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The Tattered and the Falcon

King’s Landing, 303 AC

Jennelyn Fowler had never been outside Dorne. Well, aside from that one time she had visited Nightsong, almost too young to remember it. The Dornish kept to their lands, or sought their fortune in Essos.

War brought them north. And indeed, war came to them yet again as the Seven Kingdoms fell into disarray following the Usurper’s death. Jennelyn had hoped that her father would not ride to war, that Dorne would turn a blind eye to these wars and destruction. But the moment that she found Nym perched near the window, tears in her eyes and rage on her face, announcing that her father was dead, Jennelyn knew that any chance of avoiding war had been shattered. She and Dorne would cry for vengeance.

She cried for it in Skyreach, and she cried for it in Sunspear as she emptied seneschal Ricasso’s drink on the floor. There would be vengeance…and they had had it. But at what price? Her father had lived, she was grateful for it, and Elia’s son sat the Iron Throne. But how many had died? Anders Yronwood, slain in battle. Harmen Uller, slain in battle. Trebor Jordayne, slain in battle. And their sons and daughters? Cletus Yronwood, slain by pirates. Obara Sand, slain by the traitor Gerold Dayne. Tyene Sand, slain in the explosion of the Great Sept. Sarella Sand, slain in Oldtown. Elia Sand, slain during the Fall of King’s Landing. Quentyn Martell, slain far away from his home, in Meereen.

Not to mention all of the Dornishmen who fell in battle, fighting the Tyrells, Lannisters, Baratheons and Starks.

But this was the past.

“Look to the future.” Mother had told her. “Nothing good comes upon dwelling on the past.”

And it seems that the new King agreed with that statement. Even after all of the death and destruction of the War of the Five Kings, the War of the Throne and the Long Night, the new dynasty had welcomed everyone to a large celebration upon the return of peace.

Jennelyn thus came north for the first time, towards the rebuilt King’s Landing, along with many other Dornish lords and ladies, coming to heed the call of Elia's son.

The Red Keep was filled with activity, with banners of the Lord Paramounts hung across the great hall: Stark, Tully, Arryn, Baratheon, Lannister, Greyjoy, Hightower and Martell. Though, of course, the dragon banner eclipsed them all.

A roar sounded in the distance. Jennelyn wondered if it was that of one of the monarch’s dragons, looking for a meal far offshore. Or did the wind carry the roar from Dragonstone? One could dream, but Jennelyn had not seen a dragon, and she’d love to see the mythical beasts with her own eyes.

The two monarchs, King Aegon and Queen Daenerys, were both radiant. With expensive clothes, beautiful crowns and golden jewellery studded with rubies, they clearly drew the light of the room towards them.

Beside them were some of the Lords Paramount. Jennelyn could only surmise who was whom. Stannis Baratheon was the bald man with tired eyes. The Hand of the King seemed to have aged fifty years, though he wasn’t older than Jennelyn’s father.

Then there was a young boy, probably only twelve. A skinny figure with big blue eyes and brown hair, who seemed to be recovering from an illness, as shown by his appetite for finer foods. This was probably Lord Arryn, who had been discovered to have been slowly poisoned by the late Lord Baelish.

Also present was another blonde man, who tried to make himself quite small. Probably the new Lord of Casterly Rock, Daven Lannister. Two men followed, one with a bright auburn beard and another who was older than the rest, with greying hair. Two who saw their homes burned down and their kingdom ruined, but who still tried to look proud and strong. Those were Lord Edmure Tully and Lord Baelor Hightower, the new Lord Paramount of the Reach.

Then, a small boy, even younger than Lord Arryn. Though this one was recognizable amongst all the Lords, with the massive wolf sleeping on the floor in front of him. Do not rouse a Stark…

Finally, there were the two ladies. One with short, dark hair and eyes that seemed to want to kill you if you returned a stare. An Ironborn, no doubt. And, of course, the beautiful dark-haired Princess of Dorne, Arianne. Her childhood friend, who was laughing with a no less beautiful man by her side.

This one was recognizable to all. A young man with dark brown hair and grey eyes. One that could be passed as a Stark, and no one would bat an eye. But his personal sigil betrayed his true identity: a white dragon on grey, crowned with winter roses. The last Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, Ice Dragon, King of the Wildlings, Protector of the North himself, Jon Snow – or rather, Aemon Targaryen, the Returned Prince, son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. Some said that his men had slain him at the Wall, and that he was revived using dark magic. But Jennelyn did not believe these tales. Wights were real, but they were corpses. This man was very much alive.

Beside the monarchs were also their key allies that had helped them get this far. The Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, in his white armor, stood at attention behind them. Ser Barristan the Bold, victor of many battles in Essos and as many in Westeros.

Next to him stood a…figure. Someone clad in expensive Essosi clothing from head to toe. Jennelyn’s heart almost stopped. This was surely the Tattered Prince.

The Tattered Prince had gained quite a reputation in Dorne. Commander of the Windblown, a mercenary company sworn to Queen Daenerys, it was said that the Tattered Prince was the living spirit of the Dornish fallen, coming to enact vengeance on their enemies.

No one knew his face but his most trusted advisors, as he kept it behind a white mummer’s mask with a lone tear falling down from one of its eyes. Some whispered that it was to hide scars earned during the Essosi campaign. Others whispered that it was to hide that the Tattered Prince was no man at all, but a vengeful spirit, and to take off the mask would be to condemn oneself to a painful death.

After all, the Tattered Prince had led Queen Daenerys’ armies to victory against the Lannisters on the Gold Road, taken Highgarden by storm, and had slain Gerold Dayne in single combat. But while those exploits were real, Jennelyn doubted that the Tattered Prince was a spirit.

After all, what kind of spirit would take this form? For the Prince was short, and didn’t seem that well-built either. He wore expensive garments, but none of them seemed to be otherworldly.

There was a aura of mystery about this man, though. A masked man who was said to be everything and anything. A man of whom one knew nothing. Something Jennelyn wanted to know more. Who was he? Where was he from? Why the mask? Was the Tattered Prince actually a woman?

All these thoughts turned around in Jennelyn’s head during the feast. As she ate, she tried to see who the Prince talked to, though she was often distracted by her twin commenting on one or another lord’s appearance. It also allowed her to scan the feast hall. That was how she noticed that Lord Edmure still had his Frey wife, despite the horrid crimes of her family. She noticed that Willas Tyrell was also present, a lady clad in Rowan colors at his side, but none of his siblings were here. Instead, he was sat next to Samwell Tarly, the slayer of Others, and Euron Greyjoy, whose wildling wife attracted a great deal of attention. In the meantime, Princess Arianne had switched from talking to whispering in Prince Aemon’s ear, and Lord Arryn had already consumed an entire pheasant, to Lord Stark’s great amusement.

Finally, though, a trumpet sounded, and musicians flooded the hall.

King Aegon stood and proudly announced: “My lords and ladies, the floor is yours!”

With that, he took his Queen’s hand, and walked first onto the floor, shadowed by his Kingsguard, ready to move at the first hint of something going wrong. Jennelyn could thus observe Ser Barristan leading two knights next to the royal couple, and get a view of the Queen in all her beauty. She had glistening silver hair, deep purple eyes shining like two amethysts and a lovely red dress which matched her golden circlet perfectly. Jennelyn also noticed a small bulge in her belly. Surely something that had been noticed, but not announced just yet.

As the royal couple opened the dance, streams of lords and ladies started to join. First Lord Tully and his wife, followed by Lord Hightower and Lady Rhonda, then Princess Arianne and Prince Aemon. Lady Shireen Baratheon asked for a turn with the young Lord Arryn, who was only too happy to respond to some interest being shown his way.

Jennelyn watched as her own sister shared a dance with Lord Dayne, eyeing him with a look that Jennelyn knew all too well. She sighed and turned her attention back to the seats next to the row of honor. Not many were left, but the Tattered Prince was still there, looking on, unphased.

Jennelyn sprung to her feet and moved towards the other side of the room, trying her best to ignore the drunken fools on the side of the table, or the few jeers of a few other men. She confidently stepped up to the Prince, who looked up at her.

“Ser, would you care for a dance?” she asked.

The question seemed to have baffled him, since he stayed silent for half a moment.

“I…I would be honored. my lady, but I am a terrible dancer.”

The Prince’s voice was definitely tinged with a Dornish accent. On this matter, the whispers were actually true. Jennelyn could see, though, that this person was very much human. No spirit’s voice would be so hesitant, nor did spirits have dark eyes and skin like the ones Jennelyn could see through the left eye hole, the right one remaining dark…

“No matter, I can lead.” Jennelyn insisted.

“Well, then, it would be unwise of me to decline an invitation from such a beautiful lady as you.” The Prince said as he rose up.

Jennelyn blushed slightly at the comment, but stuck her arm out confidently, leading him to the floor.

Once they reached it, the music slowed down and Jennelyn smiled. Just what she needed.

“This is a slow dance. Give me your hand.”

The Prince gave her his hand, or rather, a velvet gloved hand. He did not resist as Jennelyn closed in on him, but she did sense a slight unease.

“Do not fret, dancing is as easy as walking.” Jennelyn winked.

“I trust you, my lady.” The Prince answered with a nod.

Jennelyn did not fail to notice that the Prince’s eye did dart to her cleavage for a moment, before going back to meet her blue eyes.

“Just move with the music, ser.” Jennelyn nodded.

The Prince tried his best. His movements were slightly erratic, but nothing too disconcerting. Instead, Jennelyn focused less on leading and more on trying to decipher the man.

“So, you are Dornish?” she asked.

“Yes.” The man answered succinctly.

“What led you to become leader of the Windblown?” she pressed on. “Why leave Dorne?”

“Approval.” The Prince replied. “I wanted to make my father proud, and it was not in Dorne that I could have done so.”

“Still, you left your home. Was it very difficult?” she asked.

“I did not have much of a relation to Dorne, if I am honest, Lady…?”

“Fowler. Jennelyn Fowler. But call me Jennelyn.”

“Ah, if it pleases you, Jennelyn.” The man nodded, “As I said, I was sent away when I was young. My siblings did not know me, and in some cases loathed me. As for my mother, she left when I was young, and my father…I did not know him well, either.”

“But you said it was for his approval that you left?” Jennelyn asked.

“Aye, his approval. Because he was the last close person in my family that I had.” The Prince coughed. “When I returned, I learned that he had died of sorrow, thinking that I was dead.”

“I am sorry.” Jennelyn’s face darkened. “Did you never write?”

“I did not. We were far away, and words only came by mouth to Dorne. By the time I had come back, it was too late.”

“Well, if I may say, ser, he would be proud of you today.” Jennelyn smiled. “You brought justice to Dorne and helped bring Elia’s son on the throne.”

“You flatter me.” The Prince shook his head. “I did not do much except fighting, which is not an achievement someone should be proud of.”

“Nonsense, you probably have ladies swooning over you.” Jennelyn quipped.

There was a moment of fleeting silence.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…” Jennelyn wobbled, “Did you lose your wife?”

“I never had one.” The man shook his head. “I…thought I could get a lady's hand at some point. Thought that it would play out like in the songs. I was wrong. I tried to impress her, and…well, I failed, and she resented me. I spent the rest of my life trying to get back into her good graces.”

“She must have been a remarkable woman.” Jennelyn drew a breath. “For you to do this much.”

“She moved on. I…wish to say I had as well.” The Prince shrugged.

Jennelyn narrowed her eyes. During all this time, the Tattered Prince had only spoken in the purest Common Tongue. Not a word that would hint at him being a lowborn, and not a hint of his voice being old or common either. It could only be a young man, born close to some sort of nobility. Landed knight or high lord, though, she could not tell.

“With your repute, I have no doubt that many ladies would like your hand.” Jennelyn smiled back.

“I wish that were true, Lady…my apologies, Jennelyn.” The man shook his head. “But what kind of lady would like a man such as me? A maiden who does not have a way with words, and who has been scarred beyond belief?”

Jennelyn swallowed. How was the Prince a maiden? Surely every woman in Dorne would at least swoon over him. A young, unwed man who had proved his worth in battle and served Queen Daenerys loyally…

“Ladies love scars.” Jennelyn answered instead.

“Not these.” The Prince sadly shook his head. “These scars scare beautiful girls like you, Jennelyn. They would send you running of fright.”

“I have seen war.” Jennelyn shook her head. “I have seen broken faces, filled with scars.”

“Not mine.” The Prince said quietly. “Not mine.”

“Is that why you wear the mask?” Jennelyn asked. “To hide the scars?”

“Yes.” The Prince nodded. “To hide it from others. And to hide my own shame.”

The music slowly died down, leaving them to stare at each other without a word.

“I…” The Prince made to speak, but shook his head. “I thank you for the dance, but I must go rest.”

“Ser!” Jennelyn caught his hand. “If you would one day like to come and…speak about things. It is said that the mountain air can cure illnesses. I am not sure that it would clear scars, but it would do me great honor if you would come to Skyreach and we can ride along the Red Mountains one day. I would show you the beauty of our land.”

“I would be delighted to.” The Prince nodded.

“A favor if you will, ser?” Jennelyn asked.

“What would that be, Jennelyn?” he questioned.

“If you come, I would wish to see you as you are.” Jennelyn replied.

The Tattered Prince stayed silent for a few moments, but just as the music picked back up, he relented.

“When I come to Skyreach, I will show you, but only you.”

And with that, the Tattered Prince disappeared in the crowd. Jennelyn watched him go, but suddenly thought about a key question. Where did he live? Perhaps she could help him find his mother. After all, House Fowler was quite influential in Dorne. And there was the question of talking to him again. If they did not see each other on the morrow…

Jennelyn darted out of the dining hall, but found no one. No trace of the Tattered Prince, at the table or elsewhere around the Keep. She could see several guests seeming to try and disappear, but no one that resembled him.

A light tap on her shoulder almost brought her hopes up, only for them to be dashed as she saw her sister appear with a smile.

“Jen!” Jeyne looked at her, giddy. “Would you like to share our bed with Lord Dayne tonight?”

The young lord, Edric, a man of sixteen, was more than handsome. With blonde-silver hair and blue eyes, he looked almost like a Targaryen. Though, his face was flustered and almost embarrassed at the idea. Still, perhaps the Dayne boy could make her forget the white mask that kept occupying her head.

She accepted the idea, making it back to their rooms along with their guest.

It was by no means a dull night. Edric Dayne was a skilled lover, who knew how to satisfy her in every way. But when his lips met his, she imagined the Tattered Prince’s lips hitting hers. When his tongue lapped at her cunt, she imagined the Prince’s tongue bringing her to completion. When Edric made love to her, she imagined the Prince doing the same.

In the end, she drifted off to sleep as Jeyne and Edric were still keeping at it. Usually, she could outpace her sister, but not tonight.

Her dreams that night were full of the mysterious man in the white mummer’s mask.

And when Jennelyn left the next day for Dorne, the man was nowhere to be found.

Sunspear, five months later

Arianne didn’t really know why the gods had played with her so much. One moment she was due to be Queen, and the next she was mourning the loss of six family members. One moment she thought that she had nothing, and the next she had found a husband and a brother she had thought dead.

There was no crown on her head, no. But she had what she always desired more than a golden circlet: Dorne. It was hers, and no one was there to deny her birthright.

How stupid she was, when younger. She had asked in silence for the gods to rid her of Quentyn so she could finally get Dorne. When she got the news that Quentyn was dead, in Storm’s End, Arianne was inconsolable for days. And with the news of the deaths of Tyene, then Obara, she had started to sink into dark thoughts.

Arianne tried to shove them away, trying her best to think about the potential alliance that the Spider had floated around with Aegon. Of course, Aegon was comely, no doubt. Her children would be as fair as dragonlords, and this one would not be as psychotic to kill her cousins. But there was still a tinge of guilt inside her.

But the thoughts of Queenship quickly dissipated as the Great Peace was signed. Aegon would wed his aunt Daenerys, binding the two lost branches of House Targaryen together. Instead, Arianne would wed the bastard son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. One they called Jon Snow, who had united the North behind the young Rickon Stark and the Wildlings behind his own cloak. A man who it was said rode a wolf to battle and shared Queen Daenerys’ bed as much as Aegon did. Arianne wondered what kind of man he was. A savage? A drunken idiot?

She could not have been more wrong. Aemon Targaryen, his name now legitimized by Aegon, was the sweetest person she knew. His features were striking: her perfect prince. Dark hair, dark eyes and a dangerous air about him. They immediately meshed together, and did not wait for the Long Night to be over to consummate the marriage, even before any ceremony could be had. Immediately at the end of the war, Princess Aliandra was born, under the first rays of the new dawn. She and Aemon were wed soon after before the Seven and the Old Gods, spending a few moons in the capital before finally leaving for Dorne.

It was hard to adapt for Aemon, but he grew used to the heat and Dornish customs. He was ever the dutiful husband and father. And he always kept her satisfied and asking for more.

Today was no exception. Arianne woke up with the first rays of the sun, hugging her husband closely, as if Queen Daenerys would grow bored of Aegon and try and steal him away.

“Jon…” she whispered. He never liked Aemon, though he suffered through the annoyance of having it be his official title. “Jon, it is dawn.”

Aemon’s grey eyes met hers. He was perfectly naked too, his dark brown hair completely dishevelled as he woke up and smiled.

“Already? We do not have to meet the lords before midday.” He asked with a tinge of expectation.

“But I have need of you…” Arianne snuggled closer. “Need of your tongue and…”

“My tongue?” Aemon asked, throwing away the sheets and pinning her to the cushions. “What use might you find for it?”

He immediately kissed her, fiercely and passionately. When he finally let go, she smiled.

“Not there…” she groaned, “lower…”

“Oh?” Aemon chuckled. “As you say, Princess…”

He ran his lips on her neck, kissing her in every way.

“Lower…”

He dragged his mouth to her breasts, circling her nipples, making her jolt.

“Lower…”

He circled her stomach, making rounds with his tongue around her belly button.

“Almost there…”

Then his tongue reached her nether lips. Arianne immediately moaned and grasped the bedsheets with such force that she thought she’d rip them in two.

“YES!” Arianne cried out.

Aemon got to work. Arianne was no stranger to being kissed down there, but Aemon did it in such a way that he made her mad. He always sought to prolong her pleasure, even if it meant delaying her release, and oh…by the gods…it was torture, but such a heavenly one!

She came undone in a few moments, chest heaving as Aemon grinned above her, lips glistening with her release.

“My turn…” Arianne smiled back as she rose to meet him, pushing him downwards. “Where would you like it?”

“Surprise me.” Aemon winked.

“Hmmm…I think it’s been a little while since I’ve given you head, have I not?” she grinned. “Let’s rectify that mistake.”

Arianne only managed to wrap her hands around his cock, before she was interrupted by knocking on the door.

“Did we take too long?” Arianne asked.

It wouldn’t be the first time their lovemaking had infringed on some meetings.

“I do not think so?” Aemon looked confused. “We did not even start…”

“Princess!” a voice came from behind the door. “Sorry to disturb your sleep, but your brother has had problems.”

Arianne sighed and released Aemon. She did not need to ask which brother was in trouble.

“I will come once I have dressed!” she shouted back.

Arianne shook her head and almost jumped off the bed.

“Sorry Jon, I believe the rest will have to wait…”

Aemon looked at her with no emotion.

“Do not be so frustrated, my love.” He shook his head. “Your family comes before a little bit of pleasure.”

“I…I…just do not know what to do.” Arianne almost sobbed, putting her smallclothes on. “He feels trapped and alone and I am just…powerless.”

“He is still scarred and wounded from the War.” Aemon put a hand on her shoulder, kissing her on the cheek. “His reactions are normal. He just needs for you to be there when he needs it. To know that he has someone.”

“That is exactly my worry, Jon.” Arianne sighed as she chose a golden dress from the wardrobe. “I am his sister, but I am also the Princess of Dorne. I have other duties to attend to. I have you and Aliandra, and the next one on the way…”

She brought a hand over her slowly bulging belly.

“I cannot take care of my brother all the time.”

“I understand.” Aemon nodded, helping her put her necklace on. “But you cannot abandon him.”

“I need to keep him occupied. And I need to find him a wife…if he is even interested in these things.” Arianne shook her head.

“Believe me, he is interested in women.” Aemon replied simply, holding her hand as she finished dressing up. “But he does not want to force someone to wed him. To him…having someone forced to wed him when he feels lesser than them is unacceptable.”

“His scars are dreadful, but they have not stopped people from marrying before.” Arianne shook her head.

“But we are not talking about battle scars here, love…”

“I know!” Arianne lashed out. “I am sorry…I know. I know it is worse. But he is my brother, and he has the Queen’s confidence, won battles and proved himself in combat against…that murderer Darkstar and Cersei’s creatures.”

“He still wouldn’t want something to be forced on him.” Aemon sighed. “Your brother wants to earn his love.”

“He’s a fool.” Arianne sighed. “But you are right. He is my foolish brother…”

“Now, go, before he hurts himself.” Aemon smiled as he kissed her. “I’ll keep the lords busy.”

“And the ladies.” Arianne grinned back as she left the room, her hair still slightly undone.

Arianne knew where to go. Trystane had settled in a keep near the Water Gardens some time ago with his wife Myrcella, leaving a happy life quite far away from everything.

No, the brother who lived here was the one she had thought dead for so long. The one she instantly recognized even through that silly white mask of his, on the night where she met the Queen’s party. She had almost cried then, and almost choked when he had almost not recognised her.

Her pace grew more frantic. The door to her brother’s rooms appeared in the distance. She drew a breath, and entered.

Quentyn was there, breathing heavily and trembling from head to toe. His features were drawn, as if he hadn’t slept that night at all. But the worst thing was the scars.

The entire right side of his face was burned. Ugly wrinkles reached along his forehead and past his eye towards his mouth, the edge of which was almost crooked. His ear was ripped in three parts, skin almost flapping like a banner in the wind. His nose was mostly spared, with only a few burn marks still subsiding and a slightly caved in nostril. Likewise, his hair had managed to grow back, hiding the burn marks on the top of his head. His eye was not so lucky, though. Arianne had seen it before, and it was just there, as white and pale as a pristine pearl. However, Quentyn chose to wear an eye patch to cover it at all times.

Arianne immediately raced to his bedside, closing the door shut.

“Brother.” She knelt beside him. “Brother, it is me.”

Quentyn continued to shake, so Arianne held his burnt hand firmly.

“Look at me, brother.” Arianne whispered. “It’s alright. I am here. No one will hurt you.”

“The flames, the flames…” Quentyn whispered in fear. “They’re here, they’re enveloping me. I need...I need to go…”

“Quentyn!” Arianne cried out. “You’re in Sunspear. You’re safe.”

Quentyn continued to shake, but did not resist her.

“Breathe slowly, brother.” Arianne looked at his good eye. “Look at me. Breathe.”

Quentyn’s chest started heaving slowly, but surely. Arianne made sure to match his movements, instructing him as if he were a maester.

“That’s right.” Arianne sighed. “No one will hurt you. You are safe. Keep breathing.”

Quentyn’s breath hitched ever slightly, but he continued to breathe slowly, eventually slumping back into his bed.

“I’ll fetch a drink.” Arianne shook her head, moving to reach for a cup, filling it with water.

She walked back to her brother, who was still breathing slowly, eye closed.

“Drink,” she commanded, shoving the cup to his lips.

Quentyn accepted it, his fingers still trembling, trying to bring the liquid to breach his burnt lips.

“Go on.” Arianne encouraged him.

It took some time, but Quentyn did end up finishing the cup.

“Thank you.” He softly let out, his eye now open, but avoiding her gaze.

Arianne sighed and shook her head.

“Listen, brother, this cannot continue. The maesters say you need some air. To find joy in life again.”

“Joy…” Quentyn shook his head. “Ever since my…accident, I could not find joy. I found a way to be alive. To fight for Queen Daenerys and absolve myself of my sins. To fight her enemies, fight, always fight…”

“There is no more fighting, brother.” Arianne let out.

“No.” Quentyn shook his head. “But the only thing the Tattered Prince is good at is fighting.”

“You are not the Tattered Prince.” Arianne immediately silenced him. “You are Quentyn of House Nymeros-Martell, and you are my brother.”

“Quentyn died in Meereen.” Her brother shook his head again.

“Then why are you standing before me?” she asked.

“Why do you care?” Quentyn snapped. “Why, after all these years, do you suddenly care?”

“Because it is when we thought we lost someone that we realize how much we had needed them.” Arianne confessed. “I failed in my duty as an older sister, I agree. But I will not fail again.”

Quentyn shifted slightly, looking at his burnt hand.

“As I said, sister. Quentyn is dead. Only the Tattered Prince remains.”

“Fuck the Tattered Prince!” Arianne snapped. “The war is over! The Kingdoms have found peace!”

“That is not a life I can live anymore.” Quentyn sighed.

“Find a wife. Have children.” Arianne all but ordered.

“Find a…” Quentyn laughed. “I hope you are jesting, sister. Have you seen my face?”

“I can arrange a match.” Arianne crossed her arms.

“A match…” Quentyn shook his head. “For a girl who would hate me. Who would refuse to look at me in the eye for the rest of my life. Quite a life…”

“Then find one that won’t.” Arianne shrugged. “Travel across Dorne, I do not believe that a single keep would close its doors to you.”

“Travel Dorne…” Quentyn sighed. “Aye, perhaps. And then, if I do not find anyone?”

“I’ll find you someone, brother.” Arianne sighed. “If Nym has no issue finding lovers with her face, I believe that it shouldn’t be too hard to find you someone.”

“Gold that is dipped in mud is still gold, but copper that is dipped in mud is worthless.” Her brother scoffed.

“You have a low opinion of yourself, brother.” Arianne sighed. “Go see your friends in Yronwood, they will tell you the same as me. Any lady would be lucky to have your hand in marriage.”

“My friends…in Yronwood…” Quentyn’s eyes lit up. “Friend, friend…yes! Alright, sister. I will travel Dorne for a few moons.”

“Promise me you will return in no longer than three moons.” Arianne crossed her arms. “I do not wish to have my vassals roam the entire Kingdom for you.”

“I swear.” Quentyn nodded. “But I will need to find my friend again.”

“As you say, brother. Better pack before the weather turns too warm.”

Skyreach, one month later

Jennelyn looked at the Red Mountains in the distance, the long road lining the Prince’s Pass fading behind them, with horses and men alike looking like dots no larger than specks of dust in her eyes.

Lost in her thoughts, she did not comprehend the passage of time much anymore. Everything seemed to bore her. Times were simpler back when she was at the Water Gardens, playing with her friends, without a care in the world…

But her friends had grown, married, and some of them had keeps and lands to rule. Leaving her alone in Skyreach, waiting for something to happen.

“Still sulking, I see?” A voice drew her out of her thoughts.

Her sister Jeyne stood there, arms crossed, with a malicious look in her eye.

“What is it?” Jennelyn asked, exasperated.

“What are you doing?” Jeyne countered. “Waiting for a Prince to come save you from your tower?”

“Huh?” Jennelyn looked surprised. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“Don’t be foolish, Jen.” Jeyne scoffed. “I am your twin. I know you better than anyone. You are still thinking about that sellsword.”

“A little.” Jennelyn confessed.

“A lot.” Jeyne scoffed. “You’ve been thinking about him for moons on end. It is time to stop.”

Seeing that she didn’t answer, Jeyne continued.

“Listen, Jen, he’s a sellsword. He probably just ran back to Essos in search of more gold and glory.”  Jeyne shrugged. “A sellsword is no good match for a lady like you.”

“Match, match…is it all you think about?” Jennelyn angrily snapped.

“I think about the future of our house, dear sister.” Jeyne shrugged. “You are part of it, and I wish only the best for you. It is past time that we took a husband.”

“Past time…” Jennelyn sighed. “Be that as it may, I will not have someone be forced upon me. Or have you forgotten that you are not yet wed?”

“Our father has had difficulties finding a proper match.” Jeyne frowned. “There is talk of Gulian Qorgyle.”

“And for me?” Jennelyn asked.

“Father floated Edric Dayne’s name a few times…”

“He seemed much more interested in you the last time we met.” Jennelyn immediately cut her sister off.

“A shame, he is a handsome and dutiful man. But he is to be wed to Sansa Stark.” Jeyne shook her head. “Father is looking amongst the Stormlander houses. Andrew Estermont or Wendel Swann…”

“Stormlords…” Jennelyn scoffed.

“Again, Jen, I do not wish for you to have a match be forced upon you. But unless you can somehow materialize a better deal out of thin air, father will wed you off regardless of your wishes.” Jeyne sighed.

“And how do I exactly find such a match?” Jennelyn angrily replied.

“Not by sulking in your tower!” Jeyne shot back. “Staying here, waiting for your Essosi prince to come rescue you…do you think he will come riding a white stallion to take you away, and reveal he is actually a Triarch of Volantis?”

Jennelyn clenched her fists. This was different. She knew there was something more to be sought with that man. He was of Dornish nobility, she was certain.

But, then again, it had been moons since their meeting in the capital, and no word of him had reached her. Jennelyn had slowly resigned herself to the fact that he’d never come and visit, and leave her with another mystery.

That said, Jeyne was right. She had a duty to do for her house, and she needed to find a suitable match soon. But whom? Yronwood, Uller, Jordayne, Toland, Blackmont, Dayne and Allyrion all did not have unwed men to offer.

A Reachman, perhaps could do. A Stormlord…Jennelyn shook her head. Perhaps, perhaps.

“Sorry to interrupt, girls.”

An older woman arrived at the door. She was wearing a large, blue dress, and her blonde-silver hair had started to turn grey. It was mother.

“There is a visitor for you, Jennelyn. He is waiting in the yard.” She coughed.

“I swear that if you sent a potential match all the way here for me to turn my back on him, sister…” Jennelyn angrily turned to Jeyne with a clenched fist.

“Nothing of the sort!” Her sister defended herself. “I do not know who it is.”

Jennelyn scoffed and walked down the staircase, straight towards the yard. If she was to have at least some entertainment, let it happen. She was not going to be one to publicly shame the poor sod that her parents no doubt had sent to her.

Instead, as she entered the courtyard, she was shocked to see a man atop a white sand steed, wearing Essosi clothes and a white mask that Jennelyn immediately recognized.

She almost broke down laughing, and immediately nudged her sister, who had been just as shocked as her.

“Well then, will I be ruling Volantis soon?” Jennelyn grinned.

The Prince unhorsed and went to her, bowing in front of herself and Jeyne.

“I am sorry if I took so long.” The Prince sighed. “I had announced my intention a few weeks prior, but I was held up at Yronwood.”

“I…” Jennelyn angrily turned to Jeyne, who raised her arms as if she was as surprised as her. “It is of no importance. You are here.”

“I would ask if your family could grant me hospitality for a few nights.” The Prince asked in a mostly even voice. “I am afraid I do not know this area well.”

“You have it.” Jennelyn nodded. “Though, I think the day is still early, I would like to bring you up to the Balcony.”

“At this hour?” Jeyne asked.

“I’ll live.” Jennelyn scoffed.

“I’ll ask for mother to send some guards with you.” Jeyne replied.

“No!” Jennelyn angrily answered. “Let me breathe for a moment!”

She turned back to the Prince with a smile.

“Would you like to take up your horse again, ser?” Jennelyn asked. “There is a place I wish to show you.”

“Nothing would bring me greater pleasure, Jennelyn.” The Prince’s voice showed a twinge of emotion. “But your sister is right. Mayhaps a few guards would be good…”

“There aren’t any bandits so high up and so close to the castle.” Jennelyn waved him off. “We are not going to the edge of the world.”

“That is a shame.” The Prince replied. “Well then, let us go.”

Jennelyn nodded, but asked for a moment to change into riding attire. The clothes she wore were hardly suited for such a task. In just under an hour, she was riding out of Skyreach with the Essosi – or Dornish, if you asked – prince following in her horse’s hooves.

She led the horse up the mountains, towards the Prince’s Pass, passing towards a small goat path to the left of the great road. The path was large enough for two horses to path through, but still dangerous, as rocks could fall at any point.

Despite this, Jennelyn pursued her effort, managing to see her objective from below, having been there many times. She pushed her horse forward, finally reaching the place she’d been aiming for after two hours of riding.

The place known as the “Balcony” was a mountain top which overlooked the Prince’s Pass, right in front of Skyreach. One could see the Pass clearly, and see Skyreach in the distance, with the sinuous road leading to it. Once used as a warning outpost during the Dornish wars, it was now just used as a relaxing spot. It was a beautiful day, so one could see as far as the Caron lands beyond the Pass.

“It’s beautiful.” The Tattered Prince let out as he unhorsed.

“It is a lovely sight.” Jennelyn acquiesced. “My father used to bring me and my siblings here to watch the sunrise over the mountains.”

Jennelyn then pointed to a large slab of rock.

“Let us sit there,” she said, “it is large enough to hold six.”

The Tattered Prince nodded, and they sat together for a few moments, in silence.

“Why did you come?” Jennelyn finally asked.

The Tattered Prince looked at her through his white mask.

“For you.”

“Me?” Jennelyn asked. “I am flattered.”

“You are one of the rare people who genuinely cared about me, am I wrong?” he asked.

“You are not wrong.” Jennelyn asked. “I am genuinely curious about you.”

“Isn’t everyone?” The Prince countered.

“Some more than others.” Jennelyn shrugged. “But I think I know you more than most.”

“Oh?” The Prince sounded surprised. “Tell me.”

“You are a Dornishman. Probably from some sort of nobility. You went away from home because you wanted to make your father proud but failed.” Jennelyn stated. “You lack self-confidence and some self-awareness, but you seem to make up these weaknesses with your martial prowess and political acumen. Am I wrong?”

“I told you most of that.” The Prince sighed.

“Still, my guess is good, is it not?”

“I suppose you are right, yes.”

“Then what House are you from?” Jennelyn finally asked.

The Tattered Prince shook his head.

“It does not matter.”

“Fine.” Jennelyn conceded. “But you did promise me something if you came back.”

The Tattered Prince said nothing.

“Your mask.” Jennelyn insisted. “Take it off.”

“Jennelyn, I…” The Prince started, but she immediately cut him off.

“Come on, now.” She shook her head. “I am no longer a girl. I have seen war and I have seen scars. There is no need to hide. I swear I will not react adversely.”

The Prince still did not move, so Jennelyn grabbed his hands.

“Listen, I will not force you to do so, ser.” She sighed. “But I come to you plainly, with no secrets. I believe you should do the same.”

“You are right.” The Prince conceded. “You have been honest with me. I should do the same with you.”

The Prince took off part of the cape which hid his head. His hair was dark and somewhat long, reaching to his shoulders. Then, he undid the straps of his mask, finally removing it.

Jennelyn gasped at the sight. Not because of the burns, but because of the identity of the man standing before her.

“I told you; it is not a pretty sight.” The man shook his head. “I’ll put it back on.”

“NO!” Jennelyn stopped him. “No, do not dare do that. It’s just that you…you are Prince Quentyn.”

“Prince Quentyn died in Meereen.” The prince sighed. “Only the Tattered Prince remains.”

“Everyone thought you dead.” Jennelyn gasped. “What…how…why…”

“I could not live with my failure.” Quentyn admitted, scrubbing his eye patch. “I figured that it was best for everyone if I just…died. All the people who cared were with me anyways.”

“B…but…your family…”

“They know.” Quentyn confessed. “Arianne, cousin Manfrey, Nymeria, the girls, Ellaria, King Aegon and Queen Daenerys, plus a few trusted guards. And now, you.”

“For how long did you plan on keeping it a secret?” Jennelyn asked.

“For as long as it took for me to be ready to be back at Quentyn. Months, years…” He shook his head, “Possibly never.”

Jennelyn did not smile. She instead looked at him with sad eyes. He was obviously broken, given a task that was insurmountable, on the other side of the world…and now he thought himself a failure. Someone who would never live up to his father’s expectations of him.

“What now?” she asked. “For you?”

“I do not know.” Quentyn shook his head, “I do not even know why I came here. Gerris said I had a thing for blondes, but…”

“I’m flattered if you wish to come for my hand in marriage.” Jennelyn laughed.

“I wouldn’t subject you to it.” Quentyn shook his head. “I do not wish it.”

“Why?” Jennelyn asked. “Are you such a horrid husband?”

“I…no.” Quentyn shook his head. “But having to look at my scarred face every single day, to look upon my burns and empty eye, upon my body which is covered with them and never impressed anyone. To look at a burnt frog…no, I wouldn’t wish it for you.”

“Who said I disliked looking at you?” Jennelyn crossed her arms.

“Every other woman does.” Quentyn let out.

“Well, I am not just another woman.” Jennelyn shook her head. “It does not matter to me. I have seen many scars, men without arms or legs. I have seen your cousin Nym’s scars, and they are just as bad as yours. A few burns do not scare me.”

The prince’s face seemed to light up a little at that.

“I think it is the first time I have heard someone say that my scars do not phase them.” Quentyn let out a chuckle. “Perhaps you should pinch me, and let me wake up in Sunspear?”

“But then you wouldn’t be able to appreciate this moment.” Jennelyn countered.

“You are right.” Quentyn smiled. “Do not pinch me. I wish to have this moment for a little longer.”

A fleeting moment passed with nothing said between the two of them.

“And you?” Quentyn broke the silence. “What will you do? Any husband to return to?”

“I am not spoken for.” Jennelyn shook her head. “Though my father wishes for me to be wed soon.”

“Who is the lucky man?” Quentyn softly sighed.

“No one, yet.” Jennelyn shook her head. “My sister thinks it will be a Stormlander.”

Quentyn nodded, and looked to the ground.

“It does not have to be.” Jennelyn countered. “I will not let my father dictate whom I marry.”

Quentyn smiled slightly at that, and straightened up.

“What, then?”

“We could marry.” She giggled.

Quentyn seemed shocked.

“We have had two conversations.”

“And yet I know more about you in two conversations than I have any other man in twenty-six years.” Jennelyn countered.

“You flatter me.” Quentyn shied away from her a little. “If it is any solace, I believe this is the first time a girl hasn’t run away from me while crying or laughing, either.”

“Is that what Queen Daenerys did?” Jennelyn asked.

“She said I looked like a frog, and preferred a tall, muscled, experienced Essosi with blue hair and a green beard.” He scoffed. “I was a short, shy and stocky maiden who was not deserving to lick the mud underneath her soles.”

Jennelyn then understood. A sheltered boy sent by his father on a mission to conquer the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. A quest with a forlorn hope. A doomed quest.

What little of the boy’s self-confidence there existed must have been shattered that day. And since he was never fostered in the Gardens, and never raised there, Arianne and her cousins could never help him overcome these difficulties. Gods, what was Doran Martell thinking?

“I do not mind maidens, and you are pretty enough to me.” Jennelyn winked. “I could teach you.”

Quentyn blushed.

“Are you sure that I am not dreaming?” he asked.

“Well, see if this is real.”

Jennelyn leaned in and cupped his burnt cheek, bringing it towards her. She brought her lips forward, kissing him. Quentyn returned it, slowly, and did not try to force his tongue in. He relished in the softness of her own lips, making the moment last longer. Finally, they both withdrew.

When she caught a glimpse of him again, he seemed completely shocked.

“It certainly felt real.” He let out, baffled. “Would…would you come with me?”

“Where?” Jennelyn asked.

“To Sunspear.” Quentyn asked. “I am not asking for your hand. I…I just do not wish for you to be unhappy and hate me. Let us give ourselves two or three moons, see if…living together works. And then, we will see.”

Jennelyn beamed.

“I think it is fine.” She leaned in. “And do not worry, I will make sure to teach you everything about pleasing a woman, if you are so scared about it.”

Quentyn’s features grew red, making Jennelyn laugh.

“We can even start now if you want.”

“I feel like it’s getting late.” Quentyn coughed. “But if I am to be entirely truthful with you, I think like we need to meet a friend.”

“At Yronwood?” Jennelyn asked. “You know, we will have time to meet our own friends later.”

“No, he is a friend that is important to me.” Quentyn shook his head. “And he is around here somewhere.”

Had Jennelyn misjudged him? Were there some underlying issues? Had he gone mad?

“You are not making any sense.” Jennelyn pointed out.

“It will, I promise.” Quentyn said as he put on his mask again. “Trust me?”

Jennelyn sighed. She had gone this far; she might as well continue.

They made their way back to the Prince’s Pass in a few hours, but instead of coming back to Skyreach, they made to the west, to an isolated plateau.

“I came through here when riding from Yronwood.” Quentyn pointed out when Jennelyn asked how he knew this place.

There was no one for leagues around when they unhorsed, up there, between the peaks of the Red Mountains.

“Who lives here?” Jennelyn asked, confused.

“No one.” Quentyn answered as he dropped his mask. “But he is coming.”

Jennelyn’s confusion grew until she heard a scream from above. Instinctively, she looked up at the sky, expecting to see some kind of eagle, hawk or vulture that roamed these skies. Indeed, there was a winged figure that appeared far up.

She looked at Quentyn, who waved almost giddily at it.

The figure grew larger and larger, until Jennelyn realized it was much, much bigger than a bird. No, it was something else entirely. Something…no, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t.

Jennelyn’s heart beat faster and faster, with both horses starting to panic behind her. Meanwhile, Quentyn did not flinch.

“Do not worry.” He tried to reassure her.

“That’s…” Jennelyn blurted out. “That’s a…”

Quentyn nodded, still smiling.

The mythical creature finally came into view. It was a dragon. A massive, cream-colored, dragon. It circled for a moment, before landing abruptly on the ground, making the entire plateau shake as he did so.

“Hello, dear friend.” Quentyn smiled as he reached out a hand.

The dragon took a step back.

“No, do not worry.” He calmly spoke. “She is a friend. She will not hurt you.”

The dragon stopped in its tracks, putting its head down towards Quentyn, who looked unphased. Meanwhile, Jennelyn was shaking like a leaf.

“It’s nice to see you again.” Quentyn patted the dragon on the nose, almost affectionately, as one would a little puppy. “I’m sorry I have not been around lately.”

“What…how…” Jennelyn blurted out.

“Oh, this is my friend, Viserion.” Quentyn nonchalantly let out. “We travel around sometimes.”

“The Queen’s lost dragon…” Jennelyn muttered, “it…it is yours?”

“It was shaken since the encounter with the dragon horn.” Quentyn rubbed the dragon’s snout. “I did not wish to lead him to places he didn’t like, so I let him do what he wants. But he always comes back.”

“I…I thought he was a completely wild one.” Jennelyn let out.

“I thought so, too, until he appeared in front of me in a field near Meereen one day.” Quentyn sighed.

“Who knows?” Jennelyn asked.

“Queen Daenerys, Ser Barristan, Gerris and Arch. King Aegon too, I suppose.” Quentyn continued to pat the dragon affectionately.

“And me?” Jennelyn asked.

“And you.” Quentyn nodded. “I am sorry if I do not offer you to come and ride him. Unfortunately, Viserion is quite afraid of strangers.”

Afraid? That…monster was afraid of her.

“He will come to learn about you if we spend more time together.” Quentyn smiled back, removing his hand from the dragon’s snout. “You can go, friend.”

With these words, the dragon huffed and leapt from the plateau, heading towards the skies, disappearing in a lone cloud, and making Jennelyn question if what she had just seen was a dream.

Meanwhile, Quentyn had come back to her, and put on his white mask again.

“He will be back at some point.” He shrugged.

“Why trust me?” Jennelyn quizzically asked.

“I am not sure.” Quentyn replied with a sigh. “I suppose I needed to tell someone.”

“That…that…you are a dragonrider?” Jennelyn coughed.

“People love to feign interest about me. I knew yours was genuine.” Quentyn almost whispered. “Viserion is a secret I keep from prying eyes, for I know it will be a headache rather than a blessing.”

“You could have Dorne at your feet.” Jennelyn blurted out.

“Because of him.” Quentyn pointed to the sky as he mounted his horse. “Not because of who I am. That is not something I wish to live with, to have one’s worth dictated by that. I wish for myself to trace my own way.”

“And you think I would not think of you differently?” Jennelyn asked.

“I would question your sanity if you did not.” Quentyn almost laughed. “But you also pressed an interest because of who I was, and that despite my burns. I feel like it was worth trusting you with it. And if I was wrong…I suppose that it was my own fault.”

“Do not fret, Quentyn.” Jennelyn shook her head. “I am not one to come back on my word. Your secret is safe with me.”

“Thank you.” Quentyn nodded at her. “Now let us go back to Skyreach before your father sends riders far and wide to look for us.”

Jennelyn smiled and chuckled. No, really, things had turned out wonderfully. And then there was Jeyne, who had mocked her before for believing in her Prince. What would she say when the same back with a Martell dragonrider? And one now related to the royal family at that? Oh, Jeyne, you foolish girl. What was it with girls that let a boy slip through their fingers just because he is too scared to talk to you? Those made the best lovers, and the best husbands. Just look at Ned Dayne…

Jennelyn shook her head. Time was not to dwell on the past, but on the future. And she knew that she could make Quentyn stop worrying about his scars, to make him shine even more. All it would take was a little affection and a little push in the right direction…

Water Gardens, two months later

The water kissed Quentyn’s burns almost as smoothly as Jennelyn’s lips. Those were the only two new things that he had found soothed the pain that resided in him ever since that fateful day in Meereen. Ever since those agonizing days where he had been drenched in oils and water.

Now, only three things soothed the pain. Water, which dampened the scars. Ointment, which soothed the burn. And Jennelyn’s kisses, which made him forget about the pain.

Gods, that woman. Ever since he laid his eyes on her during that feast in the capital, he just could not forget about her. Blue eyes, blonde hair, a wicked smile…

He thought that it was Ynys reborn to come and taunt him. A sweet girl who did not seem scared of him, nor was she intimidated.

Ever since that day in the capital, she could not forget her. Gerris had told him to try his luck. He had almost laughed at him. How could a beautiful girl like this come to love someone like him? Gerris had shrugged and told him that he had changed since his days in Meereen, and that girls liked scars.

But these were not scars. They were burns. Burns that had washed half of his body like a wave running up a beach. Half of his body looked wrinkled as if he had aged or as if someone had painted him with reddish-brown strokes. Not to mention his eye, which was now just as white as the Dornish clouds. No, everything about him screamed “monster”.

That is why he took so much time in coming to Skyreach. Thinking that Jennelyn Fowler was only polite. That she did not truly wish to see him. And yet, there was this voice inside him that called him. What would be the worst thing that could happen? He had already danced with dragonfire, after all.

So, he saddled his horse and left Sunspear, making the trip up the Greenblood. He met with Viserion again, for the first time in years. It brought a tear to his eye, riding a dragon again. To be as free as a bird.

He thought for a moment of turning east, to Norvos, to see his mother. But would his mother even recognize him? Would she even care about him? He had not seen her since he was a boy of six.

But he shook his head and thought better of it. He landed somewhere around the coast near Yronwood, and left Viserion to his occupations, hunting in the Marches.

He visited Yronwood, paid his respects to Cletus' resting place, and met with Gerris, Arch, Garibald and Gwyneth. Poor Gwyneth, she had lost a brother, her sister was in Godsgrace, and she had now been thrown a betrothal to a Swann boy…

He did not linger too long, else he’d become too attached, and never want to leave again. He decided to go to Skyreach, then, and see what happened. To find out if the Fowler girl had forgotten him and gotten a husband of her own. After all, he had waited five full moons to visit her…

But when he did, he was struck again. That blonde hair, waving in the wind, and those blue eyes, piercing him like a blade.

Gerris did say his weakness was blondes.

To say he was relieved to hear she was not betrothed was an understatement. He was overjoyed, but still wary. Yet, with their conversation, he felt his heart beat faster and faster. She did not flinch at him removing his mask. Seven hells, she was more surprised with the fact that he was indeed Quentyn Martell, the boy who everyone thought dead.

She was the one who finally persuaded him to abandon the shield that was the Tattered Prince. He no longer needed it, after all. He had her.

When Quentyn introduced Jennelyn to Arianne, she almost fell out of her chair with surprise. Aemon, as usual, was supportive. It must be said that Quentyn and Aemon were always…well, almost friends. It is true that being raised outside of a family they wished to be a part of was always their dream. And Aemon knew the struggles of being too shy or too withdrawn to be successful.

A splash of water came to draw him out of his thoughts.

He blinked, wiping the liquid from his face, only to see his cousin grinning in front of him, almost completely naked.

“Cousin Nym.” Quentyn acknowledged her.

They made a funny pair, them two. Quentyn was burned on the right side, having lost his right eye, while she was burnt on the left, and had lost her left eye. One could say she even fared worse than Quentyn, since the wildfire had cut her ear clean off, as well as made her lose three fingers on her left hand. He, on the other hand, just needed one of his fingers to be cut off to prevent infection, and even then, only up to a third of its length.

He did his best not to stare at her breasts, which heaved in front of him enticingly.

“Come on, cousin.” Nymeria laughed. “I know you’ve seen a naked woman before.”

Quentyn didn’t react.

“Are you trying to test me?” he asked.

Nymeria grinned in response.

“I cannot spend a couple moments with my cousin?” she asked.

“You did not care for years, why now?” he retorted.

Nymeria scoffed, and swam to him, pressing herself against him. Quentyn did not even flinch as she brought her fingers on his chest. Smiling at him, she then positioned herself next to him.

“Because you’re family.” She finally sighed. “What animosity existed once between us is no more, if it even existed.”

“I suppose we did not care for each other.” Quentyn scoffed.

“No.” Nymeria shook her head. “And yet, we were so similar…”

“Similar?” Quentyn scoffed.

“If not in looks, at least in spirit.” Nymeria turned to him. “Don’t look at me like that! You know well what I am talking about. Our impulsiveness, our passion…”

Nymeria shook her head as she could read the confusion on his face.

“We both did stupid things when confronted with something we did not like, cousin.” She brought her hand to his burns. “And we paid the price for it.”

Quentyn caught her hand.

“I believe it is late for excuses.”

Nymeria nodded.

“You know, Queen Daenerys was foolish not to wed you.” She smiled. “With a bit more…training, we could have turned you into a perfect prince, if we’d been raised together.”

“I doubt that.” Quentyn scoffed.

“Why doubt it?” Nymeria smiled. “We are more alike than you think. We both care about our family; we both want the best for it. We are both impulsive, brave…”

“Brave?” Quentyn scoffed.

“Brave.” The Sand Snake nodded. “What kind of man deals with rejection by trying to claim a dragon?”

“A foolish one.” Quentyn replied.

“A foolish man would have not danced with these beasts.” Nymeria shook her head. “You once again sell yourself short, cousin.”

“I was not what the Queen wished.” Quentyn sighed.

“You could have been.” Nymeria smiled back. “A year with us in the Water Gardens, and I swear you would have gained enough self-confidence to shake mountains.”

Viserion does that for me, now.

“I was stocky, ugly, a maiden. That was not exactly what the Queen wanted.”

“Perspective.” Nymeria scoffed. “You are no longer stocky. If you had trained with us in the heat, we’d have easily helped you lose weight. And now, you are a knight. You defeated Gerold Dayne, Kingsguard and Others. You are an accomplished swordsman; it pains me to say.”

Nymeria brought her fingers over his chest.

“You know, Arianne was just like you when she was younger. She was stocky, unattractive, plain…” Nymeria scoffed. “She likes to pretend the gods gave her beauty, but really, we trained her to put her best features forward. To shed some of the fat she had been getting by gorging herself with fruit, cakes and sugar. We could have done the same to you.”

Her fingers trailed a little further.

“These muscles were already there, even when you were somewhat stocky. All it would have taken to highlight them would have been a few spars with us.” His cousin shrugged. “And as for maidens, I surely would have loved to be your first.”

Quentyn blushed.

“Do not look at me like a frightened maiden, cousin. I know you find me attractive.” Nymeria chuckled.

“A blind man would find you attractive, cousin.” Quentyn half-smiled.

“Well then, I would have been delighted to take your maidenhood.” She smiled back, closing in on him. “And then, when you met your Queen, you would know everything to please a woman.”

“I fear that even with this, it would not have worked.” Quentyn shook his head. “I thank you for those offers, however late they are, but my…”

“Are you talking about your cock?” Nymeria laughed. “Oh, you men, always the same. Jennelyn assured me you were average-sized.”

Quentyn looked her with a confused look.

“What?” she grinned. “Do you think I wouldn’t ask? I wasn’t exactly going to ask you to show it to me, did I?”

“You are certainly capable of it.” Quentyn retorted.

“I would have, one time.” Nymeria pressed her hand on his chest, “anyhow, I do have to admit, you are somewhat like other men, a bit insecure and foolish about these things.”

“What is foolish with that?” He asked.

“Girls dream of a huge cock.” Nymeria smirked. “Women know that they want an average one. Huge cocks are painful, and unpleasurable. They are more of a burden than anything. So, all of those cock-measuring contests between boys are useless. The man who has the biggest may have a maiden’s attention, but he will never seduce a woman with it. Women want cocks that can fill them perfectly, and hit that perfect spot within them. You do that well with your…future wife?”

Quentyn blushed. He had never talked about sex so openly, and he felt uneasy with this conversation.

“Have you even asked for her hand yet?” she asked.

“No.” Quentyn shook his head, grateful for her to have changed subject.

“Why not?” Nymeria asked. “She likes you. You like her. It is not like her father can object to your union, like the last time, when you still hid behind the Tattered Prince.”

“I was waiting.” Quentyn replied.

“Waiting? For what?” Nymeria scoffed. “For it to snow in Sunspear again?”

“I just have not had the right opportunity to do so.” Quentyn blushed.

“Well, you at least want her to be your wife, that is a step in the right direction.” Nymeria nodded.

“I am sorry, cousin, but why do you care so much?” he asked.

“First, I want you to be happy.” Nymeria’s fingers approached his chest. “Second, I want her to be happy. Third, I want you to keep House Martell’s lineage going. And finally…I want to share you two.”

“If you wanted to share us, you only had to ask.”

This was not Quentyn’s voice.

Having focused his attention on his cousin’s burnt face, Quentyn failed to notice Jennelyn coming to rest besides him, also only clad in her smallclothes.

“Ah, Jen!” Nymeria giggled. “I was having a nice conversation with your, erm…betrothed? Paramour?”

“My little prince?” Jennelyn laughed as she entered the water. “Back off, Nym, he is mine.”

Jennelyn affectionately shoved Nym away, turning to him. She enveloped her arms around him and kissed him fiercely. Quentyn savored her lips, not wanting to let go of them.

When she finally retreated, he groaned in disappointment.

“Oh, do not fret, love.” Jennelyn grinned. “I swear we will have time to ourselves later. And you can teach your cousin what you’ve learned from me.”

“What?” Quentyn asked.

“Your cousin wants to join our bed. I said yes…if you would have her, of course.” Jennelyn laughed. “Unless you do not find her to your tastes, in which case, I can look for another woman…”

“I…I, no, I find her pretty. I do not know what foolish man would refuse to say so.” Quentyn coughed. “But I thought that, for our first threesome, you would find a woman that is less…related?”

“Nym is experienced, and won’t be disappointed if you do not perform.” Jennelyn kissed his cheek. “She knows that you are still learning, and will not be expecting you to perform marvels with her. She is the best one that can guide you to make us both feel good.”

“I trust you, Jen, you know I do.” Quentyn nodded. “If you think it will be good for both of us…I accept.”

“Listen, Quentyn, I’ve been here for some time, looking at you.” She grinned, bringing her hands under the water, feeling his manhood. “I’ve seen that you seemed very keen on taking on your cousin.”

Quentyn blushed at that comment.

“Physical attractiveness is one thing.” Quentyn nodded. “Acting on it is another. As I have said before, you are the most beautiful woman in the world to me.”

“Good. I take that as a ‘yes’?” Jennelyn asked.

Quentyn did not speak, but he nodded.

Jennelyn giggled and placed a soft kiss on his lips, before whispering in his ear.

“We’re going to surprise her tonight, love. We will make sure she can hardly walk on the morrow.”

Quentyn nervously laughed in response, and kissed her again, sinking with her until only their heads were above the water.

“I love you.” He finally whispered. “And…”

His words were silenced with another kiss.

Sunspear, two years later (Jennelyn POV)

“We really shouldn’t be doing this.”

“Stop complaining and put your mouth to better use.” Jennelyn grinned down at Quentyn, who was now feasting on her exposed nether lips.

He was supposed to be working on straightening Dorne’s finances, and she was supposed to be…not distracting him. But the feeling of doing it while working had turned her on massively.

It must be said that married life was very good. Quentyn had been given a small holdfast near the Water Gardens, and had since been named as Sunspear’s treasurer in the place of the late Alys Ladybright. Their married life had been going well, they had a son, Arthur, a year ago, and their sex life was…fulfilling. Both of them were open to a lot of new things, and considering Quentyn had almost eight years of catching up to do, he was eager for everything. It must be said that although he was shy at first, his confidence did grow, and they ended up inviting women in their bed quite often.

One thing they hadn't tried yet was when Jennelyn had proposed to bring a man into their bed. Quentyn was not against the idea, but, just like her, wanted it to be someone he could trust. And most of these people lived in Yronwood, now. And sending a letter just asking one of his friends to come and have sex with both of them would be…odd, to say the least.

But Jennelyn did not despair, Quentyn was open to it and that was all that mattered. Trust in someone would come later. Not to mention that they were planning a trip to the Summer Isles. Partly to discover a new place, partly so that Quentyn could ride Viserion without too many curious people, partly for the…open culture there, that could help strengthen their bonds.

At this point, Jennelyn believed that they were going very strong. Soon, she’d likely give him another child, considering she’d skipped her moon blood a few days prior. And in the meantime, they rode up and down the Greenblood, and planned trips to Essos, Starfall, Oldtown or Highgarden.

Jennelyn felt her peak approaching, feeling her insides tighten, letting a quiet shout as she did so. After all, she did not want people to know they were…well…

Quentyn licked his glistening lips with a smile, and quickly looked around.

“Come on, Jen, I need to finish this…”

Jennelyn grinned and let herself fall from the desk.

“Oh, right,” she laughed. “Well, I can let you finish those papers.”

With that, she dropped down and pulled his breeches, letting his member stand at attention.

“Oh, Jen, shi…” Quentyn moaned as she took him in, sucking on it slowly, making sure to go slow to let the pleasure last.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door.

Immediately, Jennelyn rushed under the desk, still stroking Quentyn’s cock. Luckily, the desk was protected with an oak barrier, hiding her from the person that barged in.

“Sister.” Jennelyn heard her husband’s voice. “What do you need?”

Jennelyn smirked and decided to stop going slow. She opened her mouth and sunk down.

“Oh, Lord Gargalen needs…are you well brother?” Arianne’s voice echoed through.

“I am…fine…” Quentyn likely bit his tongue not to moan while Jennelyn started sucking him off. “Just a migraine.”

“Ah, well, go see the maester if it gets too bad.” Arianne answered. “Anyways, Lord Gargalen would like us to look into the taxes he paid us. According to him, his salt has been overly taxed this year.”

“I’ll…take a look at it.” Quentyn continued to say in a muffled tone.

Jennelyn loved every moment. She did not care about being discovered, in fact, she kind of hoped to be. Having Arianne discover she was sucking her brother dry…

“Alright.” Arianne’s voice resounded again. “And do go see the maester, you look really unwell.”

“I will, I will…” She could sense the desperation in Quentyn’s voice, which only made her go faster.

She then heard the door shut, and stopped her sucking.

“Really?” Quentyn asked as she jumped on the desk with a devious smirk on her lips.

“I’d say you quite enjoyed it.” Jennelyn winked.

“I did but…fuck, Jen, it was my sister, and your Princess.” Quentyn frowned.

“Hmmm…” she chuckled, putting her hands behind his neck. “I’ve been a bad girl, then, I need to be punished.”

“Jen…” Quentyn begged.

Jennelyn smirked and took the straps off of her dress, letting it fall to her waist.

“You want me, husband…” Jennelyn whispered. “Go on, punish me.”

Quentyn groaned, but smiled.

“Turn around.” He commanded.

Jennelyn smiled back and nodded, putting herself on the desk, sending papers flying.

“I hope those were not important.” She grinned.

Quentyn slapped her bare arsecheek.

“Ah!” she groaned.

“You do need to be punished.” He chuckled.

“Oh, I do and…AH!”

He did not let her a moment to breathe. In an instant, his cock was inside of her, quickly reaching into the depths of her core.

“YES!” she screamed.

His member was hitting the right spot, his hips hitting her arse as he took her from behind without a care in the world.

“So much for wanting to work.” She let out.

Quentyn brought an arm towards her chest, straightening her towards his lap.

“And whose fault is that?” he whispered in his ear, slightly choking her. “I have a gorgeous temptress in front of me.”

His cock drove upwards, while she tried riding him, but was rebuffed. She was instantly put back on the table, arms flailing around. Jennelyn half-cried out at the abrupt movement but soon was overwhelmed with a wave of pleasure driving into her.

“Say it.” She managed to blurt out.

“My gorgeous…” He thrust in, “insatiable…”

“Harder.” Jennelyn begged.

“lovely…” His thrusts gained in intensity, making her body rock, “goddess of a wife.”

“FUCK!” Jennelyn came undone, her body shaking and her hands gripping the oaken desk. Quentyn’s arms immediately came to support her up, raising her head to the ceiling as he went down, grasping her lips in a passionate kiss. One arm circled her neck while the other trailed her breasts as he fucked her through her orgasm.

He then pulled out of her, letting her take a breather, before turning her around. With a few strokes, he reached his peak, sending rope after rope of seed on her mouth. She quickly grabbed the few strands that missed and brought them to her mouth.

“I think…we need to bathe.” Jennelyn laughed, her chest heaving.

“That…may be a good idea.” Quentyn sighed as he slumped back into his chair. “I love you.”

“I love you too. That was…amazing.”

“Is there any point where it isn’t?”

“No.” Jennelyn gasped. “Come, let us share a bath. Lord Gargalen will wait a little longer for his answer.”

Quentyn shook his head in disbelief, but eventually got dressed as well. He and Jennelyn went back to their rooms and had a bath drawn up. After cleaning up and changing into new clothes, Quentyn did go back to his work. After all, matters concerning Dorne were a little more important than their personal pleasure.

Meanwhile, Jennelyn stayed in her rooms, looking over young Arthur’s cradle. Her little boy with dark hair and blue eyes. She hoped the next was a little girl with blonde hair and dark eyes, though she did not know what to name her.

Suddenly, there was a knock at her door.

“Come in.” Jennelyn beckoned.

It was Arianne, who coughed slightly.

“Sorry to disturb you, good-sister, but there is a visitor for you.”

“Oh, Princess?” Jennelyn looked confused. “Who is it?”

“I’ll let her introduce herself.”

A figure stepped into the doorway, dressed in a lovely blue-grey dress.

“Jeyne!” Her face immediately radiated.

“I’ll leave you two to it.” Arianne nodded.

Jennelyn bowed in thanks, and immediately came to hug her sister.

“How is it going?” Jennelyn asked. “Seriously, you should have sent a raven. I’d have given you a proper welcome.”

“It is not going that well, sister.” Jeyne sighed, slumping into a seat.

“What is going on? Has something happened to father?” Jennelyn asked.

“No.” Jennelyn shook her head. “Quite the opposite.”

“Is it your husband?” Jennelyn inquired.

Jeyne nodded.

“Ah, well, then, what is wrong?” Jennelyn asked.

“He’s awful!” Jeyne almost broke down in tears. “Father got me a sword-swallower from the Stormlands. A real idiot! He keeps making remarks about my ‘Dornish’ attitude, keeps complaining about everything in Skyreach, and you know what is the worst thing?”

“What?”

“Father loves him!” Jeyne threw her arms up. “Because he is good at hunting, a skilled swordsman, and a smooth talker. But with me? Life has become hell, Jen. He refuses to lay with me, spends his days with his friends away or in a tavern somewhere. Goes hunting for days on end…”

It must be said that Jennelyn took some measure of satisfaction in seeing her sister squirm like this. She who had thought Jennelyn was making a mistake in marrying what at the time was still the Tattered Prince, in what she thought was running away with an Essosi idiot. Father almost disinherited her right then and there…until Quentyn revealed his identity.

“And you come to me?” Jennelyn sighed. Jeyne was still her sister. “What for? I can hardly tell your husband to pay more attention to you.”

“I want to feel young again, sister.” Jeyne sighed. “I want to know what it is to be loved and desired.”

“And how can I help with that?” Jennelyn frowned.

“I want…I want to share you.”

“With your sword-swallower?” Jennelyn laughed.

“Do not be daft, sister. With your husband.” Jeyne looked up at her.

“I thought he was not good enough for me.” Jennelyn crossed her hands.

“Look, sister, I am sorry!” Jeyne exclaimed. “I was wrong. I made a bad judgement. What I thought would not be good for you turned out to make a mistake. But I plead to you: I need this, sister. I feel like I am going mad.”

Jennelyn looked into her eyes. Jeyne was indeed pleading, and pleading hard.

“Alright.” Jennelyn sighed. “What do I get out of it?”

Jennelyn saw Jeyne’s confusion.

“What?” She shrugged. “My husband is mine. And I’m his. If we are going to allow you into our bed, we might as well get something.”

“Anything.” Jeyne begged.

Jennelyn relaxed in her chair and thought hard, before nodding.

“Alright. I agree. On some conditions.” Jennelyn nodded.

“What are they?” Jeyne asked.

“First of all, you will be tied up. Tied up to the bed and you will watch me and Quentyn fuck until we both peak. That is your punishment for making fun of my choice of a husband.” Jennelyn smiled.

“You cruel witch!” Jeyne gasped.

“Trust me, Jeyne, it will make you extremely eager.” Jennelyn winked. “Second of all, I want you to repay my husband for insulting him. You will give him your maidenhood. Your arse maidenhood, of course.”

“Do not threaten me with a good time, sister.” Jeyne scoffed.

“Well, then, if you do not mind it, it surely will be easy for you.” Jennelyn chuckled. “In the meantime, I will prepare you for tonight. I want this to be a surprise for Quentyn, and I want it to be enjoyable for all of us, including you.”

And so, prepare she did. She dressed Jeyne up appropriately, called for the servants to draw a bath for her, gave her perfume and oil, and started scenting the room. She also asked the wetnurse to take Arthur away for the night, and that she would not be coming to dine with her husband tonight, as she had prepared a surprise for him.

Jennelyn crossed her arms, preparing the room and scenting it properly. This would be…fun, at the very least.

She drew a breath and went to prepare herself. Taking her most beautiful blue Myrish lace attire, she quickly got dressed. It didn’t matter if it would take only a few moments for Quentyn to take if off of her.

Finally, Quentyn entered their rooms, and almost took a step back as he was overwhelmed with the smell and the atmosphere. Jennelyn had closed every window and lit the place with scented candles. She was sitting near the door, legs crossed, waiting for him.

“Hello, husband.” She said, sultrily.

“Jen…what is going on?” Quentyn asked, surprised.

“Oh…” Jennelyn seductively rose from her chair. “Well, I had prepared a surprise for you.”

“Well, it is a pleasant one…” Quentyn smiled back. “But…what’s the occasion?”

“Oh, I am not the surprise.” Jennelyn said as she pushed Quentyn away from the door, locking it. Her blue eyes met his dark one. “Look at the bed.”

Quentyn looked towards it and gasped. On it was Jeyne, completely naked except for her smallclothes, bound to the posts of the bed. She also was gagged with…Jennelyn’s own smallclothes.

“You know, my sister has been very critical of our union.” Jennelyn smirked at Quentyn again, “And now she has come begging for me to let me share you.”

“I see.” Quentyn raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, do not fret, I am a good sister.” Jennelyn smirked back. “I’ll let her share. But only after I’ve made sure that she knows how we make love.”

Quentyn took a lock of her hair in his hand, and bent near her ear.

“Are you sure you want this?” he asked.

“More than anything. Take me.” Jennelyn commanded.

With one swift motion, she undid the straps of her dress, putting herself completely naked before him. She then made to remove the bracelets and necklace she wore, but Quentyn’s hand stooped her.

“Leave them on.” He softly whispered, before picking her up and kissing her passionately.

Jennelyn did not feel time go by as she returned the kiss with fervor, sticking her tongue down his throat, battling with his own. She did not notice as she was all but thrown onto the bed, making Jeyne shake. She was right next to her sister, as she could see the soles of her feet.

Quentyn dove right between her legs, licking her clit and flicking his tongue expertly. He had had time to grow accustomed to how to please her, but also how to drive her crazy. His tongue waltzed between the inside of her nether lips, teasing her at every step.

Jennelyn moaned loudly, trying hard to keep herself from literally screaming. Her hands sought to reach for the bedsheets, gripping them firmly. Then, she got the idea of taking one of her sister’s feet and suck gently on them for a moment, providing her with a rather unique handhold – or should it be foothold?

Finally, Quentyn had enough of teasing, and his tongue went right where she needed him to be. With one motion, he had broken her. She immediately let go off her sister’s toes, and screamed wildly. Quentyn grinned at her, clearly happy with his performance. He slid on top of her and reached to kiss her, sharing her release with her.

Their embrace lasted only for a few moments, before Jennelyn looked into his eye.

“Fuck me.” She begged. “Fuck me in front of her.”

“Alright.” Quentyn smiled at her. “But you will play nice with your sister.”

“Huh?” Jennelyn asked before Quentyn put her right under Jeyne’s now dripping folds.

Quentyn did not hesitate to rip off Jeyne’s smallclothes.

“As I said,” Quentyn winked, “play nice.”

“Oh, you…” Jennelyn was silenced with another kiss.

Quentyn swiftly broke it and smiled at her, quickly entering her folds in one swift motion.

“Ah…” Jennelyn moaned. “Please...harder…”

Quentyn did not immediately react, only slowly increasing his pace, until Jennelyn could finally feel him hit her right at the place she wanted him to. She wrapped her arms around him, raising her head to kiss him passionately, which he answered in kind.

There was a moment of bliss and pleasure, which seemed to last an eternity, before each other’s’ lips parted.

Quentyn then smiled at her and pulled out. Before Jennelyn could question him, he flipped her on her belly, and kissed her neck.

“I think you’ve been ignoring Jeyne a little too much.” He whispered.

Jennelyn groaned, half-aroused and half-joyful. She got into position with her sister’s dripping folds, and started slowly lapping at them. She could feel Jeyne tensing, her body beginning to tremble. Meanwhile, Quentyn had entered her, forcing her to moan right into her sister’s wet cunt.

It wouldn’t take long for Jeyne to come. She was completely aroused, on the verge of breaking. To be fair, she was too, and she could feel Quentyn’s manhood start to shake slightly.

Jeyne came first, her pent up arousal completely shattering her body as she yelled into the makeshift gag. Jennelyn came soon after, coughing up Jeyne’s juices as she barely recovered from receiving her sister’s orgasm. She did not feel Quentyn’s manhood leaving her insides, but did feel his warm release paint her back white.

“Fuck…that was amazing.” Quentyn panted before her, only wearing his eyepatch.

Jennelyn straightened up, seed drizzling on her back.

“Oh…yeah…” she panted. “But you know what would be even better?”

“What?” Quentyn questioned.

“You releasing my poor sister and fucking her into the bedsheets.” Jennelyn grinned.

“I am at your service, dear wife.” Quentyn winked back.

Oh, the night would be long indeed…