GOT: Reborn as a Martell

( Archibald )

"Which one is it?"

"This one."

The maester inspected Quentyn's mouth for a moment, and nodded.

"Did the medicine not stop the infection?"

"It did, and stopped it from spreading." Quentyn replied. "But still, the pain will subsist for a while, and the tooth is as good as dead."

"I agree." The maester replied.

"How did this come to be?" Archibald asked. Usually, people wouldn't lose teeth unless they were old, or in battle or fights.

"During my fall mayhaps." Quentyn shrugged. "There's a chance it could have it something quite hard and ruptured something inside. In any case, there's no saving it now."

"And why am I here." Archibald asked, as the prince looked at him from his seat.

"You're here to hold me down." He replied.

"Oh."

As the maester brought his tools, Quentyn shuddered slightly in his seat.

"Make it quick, will you?" he asked.

The maester nodded, as Quentyn nudged Arch on.

"Try not to break my wrists." He japed.

"Try not to resist too much and I won't." Arch cackled back.

Quentyn chuckled and drew a deep breath.

"I'm ready."

The maester nodded, and Quentyn closed his eyes.

Half a second later, a deafening scream filled the room.

"JESUS FUCKING CHRIST ALMIGHTY!" Quentyn screamed as blood gushed on his lip, the maester quickly preventing it from spilling with a makeshift towel.

Arch pressed hard on the prince's arms, not letting them move, an after a few seconds, the room settled down again.

Quentyn brought his hand towards, his mouth, feeling where his tooth had once been, and winced.

"Well, that's out of the way." He sighed. "Some water, please."

The maester hurriedly brought him a flask, which Quentyn used to clean his mouth and lips, and finally stood up.

"Thank you Maester Andres."

"A pleasure to be of help, prince Quentyn."

Quentyn nodded and left the room, Archibald in tow.

"How's your arm?" Arch asked. "Did I press too hard?"

"Some pain in the elbow, but nothing to do with you, rather from the spar with Gulian yesterday." Quentyn put a hand on his other wrist. "No pain for now, just a slight compressing feeling."

"I'm glad." Arch nodded. "What would your family have thought of me if I had broken your hand or arm?"

Quentyn looked at him but said nothing, as they pressed through Ghost Hill's walls.

Ghost Hill was just like its namesake, a magnificent castle perched on top of a hill, overlooking the harbour and city below. The sturdy fortress stood tall above the town, encompassing two rows of ramparts, the first of which were located on the foot of the hill.

Beyond these walls lied a huge forest of palm trees, lying from the bottom of the hill to the walls of the second row of ramparts and into the main keep. These palm trees also stretched down into the city, providing ample cover from the blazing hot sun.

Fortunately, Ghost Hill's courtyard was covered, with palm trees and the tall ramparts of the castle providing shelter and more suitable temperatures to walk around in. 

It was there that Gerris and Gulian were waiting, playing a game of cards, while Cletus was off to talk with Daryon Toland, the youngest of the Toland siblings, with whom he promised to play with.

"How did the tooth go?" Gerris asked as they entered the courtyard, he both of them drawing themselves a chair to join them.

"As well as it could have gone." Quentyn sighed. "I can now focus on other things."

"The free cities, I expect?" Gulian asked.

"A pain in the arse is what I call them." Quentyn growled. "They didn't take kindly to us breaking their precious monopoly on luxury goods, despite the fact that five-and-seventy percent of our exports are limited to Westeros, and even then, it is still an extremely small quantity."

"Our relationship with the Free Cities has made this inevitable." Gulian replied.

"Yes, yes, Lady Toland told me as such." Quentyn sighed.

"So, we're going to have to look out for assassins from the Free Cities now?" Arch sighed. Politics weren't his thing. If it was down to him, he'd have just told these slaving cunts to bugger off.

"Not exactly." Quentyn replied. "There's one thing the Free Cities despise more than competition."

"And what is that."

"Themselves." Gulian chuckled. "You intend to play them against each other?"

"Well, not me personally." Quentyn replied. "Learning Free Cities politics is like trying to learn to run from Sunspear to the Prince's Pass two days after having learnt to walk. But my father knows them like the palm of his hand, and so do Lord Yronwood, Lord Jordayne and Lady Toland. They have no shortage of good excuses and plans that will keep coin flowing into our coffers, and make us sleep on both our ears."

"Sleep on…?" Gerris looked confused.

"It means sleep easy, knowing that no one is after us." Quentyn looked at them as they all stared back confused. "Old Volantene saying."

Gerris just shrugged.

"What's next?" the blonde-haired Drinkwater asked.

"Well in a day we'll be at the gates of Sunspear." Quentyn sighed. "I believe this will give us plenty to think about tonight."

All of them nodded. They knew that the coming weeks would prove to be challenging. So far from home, with only but each other to rely upon…and yet, Quentyn had lived through that. Shouldn't they repay the favor?

Before he could think about it some more, Quentyn rose from his seat.

"Where are you going?" Arch asked.

"For a walk." Quentyn answered, ruffling his hair, and touching his lip, and smiling. "I need to think about something witty to say when I come back."

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Shorter chapter than usual. Lots of stuff happening.