyes.
The fool would not last longer on his throne, he was sure, but his heart went out to his people, the people of Zhao, who would now be at the mercy of Qin and the wiles of Qin's chief of military, Shouheikun. With his death, there was not a general present in Zhao who could now stand against the six great generals of Qin.
He watched Shouheikun, now the victor in their battles, standing silently by the Zhao king's side watching him with a stony gaze. But there was no joy in the victor's eyes. The very desire to live and feel had been sucked out from his soul. His body and mind pale, listless and without any pallor. The war had taken its toll. Of the 350,000 Qin soldiers who had come to Zhao's lands, less than 15,000 would be leaving home. Ashes to Ashes, dust to dust, the cost had been too much to bear. With Zhao, even the Qin had been destroyed, but unlike the Zhao who would now be annihilated without him to lead their defense, the Qin at least had the opportunity to go back home, and build back their lives.
The only ones who could truly rest, were the dead. This sentiment would be echoed throughout the ages; the words of the great Renpa, his predecessor, and the only survivor of the great heroes of their previous generation who still walked the lands alive.
Men are haunted by the vastness of eternity, and so I ask myself … will my actions echo across the centuries? Will strangers hear my name long after I am gone … and wonder who we were, how bravely we fought, how fiercely we loved? If they ever tell my story, let them say, I walked with giants. Men rise and fall like the winter wheat, but these names will never die. Let them say, I lived in the time of Gakuki, the God of War. Let them say, I lived in the time of Ouki, the monstrous bird of Qin. In the war between Qin & Zhao, the only true winners are the dead, for they alone will have peace, peace which will forever elude all those who survived.
Still, I have to say Shouheikun, were I the ruler of Zhao instead of being a mere general of Zhao, things would have been different, and the fate of China would have changed. Still, a nice thought but unlikely to become true anytime soo….at that moment, the axe fell and the head of Riboku, Prime Minister of Zhao and one of Zhao's three great heavens separated from his body.
At the same time, in a different world, Lady Mellario of Norvos, wife of Doran Martell gave birth to a boy who would be named Quentyn by his delighted father.
And so, the fates of China and Westeros were changed forever.
Next morning, as they all assembled to break their fast, Quentyn looked up at his uncle "Have you had a chance to organize your thoughts about yesterday's revelations?"
"Indeed," Oberyn nodded, "But I have decided to ignore them," the man concluded with a snort, even as his mother looked at him in disbelief while Quentyn narrowed his gaze.
"Do not look at me like that, mother. Let the Septon's waste their thoughts on matters of life and death and of being reborn, let the Maesters waste their minds on matters of other worlds, it is my world that requires my attention. Everything else is but noise. Whatever he may be, he is still my nephew and will be my liege lord, all that I need to do is to discharge my duties as the spear of Dorne in his defense. I am a simple man, and will remain and die such a man. Anything else is not my concern," he concluded with a curt nod towards Quentyn who bowed his head in gratitude.
"You never cease to amaze me, Oberyn," Myriah whispered, even as she wiped away a couple of tears from eyes and looked at her youngest son in pride.
"Well, now that we are done, shall we decide what is to be done now, Quentyn? Or would you prefer Ree-boku?" Oberyn smirked even as he unintentionally butchered the name.
"Quentyn is fine, uncle. Riboku was the past, and now it is Quentyn who must look to the future," his nephew replied, while Oberyn raised his goblet in a toast appreciating the sentiment.
"So, I reiterate, what are we to do?"
"With your permission, I will outline a plan, which I believe is currently the safest path for Dorne to take, if you are both agreeable?" Quentyn proposed even as he looked at both his grandmother and uncle for approval. He got it, as both the elders gave guarded nods.
"It would be to our benefit, if you are not present uncle, when Jon Arryn comes to present terms."
"WHAT? What are you …," Oberyn started furiously, even as Quentyn raised his hands to stall any objections.
"Hear me out, please, before you jump to any rash conclusions. It is well known throughout Westeros that you are a man given to rashness and impulsiveness, and that you lose control of your temper quite frequently. Frankly put, that is a weapon that our enemies can make use of right now, and one that could potentially wipe out our house. I would not put it past Tywin Lannister to attempt such a thing right now."
"Explain," Myriah retorted curtly, even as Quentyn stood up and started pacing around the room.
"Even as we speak here, Tywin Lannister's eye is firmly fixed upon Dorne, as are the eyes of entire Westeros. Tywin knows beyond a doubt that he has made an enemy of House Martell for eternity, and as such will seek to curtail us and subjugate us under the new realm that is about to come, before we can even think of enacting our revenge. Imagine, what would happen if Jon Arryn were to suddenly die of poisoning while in Dorne, demanding terms of surrender from us for Robert Baratheon? The man known as the adoptive father of the next King of Westeros dying of poison in Dorne, where one of its ruling prince's is a known user of such substances! A prince who is known to have a grudge against the new King of Westeros for condoning the murders of his sister and her children! Robert Baratheon will not rest until he has razed all of Dorne to ground, and we must not give them such an opportunity."
Oberyn and Myriah Martell were rocked back in their seats, taken aback by the possibility of such a thing. They could very easily see such a thing happening as well.
"Do you really think Tywin will stoop to that level?" Myriah asked in a harsh whisper.
"It is what I would have done, if I were in his place," Quentyn replied. "Make no mistake, what happened in King's Landing was nothing but a declaration of war. Tywin Lannister is the kind of man who will do anything to ensure that House Martell will pose no threat to the grand future he is building. He will not give us the chance to rest from this war, and to recover and pose a threat in the long term to his house."
"What grand future? You are not making any sense of this Quentyn?" Myriah asked in confusion, while Oberyn tried to think of possible answers.
"Answer me, both of you, why did Tywin Lannister to go to the extent that he did in King's Landing? Having his son kill the King, and then by having his men murder and butcher Aunt Elia and her children?"
"Because he waited too long to join the rebellion, he needed to do something out of the ordinary to ensure that he got into the good graces of the rebellion," Myriah spoke out in a confused tone, while Quentyn shook his head.
"He could have done that very easily. All that was required was for his son to capture the King and his family, and the city would have fallen without a single life lost. With a warrior of Jaime Lannister's capabilities, and with the wealth of House Lannister, that was well within their reach. No, the reason why he went to such brutal reasons was for two reasons. One, to make a statement to the whole world that he was still a man to be feared, and two, to lay down the groundwork for his legacy."
He slowly walked towards the wall and took out a knife and drew a vertical line and tapped on the left side of the line. "There are 2 sides to his actions. One, remember that by killing Rhaegar Targaryen, Robert Baratheon has now carved his name in history, as the one who has ended a four-hundred-year-old dynasty, and one of the last remnants of the ancient Valyrian empire. Regardless of what he does in the future, his name is now renowned as one of the greatest warriors in the world, his actual military skills notwithstanding. In one swoop, he is now acknowledged as the most powerful man in Westeros, a position that Tywin has held for the last 20 years. This act of brutal sacking of the capital was done by Tywin to remind the world that while Robert may be the new power in Westeros, he is still a man to be feared."
"He killed thousands of people, just to ensure that people continue to fear him?" Oberyn asked in revulsion while Quentyn nodded.
"That is the way of tyrants, uncle. Tywin is a man who fears weakness above all. He is defined by it, consumed by thoughts of it, and he will go to any lengths to remove any association of it with his house."
"Due to what happened with his father and the Reyne's," Myriah nodded in acknowledgment as Quentyn nodded.
"Exactly, Tywin Lannister will kill himself before he admits any weakness. The humiliation he endured in his childhood, and the memories of House Lannister's weakness during his father's reign has defined him. He will do anything, and I mean absolutely anything to ensure that House Lannister remains strong no matter what."
"Second," he continued, even as he tapped the tip of the knife on the right side of the line, "He did not do this, just to gain the good graces of Robert Baratheon. His sole aim in life is to ensure a dynasty that will last a thousand years, a dynasty led by House Lannister, and what better way to ensure it, by having his daughter become the new queen of Westeros?"
"Impossible, Robert Baratheon will not set aside Lyanna Stark, no matter what. He fought the war for her for god's sake," Oberyn refused to accept that possibility. All of them carefully avoided mentioning the fact that Rhaegar had married Lyanna in secret. That was a secret all three of them would take to their grave. Those three and Areo were the only ones who knew that secret, and that was how it would remain.
"You are assuming that Tywin will let her live to become the queen," Quentyn retorted coldly, freezing Oberyn and his grandmother at the spot where they stood.
"Do not forget, Tywin has always dreamed of having his daughter as the queen, and was spurned publicly by Aerys who chose Elia for Rhaegar. Elia's death was a statement by Tywin. He had her punished, because in his eyes, she had insulted House Lannister by taking the place of his daughter. In Tywin's eyes, only his daughter deserves to be queen. More to the fact, she is the lynchpin in his plans to ensure that House Lannister has a dynasty that can last a thousand years. If Lyanna Stark is alive, then Tywin Lannister will have her killed one way or another, to ensure that his daughter Cersei becomes queen. I will stake my life on it."
"And he believes that making an enemy of House Martell is worth the price for this," Oberyn snarled as he too began to pace around the hall.
"A price which we will extract with interest, I assure you," Quentyn replied back, as he stopped pacing and looked at both of them.
"How?" Oberyn asked sharply.
"Uncle, Grandmother, the first thing we need to do is to summon all the bannermen of House Martell to Sunspear. Afterwards, Grandmother, you will present our terms to Jon Arryn in their presence."
"Them being?"
"Simple. Amory Lorch and Gregor Clegane to be handed over to us in order for us to have an equitable peace, and for Dorne to lay down its arms. Make sure to word it so that there are no misconceptions. Those two to be handed over to us, in order for Dorne to stop the war, and just that. Nothing else," Quentyn cautioned while the other two considered his words.
"And what of Robert Baratheon's demand for us bending the knee to him?" Oberyn snarked with a huff, while Myriah became pensive, and sat down silently.
"For that, we extract a higher price," Quentyn replied coolly, "Dorne will bend the knee to Robert Baratheon if and when they hand over the head of Tywin Lannister."
"You cannot be serious, why would Jon Arryn, much less Robert Baratheon or Tywin Lannister accept that?" Myriah looked at her grandson, her eyes wide with disbelief.
"Who needs them to accept in the first place? This demand is for the other lord paramount's to ponder upon. They hand over Tywin Lannister or Dorne becomes an independent kingdom once more. In reality, these terms are designed to ensure the independence of Dorne regardless of what may occur, nothing more nothing less. For there is nothing in this creation, that will make Dorne kneel to a witless whoremonger like Robert Baratheon. House Martell will not and cannot bow to a man bereft of dignity, honor and the right of kingship."
"Aah," Oberyn chuckled, "clever, you offer terms that Tywin and Robert cannot contemplate, but which the other lord paramount's can. In essence, a ploy to drive a wedge between them all. Since Robert has not been crowned as king yet, it falls upon the Lord Paramounts to take a call. Jon Arryn would agree, but does not have the power to see it through. Hoster Tully would not care, and Mace Tyrell, the less said the better. Only Eddard Stark has the power and the strength to bring Tywin to heels, but he will not. He is far too preoccupied with searching for his sister to bother with anything else. And if he contemplates going after Tywin, then the Iron Throne fractures, which again is in our favor. And the Ironborn do not care about what happens to the mainlands."
"Exactly, while you are placing our terms to Jon Arryn, grandmother, I will be leading the army of Dorne to the marches on the border. No one knows that we sent only a fifth of our strength to the battle on the Trident. We will swiftly take all of the marshlands, the lands under the control of both Dorne and the Reach to be exact. The presence of all the banner men is to ensure that Jon Arryn does not suspect any treachery on our part. While they are all here, I shall lead the forces of Dorne in a swift campaign to permanently secure those lands. If we control the marshlands, then no army in existence can threaten Dorne ever again. We will secure Dorne's independence for good."
"So, you wish to command all the banners yourself … the bannermen will not like it," Myriah cautioned, at which Quentyn nodded.
"They don't need to like it, they just have to accept it. You will need to delay Jon Arryn as much as possible. Because as soon as Jon Arryn hears of our terms and our declaration of independence, within weeks, the Reach will attack us with all their strength."
"How can you be so sure?" Oberyn asked with a tense voice even as he considered that fact of Dornish independence, a heady thought to be sure.
"Because, I trust in Olenna Tyrell's greed," Quentyn smiled thinly.
"What?" Oberyn looked at him nonplussed, as he tried to understand what the queen of thorns had to do with this matter.
Quentyn chuckled, "As of now uncle, the reason why the Targaryen's lost the rebellion can be blamed upon the Tyrell's. Simply put, what was the need for 60,000 men to surround a single castle? Even if it is a castle like Storm's end? A force of 20,000 could have been sufficient to ensure a siege and to prevent any reinforcements from reaching them. With another 40,000 men at his hand, Rhaegar Targaryen could have wiped out the rebellion. But they all sat at storm's end, feasting in front of the besieged castle. The Reach can call upon 100,000 men, and yet they summoned only 60,000 and the only thing they did was besiege a castle. Do you not find that strange? Why would Randyll Tarly, the only man in Westeros, who managed to defeat Robert Baratheon himself in battle simply stand aside in such a meaningless siege?"
"Because Olenna ordered him to do so," Myriah snorted in disgust, while Quentyn nodded in agreement.
"Exactly. The Tyrell's waited to see who would win, before throwing their lot in with the victor. Under the Targaryen's the Tyrell's have gained no special favors, no royal marriages, no positions in the Kingsguard or the small council. If the rebels won, they would claim as they have now, that they were only following orders under duress, and show that they simply besieged Storm's end, and caused no harm to Robert Baratheon's brothers. Weary of battle, and madly desiring peace, Jon Arryn would accept their terms and the Tyrell's would retain their lands and titles without losing anything, as is the case now. And that will give them an opportunity to ingratiate themselves further with the new regime, as they try to raise themselves further. On the other hand, if the Targaryen's had won which is a moot point now, they would have stormed Storm's end, and claimed that they had obeyed orders to the letter and would have reaped the rewards with minimal losses. Either way, they would be the only ones who would have lost the least in this war."
"Treacherous cowards," Oberyn snarled, while Quentyn shook his head. "No, they are pragmatic and calculating people, who look to gain the most by spending the least. This is how a woman wages war, uncle. Remember it."
"So, once I declare Dornish Independence, the Reach will invade Dorne in order to subjugate us and claim favor with the new regime, is that your belief?" Myriah asked, even as she looked out of the window to see the sprawling city outside.
"That is the way Olenna Tyrell's mind works. She will calculate all the benefits and the losses that they may incur. With uncle Oberyn away, and grand-uncle Llewyn dead, and myself being so young, she will theorize that there no leaders in Dorne capable of matching Randyll Tarly. Robert Baratheon may have accepted the Reach's surrender, but there is still bad blood between them. By conquering Dorne, she will try to gain favor in the new regime, a position in the small council, one of her daughters married to Robert's brother Stannis, and some lands from Dorne added to the Reach. As such, she will come to the conclusion that this is a worthwhile venture, much to be gained and little to lose," Quentyn Martell concluded with a grim smile, while Oberyn and Myriah watched dumbstruck as he calculated all possible scenarios with frightening precision.
"And by invading the marshes beforehand, you will preempt them and also gain an unassailable advantage before the war," Oberyn nodded appreciatively at which Quentyn smirked with a smug gaze.
"If the bannermen of Dorne are to accept my rule, I must demonstrate that I am capable of leading them through the most turbulent times. The fact that I am 14 years notwithstanding, in this invasion of the marshlands, I shall demonstrate to you what it means to win through overwhelming difference in strength," Quentyn replied curtly while Myriah nodded her assent, and even Oberyn, after a moment's contemplation did the same.
"This is all well and good, but you have yet to make it clear what I am supposed to do in Braavos?"
"There uncle, you will launch the opening strike of our vengeance against Tywin Lannister," Quentyn replied curtly.
"Oh? do elaborate," Oberyn asked, even as he poured a second round of wine for both himself and his mother, as they both stared at him.
"Simple," Quentyn retorted, "Tywin Lannister did all this to leave a legacy that will last a thousand years. However, I will be the one who will now decide what shape and form that legacy takes. Every single thing he has worked his entire life to achieve; I will take from him, trample it in front him, while ensuring that he is incapable of stopping it. He fears weakness? By the time I am done with him, the name Lannister will become synonymous with weakness, and his father will be considered as a giant compared to him. I will make him the laughing stock of the world. I will not rest until the Westerlands have been utterly destroyed."
Even as Quentyn spoke calmly, without any emotion, Oberyn was petrified with fear at the casual way in which the boy, no … the general in him, spoke.
What a demon … he is completely serious.
"And what will Oberyn do over there, Quentyn?" Myriah tried to steer the conversation back from the chilling atmosphere that had engulfed the room.
"Yes," Quentyn turned to look at his uncle and faced him dead on, "In Braavos, uncle, you shall approach the faceless men and buy two deaths. Deaths that will play a great role in ensuring Dorne's independence and the death of the Iron throne."
Oberyn took a deep breath while Myriah froze in shock.
"And who would they be? Hiring the faceless men to kill 2 people at the same time would drain even Dorne's coffers nephew," the famously brash prince cautioned, while Quentyn acknowledged the fact.
"But a price that must be paid. Against Dorne's future, what is a few chests of gold?" he asked rhetorically even as the others conceded the point.
"Who?" Myriah asked sharply, as Oberyn also had a look of expectation on his face.
"The first will be Kevan Lannister, the brother of Tywin and his right-hand man. Though he has served under his brother all his life, it is not as if his talents are beneath his brother's. It is Kevan Lannister who acts as the glue that holds the Westerlands together. His skills in managing the lands, the armies and the day-to-day affairs of the Westerlands are unmatched. Without him, the affairs of the west are crippled. Tywin does not trust anybody else in the Westerlands enough to handle these duties, not even in his family, and he will be forced to take them over himself, which means he will have to cut down on the time he is spending on the aftermath of the rebellion and any schemes he is planning towards us. A most welcome diversion, which will allow us to make our moves all the easier."
"Agreed, and who is the second?" Oberyn asked with a hardened glint in his eye.
"We will hold on that for now, once Kevan Lannister is dead, we need to observe the reactions of the other kingdoms before making the next move. The second target is the most unexpected one, and the one which will bring us the most rewards. Trust me on this," Quentyn replied, at which Myriah and Oberyn after a moment's consideration gave their assent at which Quentyn leaned on the table and looked at his elders.
"Well, shall we begin?"