( Oberyn POV )
The sound of swords clashing resonated through the courtyard. Slowly, but surely, Oberyn approached, seeing a dozen Dornishmen watching the fight that was going on in the middle, which captivated the entire audience.
Leaning on a pillar, Oberyn watched attentively as the two opponent's sparring swords clashed again and again.
One of the two duelists was a tall man, with dark hair, that towered over his opponent. The other, smaller, but no less deadly in his demeanour, had blonde-silver hair. It didn't take long for Oberyn to recognize both fighters. The tall man was Mors Manwoody, and the smaller figure was Edric Dayne, Quentyn's squire.
He approached a bit closer, seeing that both his daughter and nephew were watching the fight with keen attention, flanked by the large Yronwood boy. Not the one that had gone to catch himself a rose, the other one.
The Dayne boy defended himself well, that was true. Each blow Mors Manwoody tried to go for, Edric Dayne matched. However, he wondered when Quentyn's squire would take the initiative. For now, he was content with defending, but to make your adversary yield, you would need to attack.
No sooner had he thought this that Manwoody went for a lazy strike from top to bottom. The Dayne boy easily deflected it to the side, and was quicker in drawing his blade towards the Manwoody boy, caught unaware.
It took all the energy Mors had to block Edric's strike. Nonetheless, the Dayne boy didn't panic or abandon everything. Instead, he pressed on his initiative, unleashing a flurry of blows onto the poor heir to Kingsgrave, who quickly lost his footing.
Mors' steps were heavy, disjointed, just trying to hang on and win by brute forcing Edric to the ground. His opponent however, stood firm, his feet stuck in the ground like they had been enveloped in quicksand. Every step was quick, graceful and at no point did Oberyn see the Dayne boy falter.
He has some Arthur in him, Oberyn thought painfully.
Mors tried to regain the initiative, by trying to keep Edric locked in his flurry of attacks, waiting for an opportunity as the Dayne boy would be forced to tire. That opportunity presented itself soon enough. With Edric slowly changing the pace of his attacks, Mors took advantage of it to try and swing to the side.
Edric didn't let himself get fooled. The blades met once again, and Oberyn thought that the blunted steel would shatter in a thousand pieces. They stayed locked for a few moments, before both fighters went back to their aggressive stances.
Mors, desperate to not let Edric try his flurry of strikes again, rushed forwards with his sword, trying to close the distance with the Dayne squire once more. However, this time, Edric saw clearly what Mors was trying to do.
Without even a second thought, Edric matched the challenge, and slowly twisted to the left, whereas Mors was preparing to strike to the right. Putting his body in opposition and holding firm, Edric stopped Mors' rush in its tracks, making the black-haired man tumble to the ground.
Mors had a hard time getting back on his feet, which made it all the easier for Edric to finish him off. Two blows were enough for him to disarm Mors, as he pointed his blunted sword towards the man's throat.
"Do you yield?" Edric asked.
"I yield." Mors nodded. "Good fight, Dayne."
"You too, Manwoody." Edric removed his helmet and nodded back, his faced drenched with sweat.
Putting his sword away, the Dayne squire immediately rushed to Quentyn, who was waiting on the side with a small smile.
"Impressive, Ned." Quentyn nodded to him.
"Thank you!" Edric grinned from ear to ear. "I feel like I'm getting better every day!"
"We're lucky to have some of the best fighters in Dorne here." Quentyn let out, watching the other knights prepare their swords for their own fight.
"Perhaps you ought to spar against me." Oberyn finally let out, with Quentyn, Edric, Nym and Archibald's eyes turning to him. "It would be a pleasure to spar against another Dayne."
"Y…you...?" the Dayne boy stammered. "My prince…it would…"
"Now, now, Lord Dayne." Oberyn smiled at him. "No need to be worried, just a friendly spar would do. Prince Quentyn can attest to that."
Edric's dark blue eyes darted to Quentyn. Nymeria on the other hand was covering her mouth to stop herself from laughing.
"I wouldn't exactly call them friendly spars." Quentyn frowned. "They were more of humiliation sessions."
"But you got better, did you not?" Oberyn laughed. "I'd say they were quite fruitful!"
Quentyn stared at him blankly, sighing as he did so, arms crossed as if he were expecting some kind of joke to end.
"I was serious!" Oberyn protested. "Your footwork got better, and you've made improvements with your spear."
"That wasn't exactly thanks to you." Quentyn shot a knowing sideways glance to his daughter, who for her part had stopped laughing in a corner and was playing with a dagger in her hands.
"Oh yes." Nym chuckled. "A lot better."
"Then you may not oppose to spar later, nephew?" Oberyn asked. "A spear in hand, a sword, a hammer, perhaps? Anything you like."
"Perhaps." Quentyn nodded. "But not today. Nym and I have training to do."
"Training?" Oberyn asked. "Another spear lesson?"
"Daggers as a matter of fact." Nym chuckled, pulling out three more from her robe. "It's the aim we have to work on."
Quentyn shook his head and turned his attention back to Lord Dayne.
"Well done, Ned." He congratulated him. "Now rush to your rooms and take a bath, you need it."
The Dayne boy nodded vigorously and ran past, almost forgetting to go remove his armour, before the big Yronwood reminded him to do so.
"You've got a talented squire." Oberyn remarked.
"That I do." Quentyn nodded. "More talented than I am, methinks."
"Perhaps not yet, but close enough." Oberyn conceded. "He reminds him of his uncle at his age."
Quentyn's face darkened.
"You knew Ser Arthur?" Quentyn questioned.
"Quite well." Oberyn nodded. "We met several times, Elia liked him a lot, we used to be sparring partners when we were young. He was better than me, of course. Admittedly, Arthur was better than everyone."
"We've got time, then." Quentyn sighed. "Ned isn't better than everyone."
"Well, he's certainly better than a man ten years older and towering two heads above him." Oberyn smiled. "And Mors Manwoody isn't exactly the type to not know how to hold a sword."
"You think he can be the next Sword of the morning?" Quentyn asked, barely surprised.
"I think that if he continues to improve, it's a strong possibility."
"You may be right." Quentyn acknowledged. "It's past time I had him knighted."
"Would you want to do it yourself?" Oberyn asked. "You've certainly helped shape the boy. When he came to Dorne, I was quite surprised myself that you took him under your service. He was quite distant, intimidated even. Like the Dornish culture wasn't really his own, like he didn't want to be there…"
"He reminded me of someone I knew…" Quentyn ran a hand through his hair.
"I can't say you haven't done him a favor." Oberyn patted his nephew's shoulder. "He's grown confident, his skill at arms has increased tenfold…I think you knighting him would only be justice."
"I'd ask him who he wants to be knighted by." Quentyn simply replied. "You're a legend in Dorne. I think I would not have him denied the possibility if it existed."
"And I would gladly accept. Knighting a sword of the morning is a feat few can boast." Oberyn nodded back. "But I would advise him to have you knight him instead still."
"You honor me, uncle." Quentyn nodded simply, without a smile.
"Now father, if there is nothing else…" Nymeria was almost itching for him to be gone, twirling her daggers in her hands.
"Just one more thing." Oberyn mused. "What's the big Yronwood going to do? I'd wish to see what he's capable of."
"I'm trying to get him to learn to use things that aren't a hammer." Quentyn pointed out.
"That's true." Archibald nodded. "Don't know why. I'm a lot better with a hammer. It's really all you need. Cave a chest in. Smash a face. Destroy a ribcage."
"I think we get the idea, big man." Nym shoved an elbow in his stomach.
"Yes, and your victims have time to spew their guts out onto the floor a dozen times." Quentyn punched him in the shoulder, clearly a head above him. "I'm trying to get you to do things differently and discreetly."
"Discreet, him?" Oberyn scoffed. "We'd hear him coming from Sunspear if he was in Planky Town!"
"Very funny." Quentyn frowned.
"Your friend seemed to like it." Nym pointed to Archibald, who was trying his best not to burst out in laughter.
"Just differently is a start. Switching from a hammer to a greatsword perhaps." Quentyn continued without paying much attention to Archibald who was trying his hardest not to grin.
"Mhm." Oberyn sounded unconvinced. "Well, then, I shall leave you to whatever designs you are planning. I have a council meeting to attend."
"A council meeting?" Quentyn asked, his curiosity peaked. "What in the seven hells for?"
"The wedding, I expect." Oberyn shrugged. "It is supposed to take place in a moon's time after all. Did Lady Margaery not tell you?"
"She did." Quentyn nodded without much reaction.
"Well, the Reachers certainly have a wild number of rumors concerning you two…" Oberyn could see that Nymeria had started to frown.
"I thought a man like you didn't listen to rumors." Quentyn retorted.
"Sometimes rumors have a part of truth…" Oberyn mused in response.
"Speaking of rumors, I must ask something of you, uncle." Quentyn pressed.
"Oh?" Oberyn looked surprised. "Do tell."
"If at the council, there is talk of Dayne forces coming to reinforce Lord Fowler in the Prince's Pass, let me know." He asked with a malicious eye.
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