They moved swiftly, silently, with purpose, under a crystalline, star-filled night in western Dorne. They were soldiers, though one could scarcely make it from their appearance. There were three of them, and they had just completed a monumental task in service of their master, and were even now on their way to deliver a prized cargo to said master. On one of the horses, a sack had been thrown across the back of the horse, and a slight amount of shaking could be seen from it coupled with muffled noises.

The cargo that they were carrying had the potential to fundamentally change the course of the kingdom of Dorne. They couldn't fail. They couldn't afford to.

Meanwhile in the castle of Sunspear which was the seat of House Martell, the ruling house of Dorne, Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell, the second son of the reigning Princess of Dorne barged into the solar of his mother, Lady Myriah Martell. Oberyn's appearance was that of a lined face with thin eyebrows, black "viper" eyes and a sharp nose. His hair was lustrous and black with only a few silver streaks which receded from his brow into a widow's peak.

Trembling with outrage, he stared at his mother and his nephew Quentyn Martell, the heir apparent to Dorne after the death of his elder brother, Prince Doran Martell, who were currently deep in discussion. His mother, the Lady Myriah, was old, nearly in her late sixties, and her face was wizened with the pressures that her family and her kingdom were currently enduring.

Her face was soft, but her eyes were still keen and discerning. One look at her younger son made her realize that he was currently in one of his infamous rages, and that unless he were to be placated soon, blood would be shed in the immediate future. Looking at the expression of his grandmother, Quentyn Martell, the only son of the deceased Doran and Mellario Martell, heir to the throne of Sunspear and Prince apparent to the throne of Dorne sighed and turned to face his uncle.

Quentyn was tall and graceful for his age, with auburn hair and bright blue eyes, and was the greatest hope Myriah had for Dorne. An unparalleled genius, Quentyn was possibly the most intelligent man she had ever known. She called him a man, despite him being 14 years old, for she alone knew the truth about her grandson, about who and what he really was.

"Can I help you, Oberyn? Is there a reason why you have chosen to barge in like this?" Myriah asked quietly, while Oberyn seethed.

"Yes, mother, you can help me by not ending this war. Even now Jon Arryn makes his way to us. Give me the word, and he shall not leave here alive. Robert Baratheon rejoiced at the death of my sister, now let us rejoice at the death of his adoptive father, let him also know the meaning of suffering," Oberyn seethed, while Quentyn shook his head in disappointment.

"Uncle, I understand your desire, more than anyone. Aunt Elia was a mother to me. She was the one who raised me after the death of my parents. And yet, we are now beset by enemies on all sides. We are currently in no position to take revenge on anyone. Any ill-conceived actions would spell doom for our house."

"Do not speak boy, you are but a child, and not yet old enough to understand the ways of the world," Oberyn snarled, while Quentyn frowned at the rude tone and blatant disregard his uncle was displaying currently.

"Is that all you care about, Oberyn? Revenge, irrespective of reason, irrespective of consequence?" Myriah looked at her son with a pained look, while Oberyn shivered violently, blinking away furious tears.

"And what about I want, justice for my sister, and her children? Are we to just ignore what has happened?"

"Justice delayed is not justice denied, uncle," Quentyn cut across sharply. "Your rage has blinded you to reason. Right now, we are beset with enemies everywhere, and we need to plan our moves carefully. And I have already begun the first step, by trying to safeguard Aunt Elia's reputation first and foremost," he concluded bluntly, while both the adults looked at him in surprise.

"Safeguard her reputation, as what? As a woman who was slighted by her husband in front of the world? As a woman who watched her husband abandon her for another woman? As a woman who watched her children be murdered in front of her? As a woman who was brutally raped and killed by the very man who slaughtered her children?" Oberyn barked in rage completely ignoring Quentyn's words, even as Myriah rushed at her son, and slapped him hard across the face, trembling with rage, even as tears streamed down her face.

"Rhaegar Targaryen's crimes against my aunt, go far deeper than that," Quentyn spoke softly as his grandmother looked at him with eyes wide in shock, while Oberyn paused.

"What do you mean?"

At that very moment, there was a knock on the door, and Areo Hotah, the captain of the guards of Sunspear entered and bowed. Trained as a bearded priest of Norvos, he was an exceptional warrior and had served Doran Martell, before his untimely death. He was now sworn to Quentyn as his sworn shield.

"Young master, they are here," he addressed Quentyn who nodded and replied, "Ask them to enter and bring in their prize."

"What is this, Quentyn?" Myriah asked softly, as three men walked in, carrying a large lumpy sack which they unceremoniously dropped on the ground. There was a very minute and muffled sound at that juncture, but neither Oberyn nor Myriah could hear it.

"These three men are spies, grandmother, spies who work for me, and who have brought a great prize to us," he replied, even as he nodded to Areo, who took out three pouches of gold and handed it to each of the spies. The men nodded, and the one who was their leader, came forth and handed over a roll of parchment to Quentyn who took it and nodded briskly, dismissing the man who bowed deeply and left along with his men.

"Spies? Prize? You are but 14 years old and you are running spies? Mother, I believe you have indulged his fancies for too long. He is clearly out of his depth," Oberyn complained while Myriah became silent, even as she gazed at her grandson who was reading through the parchment even whilst his face grew grim with each passing second as he read through the document. "Is that what you claimed it is?" she asked with a tremulous tone, even as her body slackened with despair. The lack of response solidified her doubts, and she collapsed to her knees and let out a heart-rending screech.

"What is going on here?" Oberyn all but roared, his patience clearly at an end, as he looked at his mother and nephew, realizing for the first time that perhaps quite a few secrets had been kept from him.

"This is proof of the final and the greatest insult, that Rhaegar Targaryen heaped upon Aunt Elia and House Martell. This is a document of annulment, ending his marriage with Princess Elia Martell, and removing his name from his children, and rendering them baseborn in the eyes of men and gods. And at the same time, this is also a document certifying his marriage to Lyanna of House Stark, making her his true wife, and declaring any subsequent children born from that union as the true heirs of House Targaryen," Quentyn growled in disgust, as Myriah began to sob uncontrollably, while Oberyn dropped his spear to the ground, numb with shock.

"It is not possible, he would not dare insult her so much," Oberyn whispered in shock, looking at his nephew, his eyes clouded with despair begging his nephew to tell him it was a lie. In response, Quentyn nodded to Areo, who propped up the sack and tore it open. Out of the sack stumbled a wizened old man, wearing the robes of the faith, who looked very tired and weathered, and was trembling in fear.

"This is High Septon Maynard, the man who officiated that annulment and also had Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark married, in secret in the sept of Planky Town, inside Dorne I might add, while Dornish soldiers including our grand uncle were fighting and dying for that silver-haired fool. This document is the sole copy of the marriage roll that the good High Septon here was going to send by raven to the Citadel, to have the maesters record it in their archives and to grant it legitimacy in the eyes of the world. Fortunately for us, my men intercepted him before he could do that," Quentyn finished, even as Oberyn roared in anger and upended his mother's desk in blind fury. By the time he came to and found himself, the entire room was destroyed by his own hand. How long had it been?

"Are you done?" Quentyn asked even as he gestured to Oberyn who whirled around and his eyes fell upon the old septon who was trembling like a fig leaf.

He started towards the old man who squeaked in terror and tried to flee, but was brutally yanked back by the ever vigilant Areo Hotah.

"Tell me, High Septon, why did you allow Rhaegar Targaryen to proceed with this wedding? Did you not know that he was committing a crime in the eyes of the faith against his lawful wife, one who had stood by him, regardless of the indignities he had heaped on her? Did you not know that by doing this, you would be depriving two innocent children of their birthrights for no crime of theirs?" Quentyn asked softly, while the old man looked at the young boy with unease.

Something about that child bothered him. No boy of 14 was supposed to be this discerning, or this intuitive. It was almost as if he was an adult residing in a child's body.

"Targaryen's have been known to have multiple wives, it was his right! Who was I to deny the crown prince of the realm?" he shrugged almost fatalistically, and shot back with desperation rife in his tone.

"WHAT?" Myriah Martell whispered even as she whirled at him, her eyes bloodshot with rage, as the Septon panicked, realizing that maybe that was not the right answer in the given circumstances.

"He would have killed me if I had refused, and found another who would have conducted that marriage! What did you expect me to do? Die by refusing the Crown Prince of Westeros?" he shrieked in despair, as he struggled against the hard grip of the captain of the guards.

"No High Septon, you should have realized that if Rhaegar Targaryen would not kill you, then we would, for the crime that you have committed against House Martell," Quentyn replied even as he gave a crisp nod to Areo Hotah, who swiftly broke the man's neck with a resounding snap.

As the corpse fell down with a resounding thud to the ground, Quentyn looked at Hotah and began to issue orders with a crisp tone, as if he was accustomed to giving them on a regular basis.

"Areo, dispose of this corpse in such a manner that not even rats can find his bones. Then, once you are done, pick out a thousand men, disguise them and yourself thoroughly and pose as pirates and raid Planky Town. Raze that sept to the ground. Kill everyone who works at that sept down to the last breathing members of their families, be they man, woman or child. This secret cannot leak out any cost. The world must never know about the final and greatest insult that Rhaegar Targaryen has heaped upon Elia Martell, go now," he concluded even as he held out the parchment to the nearest torch and set it alight, thereby destroying the only recorded proof of Rhaegar Targaryen's act of infidelity.

"As you command, young master," Areo nodded with a curt bow and left carrying the corpse of the deceased septon along with him.

As Quentyn threw away the ashes of the burned parchment away and turned around, he became rigid as he felt the cold metal tip of a spear at his neck, while Oberyn Martell stared at him with a hard look in his eyes.

"Who are you?"

"Uncle, what are you doing?" Quentyn asked with a steely tone at which Oberyn pushed the spear tip in, just enough to graze the skin and draw a single drop of blood as a warning gesture.

"I repeat. Who are you? No child of 14, regardless of how prodigious or how skilled he is, is capable of making such decisions, or can undertake such activities. Even if it was magic, which I don't believe is the case here, there are some things which just cannot be taken for granted. You act and behave like a seasoned general of men, rather than a 14-year-old boy, and I do not believe that all of this was natural. At least, some parts of what happened right now, with regards to your behavior and speech was designed to arouse these doubts within my mind. So, who are you? Are you Quentyn Martell, or another man wearing his guise? A faceless man perhaps, if so, then their arts of disguise are commendable indeed," he mused even as he gazed at the young child in front of him.

"Well, I am waiting for an answer, boy!"

"I told you, he was sharper than you gave him credit for," Quentyn mused with a soft smile, even as he gazed at Myriah Martell, who wiped her eyes off, even as she composed herself and nodded.

"Yes, it would seem you are correct," she paused, even as she looked at Oberyn with a penetrating gaze. "Tell him, he needs to know, I have a couple of years at best left within this world, and you will need him for the times that are about to come, when I am no longer here. I am actually surprised. He is surprisingly insightful, I would have expected it of Doran, but not him."

"This 'him' is getting very impatient, and would like some answers, now," Oberyn growled, clearly upset at being ignored as the two continued to discuss amongst each other ignoring his presence.

Myriah scoffed at the pretentiousness of her son, even as she moved to a chair and sank down to it with a sigh.

"Tell him the truth, Riboku."

"Ribo…ku?" Oberyn seemed surprised at that name and looked at his mother in surprise, even as Quentyn shifted the spear tip away from his neck and gazed at Oberyn Martell. "Tell me, Prince Oberyn, do you believe in other lives, or to use a more fanciful term, reincarnation?"

Author's note:

Well, it has been nearly three years, but I am back. For a while, I had lost inspiration to write. Pressures of life, work and all that jazz.

For those who were dearly waiting for me to update my stories, my apologies.

I have totally lost interest in Naruto, after the way the series ended. I know that this has been the standard excuse for many to avoid finishing old stories, but then, during my last update I had joked that Kishimoto would bring all the past hokage's to life in an ass pull move, and to my surprise, I was proven right the very next week. From then on, I watched as the series moved into twilight zone territory with Kaguya and all that crap, and that killed Naruto for me. Same for Bleach, with the Quincy shit that Kubo pulled, but he gets a pass, because as per rumors, he was ill and his work suffered as a response. I don't think I will be updating my old stories any time soon, since my interest in those franchises is deader than dead.

Well, as you have seen, this new story is a crossover between Game of thrones and Kingdom, which is perhaps one of the best historical manga's I have ever seen.

So, I thought, what if one of the 4 greatest generals of Ancient China, who had the misfortune to be on the losing side, were to be reincarnated in Westeros, and what impact would it have.

For now: the basic premise is this, Riboku is re-incarnated as Quentyn Martell. Doran Martell is dead and his wife died in childbirth, as did their second child. So, no Arianne or Trystane. Furthermore, I made use of Doran's age gap with his siblings and made Quentyn older than canon by a few years. The story starts with the immediate aftermath of Robert's rebellion and carries from there.

Further details to follow. Next chapter will take a month hopefully, as seeing that a quarter of it is done. I will post it as soon as it hits 10k words.

Thanks,