Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire.

Another dragon, another wolf, another stag

Chapter 30: Quentyn

"Talking"

"Thinking"

(Location: King's Landing)

Ever since the revelation of Jon Dualfang being King Rhaegar's son, Quentyn had his doubts about it. It just seemed too perfect, too easy to be true. He wasn't the only one who thought the same. At least he thought he wasn't. The court in the Red Keep felt divided in opinions. Some looked as if they believed what the king had said about Jon Snow. Some didn't believe it. And there were a few who show any kind of opinion.

The Dornish who had come to King's Landing had the same kinds of reaction, none more so than his own family. His cousins were divided on the matter. The elder Sand Snakes seemed to think that it didn't matter whether Jon was Lord Stark's bastard or the king's. He was still a bastard. But the three youngest snakes all thought that he was the king's son because the king had said it was so. To them, King Rhaegar was a kind and loving uncle who treated them lovingly. They thought the world of him.

The ones who were truly divided were the ones he had thought would be the most firm: Uncle Oberyn and Arianne. His uncle had made no attempt to hide the fact that he intensely disliked the North and all who came from there because of what happened with Lyanna. Quentyn had always thought that it was a little hypocritical of him to be that way since he had a paramour and several bastards. But his father had told him that the hatred came more from hating the king betraying Aunt Elia so. Another stem of it was that Oberyn loved Elia to the degree of idealizing her, thinking that she shouldn't be the same as him.

But when Jon was revealed to be Prince Daemon, Quentyn's uncle was enraged not just at the fact that Rhaegar fathered a child on Lyanna Stark, but he was also bold enough to give him a trueborn name. That same night, Aunt Elia came to the Martell chambers. She stopped Oberyn from doing something regretful by saying she had loved Lyanna just as much as her husband and she considered Jon her son too. Oberyn hadn't talked about the matter since.

Arianne was also conflicted but Quentyn knew that it was for a completely different reason. To her, Jon had been a bastard she could play for at Riverrun. She played for the conquest as she usually did, thinking of Jon as just another man for her to win. The change didn't come with the revelation but during the night she tried to threaten Sansa Stark. Quentyn had seen the cold fury in Jon's eyes that night and he knew that his sister would never have him after that moment. She still played the game but she knew just as well she had lost.

And now, he was a prince instead of a bastard. He was someone the same rank as her, if not higher. Instead of being someone to play and toy with, he was a potential match to wed. Of course, if it came to that, Quentyn knew that Jon would refuse, just like Prince Viserys had done. It seemed that most men considered his sister a beauty, until she opened her mouth and ruined the image.

"You shouldn't say such things," he told himself as he walked down the corridor. "She's your sister. She's family." Was it ironic that he accepted that as truth while his sister, uncle, and the elder Sand Snakes seemed content for dragging him through the mud because he said Lord Yronwood was a good foster father once? The only ones who hadn't done it were his father, Trystane, Ellaria, and her three youngest children.

He passed a servant as he turned a corner. He quickly realized that it wasn't just any servant. It was Mya Stone. "Mya," he called after her. If there was anyone who could help him, it would be her.

She stopped and looked at him. "Prince Quentyn," she said with a small curtesy. "Can I help you?"

"Can you show me where Jon is?"

"Jon, your Highness?" she asked. She sounded confused but only just.

But he saw past it. She knew exactly who he was talking about. "Are we really going to play this little game?"

"I don't know what you mean by that, your Highness."

He sighed. Fine, if that was how it was going to be, he would keep up appearances. "Prince Daemon, Mya. Do you know where he is?"

"Oh yes, I do."

"Can you take me to him?"

She looked quickly down each corridor. He wondered why she would do that when they already knew that people would be listening. Was it all for the show of it? She leaned in close and whispered, "I can take you to his rooms, but he refuses to come out."

He figured that was because Jon was having a hard time with what happened. "He needs a friend," he whispered back.

"Are you a friend?"

"You know I am."

She regarded him with a brief look. "If you'll follow me, your Highness," she said more loudly. She started down the corridor he came from. He went after her.

She led him through corridors and stairwells. Other people, servants and courtiers, passed them but paid them no great attention. At least it didn't seem like it at the first glance. But Quentyn was sure that some of them were looking from the corners of their eyes at the two of them. They came to a stop outside a door where Ser Jaime stood guard. "Prince Quentyn and Mya Stone," the Kingsguard said as he looked at them both. "What can I do for you?"

Mya stepped back, leaving Quentyn to look at the Lannister. "It's not you I have business with, ser," he said politely. "I would like to enter the room."

"Oh, so you're the next one who's going to see if you can coax him out of there?" There was a slight mocking smile on his lips as he spoke. It was as if he already knew the outcome and found it amusing that Quentyn was even trying to attempt this.

"I only wish to walk to him, ser. May I pass?"

"I will not stop you." That smile was still on his lips. He was expecting something to happen and he was waiting to enjoy it.

Quentyn did not give him the satisfaction of looking him in the eye. He opened the door and walked in. The chamber looked much like the rooms set aside for his family, but for only one person. "Jon?" he called out, closing the door behind him.

His friend came out from the bedroom, his grey eyes showing his surprise. "Quentyn?" he said, making it sound as a question.

He smiled at his friend. "Hello, Jon." Until he was ordered to or otherwise, he would address him as he knew him. He didn't really look like a Daemon anyway.

Jon crossed the room and pulled him into a tight hug. "Gods, it's good to see you, Quentyn," he declared. "I didn't think I would see a familiar face."

They stopped hugging and looked at each other. "Have they been treating you well?" The Northman certainly looked alright. His clothes weren't ratty and he didn't look like he was starving.

"Aye, I am." He looked back at the room. "Although I didn't expect this," he added.

"What did you expect?"

"Waking up in the black cells, wondering what I had done to be there," he told Quentyn. "I still expect them to toss me down there soon."

"They're not going to do that."

"Why? Because of this insane belief they've somehow sprouted at the sight of me?" he asked. The way he spoke showed that he didn't believe what the king said. It was full of anger and disbelief.

Quentyn didn't come here to discuss that with him. It looked like he had talked about it enough. "Have you left these rooms?" he asked, looking around. It was suitable for a prince, decked in the red and black of House Targaryen, but he would've thought it'd be closer to the rest of the royal family.

"No."

"Why haven't you?"

"I'm a prisoner here."

His frank statement didn't sit well with the comfort of the chambers. He could tell the table and chairs were made from the finest wood. He looked at the balcony past the table and all he saw was the bay. "I find it hard to believe that you're a prisoner here, Jon." Then again, there was Jaime Lannister standing guard outside.

"What else would I be here?"

Quentyn didn't answer that. They both knew the answer to that. Jon was being treated like a prince because the king thought him to be his son. It was just his dismissal of the king's word, and the queen's, that kept him in here. "If you can leave the room, why don't you?"

He looked confused. "Prisoners can't leave their cells, Quentyn. Not unless they're trying to escape."

"I don't think you're a prisoner."

He turned his eyes to the door. "There's a guard outside my door." He made the sentence sound as if it was enough of an explanation.

While it was enough, Quentyn did not say that it was a Kingsguard outside the door. It was an obvious fact. "Have you tried walking out the door?"

"What would be the point if I can't leave to go back to the North? They won't me leave."

"If you consider yourself a prisoner, why haven't you tried escaping?" It seemed like the best practice if he chose to keep this up. A prisoner should always try to escape, shouldn't he?

Jon took his eyes away from the door. There was sadness, almost a longing in his eyes. "I want to escape but I don't know my way around the Red Keep or even King's Landing. They would probably find me before I could even get out the gate. My life would be forfeit at that moment."

So he wasn't trying to escape because he was afraid for his life? That was both human and yet, seemingly unlike Jon. "That's the only reason?" Quentyn dared to ask him.

He paused and looked back out the balcony. "No, that's not the only reason," he said, his voice becoming sad. "I don't want my family to hear of my death because I tried to escape. Staying here, I can hope for the chance that I'll be able to go home and see them again."

Hearing that kind of reasoning eased Quentyn's curiosity. If there was one thing he knew about Jon Dualfang, it was that he loved his family. He might be staying to keep his own hide intact, but he was also staying so the Starks would not hear about his death. Lady Stark might not think highly of him but his brothers and sisters would.

Seeing him looking like a caged animal when it was the opposite, the Martell prince made a choice. "Come on, Jon," he said. "Let's head down to the training yard."

The Northman looked confused at his words. "Why?"

"You look like you could use a good spar and I do too."

"Quentyn, I'm a prisoner. I can't leave."

"Have you tried?"

He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out first. "…No," he said after a silent moment.

That was enough for him. "I'm not asking you to try and run, Jon. I'm asking my friend for a spar. It'd be good for you to get out of this room and work your sword arm." He saw the flash of desire in his friend's eyes and knew he had him. "Come on."

It took Jon another second to say, "Alright."

When they walked out of the room, Ser Jaime looked rather surprised. They didn't stop to hear what he could possibly say. They kept walking and the Kingsguard was forced to follow them. The training yard was empty when they reached it. Quentyn thought it a mercy. If it had been full, Jon might've turned and ran back for his chambers.

"What do you think?" he asked his friend. "Shall we do swords?"

"I'll take a sword," Jon said, heading to a weapon rack and taking a sword from it. "If you want to use something else, go ahead." He tested the sword by giving it a few experimental swings. "Also, no armor," he added.

"No armor," repeated the Dornish of the two, pulling down a spear. "That's dangerous."

"I'm not going to kill you, Quentyn. Are you going to kill me?" He was loosening up, becoming more like the Jon he had known in Riverrun.

"I hope not."

He smiled briefly. "We should be fine then."

Once they were sure of the weapons, they stepped out to the courtyard. Jon became serious as he brought his sword to the ready position. Quentyn leveled the spear but did not move. He tried that the last time they sparred and he almost ended up in the Trident. He knew that Jon would pace around him, like a wolf stalking prey. He kept still, watching the Northerner walk around.

They struck at the same time, sword meeting spear. The sound echoed in the air as it usually did. Neither of them tried to press their weight against the other. They exchanged a few strikes, light attacks to test reactions and responses. Some might consider it foolish since he had already sparred with Jon and knew what he could do. But Quentyn had learned from both his father and uncle that it was never foolish to test the skills of the man facing him. Clearly, Jon had gotten the same lesson.

"Are you all warmed up?" he asked the Northman.

"Aye, I am. You?" asked Jon.

"Yes." He could feel the slight burn in his arms and how his breath quickened. He was ready for this to be a proper fight.

"Good." That was all he said before he stepped in close fast and swung down from above.

Quentyn saw it coming, as he should've, and replied. He swung his spear upwards. It caught the blade, stopping the swing. He used the momentum to push the sword down to the ground, swinging the shaft at Jon. It took him in the side but he didn't react to it.

He pulled his sword back and held it in the ready position. Quentyn pressed the attack, checking his defense. It was sound, stopping his strikes. Jon quickly changed the tempo and attacked again. He moved away, spinning his spear out of reach. The Northman stopped his attack. "What was that?" he asked.

"What was what?"

"That move you just did. I've never seen anything like it."

He looked at the spear, held in one hand. "Just a little Rhoynar style of fighting," he answered. "Oberyn taught it to me." And despite what people might say or believe, he was his uncle's best student under the spear.

"Looks a little frivolous to me," remarked Jon.

"Frivolous?" he repeated. He probably should've been offended. Instead he just smiled. "I'll show you frivolous."

They moved to attack again. This time, Quentyn brought more of his family's style into the fight. It was meant to distract and confuse, all the spinning and twirling. Soon, he brought his own body into it. He would twist his body out of the way of any strikes or cuts Jon might try to give him. All the while he would wait for the opportunity to strike and take it.

Jon wasn't distracted by what he did. His eyes stayed focused on him. He would attack when he could and step away when he was forced. The dance they had went around the yard but they paid no attention to it. To them, there was only the man in front of them. That was all that mattered. The worries, the fears, the doubts, they all faded away until there was nothing left but the spar.

The feeling came to an abrupt end when they came together in a clash, getting close enough to see each other in the eye. Suddenly, they heard a clapping sound off to the side. It brought them back to the world around them. Quentyn turned his head and saw his uncle standing there. "An impressive display to be sure," he said, finishing his clapping.

Jon pulled his sword free and stepped away. "Prince Oberyn," he said respectfully.

He ignored him and looked at Quentyn. "And here I thought that you never took to my lessons, Quentyn," he remarked, walking to him. Quentyn saw his uncle's eyes looking at him closely, like he was examining someone he might fight soon.

It was a look that could chill a person but Quentyn did not give him the pleasure of a flinch. "Despite what you might think, Uncle, I do listen and I do pay attention."

"I have seen that for myself." He looked briefly with an amused smile "Of course, so have they."

Quentyn followed his uncle's gaze and was startled by just how many people were surrounding the yard, both on the ground and in the windows above. While all the eyes of the ladies and the boys were on Jon, he saw how the knights were looking at him with judging looks. They were measuring him, to see what he would be like on the battlefield. He felt rather proud they were looking at him so.

Jon faded away from the corner of his eye. He looked his way and saw his friend trying to leave the yard. He had forgotten that they came to the yard to relax a little but now it seemed like the entire court was watching them. "And where are you going?" Oberyn said his voice sharp as his spear.

Jon paused in his movement. He had almost reached the rack he took the sword from. Slowly, like he was expecting a trap, he turned back. "I'm leaving, your Highness."

"So soon?" he asked rhetorically.

He looked at the yard and all the people crowding it. Quentyn saw the question on his face. How many there believed the king's words? How many had doubts? "It seems that the yard is about to become quite busy. I will take my leave to avoid the confusion that is to come."

"But you would deprive us of showing your skill with a sword. That is something we all would like to see. Come now, your Highness. Continue your sparring." Quentyn could see how his smile was mocking but his eyes were watching Jon intensely. Most people only saw the smile and become incensed at it. They would gladly accept the challenge Oberyn was throwing at their teeth. He hoped that Jon wouldn't fall for the same kind of trap.

"Are you offering to spar against me, Prince Oberyn?" Jon asked him, his back still turned to him. He didn't sound angry, only controlled.

Oberyn's smile widened. "If you would like to be so, I will oblige you, Prince Daemon."

"Don't do it, Jon," Quentyn silently pleaded with him. He knew what would come next. In front of everyone, his uncle would humiliate his friend.

But instead he only said, "I must refuse your offer, your Highness."

The entire yard stared at him as if he had gone mad. Quentyn breathed quietly in relief. He had seen this before back at Riverrun when he refused Aegon. But his uncle hadn't witness it so he was clueless about it. "You would refuse me?" Oberyn asked.

"Yes."

"Why?"

"A bastard cannot harm royalty. You are a prince of Dorne and royalty in your own right." It was a perfectly good answer and he said it without being meek or condescending. He spoke as if he was speaking politely to someone above his station.

Quentyn was impressed by the way he answered the question. "Did he learn that from living with Lady Stark?" he wondered. It seemed likely. He had seen how Lady Stark behaved around Jon at Riverrun. It might've been acceptable in the rest of Westeros but she would've been a scorned woman in Dorne for her treatment.

And Oberyn was about to show that behavior to Jon. "Do you think that I would care about whether you are a bastard or not?" he asked.

"I must assume so, your Highness," Jon replied, his back still turned.

"You assume?"

"Yes, I must assume." He turned back his head and looked at the Red Viper. "I must assume that you are responsible for your bastards' attitudes. Even though they are bastards, they were content with seeing me lower than themselves. Why else would they call me a little northern shit and a dog?" In the silence that lay heavy on the courtyard, he spoke again. "I must assume that you are responsible for their behavior. After all, my prince, we in the North have heard of your hatred for my lady aunt."

"Your aunt?" he repeated.

"Yes, my aunt. Lady Lyanna Stark." He left the yard amidst shocked silence with all eyes on his back.

Quentyn watched him go. He would've gone after him but he saw how his uncle stood. It was reminiscent of how a snake would coil up before striking. He went over to him as noise filled the courtyard again. "Happy now?" he asked in a whisper.

"Yes and no."

"What does that mean?"

"I thought he would've reacted like a typical northern bastard, angry about their position in life and wanting to prove themselves. He didn't react so."

Quentyn knew why it was so. Jon had a long time to learn how to swallow his pride and anger at whatever taunts and insults sent his way. He wouldn't have stayed in Riverrun for so long if he hadn't. Every time that a physical conflict emerged, he was not the one who threw the first punch. "What else?" he asked his uncle, seeing how he was still coiled.

"He has the gall to say that about my daughters, to my face."

It was something in the way he said those words, the injured pride of a parent, that made Quentyn say to him, "Someone had to say it."

His uncle turned his eyes onto him as the yard gradually filled with people who wished to train. "Watch what you say, Quentyn. I don't take kindly to insults."

His spine was steel. The words were coming out of his mouth before he could stop them. "I know you don't take kindly to insults. I was sent Yronwood because you didn't kindly to insults. I was sent away because of something you did and when I came back with a compliment about my foster family, you, Arianne, the elder Sand Snakes, you all scorn me. You would've killed Jon at Riverrun because you don't take kindly to insults.

"But in some case, insults are truths that you have no wish to hear. Well, hear this, Uncle. Prince Viserys and Jon have the right of it: your daughters are out of control. They think they are better than everyone else around them because their cousins are dragons. They're not. Remind them of that before they do something that could make Dorne or even Westeros fall into a bloody war." He didn't say these words with rancorous intent but with the truest intentions. Despite their attitude, he loved his cousins. They were family and he wanted to protect them, even if it was from themselves.

Oberyn didn't lash out as he had expected, as everyone who was watching expected the Red Viper to do. He breathed out slowly and unclenched his hands. "You are too much like your father, Quentyn," he said.

"I will take that as a compliment."

"It was meant as one." He placed a hand on his shoulder. "There is a balance between your father and I. He would name me the viper and him the grass. I see it as him being the voice of reason and I the voice of action. Together, we lead Dorne. Someday you will help your sister do the same."

He had doubts about that. Arianne was just like their uncle, hot-tempered and very willful. She only chose to listen to him when it suited her. "Perhaps you should tell that to her."

His uncle looked knowingly at him. "You think that since you are the second born, you must be the voice of action. Don't worry, Quentyn. Arianne is that voice. You must be the reason that supports and guides her."

Again, he didn't know about that. He just knew that Arianne would never listen to him. He left the yard to go after Jon, thinking that he could someone to talk to. He realized that neither of them had talked about the obvious fact of Jon, focusing on the others instead. He didn't go back to ask, his friend was more important.

The din of the yard faded away but the sound of armor walking stayed behind him. He looked back and saw Jaime Lannister following him. They didn't say anything to each other because there was nothing to say. Jon was easily seen going down the corridor. "Jon, where are you going?" Quentyn asked him as he caught up with the Northman.

"The godswood," he answered, not slowing down his pace. He didn't know where he was going but he wouldn't stop.

Ser Lannister went ahead of them. "Follow me, your Highness," he said. "I know where it is." They followed him out of the Red Keep.

The godswood was silent compared to the yard. The only sounds they heard were the animals scurrying through the trees and Blackwater Rush below. It smelled clean compared to the rest of the castle. As soon as they stepped through, Jon took the lead. He walked through the godswood as if he had been there countless times. He stopped before the heart tree, a great oak, and knelt down before.

Both the Dornishman and the Kingsguard stood there, unsure of what to do. This was nothing like the sept they were used too. There was no septon praying or statues of the Seven to pray to. There was only a tree and silence. But strangely enough, Quentyn felt more in touch with the gods here than in any sept he had been in.

The hours passed before Jon finally rose from his place. "What did you pray for?" Quentyn asked him.

"To go home," he said in reply.

"Your Highness," said Ser Jaime. They both looked at him and he fell silent. They didn't want to hear the king's words and the Kingsguard knew it.

Jon looked back at the heart tree, looking at the quiet face carved into the wood. "I don't know if the gods heard my prayer."

Quentyn was surprised by his words. He had been praying for hours and he said it wasn't enough? "Why do you say that?" he asked.

He pointed almost accusingly at the heart tree. "If Aegon the Conqueror truly meant to rule over the First Men, he would've planted a weirwood tree in this godswood, not make a great oak the heart tree."

It was a harsh thing to say. "Perhaps he couldn't safely find a seed to plant." Westeros after the Conquest was tense, to say the least.

"Or perhaps that was the story he told. There are always different versions of the same story."

"You'd think so?"

He looked at Quentyn. "Do you know the story of the King Who Knelt?"

"Of course I do." Everyone in Westeros knew of the last king Aegon the Conqueror defeated and without taking a single life. "King Torrhen Stark bent the knee at the Trident. King Aegon I accept his fealty and made him Warden of the North."

"That's the story they tell in the south. It lacks detail." He looked back at the tree again. "What they don't tell you, the North has remembered. Before he knelt, Torrhen looked back at the army he brought to the Trident. He saw all the faces of the men who came to fight for the North. Then, he looked back at Aegon, his sisters at his side, and said, 'May your house never know this shame and humiliation.' He took off his crown and bent the knee. Aegon knelt down and helped him back onto his feet, thanking him genuinely for saving the lives of his people."

The Martell prince had never heard those details before. It added a layer to the story and gave it much more meaning. Whenever southerners heard the title the King Who Knelt, they think of Torrhen Stark as a coward who didn't even fight against the Targaryens. He had always thought of Aegon the Conqueror as a man who stood apart from others, yet the story he heard made the man sound more human. "This story should be heard by all," he declared. "Not just by the Northmen."

Jon smiled, just a little bit. "Feel free to spread it around." They left the godswood, the problems surrounding them seeming less troublesome in that moment. Even though they would remain a bother, both of them took that moment to enjoy their friendship.

End

Author's note: Thank you for all the reviews you've sent me.

Some people were saying that the fact the court believing what the king and the queen were was stupid beyond belief. I agree with that. I would like to agree that they hadn't read the viewpoint from someone outside the royal family on the matter. Hence Quentyn's chapter and seeing the court being divided.

I'm basing Rhoynar spear fighting on the fight between Oberyn and the Mountain. Some people could say that it's a lot of stick spinning nonsense. I see more as distract and confuse tactic. If you watch the spear twirling around and spinning, you lose focus and forget where the pointy end is. Next thing you know, the pointy end sticking in you.

That story at the end is what I would like to think the exchange between Aegon and Torrhen would go. Torrhen would weep because he knows what he has to do but it will only earn him scorn and contempt from others. Aegon would understand the tears and help him back to his feet, showing that generous side he's supposed to have. If they ever do those Game of Thrones prequels they're talking about, one of them should be on the War of Conquest. I want to see how all this plays out.

I'll see you all next chapter!