The System: More like extremely pragmatic rather than cold.
: Adding on to what said, it must be known that the genetic proximity between Quentyn and Nymeria is extremely low. Sure, their fathers come from the same family, but their mothers come from extremely different gene pools (Norvos for Quentyn, Volantis for Nymeria). This means that genetic diversity between the two of them will be very high.
If Quentyn chose his initial plan to marry Myria or Samira Jordayne, whose grand-uncle was Quentyn's grandfather, there would be a lot more chances of genetic inbreeding happening because of low genetic diversity, due to the overall proximity of the two houses in the region. Inbreeding and genetic defects occur because of the gene pool not recieving "fresh" genes, and circulating within a same population (usually close, for example farming communities or closed communities, like in the rural U.S or Australia).
However, Quentyn and Nymeria don't have that problem since their genetic mix will be extremely high due to the VAST disparity between both mothers genes. So their child should be very safe.
On a moral ground, although the SI does feel a blood relation to her through Quentyn's "soul", there's two counter-arguments to this: the first being that as an SI, Quentyn has trouble relating to Nymeria as his cousin rather than just another stranger, and the second being that...well it doesn't really matter (A. Quentyn knows that their children if they choose to have some won't be in danger of inbreeding and B. Arianne and Tyene sleep with each other in canon, which proves that even with a kinship bond through Quentyn's "soul", the SI would likely be the most reluctant of the two (between him and the original Quentyn) to sleep with her).
QCoffee: If I gave a Quentyn POV, I'd just give everything away immediately. Might as well put everyone on edge with outside POVs rather than him directly.
TMI: Yeah, Doran is a heavily pragmatic man so he's just going off the rails like he does in canon.
inCK: Unfortunately, Quentyn does have setbacks from time to time. Sometimes, it's because he's too cocky or too reliant on canon from happening. It happened before, and he learns from every mistake. No one can be perfect, especially in a world like this.
Caver: Answer below.
Guest That's understandable. The "Renly" alliance now fully depends on what the Tyrells decide to do. However, they've also lost their "grip" on the Stormlanders with Renly, which could prove a nuisance for them in the future. We will get a Northern POV next (Catelyn as she returns to Riverrun), so more on that front there. As fpr Myrcella still being sent to Dorne, Kevan knows he's running out of options and knew of a diplomatic mission sent to Renly. He wanted to nip that alliance in the bud and sent Cella for Trystane. For the Gulian bit, yes, I wanted Doran to have that conversation, but in the end, I needed to wrap it up now especially with other events coming later, and Gulian was the only reasonable choice (Gerris doesn't care, Arch doesn't understand/care and Cletus doesn't mind). And if Doran is prince of Dorne, he did officially give Sunspear to Quentyn (which is why a lot of Dornishmen nickname him the "Prince in Sunspear" while Doran is the "Prince in the Gardens"). As for Doran's fears, careful that he doesn't turn them into a reality himself. With what he's doing, Quentyn is seriously contemplating taking power if Doran continues his shenanigans.
Neat: That's fair, but it's also mostly to have a map usable by everyone rather than each lord's private secret passage, some of which have been lost to time (Daeron's successful invasion proved that at least some were lost by the Dornish, and Quentyn doesn't want it to happen again).
Cletus
Finally leaving Storm's End was a blessing. Cletus didn't know if he could have withstood the constant cold and rain for much longer. Not to mention the Reachers and Stormlanders were getting more and more frustrated by the day, and it would only be a matter of time till they found a common enemy to take off their frustrations on.
The Dornish party left at first light, but not south, towards Grandview and Stonehelm, but rather north, towards the Kingswood. When asked about their destination, Quentyn's only reply was:
"You'll see when we get there."
They met Renly's foot at Fawnton. It had seemed like they had taken their time reaching the town, mostly due to the Reachers, apparently. It seemed like the Tyrells weren't completely satisfied with the outcome of this campaign. And truthfully, Cletus couldn't blame them. Two-thirds of their cavalry had been lost at Storm's End, along with a lot of valuable men.
Not to mention the Florent treachery, which by now would have tied up most of their reserves left at Highgarden in order to secure the Florent lands. Nonetheless, this encounter proved a blessing since it meant linking up with the rest of the Dornish escort.
However, Quentyn wasn't completely glad upon finding the rest of the men. They galloped north, towards Tumbleton, where the prince left all but fifty men close to the castle.
"We need to be discreet where we're going." He had told them.
Thus, they galloped north, for two full days, finally reaching the edge of a forest. They had set camp there for the good part of the day, waiting around as Quentyn read through scroll after scroll, and talked with his maester.
Finally, as night was slowly approaching and the sun was close to setting, painting the sky red and pink in color as it slowly faded beyond the oak trees, Quentyn smiled and took him aside.
"Cletus, find three men who can speak with no Dornish accent, but not Ned."
Cletus didn't even have to ask where they were going or why he needed these. He just shrugged and did as told. After all, it was easier that way, and he'd gotten used to Quentyn's mannerisms by now.
He found the three men he was looking for. Ser Henry Sandwhip and Ser Franklyn Quarry were easy choices since they were from the northern reaches of Dorne and their accent was extremely difficult to discern. As for the last, he found Julia Sand, a warrior in the service of house Qorgyle, who had spent most of her days at Oldtown as a shipwright and therefore had a common Reacher accent.
The party formed, they joined Quentyn at the edge of the forest, who was waiting with Arch and a horse-drawn carriage.
"Welcome." Quentyn nodded. "We are going to go into the forest, where we will meet some people. Now, I ask each of you to remain quiet and not speak unless allowed to. You will do exactly what I say, and you will stay close to your weapons, understood?"
"Yes, my prince." The recruits eagerly agreed. Cletus and Arch just nodded.
"Good. Remember that at all times, the moment we go into this carriage and into this forest, you shall talk with no Dornish accent whatsoever. Understood?"
"Yes, my prince."
Quentyn nodded and gestured for Arch to take control of the horses. The three warriors entered it, with Quentyn bringing along some chains, rope, and some bags. Before leaving, though, he spared a little conversation with his healer.
"Will everything be ready when we return?" Quentyn asked the grey-haired man
"Of course, it will." The healer replied. "The effects of the product have been…successfully tested."
Cletus raised an eyebrow. He knew that Quentyn's healer had a fascination with the dark arts, and that was precisely why Quentyn kept him in his service in the first place, but he still wondered what potions the man was possibly talking about.
"Cover your house sigil." Quentyn tapped Cletus' shoulder with a smile as he headed towards the front of the carriage, urging Arch to get the horses moving.
Cletus brought his cloak over his doublet, hiding the black portcullis of his house, and watched behind him as they slowly left camp, heading straight towards the heart of the forest. Soon enough, the fires of the camp were long gone, and the forest slowly enveloped them, its dark and sometimes frightening embrace tightening around them.
Yet, the carriage kept moving forwards along a small road covered in dirt and rocks. It was in such a bad state that he wondered how they hadn't broken one of their wheels on their way into the darkness.
Finally, the small carriage came to a stop alongside a small pond, inside a quiet clearing. Quentyn turned back, and finally, let out:
"We're here."
The Dornish accent had made way for a much thinner accent, one that was common at Yronwood, and that matched the speech of a Stormlander or Reacher living in the Marches. It wasn't perfect, but it did conceal his origins.
"The clearing…alongside a small pond…and a large, fallen, pine tree…" Quentyn looked at a small scroll and then around him. "Keep your weapons close. Hide your sigils."
The people around him nodded, with Quentyn instructing Cletus and Julia to come forwards.
Cletus looked at Quentyn in complete confusion, asking why they had made their way to this isolated clearing, which looked like the perfect place to spring a trap.
"Who goes there?" a voice suddenly came out of the darkness, startling Cletus, and making their escort turn their heads to see where that noise had come from. Quentyn, though, was unphased.
"A friend of justice, a friend of words, and a friend of yours."
"Do you have what we have asked for?"
"In full. Did you bring what I have asked?"
"Aye."
Suddenly, a couple of figures came out of the woods, from every direction. They were surrounded and trapped. Cletus slowly made a move towards his sword, but Quentyn interrupted him.
"Don't move your weapons, these are friends."
"You've made us come a long way, boy." A bald man with bright red robes and a disheveled white beard called out. "Through war-torn lands, we had to cross the Goldroad and the Lannisters guarding it with what you wished to have. It was a perilous journey."
"And a costly one." Croaked another. Cletus repressed a gasp as the figure unveiled itself. It was a man…or was it really one?
The…creature had red hair and wore armor befitting a lord, however…his face was disfigured, torn, and scarred beyond belief. It had seemed like the man was dead, buried, and revived by some kind of magic. Despite wearing a scarf and a breastplate, the little skin he showed seemed to be peeling off his face, and his only eye seemed to be dislodged from its socket. It looked like a vision from a nightmare. Yet…it talked still. What kind of creature talked this way?
"Where's my squire?" the creature croaked. "Did you not bring him with you?"
"I did." Quentyn nodded, and although not as shocked as Cletus, he could feel that the prince was just as disgusted as him. "But it was preferable that he be left at camp. I'm sure you can understand why Lord Beric."
Lord Beric…Dondarrion? The Lightning Lord? Allyria's betrothed? What in the seven hells had happened to him?
"Be that as it may, that is not what we are here for. If we are to be treated as merchants, let us have our due." The man in the red robes nodded while pointing to the pine tree's stump.
Quentyn nodded and sent Arch to fetch the bags left in the carriage, dropping them before Lord Beric.
"Three months' worth of food, and a supply of bandages, steel, arrows, and rope. As requested." Quentyn continued calmly, with Lord Beric sending a few of his men to inspect the contents of each bag.
"Everything is here." One of the men called out.
"Good." Lord Beric muttered. "There is now the price you agreed upon. Wars require coin, and coin we need. I hope you fulfilled the last part of your bargain."
Quentyn nodded but put a hand in the air.
"I wish to see what I am paying for before going further."
Lord Beric looked at his companion, who snapped his fingers. A few men came, escorting a tall man whose face was covered in a bag, and who was bound with ropes.
"His possessions are in a separate bag. Sword, doublet with sigil. Everything." Lord Beric's companion pointed out. "Now, shall we get to the main point?"
Quentyn nodded, walked up to the tree stump, and sat down. He motioned Cletus to follow, while Lord Beric walked with his red-clad companion.
"Three hundred gold dragons, was it?" Quentyn asked while carefully taking out a pouch of gold from his doublet, carefully bringing out each coin.
"Five hundred." Lord Beric countered.
Quentyn's eyes narrowed.
"This is not what was agreed upon."
"A good few of our men died to bring this man to you." Lord Beric shook his head. "Their families need to be compensated."
"How many men did you lose for the price to have almost doubled? Five hundred?" Cletus let out.
If Quentyn was angry at his outburst, he didn't show it, even showing a slight smile.
"Four hundred," Quentyn said, firmly. "Out of respect for your dead men."
"We know of his value to you."
"And I know the value of what I am bringing to you."
Lord Beric and his companion shared a look and nodded.
"Four hundred." The man in the red robes finally agreed.
Quentyn placed the coin on the stump, which the two men carefully examined.
"It's all there." Lord Beric nodded. "Thoros, give the order to release the prisoner, he is not our problem anymore. I wish you good fortune, boy."
"I wish you good fortune, Lord Beric. May you find a safe journey home."
The two of them nodded and left with the coin and the bags, while Quentyn turned to Cletus.
"Get the man on the carriage. Chain him, and do not remove his bounds, the bag over his head, or his gag. Give the order for no one to talk to him or touch him, understood?"
"Clear as day." Cletus replied, quickly hurrying to find Arch and hoist the man on the carriage. Julia took the bag and handed it to Quentyn, who examined its contents. Apparently satisfied and bearing a wide grin, he ordered everyone on the carriage.
Meanwhile, the men that had flooded the clearing had slowly retreated back into the darkness from whence they came, leaving little trace of them being here in the first place.
Once the tall man was securely fastened in the carriage, Quentyn made sure that everyone was clear on his orders, and urged Quentyn to leave the clearing back towards camp. Sitting opposite Cletus, Quentyn's smile was broad, yet concealed some sort of mischief. Patting the tall man's right shoulder, he carefully rose his voice:
"Don't worry, your troubles are almost over."
The travel back to camp wasn't long, but it was done in near-absolute silence, which slowly unnerved Cletus. Who in the seven hells was the man sitting bound and gagged in their carriage and what was his worth? If Quentyn paid three months of rations and four hundred gold dragons, it seemed like he was very valuable.
Once arrived at camp, Quentyn sent for his healer and instructed Arch to tie the man to a large oak tree, while keeping the bag, gag, and other ropes used to tie the man up. It wasn't long before the mysterious tall man was standing, tied up to a tree by a dozen ropes, just outside camp.
Quentyn then sent for everyone at camp, and gathered them just outside of the man's earshot, while his maester went to the man's side first. Then, he slowly approached the tree, tapped on it for a couple moments, and beamed a large smile.
"People of Dorne!" he cried out, dropping his accent entirely. "For long we have waited for our moment, for our justice. Time and time again, it was denied to us! By the usurper and his dogs, and by his so-called masters of law and justice!"
Meanwhile, Cletus had noticed that the tall man had begun to panic at those words, desperately trying to undo his ropes. It was no use, Arch had tightened them extremely well, and he was just hurting himself trying to escape.
"I am but a little prince, it is true. But I have not forgotten what has befallen my kin all those years ago. I have not forgotten how they killed little Rhaenys and little Aegon. I have not forgotten our slaughtered kin on the Trident." Quentyn continued with ardor. "And today, I say, enough! We have waited too long! It is time that Dorne gets a taste of vengeance and justice that we have been denied for so long. Today!"
Quentyn marched towards the man and placed his hand atop the bag covering the man's face.
"Today, people of Dorne, I give you…" Quentyn jerked his hand upwards, revealing the man's face, while Arch threw down the contents of the bag besides him. "I GIVE YOU AMORY LORCH!"
Cletus stood there, incapable of moving or uttering a single word. It was madness. Rhaenys' murderer, in the flesh, under his very eyes.
"Now before any of you wish to enact justice." Quentyn pointed at the ripped cloth that Arch had scattered on the ground, showing the sigil of a black manticore on white. "I wish to remind you that little Rhaenys died of half-a-hundred cuts."
Quentyn took out a dagger from his doublet, and showed it to the dumbfounded crowd.
"I wish for him to suffer at least twice as much. I wish for his body to be cut two-hundred times before his death. As such, my healer will give him a potion that will allow him to live through wounds that would usually kill or put a man unconscious. But believe me, he will suffer pain." Quentyn's words struck deep into the hearts of every man present there. Only his words stopped the crowd from ripping Lorch apart then and there. "As such, I will ask that you do not stab where it can kill. Show my healer where you wish to strike, and then if he gives his assent, do so. If he does not, pick somewhere else. There is much useless space to cover. As for his face, leave it be, for I wish to inform the people of Dorne that part of our vengeance has been fulfilled."
Quentyn then raised his dagger in the air.
"Form a line." He ordered, and every man and woman shall strike with this blade four times. When you have finished your turn, give this dagger decorated with the sun and spear of the house this man has insulted and brought on his own demise from, to the next dornishman so that he too can have a piece of vengeance."
Quentyn then turned to his healer, who had finished administering a violet liquid to Lorch. The gray-haired man slowly removed the gag from the pig-faced figure, with Quentyn slowly walking forwards and pointing to a spot no man would want to be stuck in.
"Please, I'll give you anything…" the man begged between tears.
"Really?" Quentyn smiled. "Who gave the order?"
"Tywin Lannister! It was Tywin Lannister! Please, don't kill me!" he pleaded. "Lord Tywin ordered us to!"
"Thank you," Quentyn said calmly, bringing the dagger closer to his eyes, and then dropping his arms, shrugging.
For a brief moment, Cletus thought that Quentyn wouldn't do it. But instead, Quentyn looked Lorch in the eyes and asked:
"Did Rhaenys beg too?"
And with that, Quentyn rammed the dagger between Lorch's legs, likely unmanning him as the screams of the pig-faced rat filled the camp.
The prince slowly brought the dagger out and without a word, gave it to Cletus, who was unknowingly standing at the front of the line.
"For Rhaenys." Quentyn whispered to Cletus with a tear in his eye.
Cletus then walked forwards with the dagger, covered in blood and…whatever other liquids. He didn't care much for Rhaenys and Aegon, they held no kinship to him. But Rhaenys…she was but a girl of three namedays. And then Cletus remembered his own childhood, watching little Gwyneth as she played with her toys and called Cletus "Cleetah". His mind wandered to little Gwyneth, riddled with half-a-hundred cuts, begging for her older brother or mother to save her.
Instinctively, Cletus pointed to somewhere. The healer nodded. Cletus' blade found its mark, deep into the man's stomach.
"For Rhaenys." He managed to let out as the man screamed again.
Cletus then handed the dagger to Quentyn's cousin and lover, who nodded in thanks as he handed her the dagger. He spared a look at her while taking his place at the end of the line. The bastard pointed to where Quentyn had struck, the healer nodded, and the snake sank its fang into the man's guts.
Cletus cleaned his hands of the blood that had splattered, joining the end of the line, with the Red Viper's bastard soon joining him.
"Did it feel good?" he asked her.
"Better than anything in the world." She smirked. "And for once, all of Dorne can revel in our vengeance. Even you, Yronwood. Did it feel good striking him and hearing him scream?"
"More than you can imagine, Sand." Cletus nodded simply, clearing the last traces of blood from his hands.
Gulian then joined them at the back of the line. Then Gerris, then Arch, then Lucian Toland, Ned Dayne with part of his blonde hair sprayed with blood, and forty-five other Dornishmen.
Cletus struck Lorch three times, each time imagining Gwyneth in his head and the torture of poor little Rhaenys, as the man before him went from just that, a man, to a bloody mess of skin and guts. One strike in the shoulder. One in the hand. One in the ribs.
Finally, when the two-hundred cuts were achieved and the last man had given Quentyn his dagger back, Quentyn addressed the crowd one last time.
"There remains one more thing to be done. Lorch killed a Martell, it is only fair that he loses his life to a Martell." Quentyn then raised his dagger, moved to the mess of a man attached to the tree, and slit his throat. "Tonight, Dorne has had part of its vengeance. Tonight, Rhaenys is avenged."
"For Rhaenys!" the Dornish crowd erupted in cheers.
Cleaning his dagger, Quentyn then sent for Gerris, Gulian, and Lucian Toland. The three of them came quickly enough and gathered around.
Gerris had some blood on his cloak, just like Lucian. However, Gulian's red and black tunic covered anything he had, although some blood on his hands did show that he partook in tonight's glorious deed.
"You already know that you are to go back to Dorne," Quentyn said slowly. "Ser Lucian, I wish for you to accompany Ser Gulian and Ser Gerris to Sunspear. Take ten men with you and ride for Tumbleton and the rest of our host. Tell them of what occurred here, and ride hard for Stonehelm along with a hundred men. A ship will take you to Sunspear. Cut off Lorch's head, take it along with his body and possessions to Sunspear so that all of Dorne may know that its vengeance is complete."
"It would be my honor, my prince." Ser Lucian immediately fell to his knees and cleared his voice. "My prince, I have doubted you in the past, but today, you have given us all vengeance beyond what we could hope for. My sword is yours should you ever need it."
"Your loyalty is appreciated, Ser Lucian." Quentyn smiled. "Now go, and warn Dorne and my father that Rhaenys' murder is avenged by Dorne's hand."
"And what of us?" Cletus asked
"Well." Quentyn's voice fell a little. "We ride for Summerhall. Afterwards, we will have to see what the wind brings."
END OF ACT 2