Arthur felt a sudden sense of déjà vu.
Six years ago, in the crypts of Winterfell, Lady Dustin had spoken similar words to him.
He still remembered exactly what she had said: "Your father, Brandon, took what he wanted. He never hesitated. You should be like him."
And his answer then had been: "I am a bastard. I am a Snow. Bastards have no inheritance rights, my lady."
Snapping back to reality, Arthur looked at Prince Oberyn, whose gaze was burning with intensity.
Arthur understood exactly what Oberyn was implying. Legitimizing a bastard was the prerogative of a king.
Oberyn was suggesting using Viserys Targaryen—the exiled king whom he and Prince Doran were secretly plotting to restore—to legitimize Arthur. Then, they would back his claim to the North and Winterfell.
If Arthur accepted this offer, he would become an enemy to his own kin in Winterfell and bind himself irrevocably to the Martell cause.
Just like six years ago, it was a poison pill wrapped in sugar. The sweet was very sweet, but the poison was very deadly.
Your Grace, stop joking. Legitimization is a king's right. Even in Dorne, where bastards are treated better, they still don't inherit over trueborn children.
That's what the Arthur of six years ago would have said. He would have played the naive boy, assuming Oberyn wouldn't dare reveal the secret plot about Viserys to him.
But now...
"Your Grace, I have no intention of seeking legitimization to become some 'Arthur Stark' and lay claim to Winterfell." Arthur's face was calm but serious. "That would conflict with what I truly desire."
"Conflict?" Oberyn frowned, genuinely puzzled. "What is it you desire?"
"In the year I was born, my grandfather and my uncle—two Starks—were executed by the man sitting on the Iron Throne. Their ancient name and noble titles offered them no protection whatsoever."
Arthur continued, "It's true that north of Dorne, people say bastard blood is tainted with treachery and greed. But my ambition is greater than that of any common bastard. I desire to be the man who sits on the Iron Throne—as Ser Arthur Snow, the Sword of the Morning."
He added a soft caveat at the end, layering on a bit of armor: "Just like Bloodraven, Brynden Rivers, in his time."
Over the past six years, Arthur had seen many rulers. The Sealord of Braavos, frail in body but ruling his city with order and precision. The Prince of Pentos, a mere figurehead. The Vulture King, brave but foolish. And Prince Doran of Dorne.
Arthur was no longer the boy in the crypts clutching a sword just to survive.
When Arthur finished speaking, a long silence filled the room.
Oberyn's mouth hung slightly open. He was too shocked to speak.
He hadn't expected Arthur's ambition to be this vast. The boy didn't just want to skip over a claim to Winterfell; he wanted to rule the Seven Kingdoms as Hand of the King, wielding power from the Iron Throne itself, all while remaining a bastard.
Becoming Hand of the King was hard enough. Doing it as a bastard was a fantasy. Even Bloodraven had been legitimized before he solidified his hold on the position.
Beside him, Lady Nym stared at Arthur, her eyes practically sparkling with intensity.
Finally, after a long silence broken only by Arthur clearing his throat, Nym snapped out of it.
"Father, do you have a way to make the Stag King legitimize Arthur?" she asked, then teased, "If so, why don't you get him to legitimize us sisters while you're at it?"
"I was just joking." Oberyn recovered, a slightly awkward smile on his face. "If I could do that, I would have legitimized all of you long ago."
Just as Arthur suspected, Oberyn had intended to wait for the right moment to have Viserys legitimize Arthur. That would have been enough to throw Robert Baratheon's closest ally, Eddard Stark, into chaos, ensuring the North would be too busy with internal strife to look south.
Oberyn knew the North was vast—larger than Dorne—and filled with ambitious bannermen who chafed under Winterfell's current rule.
But this was a secret plan. Until he knew Arthur better and the time was right, he couldn't reveal it fully.
"Alright, Father, it's getting late. We can talk about other things on the road." Lady Nym stood up, taking Arthur's hand. "We should go get ready for the feast."
Arthur stood and nodded. "By your leave."
---
Creak, creak.
Not long after Arthur and Nym left, the sound of wooden wheels rolling across stone came from the antechamber.
Areo Hotah, the captain of guards from Norvos, pushed Prince Doran's wheelchair out from the small adjoining room.
"Captain, let no one disturb us," Doran said.
Hotah thumped the butt of his longaxe on the floor in acknowledgment and took up a position outside the door, leaving the two brothers alone.
Oberyn took a few sips of the amber peach wine, looking at his brother, whose face remained impassive. "Doran, your plan is dead in the water."
A trace of helplessness flashed in Doran's eyes. "The biggest variable in any plan is people. Few bastards can resist the lure of a noble name and an ancestral castle."
"He knows when to yield and when to strike. His ambition is high, his martial skill is outstanding, and he has the charisma of a leader," Doran mused. "If Viserys had half the qualities of Arthur Snow, our plans would have boundless potential."
"The Viserys I saw in Braavos was just a frightened boy whose world had shattered, fallen from the clouds into the mud," Oberyn said, a flicker of memory in his eyes. "Doran, aside from the violet eyes, I'm not sure if Viserys has grown into the man you hope for, or if he's inherited his father's madness."
"Viserys is currently in Tyrosh, at the Archon's court. Princess Daenerys Targaryen is with him," Doran said.
Oberyn raised an eyebrow. "If I recall correctly, the Archon's daughter is currently at the Water Gardens."
"Yes." Doran nodded slightly, his expression weary. "I had originally intended to send Arianne to Tyrosh after this tourney. She was to serve as the Archon's cupbearer, which would allow her to meet her betrothed, Viserys, in secret. She could have assessed his character herself before we proceeded."
Oberyn smiled a cryptic smile. "But because of their little game, you changed your mind?"
"Yes. From the moment they started plotting, I knew everything. As a leader, Arianne cannot keep a secret. Or perhaps she simply treats this as a game of power where winning or losing doesn't matter. I cannot stake the safety of Dorne on her."
Doran looked at his brother intently. "But what surprised me was that you were defeated twice by Arthur Snow, a man in his first joust. Perhaps he truly is the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Dayne, come again?"
Oberyn's smile stiffened. He coughed lightly. "Truth be told, I didn't expect it either. I didn't hold back in either match."
"Arthur was able to lead the Starfall forces to destroy the Vulture King. He certainly has valor," Doran said. He fell silent for a moment. "I am considering sending Arthur Snow to the court in Tyrosh to make contact with Viserys... What do you think?"
"Doran!" Oberyn leaped to his feet, shocked. "Have you lost your mind? His father and grandfather were killed by Targaryens!"
"His uncle also died protecting a Targaryen!" Doran countered. "Besides, as Hand of the King to Viserys, he could sit on the Iron Throne, just as he desires."
Doran paused, stroking his chin. "But you are right to be cautious. I will find an opportunity to speak with him personally before making a decision."
---