In a palace made of gardens, Prince Doran Martell was holding some fish feed in his hands and gently tossing it into the pool before him.
The feed was made by grinding dried meat into powder, then adding flour and steaming it, finally kneading it into small pellets of suitable shape and size that gave off an enticing aroma.
As a result, the food falling from above had barely touched the surface of the water when the brightly colored, gaudily vivid fish surfaced, opening their mouths wide and scrambling over one another to snatch it all up.
This garden was located on a beach three leagues west of Sunspear, separated from it by a coastal road.
It had a name famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms—the Water Gardens.
After finishing throwing the fish feed, silently watching the fish fight over the food and then sink back into the water, Prince Doran Martell finally pushed the wheelchair beneath him, turned around, and looked toward his younger brother only a few meters away.
Viewing the garden's beauty from the high balcony offered a unique kind of pleasure.
The numerous pools and fountains, the shadows cast by blood orange trees, and the pale pink marble tiles spread across the gardens and courtyards, passing through rows of carved pillars and crossing elegant arches.
The daytime heat had already passed. In the evening, gusts of salty wind blew in from the sea, bringing a rare coolness.
At this moment, Prince Oberyn Martell, the "Red Viper," had his hands clasped together and crossed, leaning forward against a stone balustrade, looking at the scenery not far away.
But in reality, his eyes were unfocused, and no one knew what he was thinking about.
"Viserys Targaryen is dead."
"Dead by a golden crown personally placed upon his head by the horselord. The news is confirmed—I have already had it verified."
"So regarding this matter and the family's arrangements going forward, what do you think?"
Doran glanced at his younger brother. Multiple flickers of light passed through his eyes, and in the end, he suddenly spoke these words.
There were also many children in the garden at this time.
These boys and girls of noble birth all came from aristocratic families of various ranks from across Dorne.
Because of this, these people would all send their children to be raised at the Water Gardens. As a result, here one could often see children playing together on the beach, by the pools, or among the fountains.
Doran's words pulled Oberyn back from his reverie.
The expression on his face became complicated, even somewhat unpleasant, and he fell silent.
Only after quite some time had passed did Oberyn seem to suddenly come back to himself.
He straightened up, his gaze still fixed on the distance, and let out a long sigh.
"In my view, the secret marriage pact we signed with Willem Darry has already come to an end—Willem Darry is dead, and now Viserys Targaryen is dead as well."
"That piece of parchment has already become a worthless scrap of paper. Perhaps you could use it to wipe your arse."
After pulling away from the vortex that was King's Landing, the Martell family's fleet directly carried Oberyn Martell, Arianne, Quentyn, and the others back to Sunspear.
That somewhat strange atmosphere then persisted all the way to the present.
But in response to Oberyn's words, the corner of Doran's mouth carried a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
Oberyn Martell did not notice it.
As for the so-called secret agreement Oberyn mentioned, it had in fact been concluded long ago in Braavos with Willem Darry, back when Daenerys was still a little girl.
It was written in the Common Tongue on a piece of parchment, bearing seals and signatures, gleaming gold, and even tied with ribbons.
Ser Willem Darry signed on behalf of House Targaryen, while Oberyn Martell signed on behalf of Dorne, with the entire process witnessed by the Sealord of Braavos.
After finishing those somewhat mocking words brought about by the change in circumstances, Oberyn paused briefly and continued.
"House Martell—or rather, Dorne—has already reached the point where it must choose a side."
"However, we must carefully consider the right timing and the right candidate."
"And my recommendation is Kal Baratheon."
In response to Doran's question, Oberyn—who had already thought about this issue countless times during this period—had no intention of beating around the bush and decisively gave his answer.
This was the choice most beneficial to Dorne that he had arrived at through his thinking during this time, combined with everything he had seen.
Yet regarding his younger brother's attitude and viewpoint, this time it was Doran who fell silent instead.
He could not help but push his wheelchair, turning his back, moving forward a few steps, and then also looking out toward the garden below and the children playing within it.
He had already grown accustomed to resting and thinking in this spot while watching the children at play.
"So you mean we choose House Baratheon—Kal, that bastard you speak of?"
Doran's tone was deep, yet it left people unable to read him.
Oberyn looked over, the corner of his mouth curling into a teasing, soft chuckle. "If we do not choose them, then who can we choose? At the very least, only that bastard is someone I can find even somewhat agreeable to look at."
"A bastard sitting on the Iron Throne, hehe."
As he chuckled, Oberyn patted the stone pillar in front of him.
But as he felt the chill coming from beneath his hand, the smile on his face turned bitter again.
"Yet Robert Baratheon truly is dead. Though I would have preferred to do it myself, I cannot deny that he did in fact die at Tywin Lannister's hands, even if the one who struck was a Faceless Man."
"And as for Tywin Lannister, perhaps he never expected that his retaliatory method would end up being exposed in the end."
"I can already imagine House Lannister is about to be completely brought to ruin."
When Oberyn said this, his tone was exceptionally low. Just as he said, this outcome was indeed what he wanted to achieve, but the process was not as he wished.
But what could he do?
Robert Baratheon was assassinated by a Faceless Man, and Tywin Lannister lost in the struggle within the political situation. The two could be said to have harmed each other.
It was only that neither of them died as miserably as Viserys Targaryen did.
Oh, no—Tywin Lannister was still alive, but Oberyn could already imagine his ending.
A length of hemp rope was his best destination, and then that former lion would sleep forever in that cold place.
After such a period of calm, and after squatting for a while in the Red Keep's dungeons, Oberyn had also already thought it through. He knew House Martell also had to let go of some of the past.
So after saying these words, he followed it with a light sigh.
"Doran, Elia's vengeance is over, just like Viserys Targaryen's laughable death—and it is just as well that Arianne no longer has to marry such a fool."
"Has Arianne not always wondered all these years why you set her up for matches, yet never truly married her off?"
"Now you can tell her the real secret and announce that she has gained true freedom. There are no lack of young talents across the Seven Kingdoms. Push aside those fools, or those old men with half their bodies already buried in the earth, and before long she can have a husband who perhaps will not be so satisfying."
Oberyn finished speaking these words, turned around, and lifted his head to look up.
The crimson clouds in the sky were hard to distinguish—whether they came from the setting sun or from that gaudily vivid red comet.
Doran stood with his back to his younger brother. During the time Oberyn was speaking, he did not say a single word, and his expression showed little change.
Only when Oberyn mentioned Arianne did his expression shift slightly.
Yet in response to his younger brother's heartfelt words, he merely gave a light pat to the armrest of his chair and looked toward the garden before him.
"Back then, Prince Maron Martell built this garden as a gift for his Targaryen bride, Daenerys. It marked the union of Dorne with the Iron Throne."
Hearing Doran's words, Oberyn Martell—who had already been prepared to let things go—keenly grasped the meaning hidden within his brother's statement.
This made him frown.
"But if I remember correctly, from the reports that have come through, the Daenerys you speak of is likely about to give birth to a Dothraki child."
"The Targaryens are already a thing of the past. I do not want you still clinging to illusions, brother."
There was some dissatisfaction in Oberyn's tone, even reproach.
As the Prince of Dorne and the lord of Sunspear, this should not have been the kind of thinking Doran held.
Yet Doran lifted his head and glanced at the comet in the sky, saying calmly, "But she has three dragon eggs."
"But Kal Baratheon has a real dragon. The value of one dragon far exceeds that of three dragon eggs."
"If we choose Kal Baratheon now, this likewise marks the union of Dorne with the Iron Throne. From what I can see, Arianne loves that damned little bastard to the point of life and death—so much so that even if he locked her in a dungeon for a week, it would make no difference."
"And being able to ride a dragon—I think that needs no explanation from me."
Hearing that Doran seemed to harbor a different set of expectations, Oberyn's voice could not help but rise somewhat.
Fortunately, he still remembered that there were children playing in the distance, and he quickly lowered his voice, forcibly suppressing the argument he was about to continue.
Noticing the urgency on Oberyn's face, Doran turned his head to look at him. A long-unseen smile actually appeared on his face, making Oberyn's anger flare even as his confusion deepened.
But he did not speak. Instead, he raised a hand and waved, signaling for his captain of the guards, Areo Hotah, to come over.
A broad-shouldered man with graying hair, holding a long axe—a bearded Norvoshi priest—stepped forward and bowed his head in respect.
"The sky will be dark very soon. Have all the children sent back."
At the order of the captain of the guards, Areo Hotah, it was not long before the sounds of children playing gradually faded away. As dusk deepened, the garden was lit up by one lamp after another.
Oberyn waited in silence. He had already realized that what Doran was about to say next would be absolutely crucial—the key to why he could possibly harbor such a reckless idea.
Only when night fully fell, leaving the garden with nothing but the sound of flowing water and the faint chirping of insects, did Doran wheel himself over to stand before his younger brother. Just moments earlier, Areo Hotah had already reported to him that only the two of them remained in the Water Gardens.
"Do you know why I was in such a hurry to call you back, instead of simply letting you stay in King's Landing to watch the situation change and then involve yourselves?"
"Because during the time you were still being held in King's Landing, a friend who was there told me a secret."
In the night, under the dim yellow candlelight, the look in Doran's eyes as he watched Oberyn was especially profound.
"What secret could be worth you losing sight of the situation at a time like this?" Oberyn's expression turned solemn.
Doran, however, said softly, "Because this friend told me that Rhaegar's son, Aegon Targaryen, is actually still alive."
"What?!!"
The words were shocking enough to stun. Oberyn Martell, who had deliberately found a sofa to lean against, was startled by his brother's statement and sprang straight to his feet.
Seeing the faint, almost imperceptible smile on Doran's face, Oberyn's breathing could not help but quicken. His face flushed with a mix of agitation and vexation.
"Listen, I have no interest in some tasteless joke."
"Everyone knows it was the Mountain who killed him, and Kal Baratheon even sent us the Mountain's head as a gift."
After realizing that what Doran had said was indeed the name Rhaegar's son, Aegon Targaryen, Oberyn's first reaction was sheer absurdity, and he opened his mouth, ready to curse.
However, before Oberyn could finish speaking, Doran suddenly spoke and cut him off.
"But this friend of mine told me that the infant killed when King's Landing fell was the child of a peasant family he had placed there—a tanner's son from Flea Bottom in King's Landing."
"He hid the real Aegon away. After he confirmed that Robert Baratheon and the court mistakenly believed Aegon was dead, he quietly sent men to take the real Aegon across the Narrow Sea and handed him over to Jon Connington—who was likewise in exile—to raise him to adulthood."
Hearing these words, Oberyn's face was filled with shock and disbelief. His expression changed several times, yet he still could not regain his composure. He swallowed a mouthful of saliva, his pupils trembling slightly. "Don't tell me your friend's name is Varys..."
Doran merely smiled.
"Aegon Targaryen is the second child of Rhaegar Targaryen and Elia Martell, and also their only son."
"Oberyn, you know what I mean."
Looking at Doran, Oberyn—who of course understood the meaning—fell silent.
"But what if this is only a clumsy joke, or some kind of plot?"
"You want to trust a eunuch?"
"Perhaps what you truly should be thinking about is why this eunuch would do this, and what unknown plot lies behind it."
Oberyn did not believe this matter. Instinctively, he felt there was something wrong here. "That's why I had you and Arianne come back, isn't it?"
Doran continued. "Listen, brother. As for the current situation of the Seven Kingdoms, Dorne's stance will remain as it always has. We will only wait for the final victor. Dorne has always been like this, hasn't it?"
"We withdrew from court long ago, and as for power, we have never had much interest in it."
"Whoever loses and whoever wins, in the end they will still have to come and become friends with Dorne. We have plenty of time."
"So I intend to have Arianne go and verify the true identity of this so-called Aegon Targaryen, while we need to wait here."
"Oh, right—Quentyn, I also intend to have him go to the Dothraki Sea, bringing that parchment you said could be used to wipe your arse. It will be a difficult journey. I hope he can gain something from it as well."
In the dim yellow lamplight, the candleflame was reflected in Doran's pupils as he laid out all of his intentions and plans in one breath.
He wanted the support of his younger brother.
And as he spoke these words, Oberyn also understood his meaning.
At once, he fell silent, seriously considering the preparations Doran had made after revealing these uncertain secrets.
Doran waited patiently.
"I still have one question," after an unknown amount of time had passed, Oberyn raised his head to look at his brother. "That is, before this, did Varys already know about Arianne's secret marriage pact with Viserys Targaryen?"
"Or rather, did you tell Varys about this matter?"
Doran smiled faintly. "Of course not. To be honest, when Varys told me this secret, I was even more surprised than you."
Hearing this answer, Oberyn tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair.
"Brother, to be frank, I still do not think highly of what you are saying."
"And I also believe that Dorne has remained silent for long enough. At a time like this, we cannot continue to stay silent."
After saying these words, Oberyn stood up from the sofa.
"But these matters are indeed things we cannot avoid thinking about. You are right—if Aegon is truly still alive, then he is indeed Elia's only child. Then let Arianne and the others go and investigate."
"Only, before that, I still insist on my own view."
"If you support me, then give me troops, and support Kal Baratheon in the name of Dorne."
"If you do not support me, then I will go myself."
Under the dim candlelight, amid the murmuring sound of flowing water, Oberyn looked earnestly at his elder brother, Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne.
Seeing that he still held to his position, Doran fell silent.
But in the end, he still raised his head and looked at his younger brother.
"Perhaps you are right. I will give you troops—but remember, you act in your personal capacity."
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