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CaveLeather
With the grand coronation ceremony complete, the era of Prince Doran came to an end. Dorne had entered the reign of Prince Maron.
After seeing his father laid to rest, Maron Martell convened his first full court in the Old Palace. Nearly every lord in Dorne answered the summons.
In the throne room, two nearly identical golden seats stood side by side on the raised dais—one bearing the Martell spear, the other the sun of House Dayne—symbols of shared rule.
Maron sat upon the golden throne, fingers trembling slightly as they rested on the armrests. His back remained straight against the spear-carved backrest, but inside he still felt a surreal numbness.
Yet the sight before him—the assembled lords watching him with a mixture of fear and deference—finally drove the reality home. He was now the Prince of Dorne, the liege lord of every man in this hall.
A surge of power flooded through him. He wanted to change Dorne. He wanted to change everything.
Looking out over the gathered lords, Maron raised his voice for the first time as ruler:
"Lords of Dorne! For decades we have lived in the shadow of the Iron Throne. Every Prince of Dorne before me has bowed so low in fear that it has become almost submission. That is not what I want.
I will not allow us to remain weak any longer. It is a stain on Dorne's honor.
We must strike back. We must take action. We will launch an attack on the Stormlands and show the entire world the strength and unyielding spirit of Dorne!"
The hall erupted in mixed reactions. Some lords' eyes burned with fanatical zeal. Others looked openly terrified and uneasy.
But no matter their private thoughts, not a single man dared speak against the new Prince.
Maron raised his voice even louder, passion ringing through every word:
"I know the Targaryens are powerful. I know their dragons are terrifying. But we cannot keep living under their heel forever. This so-called peace is nothing but an illusion—born only because the Targaryens are not yet ready to move against us.
The day they are ready, the dragons will descend on Dorne once more, and every one of our houses will face only death or submission. There will be no third choice.
Is that what you want?"
The words struck deep. Every lord in the room knew the truth in his heart. They had simply buried their defiance under layers of fear.
Maron's final shout shook the hall:
"Dorne will never submit!"
"Dorne will never submit!"
"Dorne will never submit!"
The chant spread like wildfire. Even those who still harbored doubts joined in. No one dared remain silent while the new Prince stood before them, eyes blazing.
Satisfied with the fiery response, Maron sat back on the throne, his grip on the armrests tightening with newfound strength.
Once he had unified the mood of the court, Maron dismissed the full assembly. The real planning would be done in private.
He called only the most powerful lords into the Spear Tower—the tallest structure in Sunspear. The golden iron spikes at its peak gleamed like the Martell spear itself, a silent declaration of authority.
On the tower's summit, Maron met with the heads of House Yronwood, House Dayne, and House Fowler—the three mightiest houses in Dorne. Their lords had all come to Sunspear for the coronation.
Standing atop the tower overlooking the city, Maron finally broke the silence.
"I announced we would attack the Stormlands. What do you think?"
Lord Yronwood exchanged glances with Lord Dayne and Lord Fowler before speaking carefully.
"Your Highness… may I speak freely?"
"Go on. That's why I brought you here."
"Then I will be blunt. Attacking the Stormlands now… I believe Your Highness should reconsider. Starting a war lightly is never wise. House Targaryen is far stronger today than when Aegon first conquered the realm. They are not an enemy we can face lightly."
Maron's expression remained unchanged. He had expected resistance. The fear of dragons ran deep in every Dornish lord's blood.
But he had his own arguments ready.
"I understand your concerns. I know the power of the Targaryens and their dragons better than anyone. But we cannot keep living in their shadow forever.
The peace we have now is false. It exists only because the Targaryens are not yet ready to strike.
The day they decide they are ready, the dragons will come again. When that day arrives, every house in Dorne will face only two choices: death or submission.
Is that the future you want for your children?"
The three lords fell silent. Maron's words had struck the raw nerve they had all tried to ignore.
Lord Dayne, the most warlike of the three, finally spoke, his voice heavy with frustration.
"Your Highness, what you say is true. We all know it. But the power of the dragons is simply too great. We cannot resist them. If this plan fails, Dorne will suffer another Dragon's Wroth. Our land has already bled too much. We cannot endure that again."
Lord Yronwood and Lord Fowler nodded grimly, their faces etched with helplessness—like men slowly sinking into quicksand, knowing there was no escape.
The weight of the Targaryen dragons hung over Dorne like an executioner's blade.