The Desert Prince

Chapter 3 – My previous life sucked

By Jamnaz79

Beta: Looking for a Beta

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Game of Thrones (Song of Fire and Ice) or anything associated with it. I can say that I would never be able to write a masterpiece like Mr. Martin does and I hope you forgive my horrible try. Then again I hope I don't do a chapter every 5 years like Mr. Martin too. But, the books are always worth the wait!

"I will give it a try then Uncle. But, if we are to travel far away what will happen to your paramour and daughters?" the boy spoke with a bit of concern as from the memories of Quentyn he had a soft spot for a few of his cousins. His eyes glanced back down at the cotton wrap as he let the question hang there. His fingertips brushed over the wrap it was well-made and un-yielding when tugged. His Uncle might be right for his enemies, even better perhaps a bit of suspense for the ladies. Hell, who would know better than his Uncle who had supposedly fought with and bedded half of the women of Dorne?

The older Prince rested his eyes as a slight smile crossed his lips, "Who said my paramour wouldn't visit often? After all absence makes the cock grow harder."

~~~ DP ~~~

Quentyn reclined into the hair on the balcony of the inn overlooking the city of Sunspear. The inn was on the western side of the city. While Sunspear would have been considered a small city compared to the Free Cities and a few blocks of populace compared to downtown London it was a city for Dorne. Despite the small size this was home for Quentyn for his early years. His life consisted of time spent here or within the Water Gardens three leagues to the south.

The capital was famous for the triple gate required to enter the city. Sunspear was a located on a peninsula with shoreline on three sides letting a small portion of deep sea docks to the south. To the Northwest a five story tall triple wall wrapped around the city except for the single gate. The walls contained a killing field of around a football pitch between each subsection. The walls were so high that siege engines within the Seven Kingdoms would never breach it. Truthfully there was little that could break the walls of Dorne; in fact it had not fallen even to the might of the Targaryens.

The eyes of the young man wandered from the magnificent walls to the Spear Tower. It was a massive building of stone that rose above the surrounding structures like a London Skyscraper. While it might not reach the clouds like the buildings of his memories it stood fifteen stories into the air before coming to a point. A slight smirk crossed the boy's face as it looked like a giant penis, perhaps one of his ancestors was trying to compensate for something. It was created to house highborn prisoners during times of war, but normally it instead was used to keep the regiment of soldiers at ready for service in the lower levels.

He turned next his gaze upon the Tower of the Sun, while not as large in height this building was the seat of power in Dorne. It was in the middle of the Palace and wrapped in pieces of gold built into the rooftop. Even in the depths of the darkest night the lights of the stars would reflect off of the roof shining brightly to the surroundings. It was said as long as the Tower of the Sun shone on Dorne House Martell would never fail her people.

He knew from memories that the floors of the building were crafted from pale marble imported from far off. The windows had colored glass pictures depicting the voyage and travels of Nymeria. There was exotic artwork and paintings filling all of the halls of the wonderful building. It was to be the building that his sister would someday rule Dorne, and perhaps he would e able to give her support to change the world.

The city reminded him of a city in the history books from the middle ages. There were sections of cobblestone and extreme wealth, but there were also sections that were barely better than clay hobbles. There were areas of the city where exotic fruits and vegetables were enjoyed nightly with rare pieces of fresh meat. There was also a section of the city where feces was thrown into the streets and children wondered where their next meal came from. The sight of these people as he came to this inn this day had put him in this deep melancholy mood. These were his people! They were who he would protect from foreign enemies. But, what about protecting them from disease and a quality of life that was little better than a third world country? Then again was Dorne a third world country? Sure he could put on a stiff upper lip and just go his own way to resolve his problems, or he could make an impact and change things. Perhaps it was his English sensibilities from his other life but he saw so many ways that he could help improve these peoples' lives. In the back of his head Hermione's voice, even if he could barely place her face and name, kept lecturing him to create a list to get to work.

But, where could he start to make changes? Also should he just rush in and make changes to make them? It seemed that whenever in his past life he would jump to conclusions it would backfire on him and his friends. There was that group of his friend SPEW, it was a perfect example that they wanted to free the House Elves that were bound to serve Wizards. Little did they know that the House elves were bound because they lost a war to the Roman wizards. They had all been minor demons known as Imps that had been summoned by the Egyptians long ago to keep their slaves in check. Ironic that their fate had become the slaves themselves bound in service for centuries. It seemed after some research that if they were fully released from their contracts that they could once again become a terror on the world at large. It was a good warning for here. Slow, small changes at first would be what are needed. The million pound question is where to start?

He closed his eyes as he felt the night breeze brush against his cheek softly. A slight smile came over his lips from the cool air as the sea pulled the warmth from the hot land. The boy couldn't help but think back to when Harry was growing up with his "family" often locked alone in his cupboard. The boy spent days at a time in there with nothing to do but books that he would take from the library.

At first he hid the books but eventually his Aunt and Uncle found them. It was one of the few bright moments of his life when he was able to convince his Aunt and Uncle to let him keep the books if he did all of his chores. He remembered his uncle muttering about perhaps science and literature would get the weirdness out of him. Well it didn't in the long rule, since magic can't just be removed from someone. At least it cannot be removed without killing them. But, it did create a boy that would borrow books like a crack addict from the library. He was a boy that couldn't help but read to escape his horrible excuse for a world that he was subjected to day after day. While his aunt and uncle would never take him anywhere, and never gave him the chance to experience life he got to do it on his own with books. It gave him the chance to swim in the Mississippi with Tom Sawyer or Fly to Neverland with Peter Pan, a chance to learn how to cook better to save a beating.

It is partly why Harry became a good cook; it was also why he became so good at doing chores around the house. He read about gardening, proper ways to treat the soil, how to fix minor things like light fixtures or basic plumbing. The boy learned cooking techniques and what plants different spices came from. Not that his Aunt and Uncle ate anything fancy, basically you could have poured a gallon of grease onto a piece of spam and deep fried it and they would think it was fine dining. That said if he messed up a single time it was a belt to the back or a hand to the face from his Uncle. Harry learned quickly to succeed their expectations in any endeavor that was placed before him except when it was a contest with Dudley. This tradition continued as he grew older, except the tasks seemed to become harder each year. Harry learned whenever one of tools like the vacuum cleaner or lawn mower would break he would need to fix it himself instead of asking for another. It got to the point after his second year of schooling at Hogwarts that he was expected to change the oil of his Uncle's car and give it a tune-up. Harry had become the handyman, gardener, cook, and house elf for the Dursley family.

Looking over the city now that was filled with filth and disease while barely being out of the stone age of Technology he couldn't help but wonder if he could find ways to put that knowledge of his past to good use. Prince Oberyn had mentioned that they would be traveling to the Maesters first. There was a chance that they would find out more information about magic in this world there, if nothing else he could learn about what technologies there was in this world. Perhaps he could figure out ways to adapt them for the people of Dorne. Hopefully by the time he was old enough to take over for his Uncle's position he could design something for his people. Crop rotations, a steam engine, irrigation systems, aqueducts, the printing press, even indoor plumbing might all be things he could help his people gain someday. He just would need time to work on these ideas and books to research what he would have to work with.

A grin spread over the lips of the boy as he lifted up his glass of wine to sip from it. Yes indeed, he could change this world not just with his magic but with his brain as well. It would only take some planning and cunning to pull it off. Careful planning and study would be required to get everything in order. But, eventually he could drag this world out of the Dark Ages that it seemed to be in.

~~~ DP ~~~

Sweat poured down the back of the boy as he ducked under the butt of the spear that was whipped around at his head. This was followed closely by trying to move his head out of the way of the elbow that followed the spear only to be struck in the neck. Luckily he was able to roll away from the fight for a brief second to reorient himself.

That second and gasp of air was all he got before Oberyn was back attacking him in close combat. The man circled him like a hungry wolf pack looking to pick off the weakest sheep in the herd. The boy's knees and ankles were sore from the number of times he had been flipped onto his back or tripped to the ground. Quickly he shuffled his feet away from another vicious combo of a star of the spear followed by a side kick at his shin.

His uncle slammed into the ground in a crouch before him as he missed a kick. It was a perfect chance to strike back, an opening far too obvious to pass up. So Quentyn whipped his spear around over his head before thrusting with the blunt end of it at his Uncle's head. Unfortunately the man merely rolled his head to the side. This was immediately followed by the length of the spear lashing out to sweep his feet from him. For the seventh time in two hours the boy flipped from his feet as his legs were taken out onto his backside with a large "oomph." The cold blade of a dagger was pressed at the neck of the teenager with a harsh whisper, "Yield."

Quentyn forced his breathing to calm as he nodded his head once. He felt the removal of the dagger then a hand helped him up to his feet. "Yronwood didn't do horrid with his training of you."

The younger prince blinked at his Uncle for the slight praise. For the past few days they had setup camp next to a small stream and he had been drilled relentlessly on his spear work. Every single time he had been beaten badly, each time it was worse than the last. He spit out a bit of blood to the ground from a busted lip courtesy of a punch, "Not horrid? I have been beaten like a drum."

"Yet, you got up and continued after each time you were thrown down." The man shook his head at the anger of the boy, he turned away to carefully hide a smirk of amusement. It was always fun to bring out the anger of his nephew. "Well you did make a good sparring dummy. Someday you might land a strike on me."

Quentyn rolled his eyes and settled down to clean his spear. Not that the instruct of war had hit anything, but still he was instructed in the ways to make certain it was clean, sturdy, and ready for combat, "Someday"

Oberyn knelt down at the middle of the camp and started to build the layers of the fire pit up, "Yes someday. I will get you there. Just as Nymeria's fleet was not built in day neither will be your skills for sword, spear, and lance. Time and patience, learning and hard work will bring them out. Now go get some water to make dinner Quentyn."

The boy reached out and grabbed a pot to fill from the stream. Grumbling the whole way about hard work, planning and lectures from smug uncles he walked down towards the stream. What did his Uncle think he was some bloody Hufflepuff? The raven haired prince shook off his thoughts as he walked to the stream and knelt down to fill the pot. He was so bust with his grumbling that he never noticed the water snake slithering towards him. Nor did he hear the warning hissing of the serpent as it raised its head to ready to strike the intruder to its territory.

It was at the last second that the mind of the youth noticed the danger and looked up at the snake. By reflex he hissed back at the serpent, "Stop!"

The water moccasin looked at the teenager confused, never before had a human spoken the language of the serpent. It appeared uncertain what to do. Slowly it started to coil back into itself yet kept its yellowed eyed stare on the human. "How do you sssspeak our tongue?"

"Where I come from I am a speaker, a parselmouth. I have always been able to speak your tongue, though it is a rare gift even where I come from." The boy quickly hissed back in the tongue of the snakes. He kept his eyes locked onto the serpent. It had dark black scales that glistened from the water of the stream, not too large at only three feet in length and width was about a galleon in size. A smile touched the lips of the boy, "I mean you no harm."

"What do you want from us? All humans bring harm to our kind." The head of the serpent bounced lightly back and forth watching the young man.

"Not I. I am merely passing through. I search to understand things, to uncover why I can do different things. I am different than most humans; I have a purpose from the Fire Lord. I am seeking to learn the ability to use my magic." Quentyn stopped and frowned a moment feeling rather silly talking to a snake of all things about this. What would a serpent know of gods and magic? He stood up slowly to not startle the creature with his filled pot. "I leave you now serpent of the waters in peace. Good hunting."

"We will be watching you human. Let us see what you really are." The creature hissed after the boy was out of earshot. It watched the human walk off towards his campsite then continued to watch through the night in curiosity. Though it could not understand the words that the humans spoke in camp, it did hear the name of the boy, Quentyn. A name for the speaker, it would be remembered. When the dawn broke the humans were gone. The serpent slithered back to the waters of the stream and slowly started to spread the tale of the human to the rest of the land.

~~~ DP ~~~

The travel had been rough, every day they would start the day with hand to hand and weapons training. The princess would travel for hours till just before the darkness crept over the land then set up camp. A quick fire would be gotten, water pulled out for cooking and a rub down of the horses. Finally a quick meal before a lecture on strategy for warfare, geography, politics, women, life in general was taught to Quentyn. His uncle became more to the young man then just the relationship of a knight to a squire, he became a teacher. Granted he was a teacher that would cuff the side of his head in the next spar if he slacked off, but a teacher nonetheless.

Oberyn had been to each major city and famous castle in his travels around the Seven. While most assumed he was busy with his debauchery, that image was a useful front to him. It gave a chance to learn the inns and out of every castle he stayed at. Nobody questions a drunken Prince that is wandering the halls looking for the loo late at night. Nor did they make a big deal of getting lost since he was always a favored guest of their Lord. If he truly was a lush for meat and drink that he acted like at his age then he would be as large as King Robert by this time.

A second way that he would use to gather information was from his conquests. It was amazing how much talk between the sheets took place, and how much chambermaids knew all of the rumors and secret passages of the castle. It had the added bonus of being the most pleasurable information gathering secessions possible!

The result of these nightly escapades was that over time Oberyn was able to put together drawn maps of many of the keeps and cities of the seven kingdoms. These parchments would be shown to the boy or drawn out in dirty for Quentyn to learn, each normally punctuated with a story. It was at one of these secessions that Quentyn discovered something remarkable by accident.

They had arrived late that night from their travel; Oberyn had wanted to push to get closer to a water source. Their hurried movements for the last few weeks had placed them close to Blackmont. The plan would be to take a boat down the Torentine River to Starfell and the Summer Sea. From Starfell the princes would find a ship to carry them to Oldtown.

The horses had been rubbed down and the camp was set up, a fire was roaring with life when Quentyn was sent to fill up the pot for cooking. He was exhausted. The unrelenting schedule required by his Uncle was draining on the youth. Perhaps that is why the boot of the boy hit a rock as he walked back towards the camp causing him to stumble. Normally Quentyn's reflexes would have allowed him to catch himself but exhaustion took over as the pot of water fell and the boy followed. The pot landed hard on the ground splattering water and rolling to the side not soaking the fire. Unluckily Quentyn flew face first into the roaring blaze. In a last second impulse the boy raised his right arm to try to block the flames from his face. A scream started to boil up through his lungs but never came out as he realized something.

It was the strangest thing, he was face first in a fire yet he felt no heat! There was no sizzling smell, there was no pain. He could feel the warmth and it was pleasant actually to him. He pushed away from the hot coals falling back out of the fire onto his backside. His gaze lowered in shock to his arms; while they were pink as if sunburned and his hair was gone they were otherwise fine! He was untouched by the flames!

Quentyn looked up at the gasp from his Uncle; the man was standing before him having moved fast as a strike of lightning. The wide eyes and shock written on the face of the man was something he had never seen before. The boy cleared his throat, "Ops?"

Oberyn stepped closer and brushed his calloused fingertips across the cheeks and forehead of his nephew. The boy's eyes were glowing bright neon green seeming to burn with the energy of the flams. Wherever the man touched the boy's skin was smooth and unblemished instead of scarred. Soot fell away to show perfectly tanned skin that his nephew always had. The hair on the head of Quentyn that had been burnt grew back before the man's very eyes. His nephew besides a bit of dirt and looked like nothing had happened. He swallowed slowly unsure what to do as nothing in his life experience had prepared him for this. "How do you feel?"

"I feel great." The boy smiled at his Uncle, his eyes flashed in the campfire light. He flexed his arms back and forth with surprise as his muscles which moments before felt weary now seemed perfectly fine. There was no pain or lethargy from the week of new training; it was as if his soreness and muscles had healed themselves! He flashed another smile at his Uncle, "I feel like I could run ten leagues. It is almost as if I took strength from the flames!"

Quentyn considered that idea. Did he take strength from the fire? It didn't burn him and when he touched it he now felt better, stronger. Hell he had a full stomach it felt like he had eaten the best meal in the world. The impulsive Gryffindor knew what he would need to do to test this theory. Before his Uncle could stop him he reached out with his right hand towards the fire pit. As his fingertips touched the dancing flames he could feel the energy and strength within them. He could feel the power inside of him, his magical core pulling at that energy from the fire to strengthen itself.

The fire started to dim from his touch, its strength dying. Unknown to Quentyn his eyes started to shimmer in the neon green once again. This time it was lighting up the face of the bow with a large glow reflecting off of them. Even from where he knelt Oberyn could feel the heat coming off of the boy and see the smoke start to smolder off his shoulders, "Quentyn you are burning up. You need to pull your hands out of the fire."

The young man blinked and looked up at Oberyn in surprise. He had forgotten his uncle in his study of the flames. The yearning, hungry desire that had crept into his mind for the fire and the power there was intoxicating. He pulled back his hand from the flames and felt the loss of the power immediately.

Quentyn closed his eyes and slowed his breathing with deep breaths. He felt the power of the fire that he had leached still filling his veins. It was almost too much for him to contain and control. He slowly held up his right hand just removed from the fire and concentrated on it with all of his will poured into it. A small ball of flame started to appear floating over the hand of the boy. Quentyn could feel the strength stolen from the blaze leaving him and flowing into his hand filling up the burning fire. The flames started to grow stronger by the second the energy was forced back into the flame. At first it was a spark, then a blaze the size of his hand, after half a minute it was as large as the fire pit's blaze had been and the boy kept pouring energy into the fire. He kept concentrating his will and magic into the flame. He never noticed his Uncle stumbling away from him as the roar of the fire was all that was important to his eyes. Finally he stopped willing energy into the fire and opened his emerald gaze. Floating above his hand was a bonfire sized fireball four foot in diameter, simply there awaiting his command.

A surprise gasp escaped his lips at the massive size of what he had created. He wasn't sure what would happen if he released it or allowed his will over controlling it to slacken. He ground his teeth together as he concentrated trying to pull his strength back into himself. Unfortunately this seemed to be far more difficult, after a minute there was barely an effect on the side of the blaze. Quentyn let out a deep breath and looked around trying to find somewhere to get rid of the blaze, he could not control it forever and he didn't want to see what would happen when he lost control. The land around them was dry, far too dry to toss it into the grasses. They may ignite and who knows what might happen if that took place. The fire pit was out as it was far too small. Instead he ran towards the pond using all of his strength and will to hold onto the control of the fireball. As soon as he saw the small pond he pushed his hand forward releasing the blaze towards the waters. The impact was a surprise for the boy.

He remembered letting go of the fire, willing it towards the small pond. He remembered watching it descent towards the cool surface of the waters at night. The memory was there for the fire striking the water and causing a well of steam to rise up. What he didn't remember was the explosion that took place that sent him flying onto his backside.

~~~ DP ~~~

The next day he awoke with a groan as water was poured over his head. The first vision to come to him was his Uncle's face he knelt over his student. "You overslept and missed your morning training. Since I am a nice Uncle you can run beside the horses instead of riding to make up for it during the first three hours of the day."

Quentyn could swear there was an evil in the eyes of the man as he stood up to walk away cackling. That laugh reminded him too much of a Bond movie villain for comfort. Still he shook it off and got ready for the a hard run through the plains towards Blackmont. A glance noticed that sun seemed to behiding behind some clouds at the moment, Quentyn sent a prayer for it to stay that way. He joined his Uncle, who had not mentioned last night at all, At the horses and readied for his morning running as he grimaced from a killer headache. It was going to be a long day.

~~~ DP ~~~~

The boy hung his head over the side of the riverboat and groaned. The ship was barely more than a barge as it rocked back and forth bobbing with the waves of the fast flowing river. While to any normal person it might seem like a leisurely pace and a relaxing voyage. To Quentyn it was hell on earth. The boy could feel every rocking movement, he heard every splash around him, and the agony went on for three days where he constantly lost his stomach.

The strange part was that Quentyn had been on ships before and never been sick. It must have been a trait he picked up from Harry, the boy had never been anywhere near water except the first night at Hogwarts. Looking back he did feel a bit queasy in his stomach and weak. That same weakness he felt in the second trial of the Tri-wizard tournament when he had to swim under the water, but he had chalked it up to part of the gillyweed. He couldn't help but wonder if he was sick from the barge or just gotten a bug. He was hoping for the latter.

When they touched the docks at Starfell it felt to as if the Lord of the Light had reached down and blessed him with a gift. He could feel the strength return to his body and the torment of the barge end for him. It was strange how it was almost instantaneous that he felt better after getting back onto land. The crew was definitely not unhappy to get rid of the boy. There had been more than a few messed left from him onboard. To put it simple, a sailor Quentyn would never make.

Starfell was a small town that was known for the accompanying massive castle located on an island in the middle of the Torentine River where it poured out into the Summer Sea. The town had a large port and managed some trade but mostly it was used for galleys and other warships protecting the Western side of Dorne. It was a military town ruled with an iron fist by the House of Dayne.

House Dayne of Starfell was one of the principle houses that backed House Martell. They were famous for their knights, every generation their greatest knight would wield the legendary sword named Dawn and be given the title of the Sword of the Morning. The greatsword was said to have been created by a fallen star. The list of strong knights from the family was impressive including Sir Ulrick Dayne from the time of Aemon the Dragonknight and Sir Arthur Dayne both considered some of the Greatest Knights of the realm during their times. The Dayne family had suffered during the rebellion as had most of Dorne as supporters of the Targaryens. Unfortunately this meant that where once there had been numerous offshoots to the family and there had been dozens of Daynes the family line now numbered in the single digits.

While Starfell was part of Dayne, Oberyn still wanted to keep the appearance of Quentyn quiet till they were certain that there would be no changes. So the boy was rushed from the barge through the town onto a massive warship with the House Martell flag. The advantage of being a Prince means you can commandeer the ship at any time for your needs. The downside to Quentyn was that he barely got his land legs back before he was condemned back to the torture of the high seas.

This time instead of a three days trip down the Torentine, it was a three week voyage to Oldtown. The boy learned quickly, it was not a bug. It was him; he seemed to have some weakness associated with large bodies of water. It made sense with his close connection to fire, perhaps that meant that water was his counter, his weakness. It was a curse that made the boy realize two things. First, this would be the last voyage he ever took if he could help it! Second, he really hated ships. It was with these concerns and being given a steady diet of books to read to keep his mind off of his weakness and sickness that Quentyn spent the trip to Citadel.

Author Note: Thank you all for reading the chapter, I am sorry if it is a bit rough. I am still looking for a Beta for this story if someone wants to help fix my horrible excuse for grammar. I expect next chapter will have a time skip for a year or two which will put them closer to start of the Game of Thrones books. There will be some interaction with the main storyline of the books but I am expecting them to be more in the background for now. Please feel free to give any assistance and suggestions. I always welcome reviews and pms. Thank you for reading again.