Within a palace of gardens, Prince Doran Martell sat quietly in his wheelchair, a small pouch of fish food resting in his lap. Taking a handful, he gently scattered it across the pond before him.
The pellets had been carefully prepared from dried meat ground into powder, mixed with flour, steamed, and rolled into small balls. The rich scent spread across the water, immediately drawing dozens of colorful fish to the surface.
The instant the food touched the water, the fish surged upward, snapping eagerly at every morsel before disappearing beneath the rippling surface once more.
This was the Water Gardens, one of Dorne's greatest treasures.
Located three leagues west of Sunspear along the coast, the palace was separated from the sea by a single road. Throughout the Seven Kingdoms, the Water Gardens were renowned as a place where the children of nobles and commoners alike played together without distinction.
After watching the pond return to its calm state, Doran slowly turned his wheelchair toward the balcony.
Only a few steps away stood his younger brother.
Prince Oberyn Martell—the infamous Red Viper—leaned casually against a marble railing, his arms folded as he gazed toward the distant sea. His expression appeared calm, but his unfocused eyes revealed that his thoughts were elsewhere.
The evening breeze drifted in from the sea, carrying a welcome coolness after the heat of the day. Blood orange trees cast long shadows over pale pink marble courtyards, while fountains and ponds shimmered beneath the fading sunlight.
After a long silence, Doran finally spoke.
"Viserys Targaryen is dead."
"He died beneath the golden crown Khal Drogo placed upon his head. I've confirmed the news myself."
He paused before asking calmly,
"What do you think? And how should House Martell proceed from here?"
His quiet words pulled Oberyn from his thoughts.
The Red Viper's expression became unusually complicated.
He remained silent for a long time before releasing a slow sigh.
"In my opinion..."
"The secret marriage pact we signed with Willem Darry is finished."
"Willem Darry is dead."
"Viserys Targaryen is dead."
"That agreement is nothing more than worthless parchment now. You might as well use it to wipe your backside."
Since returning from King's Landing with Arianne, Quentyn, and the rest of House Martell's entourage, an awkward silence had lingered between the brothers.
Doran merely smiled faintly.
Oberyn never noticed.
The so-called secret marriage pact had been signed years ago in Braavos when Daenerys was still a child.
Written in the Common Tongue upon richly decorated parchment sealed with golden ribbons, it represented an agreement between House Martell and House Targaryen.
Ser Willem Darry had signed on behalf of the Targaryens.
Oberyn Martell had signed for Dorne.
Even the Sealord of Braavos had witnessed the agreement.
Back then, they had believed the Targaryens would one day reclaim the Iron Throne.
Now...
Both Willem Darry and Viserys were dead.
The agreement had become meaningless.
After a brief pause, Oberyn continued.
"House Martell—or rather, Dorne—has reached the point where we must choose a side."
"But we must choose carefully."
"And my choice..."
"...is Karl Baratheon."
Unlike his usual joking manner, Oberyn answered without hesitation.
He had spent countless days considering Dorne's future.
After everything he had witnessed in King's Landing, this was the conclusion he had reached.
Doran fell silent.
He slowly rolled his wheelchair toward the edge of the balcony, overlooking the children laughing and playing throughout the gardens below.
Watching the children had always helped him think.
"You mean..."
"We should support that bastard Karl Baratheon?"
His voice remained calm, giving away none of his thoughts.
Oberyn chuckled.
"Who else?"
"Among all the claimants, he's the only one I can tolerate."
"A bastard sitting upon the Iron Throne..."
"Heh..."
His laughter faded quickly.
Resting one hand upon the cool marble pillar beside him, Oberyn's smile gradually disappeared.
"Robert Baratheon is truly dead."
"I always wished to kill him myself."
"But in the end, it was Tywin Lannister who brought about his death—even if the Faceless Men carried out the assassination."
"And Tywin..."
"He probably never imagined his own schemes would eventually be exposed."
"I can already see House Lannister heading toward complete destruction."
His voice grew quieter.
Although the result pleased him, it had not unfolded as he had wished.
Robert had died.
Tywin had lost the political struggle.
Neither man had escaped justice.
Yet Viserys' ridiculous death still surpassed them all in humiliation.
As for Tywin...
He remained alive—for now.
But Oberyn could already picture his fate.
A rope around his neck.
The mighty lion hanging lifeless from the gallows.
A fitting end.
Time had cooled much of Oberyn's hatred.
After enduring imprisonment beneath the Red Keep, he had gradually accepted one painful truth.
House Martell could not cling forever to the past.
"Doran..."
"Elia's revenge is finished."
"Viserys' death has brought an end to the old Targaryen dream."
"And thankfully..."
"Arianne no longer has to marry such an idiot."
He sighed again.
"Hasn't she spent years wondering why you arranged meetings for her yet never allowed the marriage to happen?"
"You can finally tell her the truth."
"She's free."
"The Seven Kingdoms are filled with capable young men."
"Surely she'll find someone better than an exiled fool or some old lord with one foot already in the grave."
Oberyn turned toward the sky.
The crimson glow above could have come from either the setting sun or the mysterious Red Comet.
Doran listened quietly with his back turned.
Only when Arianne was mentioned did a faint change appear in his expression.
Instead of replying immediately, he gently tapped the armrest of his wheelchair.
Then he said quietly,
"Prince Maron Martell built these Water Gardens as a wedding gift for his Targaryen bride..."
"Princess Daenerys."
"It symbolized the union between Dorne and the Iron Throne."
Oberyn frowned.
He immediately understood what Doran was implying.
"But the Daenerys you're talking about is probably carrying a Dothraki child by now."
"The Targaryens are finished."
"You shouldn't still be clinging to old dreams, brother."
There was obvious dissatisfaction in his voice.
As Prince of Dorne, Doran should not have been thinking this way.
Yet Doran simply looked toward the Red Comet.
"But she still possesses three dragon eggs."
Oberyn laughed bitterly.
"So what?"
"Karl Baratheon already has a living dragon."
"One real dragon is worth more than three eggs."
"If we support Karl, Dorne would still be joining itself with the Iron Throne."
"And besides..."
"I've seen the way Arianne looks at that scoundrel."
"Even after he locked her inside a dungeon for an entire week."
Oberyn shook his head helplessly.
"And anyone capable of riding a dragon hardly needs further explanation."
His voice rose slightly.
Realizing children were still nearby, he immediately lowered it again.
Doran turned toward him.
For the first time in a long while...
He smiled.
The mysterious smile only made Oberyn more confused.
Instead of answering, Doran raised one hand.
"Areo."
A towering man carrying a longaxe approached immediately.
The Norvoshi captain bowed respectfully.
"It will soon be dark."
"Send the children home."
"Yes, Your Highness."
Within minutes, laughter gradually faded from the gardens.
Lanterns were lit one after another.
Soon...
Only the sound of flowing water and evening insects remained.
Night had fallen.
After Areo Hotah confirmed they were alone, Doran slowly wheeled himself before Oberyn once more.
"Do you know why I insisted on bringing you home?"
"Why I didn't leave you in King's Landing to continue observing the situation?"
Oberyn frowned.
"Why?"
Doran's gaze became unusually serious.
"Because..."
"While you were imprisoned..."
"A friend sent me a secret."
"What secret could possibly be worth that?"
Oberyn asked.
Doran spoke softly.
"Rhaegar Targaryen's son..."
"Aegon..."
"...is still alive."
"What?!"
Oberyn shot to his feet.
His breathing became rapid.
His eyes widened in complete disbelief.
"This isn't the time for jokes."
"Everyone knows Gregor Clegane killed the child."
"Karl Baratheon even sent us the Mountain's head..."
Before he could continue, Doran calmly interrupted him.
"My friend told me..."
"The infant killed during the Sack of King's Landing was not Aegon."
"It was another baby."
"The son of a tanner from Flea Bottom."
"The real Aegon was secretly smuggled away before the city fell."
"After Robert accepted the false child's death as genuine, the true prince was sent across the Narrow Sea."
"There..."
"He was entrusted to Jon Connington."
Silence.
Complete silence.
Oberyn's face changed repeatedly.
After a long moment, he finally whispered,
"...Varys?"
Doran merely smiled.
"Aegon is Elia's only surviving son."
"You understand what that means."
Oberyn slowly sat back down.
"But..."
"What if it's all a lie?"
"What if it's another conspiracy?"
"You trust a eunuch?"
Doran remained calm.
"Perhaps you should ask yourself why Varys would reveal such a secret."
Oberyn frowned deeply.
Doran continued,
"That is exactly why I recalled both you and Arianne."
"Dorne has always remained patient."
"We have no desire to dominate King's Landing."
"Whoever wins..."
"They will eventually need Dorne."
"We can afford to wait."
"My plan is simple."
"I'll send Arianne to determine whether this young man truly is Aegon."
"I'll also send Quentyn east with that marriage agreement you wanted to throw away."
"Perhaps..."
"It still has some value."
Everything Doran had planned was finally laid bare.
He quietly waited for Oberyn's response.
After a long silence, Oberyn finally spoke again.
"I have one last question."
"When Varys told you this..."
"Did he already know about Arianne's secret betrothal to Viserys?"
"Or..."
"Did you tell him?"
Doran smiled faintly.
"Of course not."
"To be honest..."
"When he revealed this secret..."
"I was even more shocked than you."
Oberyn tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the armrest.
"I still don't like any of this."
"But..."
"You are right."
"If Aegon truly lives..."
"Then he deserves to be investigated."
"I'll let Arianne handle that."
He slowly stood.
"But before that..."
"I won't change my decision."
"If you support me..."
"Give me an army."
"I'll support Karl Baratheon in my own name."
"And if you refuse..."
"I'll go alone."
The garden fell silent once more.
Only the gentle sound of flowing water echoed through the night.
Doran stared quietly at his younger brother for a long time.
Finally...
He nodded.
"Perhaps..."
"You are right."
"I'll give you an army."
"But remember..."
"You will march under your own banner—not Dorne's."
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