"Stannis Baratheon laying siege to Storm's End..."
"What an ironic turn of events."
Oberyn Martell, the Red Viper of Dorne, reclined comfortably in the Water Gardens with a goblet of Summer Red in one hand and his lover, Ellaria Sand, resting in his embrace. His voice dripped with ridicule.
"It was Storm's End that allowed him to hold out during Robert Baratheon's Rebellion until the victory at the Trident secured House Baratheon's rule."
"That siege made his name famous throughout the Seven Kingdoms."
"And now..."
"He's the one besieging Storm's End."
Nearby, Prince Doran Martell, Lord of Sunspear and Prince of Dorne, sat quietly in his wheelchair with his back to his brother. His eyes remained fixed on the children laughing and playing in the gardens.
Standing a short distance away, Captain Areo Hotah silently guarded the area, ensuring no one disturbed the conversation.
Without turning around, Doran calmly replied,
"Karl Baratheon's campaign in the Reach has made Stannis anxious."
"If he still wishes to obtain what he desires..."
"He must strengthen his own position."
Oberyn snorted dismissively.
"And that's precisely why he's a fool."
However, as soon as those words left his mouth, the amusement vanished from his face.
Draining the last of his wine, he gently kissed Ellaria before motioning for her to sit beside them.
Then his expression became serious.
"What about the dragons?"
"Have you truly decided to stand by your original plan?"
The atmosphere instantly grew tense.
Even Areo Hotah couldn't help glancing toward them.
Ellaria, who had only just stood up, froze for a moment before quietly sitting down and silently refilling Oberyn's goblet.
Dragons.
For months now, they had become the hottest topic throughout Westeros and even across the Free Cities.
The war in Highgarden had reignited countless legends.
Stories of dragons.
Rumors of dragon eggs.
Every scrap of information concerning dragons was now worth a fortune.
Silence settled over the Water Gardens.
At last...
All eyes turned toward Doran Martell.
After a long pause, he sighed.
"Perhaps..."
"You were right."
He slowly turned his wheelchair to face Oberyn.
Though his expression remained calm, a trace of deep exhaustion lingered in his eyes.
"If that's truly the case..."
"Then..."
Before Oberyn could respond, Doran continued.
"You also witnessed what Karl Baratheon did to House Tyrell."
Oberyn paused.
Then he immediately understood his brother's meaning.
"You think he's become too ambitious."
Doran nodded slowly.
"Karl Baratheon's ambitions are no longer hidden."
"And the power he now commands..."
"Has begun to make him overconfident."
Oberyn shook his head.
"I disagree."
"If you're referring to House Tyrell's repeated betrayals..."
"Their endless schemes..."
"And their alliance with House Redwyne after their plans were exposed..."
"Then Karl merely answered betrayal with force."
"I don't believe that makes him arrogant."
Oberyn looked directly into Doran's eyes.
"I've met him."
"I've spoken with him."
"I was even imprisoned by him after Robert's assassination."
"I nearly lost my life."
"So I know exactly what kind of man he is."
"The Karl Baratheon I know..."
"Is nothing like the person you're imagining."
"He's rational."
"Powerful."
"Wise."
"He possesses remarkable foresight."
"In my opinion..."
"He's even more outstanding than Prince Rhaegar ever was."
"He'll become a great king."
"And that's precisely why I've argued that Dorne should at least remain his friend."
He smiled faintly.
"Besides..."
"He once gave us a priceless gift."
Oberyn rarely spoke at such length.
But this disagreement concerned the future of House Martell itself.
Doran listened patiently.
Then smiled.
"It seems you've grown quite fond of him."
"You even consider him a friend."
As he spoke, his gaze shifted toward Ellaria.
"Would you pour me a cup as well?"
"The Citadel says summer is ending..."
"But Dorne is still unbearably warm."
"Of course, Your Highness."
Ellaria quickly filled another goblet.
Rather than sit down again, she quietly bowed and withdrew from the garden.
Time passed in silence.
Only after Ellaria had disappeared and Areo Hotah had deliberately moved farther away did Doran finally raise his cup.
He took a slow sip.
"Summer Red truly is an excellent wine."
"And only Dorne can produce it."
"It is one of our greatest treasures."
"We must cherish it."
His words clearly carried another meaning.
Setting down the cup, he carefully wiped his lips before finally looking at Oberyn again.
"Tell me."
"How long has it been since Karl's dragon hatched during Robert's funeral?"
Oberyn frowned thoughtfully.
"Four months."
"Perhaps five."
"But certainly less than half a year."
Doran nodded.
"Doesn't that seem unbelievable?"
"When House Targaryen ruled with dragons..."
"Raising one from an egg into a battle-ready beast often required generations."
"Sometimes..."
"The eggs never hatched at all."
He looked toward the distant sea.
"No one understands how Karl accomplished it."
"The mere fact that he successfully hatched a dragon shocked the world."
"And if you pay closer attention..."
"You'll notice something even stranger."
"He always behaved as though he already knew he would succeed."
"As though..."
"He could see the future."
"They even say that at Old Oak..."
"He displayed powers resembling magic."
"That battle..."
"Was won almost by Karl alone."
"He was once the Duke of Bloodwind."
"But now..."
"He is a king."
"The so-called Eighth Incarnation of the Seven."
Oberyn frowned more deeply.
"What exactly are you trying to say?"
Doran slowly shook his head.
"I don't know."
"That's precisely the problem."
"My instincts tell me something is terribly dangerous."
"But I can't identify what it is."
"I'm worried."
For perhaps the first time...
Oberyn truly noticed how exhausted his older brother looked.
"I have a feeling..."
"The Seven Kingdoms are about to experience a transformation unlike anything in history."
"Perhaps only the coming of the Andals..."
"The defeat of the First Men..."
"The spread of the Faith of the Seven..."
"The arrival of iron weapons and knighthood..."
"Can be compared to what's coming."
"And all of it..."
"Centers on one man."
He looked directly at Oberyn.
"Dorne has always stood apart from the rest of Westeros."
"If events unfold as I fear..."
"Where will Dorne stand?"
Oberyn remained silent for nearly half a minute.
Then he smiled confidently.
"I think you're worrying too much."
"The Targaryens once ruled with dragons."
"They possessed far more dragons than Karl."
"Yet even they couldn't break the spirit of Dorne."
He began counting on his fingers.
"Aegon the Conqueror failed."
"Daeron I conquered Dorne for barely a summer before losing tens of thousands of soldiers—and his own life."
"Aegon IV's so-called wooden dragon became a laughingstock."
"And Daeron II finally brought Dorne into the realm..."
"Not through fire and blood..."
"But through marriage, diplomacy, and treaties that respected Dornish customs."
He stood proudly.
"Dorne has endured everything."
"And yet..."
"We still remain Dorne."
"Our pride has never been weakness."
His words echoed through the gardens.
Doran fell silent.
He couldn't deny any of it.
The Dornish had never feared bloodshed.
Nor had they ever lacked courage.
Yet here he was...
The Prince of Dorne...
Growing anxious.
After a long pause, he smiled bitterly.
"You're right."
"But as Prince of Dorne..."
"I can't gamble everything on a single possibility."
"That's not cowardice."
"It's responsibility."
He continued quietly.
"If events unfold exactly as you believe..."
"Then we'll maintain the same friendship we once shared with House Targaryen."
"But..."
"If my fears prove true..."
"Dorne won't fear conquest either."
"So we must continue maintaining ties with the Targaryens."
"Compared with dragons..."
"The Dragonlords remain a safer choice than a Baratheon carrying stag's blood."
"Even if that Baratheon truly is the incarnation of a god."
Seeing Doran refuse to change his mind, Oberyn finally sighed.
He understood.
Doran wasn't wrong.
He truly was a capable ruler.
"Very well."
"In that case..."
"I'll lead a fleet to participate in this war."
"This will be our final opportunity."
"As for the rest..."
"Do whatever you believe is necessary."
Doran nodded.
"The noble houses you've contacted have already agreed."
"Ten thousand soldiers."
"Eight thousand infantry."
"Two thousand cavalry."
"That should be enough to demonstrate Dorne's sincerity."
"And considering your previous misunderstanding with Karl..."
"It should provide a good beginning."
He paused.
"Since Stannis has now besieged Storm's End..."
"I'll also provide thirty warships."
"How you use them is entirely your decision."
Oberyn smiled.
"That's enough."
"We're not going there to wage war."
"We're simply going to watch the performance."
Turning to leave, he added one final sentence.
"When this war is over..."
"I'll do everything I can to secure you a seat on the Small Council."
"I know that's what you've always wanted."
---
Far away in the Reach...
House Hightower's army marched steadily along the Rose Road toward Highgarden.
Karl Baratheon rode at the head of the column, reading a newly arrived letter with obvious interest.
"Dorne has actually chosen to move first."
He chuckled.
"Now that's unexpected."
He was genuinely surprised that House Martell had decided to choose a side at this stage.
Although the troops were officially marching under Oberyn Martell's banner...
No one believed such a force could move without Doran's approval.
Nor without the support of Dorne's great houses.
Riding beside him, Baelor Hightower—the eloquent heir to House Hightower who had personally delivered the letter—smiled.
"Your Majesty..."
"Your campaign in Highgarden..."
"And the fate of House Tyrell..."
"Served as a warning to House Martell."
Karl smiled.
"I think it's more than that."
"Aside from my two stubborn uncles..."
"Every noble in Westeros now has a scale in their heart."
Baelor laughed.
"Exactly."
"They're all weighing their futures."
"And the answer seems obvious."
Handsome, well-educated, and remarkably articulate, Baelor always found a way to keep pace with Karl's conversations.
Though...
His greatest fascination remained Karl's dragon, Robert.
Every opportunity he had, he praised the magnificent beast.
Karl had long since grown accustomed to it.
He folded the letter before looking toward Highgarden Castle, now visible in the distance.
Then he smiled thoughtfully.
"If that's truly how everyone sees things..."
"I wonder..."
"What gave my uncle Stannis the confidence to besiege Storm's End?"
"Does he truly believe Renly will join forces with him against me?"
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