In the days following the feast, the lords and ladies of Dorne began to depart Sunspear one by one.
The Amber Peach Wine, which rivaled the finest Arbor Gold, had made as much of a splash among the Dornish nobility as the Knight of Hearts had in the lists.
This unexpected business boom forced Arthur, who was eager to return home, to delay his departure.
He spent days negotiating purchase orders with various noble houses. Just now, he had finally hammered out the details of the last contract.
"Finally done." Arthur walked Ser Daemon Sand, representing Godsgrace, to the door and sighed. "Haggling is far more exhausting than jousting."
He stretched his stiff shoulders, his joints cracking audibly.
"But it pays far better than jousting," Karen the Fat Steward said, organizing the stack of parchment orders with glee. "My lord, a rough estimate puts the value of these initial orders from the nobility at over ten thousand golden dragons."
"And that's just for the Amber Peach Wine. I haven't even tallied the orders for regular peach wine and summer red from the innkeepers, petty lords, and merchants I've been speaking with."
Arthur knew the bulk of the Amber Peach Wine orders came from his personal negotiations. He had to admit, the purchasing power of the nobility was staggering.
With both his objectives in Sunspear accomplished—glory and gold—there was no reason to stay any longer.
"Alright, pack up quickly," Arthur ordered. "Tell Ser Balon to prepare for departure. We'll head to the Water Gardens to pick up Edric, then ride for Starfall."
The day after the feast, Edric had been invited by Elia Sand and her sisters to visit the Water Gardens, taking his horse and eagle with him.
The Water Gardens, a palace of fountains and flowers, lay three leagues north of Sunspear along the coast.
On the road there, Lady Nym spoke with nostalgia. "I grew up in the Water Gardens. It's so cool there. Especially at night, when the sea breeze blows, you can almost forget you're in Dorne."
Traveling with them was Prince Oberyn's retinue, as they had agreed. Oberyn was escorting Sarella to Oldtown to study at the Citadel.
Sarella, riding a dun sand steed beside Nym, chimed in. "Legend says Prince Maron Martell built the gardens as a gift for his bride, Daenerys Targaryen. Their union marked the moment Dorne finally bowed to the Iron Throne."
Sarella had skin the color of teak, thick curly black hair cut short, and eyes like onyx. Her features were sharp, resembling Oberyn closely, with a handsome, boyish quality rather than soft femininity.
Hearing the name Daenerys Targaryen, Arthur's mind drifted to the other Daenerys—the Dragon Queen. She must still be a young girl now. He wondered if she and Viserys had reached Pentos yet, under the protection of the cheese-monger Illyrio.
"But times have changed. The Targaryens were driven from the throne, and the dragons are long gone," Sarella said, a hint of wistfulness in her dark eyes. "I hope the Citadel has records on dragons and the occult. It would make forging a Valyrian steel link much easier."
"Sarella, magic and dragons are taboo at the Citadel," Oberyn called out from behind them. "I don't object to you studying such things, but be discreet. Don't let the other maesters catch you."
After Sarella promised to be careful, Oberyn pointed toward the hazy yellow horizon over the desert.
"Arthur, look at the sky. A sandstorm is brewing. We should stay at the Water Gardens for a couple of days and wait it out."
"Agreed."
Arthur had experienced a sandstorm on his way to Sunspear. Even with a face scarf, the stinging sand and blinding visibility were miserable. Getting lost was a real danger.
---
When the party arrived at the Water Gardens, Oberyn handed his reins to a squire and turned to Arthur. "Arthur, come with me."
Arthur wasn't sure what was happening, but he followed.
Oberyn walked briskly, leading him past rows of sculpted pillars and through elegant arches until they reached a palace balcony.
On the balcony sat a familiar wheelchair. Prince Doran was there, gazing out at the gardens, with his captain of guards standing silently beside him, longaxe in hand.
"Arthur, you've come?" Doran didn't turn around. "Later than I expected."
Arthur shot a questioning glance at Oberyn. "Business delayed me, Your Grace. Did you wait here specifically for me?"
"Amber Peach Wine is indeed a fine vintage. Come, sit. Keep me company for a while."
Doran signaled to the others. "Leave us."
Arthur watched with some confusion as Oberyn and Areo Hotah departed. He sat down next to Doran. From this vantage point, they had a perfect view of the pools and fountains below.
Children were splashing and playing in the water. Arthur spotted Edric among them. He had a girl—one of the younger Sand Snakes—riding on his shoulders and was engaged in a "chicken fight" against Elia Sand and a purple-haired girl.
"Beautiful view, isn't it?" A faint smile touched Doran's lips. "Since the gout took my legs, I often sit here all day. The laughter of children works better than the milk of the poppy. It helps me forget the pain for a while."
"It is beautiful," Arthur agreed. "Their innocence does wash away worries."
"Legend has it that when this place was first built, only the Martell children and their highborn companions played in these pools," Doran said softly.
"Until one scorching day, Daenerys Targaryen took pity on the children of the servants and guards. She allowed them into the water to play alongside the lords and ladies. That precedent has been kept ever since. And with it came a saying passed down to every Prince of Dorne: 'The heir to Sunspear must provide for his people, in matters great and small.'"
Listening to Doran, Arthur found the sentiment similar to the Stark tradition: The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.
Both were maxims meant to ground rulers, reminding them of their duty and the weight of their power.
Perhaps it was this philosophy that kept Doran from plunging Dorne into war, despite his deep hatred for the Lannisters. Even during the War of the Five Kings, while the other Great Houses bled each other dry, Dorne didn't lose a single soldier.
Arthur felt a stir of admiration. "Your Grace is a just and kind ruler."
Doran didn't respond immediately. He turned his head and stared at Arthur blankly for a long time.
Just as Arthur began to wonder if he had misspoken, the Prince spoke suddenly.
"Arthur, I have a highly classified enterprise I want you to undertake with me."
"I swear by the Seven, and by the sun and spear of House Martell: if this succeeds, you will obtain the thing you desire most."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. He was internally stunned. He knew exactly what this "highly classified enterprise" was—restoring Viserys to exact revenge on the Lannisters.
But the Seven Kingdoms were currently united and strong under Robert Baratheon. It was too early. Why would Doran reveal this secret to him now? He hadn't even told his own daughter, Arianne.
"Forgive me, Prince Doran." Arthur kept his expression sincere.
"No oaths are needed. I trust your honor. But every man has his own path and plans. I will not stake my future on another man's promise."
"If I am to sit on that throne one day, it will not be through charity or barter. It will be because I am worthy of it."
Another long silence followed.
Below them, Edric was knocked into the water, and the surrounding children cheered.
Only then did Doran speak again, his voice barely a whisper.
"You may choose whether or not to do what I ask. But you must swear by the graves of your mother and uncle that you will never speak of what I am about to tell you to a third soul."
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