Resurgence of a Failing Sun

by WisdomOfCelestials

Doran's tale is a tragedy, he lost his sister, and then his brother, and son in a quest to avenge his sister. The Dornish Master Plan is poised to fail in the books. But this shall change, when a person from Earth, is fused with Doran in 296 AC, two years before Jon Arryn's death. Can this change Dorne's fortunes or is the tale of the Martells doomed to be a tragedy?

8. The Heavens cannot brook Two Suns

Doran

"The blood oranges are growing strong… it would seem," I spoke in a weary voice, clanking the cane as I walked with Hotah on the floor. It was a worse day today, for the pain had flared yet again, not quite contrary to the remedial measures I'd taken to stymy them, but due to the fact that for if nothing else, Martin had made it clear that my gout was extraordinarily severe in its intensity.

Areo did not speak, but no doubt he thought the same of the oranges. He was my shadow, this I had grown used to. For where the Prince of Dorne went, Hotah would follow. And I was grateful all the same. It was true, I may not be a lucrative target for assassinations of now, but there was always a possibility, there is always a possibility, and there would always be one, and so, a Dornish Prince would need his shadow.

The oranges grew irregularly, some were yet small and green, as scentless as the leaves of the trees that bore them, others had fallen to the marble on the floor, burst open, filling my nose with a sharp sweet smell each time I took a breath, which was a by-product of the pain as it were, laborious and infrequent.

I grew tired of walking, for on such days, there was little I could do to motivate myself, for the gout, while no longer turned my appendages into swollen, red fruits, still caused a considerable swelling which made many actions that one could consider normal, very difficult.

I sat beneath the wafty trees, on the goose-down wheel-chair that Maester Caleotte had made for me. The poor man, bless his heart had completely expected my condition to further deteriorate, so my increased mobility when the gout did not take me had come as to him as a complete surprise.

There was no lack of intrigue in the good Maester's eyes though, as he saw my queer methods work, and sent letters about how Gout could be treated to his Citadel. Aye, The Citadel, an unfathomable entity, even with my knowledge of the past, present and future, I did not know if those wise men of Westeros truly poisoned the Dragons and harboured an enmity towards anyone of Valyrian heritage, no more than anyone else did.

I had done my research as much as I could, for texts of the same were scant in Dorne, even in a Princely household such as mine, but a Prince's scant was not the same as a commoner's scant, and the books that were present, more than served well enough to find that the Velaryons and Celtigars had never been offered the services of Maesters, a curious affair all the same, but apples were not oranges, an aversion to serve those of magical blood did not yet mean that they conspired to bring them down.

And all the same, there was little I could do to investigate the possibility they were conspirators, no matter that I had been surprised to find that, yes; Doran did have agents, but certainly not at the scale that I had spoken to Oberyn of.

It was a matter that required remedying, along with several others, but I was merely two men, neither of whom's expertise lied in the formation of Espionage agencies. But there remained the fact that Aron Santagar at King's Landing was one of mine, a good thing provided his head was not dashed against a stone like in A Clash of Kings, but perhaps with the help of the Spider, who I would keep an arm's length away regardless, some more assets could be cultivated.

I sighed, and sank into my chair, and for a long while, the only sounds were the wind blowing through my long hair, and rattling the tiny chain that hung on Hotah's axe, which indicated his matrimonial status to it. Accompanying this were soft plops as over-ripe oranges careened onto the floor to burst.

Old habits die hard it would seem, as I began singing softly to myself, in a fool's attempt at dulling the pain in my joints "Where now the horse and the rider? …..Where is the horn that was blowing? …..Where is the helm and the hauberk? ….And the bright hair flowing? Where is the hand on the harpstring? ….And the red fire glowing?." I cursed to myself once, interrupting the song, for if this had been a formal meeting with high lords, it would have been in poor showing. I would need to eliminate this habit quite soon.

And a young voice cut through the air, "Why did you stop, Uncle? I quite enjoyed the song, though I must admit, I never took the Prince of Dorne to be fond of laments." Spoke the young, yet regal voice of Prince Aegon the Sixth, and I chuckled good-naturedly, "All songs have their own charm, My Prince, but it would have been in poor taste if you found that I am abandoning the plans for your conquest to take up the career of a way-side bard."

The lad smiled too, his dark blue eyes flashing vividly in the son, near purple in colour, as he stepped past Hotah, Blackfyre yet attached at his hip, in the plain scabbard it was sheathed in, swinging with every step.

There was no need to play coy in front of Areo for Hotah knew of the Prince's identity, how could he not? The captain of guards had come as a callow youth from Norvos with my… estranged wife, and yet remained here, now white haired, and scarred all around, but still an incredible fighter devoted to his long-axe and me.

If I, Doran could not trust him or Oberyn, any plan made was already forfeit. But it was not as if Hotah knew everything. All men could be broken, this was true of myself as well, and so Hotah only knew that the young Prince was someone he should watch over with the same intent as myself when the lad was in proximity.

The lad sat himself opposite me, and grabbed a couple of grapes from the bowl of assorted fruits that lay on the table before me before speaking, "I cannot say I recognize from which peoples such a song arises. It is in the common tongue yes, but it does not sound like any Andal song I know of. The matter of horses reminds one of the Dothraki, but the horselords have no culture save the one they loot and keep in Vaes Dothrak. So, Uncle, have you made this song by yourself?"

I chuckled to myself yet again, and I knew that dormant Doran in my head would be just as pleased to see his nephew truly be the perfect Prince, before speaking, "Nay, it is of a peoples called the Rohirrim, but none of their kind can be found in this world. They were horse-lords too, of whom, their leader dwelled in a golden hall, but never mind the talk of dead peoples, my Prince, it is an ill omen."

The Prince nodded, no doubt recalling that several races had been vanquished on this god-forsaken planet, perhaps several by the Dothraki that he had mentioned earlier, one of whom were the Sarnathi people now reduced to a couple towns. And I had neither the heart nor the gumption to explain to him that they were a fictional peoples, well, as fictional as Westerosi were, which as I had found out, was a matter of perspective.

Aegon then spoke, "Maester Caleotte tells me you have commissioned a new type of ship, Uncle? He says it is of your own design?" to which I laughed, but regretted that soon enough as the laughs were quick to turn into coughs. I could not wait enough for the pain to subside and free movement again.

I grimaced before speaking, "Caleotte exaggerates, I expected better from a Maester, I am no Mason or Shipwright, but it does not take either to realise that a ship is becalmed, it can be taken from its broadside. I spoke to the wrights in Planky Town as well as here in Sunspear of a larger ship, perhaps the size of an Ibbenese Whaler, which would have slits at its sides to fit scorpions to fire in volleys."

The well-bodied Maester remained away from ear-shot, yet remained close lest I needed a draught for my pain but he still looked chastised all the same as I glanced at him. And I could see his bald head, so very like an egg, turn ever so slightly red, but whether it was sunburn or embarrassment was anyone's guess.

The Prince was yet again quick to grasp the situation, "Galleys and Dromonds merely possess their catapults and scorpions on their top-decks, vulnerable to boarding and enemy fire as well. With a larger ship, and the heavy weapons stored on a lower deck, with the ability to fire when turned upon their sides, yes, this could prove very useful, Uncle. An enemy who attempts to board shall find their ship turn into a puff fish from the Summer Islands."

I smiled softly, before thinking, "Clever boy. Though not quite the force multiplier that Cannons are, this should certainly be able to deal with boarding and ramming actions that remain the norm with Westerosi Navies", before I spoke, "This is true yes, but Scorpions are not quite so powerful to crack a ship open on their own, they must be supported by regular galleys all the same."

At this, I decided to stand, to which the Gout once again flared, at which I winced, and to which Aegon spoke, "Do your legs hurt, Uncle?"

I smiled faintly as I responded, "Is the sun hot?" before walking towards Caleotte, as both Targaryen and Hotah followed me. With the guard ready to break my fall if the pain ever flared too much, which before my remedies, was more often than not.

Calleotte knew from my face, as well as the fact that I was leaning onto the cane a sight tighter than usual, that I was in pain, as he spoke, "Shall I fetch a draught for my Prince?" to which I responded, "No… only half a glass of dreamwine, I mean to keep my wits about me, I shall be heading to the docks to inspect the progress of the wrights."

Aegon seemed excited too, though still stoic and regal as ever, there was still the boyish curiosity that one would see in a child when offered a chance to see something new. I spoke to Aegon, "My Prince, I request you head to your chambers and ready yourself, we shall be heading into the Shadow City's dockyard, and you still must needs keep a disguise about yourself."

The Prince nodded in agreement, and gave a curt nod of his head, before adjusting the scabbard at his hip unconsciously and walking away in the direction of his chambers, while I myself began the ascent to my chambers in the Tower of the Sun, for garments better befitting a Prince out in the city. I spoke aloud, "The Shadow city is full with eyes, no… Areo?" And the tall guard spoke softly, "Indeed my Prince." To which I grimaced yet again before speaking, "Perhaps it is for the best they think I am still feeble, though truly I am not so, for this is borne of the attack of the gout, they shall not expect me to be hale otherwise, when the wretched disease does not strike.."

To which the quiet guard spoke again, "This is true, my Prince, an assassin expecting an easier mark would fall to Hotah's axe like wheat to the scythe."

I chuckled at the tall man's jape, and we climbed the rest of the way in silence. The servants present dressed me in a traditional Dornish dress made of gold satin, coloured in Martell colours, with a pale red-silk cloak to accompany the same. Dead center both on the cloak and the chest of the garment, were the sigil of House Nymerios Martell, the Dornish Spear through the Rhoynish Sun.

And as they continued to dress me, Maester Caleotte had arrived with the glass of dreamwine, which I gulped down greedily and hastily, and was immensely thankful for its immediate numbing of the pain that I suffered from.

Doran's own memories confirmed that nothing short of milk of the poppy, or opium would have sufficed prior to this, but this now meant that my solutions were working, but not to their full extent due to whatever curse Martin had placed upon Doran for me… him, to suffer from this exaggerated gout.

It would last but only for a few hours, and I would have to make most of the same, and so I glided down the stairs, ceremonial dirk at my hip, and cane forgotten, and found myself face to face with what appeared to be a Bedouin.

It was, of course, Aegon, for who else could possess eyes like those, and the Bedouin-like dress served well in the desert, as both the people of Arabia and Dorne had found out separately, and in doing so, also made him undistinguishable from the blue-eyed young men of Dorne.

It was not long before we made our way to the stables, upon which I mounted my sand-steed, a docile and well trained male named Garin, no doubt after the mythic Rhoynish prince of old, followed by the retinue of Areo and the guards, with Aegon flanking the large guard.

Connington on the other hand, had departed to Essos again, believing that I could be "trusted", in his own words, with the safety of the boy, as he had matters to deal with the Golden Company's contract, as well as with another mercenary company named the Black Army and its leader, a Volantene Noble.

The latter of which interested me a fair amount, for apparently they were well equipped, and well trained like a true professional army, but had spent much of their active time in Yi Ti fighting for this prince and that one. But whatever it maybe, the more troops we had on hand would make the fighting later on go that much more smoothly, this was of little doubt.

And so the retinue passed through the winding districts of the shadow city, passing a dozen bazaars, and a hundred curious onlookers, for it was not often that the ruling Martell, that is, me, made a public appearance.

Some, I even spied, were exchanging coins for some reason, no doubt bets about my health, to which I chuckled to myself privately at the ridiculousness of it all. But then I thought, if they think I am likely to die, they are just as likely to question who is my heir, to which I quickly brushed away the dark thoughts, as I'd dealt with that matter, hopefully preventing the Myrcella uprising that Arianne and Darkstar had sought to bring to fruition.

Darkstar was for all intents and purposes, an edgelord, for what bravery or strength he found in scaring a girl, I know not, though rising for Myrcella would no doubt have had its own merits and demerits as a whole, the idiot was blinded by the hate of being overlooked for the role of Sword of the Morning, a fatal flaw that I understood allowed for lesser fighters to beat him if they exploited insults in such avenues.

My thoughts were brushed away by the disguised Aegon riding upto me, and speaking in hushed tones, "Uncle, I would ask you if a partition of the Seven Kingdoms into two could be considered feasible? I have been thinking of the same, and it has merits in my mind. For one, two kings could work on a more intricate level in managing the provinces, economic or otherwise."

I paused to think about this for a moment, recalling the partition of the Roman Empire, before speaking, Doran too providing his own insights, "Not without the establishment of a standing army loyal to the crown, which in itself would require one to pull the Kingdoms out of debt, and strengthen the coinage considerably. As it is, a partition into two, would make truculent lords wonder as to why it should not be seven, and the only reason they do not consider it now, is because… well, nephew, they have… so to say… grown too used to the Iron Throne to consider anything else."

Aegon nodded slowly before I continued, "After your ancestor first began his conquest, and established the Kingdom proper. Truculent lords were kept in place by one thing, Dragons, which multiplied the offensive force the Targaryens possessed a hundredfold, for what can harm a dragon save a scorpion shot guided by all the gods of the world? To achieve the same now, you needs must have either a way to resurrect the dragons, or the means to create an army utterly loyal to the crown."

Aegon then was silent for a minute before speaking, "Then it was indolence by my forebears for not thinking of one, then? The Crownlands I have learnt, to not be strong, and there were several generations of wealth enough after all the dragons died, to establish a Royal Army, The closest they got to the same was the Raven's Teeth, which did not last very long however."

I smiled softly before speaking, "It is not the same for Robert however, where Targaryens had Dragonstone and Summerhall, he has the Stormlands, and a fighting force larger than that the Crownlands could ever muster with it. His own wife is a Lannister as well, and his Hand Jon Arryn and Brother in all but name, Stark give him two more Kingdoms to bring to muster. But mayhaps his… descendants… if they continue to rule would experience a similar starvation of power."

Aegon nodded yet again, before manoeuvring his horse to avoid a large stone on the road, before speaking again, "So it is not feasible at all then, Uncle?"

I chuckled and spoke, "Even if you had the dragons yet again, there is a saying as to why a differentiation of power is not a grand idea, 'the heavens cannot brook two suns, nor the Earth two masters'. And so, I believe, neither can Westeros."

Aegon seemed mildly perplexed before speaking, "A sound saying, though I have never heard the like. It sounds Rhoynish enough with the mention of the sun, but seems alien still." To which I laughed yet again, pain in my chest still numbed by the dreamwine, before speaking, "You are right, no Rhoynish philosopher or King spoke of this, it was King Alexander of Macedon….. who I am told, carved his way out of Ulthos and conquered a large portion of Essos in the distant past, and in such a manner as to have never lost a battle he personally oversaw."

Aegon seemed intrigued yet again, his left hand aimlessly tracing the pommel of Blackfyre, as he spoke, "You must tell me more of this King, sometime or the other, Uncle. Sailing up and down the Rhoyne, even with Haldon and Septa Lemore, has not granted me the knowledge of such obscure characters, even though his exploits are so great."

I laughed yet again, even if you sailed the world nobody would tell you of Alexander, prince, but mayhaps you can learn from some of the greatest rulers of Earth, well, as much as I remember of their exploits.

And so three dozen heartbeats later, we found ourselves at the dock, or rather, the dry-dock where the first of the…ships were being constructed. Could they be called Caravels? Or were they ships of the line? I did not know, but Aegon seemed excited none the less as he badgered one of the apprentice ship-wrights with questions while I observed the ballistae… scorpions that were being designed for the same.

I myself spoke to one of the master-wrights, or rather listened to him as he spoke, "Yes my Prince, we have decided to construct the… ship of the line as the men tend to call it in a carvel method, straight from Braavos. M'lord, a lowering of the ship's forecastle and elongation of the hull, while we raise the rest of the ship, may just give it higher stability in the water that is if you allows us to try so? It will however still possess four masts, and me thinks square rigging is the best for such a ship."

I was no shipbuilding expert, but I knew that square rigging was the most aerodynamic rigging of sails, a little bit of trivia I'd picked up who knows where, and so I spoke, "Very well, it sounds reasonable enough to do the same. I assume you call it the ship of the line as the... scorpions will have to fire in a volley across their broadside? And more ships will join the… line, so to speak to add their own weaponry to the fray?"

The shipwright bobbed his head up and down excitedly, no doubt surprised that a Noble had grasped the term so quickly, and amused, I spoke, "Very well, I assume you shall be constructing the ship out of Ash and Oak?"

The shipwright responded, "No, m'lord, while we are using white oak, we believe chestnuts are better for the portion of the ships that will be underwater, not to mention that we'll be reinforcing the sides with ironwood, as so many scorpions firing at once might harm the integrity of the ship."

I nearly laughed at this, but mayhaps there was some merit to this line of thinking, while ships made of regular wood survived hundreds of cannons firing at once back on Earth, this was an entirely new type of ship for these wrights, and of great intrigue to them, and they were going for quality over quantity, and were reinforcing the product so as to ensure their patron Lord did not turn to other dockyards for the purpose.

I thought momentarily, iron-wood clad ships eh, not that they'll be faced with anything other than catapult shots, or perhaps the odd trebuchet aimed at the shore. Speaking of Trebuchets, If Westeros has them developed, how is any castle still possessing the repute of unassailable? All lords are rich enough to field a few dozen, enough to bring down any gate or wall.

I scratched my chin, maybe I'm underestimating walls, and thinking so, I nodded to the shipwright, while observing that Aegon was still engaging in his conversation.

I was interrupted by Hotah speaking, "My Prince… there is a… Qartheen here to see you, he says his ship docked not an hour before, and he seeks an audience with you.."

I was plainly confused, for what would they need from me right now? The contracts that Doran had made prior to my… arrival were not set to expire until the new century. I thought, perhaps they want another slice of the petroleum pie?

But I shook my head of these thoughts and spoke, "Very well. Tell him I shall meet him here, my inspection of the shipyard cannot wait, so It shall be convenient to convene here." And rubbed my swollen appendages slowly, for the dreamwine was slowly wearing off.

Hotah nodded and barked orders to three of the retinue that followed us, who nodded their heads and proceeded to head into the direction of what I assumed was where the Qartheen party, while I waited, contemplating as to what else the Qartheen could seek from me if not more Petroleum.

My questions were to be answered anyhow, as I spied the Dornishmen lead the party of tall, pale people, those of Qarth, who considered crying openly and freely a mark of sophistication. I thought, Qarth was Baghdad, Constantinople and was it Babylon? Rolled into one, being as it both connected West and East, and also possessed famous walls, and If Qarth is those cities, I wonder what else Martin ripped off as inspiration? Apart from mentioning that Westeros was the War of the Roses come again, or going to be at any rate, and Yi Ti was China, I wondered what Sothoryos could be, with its disappearing colonies and shit.

My thoughts were interrupted by the liquid, dulcet tones of the Qartheen representative filled the air as he spoke, "Greetings, Prince Doran Martell of House Nymerios Martell, ruler of Dorne…. I, Khoas Lynos Loxaos, a humble… representative of the Ancient Guild of Spicers, have come to meet with you. I shall hope you shall not find that now is an unpleasant time to meet?"

I nodded curtly, observing the tall, hook-nosed man, garbed in purple linen with a samite headgear of some sort upon his head, his eyes already appearing to be watery, as I spoke, "Well met, , I am afraid that I am pressed for time, so I hope you shall not find it an offence if I ask that we move forward with what you wish to discuss with utmost haste."

The Qartheen raised his hands in a flamboyant manner, but so as to be placating, I suppose, as he spoke, "Of course, Prince Doran. I shall be curt, as you request, the Ancient Guild of Spicers have… acquired knowledge of your contract with the Pureborn of Qarth… and as we may find, it may prove to uproot the delicate balance between them and the merchant guilds… such as our own. So quite simply, we seek to secure a contract for… one of your… wells? To… restore the balance." Spoke the man, his nose-ring glittering in the sunlight.

I spoke, mildly amused, "And of the Tourmaline Brotherhood and Thirteen? Would they not be upset by this… balance, then?" to which the representative coolly spoke, "If those… pirates and boy-molesters… seek to secure contracts with your esteemed Princeship, then who am I to deny them, Prince Doran. I merely come on behalf of the Ancient Guild of Spicers.

"Very well" I spoke, amused by the man speaking much like Xaro Xhoan Daxos had in the books, though not quite resembling a strangely radiant bird, as I continued, "And what does the Ancient Guild of Spicers offer for the produce of a well for a duration of five years?" To which the man clapped, and spoke in the strange, liquid Qartheen tongue at his four burly unsullied, who brought two chests and laid them at my feet.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Hotah be prepared for the worst, but the Unsullied opened it up on the command of their master, and I saw what I expected, gold, to which the Merchant Prince spoke, "Prince Doran, you shall find Qartheen coins… equivalent to… seventy thousand of your gold dragons in those chests. And additional payments of ten thousand coins a year shall be made for the same over time."

I smiled again, as I spoke, "The Pureborn offer… fourteen thousand a year for the same… with an initial payment of a hundred thousand. I did not think the storied Guild of Spicers were so niggardly to offer such a small amount."

The man raised his hands yet again, before speaking in the Qartheen tongue to his party, in particular to three men and women, who seemed extremely out of place with the rest of his followers. He then stepped closer to me, and whispered "My apologies for the same then, my Prince, we shall raise the annual amount to twelve and a half thousand. But in turn… we offer to you the service of six of the Sorrowful Men over the next five years." He spoke, pointing at the tall, yet plain-faced men and women that stood before me. The only special thing about them was that the women were dressed in traditional Qartheen gowns, that is, their breast was exposed.

Now this was not what I had expected, I had planned for a bidding match with the prince… but the offer of assassins was lucrative enough to trump gold. I recalled that the Sorrowful Men had never failed before… much like the Faceless Men. But Barristan had thwarted them once… but then again… he was Barristan. And even though they were inferior to the Faceless Men, having never failed to kill brought to bear some interesting prospects, such as stationing two of them to catch J'aqen H'ghar… or whatever his name was when he attempted to infiltrate the Citadel.

I did not know what was at play in the Citadel angle, nor why Faceless Men were disguising themselves to infiltrate it, and so using assassins to counter assassins…seemed sensible if nothing else. Not to mention, these were agents of sorts that I could use… for dispatching Renly and Robert when needed.

I made up my mind, and spoke, "Very well, I accept your offer, Khoas Lynos Loxaos. I request you head to the Old Palace so as to work out the details with the Chancery. I find that I still must complete my inspection here." And so I dismissed the man.

The man bowed, and the Unsullied took the chests with them. And as the Qartheen Party walked away, Aegon, who I found had sidled up to my side, spoke to me, "A strange occurrence, Qartheen so far from their cities. They must have sailed well over a year ago, no, Uncle? What did the Qartheen offer?"

I spoke, "Gold… and Sorrow." To which the boy's eyes widened ever so slightly behind his mask, no doubt recalling the repute of the Sorrowful Men.

The Princess of Dorne

Her wedding drew ever nearer, yet Arianne thought not often of it, for what was the need as of yet? When once there was need to throw herself beneath her father's gouty feet for even considering a suitor not old and haggard, he had granted her his blessing to wed the Tully heir, though some would say the Riverlands were weak, though there remained a Tyrell option.

Indeed, she had chosen Edmure almost immediately, if only out of resident spite towards her father, for after so many years of offering her to doddering, senile fools, he had decided to spring upon her that she was promised to a Prince all the way from exotic Yi Ti, who as foolish as all men often tended to be, led an expedition to Sothoryos to never be seen again.

The preparations for the wedding would begin in full flow once her Uncle returned, though much of it was planned even now. Indeed, it had been left to Arianne to invite her Lady Mother to return from Norvos, when it turned out that her father, Doran, had seemingly forgotten to do the same.

Arianne however, knew that there was no love lost between her parents, both of whom had married each other, ironically, out of love; what with Lady Mellario never understanding the Westerosi way of trading children for political reasons.

There was something to be said about the changes Dorne had been experiencing. While she believed that she was still not privy to all that her father was working on in the shadows, she knew much, and it was not out of wheedling it out of Ricasso and such, for the unimaginable were happening, her own father was confiding in her.

Though he did tell her that she was wont to gossip, the tantalizing prospect of learning more as to what else her father had been doing when he was not forging marriage pacts with exotic princes was enough to keep her mouth shut. For the time being.

Indeed, what with the commission of a massive Camelry, the beginning of a construction of new ships,, envoys from every free-city seeking to curry favour with her father, Indeed she'd spied a man and his… son, both blue haired as any garish Yunkish bard had sidled into the old palace.

The father had left, this was true, but he had not taken his… son, if he were his son with him. Arianne had spied the new guard that hung around her father at times, and her eye for men indeed told her he matched the proportions for the boy from earlier. But what she did not grasp was as to who this boy was, or why her father had taken him into service as a guard… unless it was a disguise for someone of greater purpose.

But who could it be? Off the top of her head, none of the Westerosi nobles currently reining would even deign consider dyeing their hair as a disguise, let alone hide as a guard in Dorne. And she had spent considerable time thinking on the same, when she was not being instructed by Ricasso, and her own father on varied matters.

Her thoughts were interrupted when a sharp knock came on the door, and a voice called out, "Little princess? Up and dress if you have not. The prince calls for you." Spoke Areo Hotah, her old friend and protector. It was always good to hear that gruff, deep voice and thick Norvoshi accent, and see his seamed, scarred face.

And so she chose a simple gown of ivory linen, with vines and purple grapes embroidered around the sleeves and bodice, this along with three other dresses, were ones she wore when she desired to appear to be humble, chaste and contrite. Neither did she wear any jewels, for there was no need for them.

Hotah led her not to her father's solar as he had expected, but to the Tower of the Sun, and so she expected more lessons in statecraft, as her father termed it. Indeed, the fact he had chosen to occupy the Tower of the Sun more often than not was a sign that his gout was reversing with alarming speed, not to mention that her father sparred with Hotah now and again, and utilized strange exercises to achieve the same.

Whatever forgotten reams in millennia old books her father may have discovered, she knew not, but it was true that seldom were the Prince's hands red and gouty, and seldom was he aloof and estranged from her these days, for if anything the man was trying to be a father to her yet again, when all these years he had been a matchmaker.

There was a difference though, even so, he seemed… more stoic and remote, even if he interacted with her more, and though his battle with the gout could be explained, how he had thought of the establishment of a Camelry, and the construction of an entirely new class of ships that not even the Braavosi and their famed Arsenal had thought of was a matter of thought.

Perhaps I should ask him now, she thought, as they entered the Tower of the Sun.

She was surprised… for there was nobody inside except her father and the same slight youth that she had taken note of. Not even Ricasso, or even the Maesters.

She spoke, "Father" and saw that he raised his head to look at her, his dark eyes calculative and intense. He spoke, "I had a dream. I was the oldest… and in it, I remained the last, I was already a man grown when both of them were born, if you remember, but in the dream, this old gouty man remained, while they were gone."

She did not know what to say, for she could say the same, Trystane was but a child while she was a woman grown, and she did not know Quentyn at all. Oh yes, then and again she would play games with Trystane, but she almost… resented Quentyn, for years of thinking one had been passed over for a younger sibling tends to do that to one.

The Prince smiled, "No doubt you think the same… what a fool I have been to not see that where Oberyn and I found unity despite our age… you have only found resentment towards Quentyn. But never mind that. I shall ask of you how fairs your Lady Mother?" he finished, half wistfully.

Arianne bit her lip as she spoke, "She says that she shall make all possible haste to arrive at Sunspear, and that my grand-parents shall accompany her as well."

Doran sighed softly, "A grand Norvoshi fleet then? Very well, perhaps it is for the best, you never met my own parents, and I would be a poor father to deny you the company of your mother's."

She thought, he seems more placable every day, but held her tongue as she spoke, "She asked of your health as well, and I told her you have never been healthier, your gout merely a shadow of the past."

Doran again looked distant as he spoke, "I met Mellario in Norvos…. The bells were ringing, and the bears danced down the steps. Areo will recall the day."

"I remember" echoed Areo Hotah in his deep voice, "The bears danced and the bells rang, and the prince wore red and gold and orange. My lady asked me who it was who shone so bright."

Prince Doran smiled wanly, "Leave us, captain." To which the captain of the guard stamped the butt of his longaxe on the floor, turned on his heel, and took his leave.

Arianne was surprised, for Doran had not asked the youth to leave, and so she voiced her opinion, "You ask Hotah to leave, yet not the guard? What if he were a paid assassin?"

Doran glanced at her for a moment, his lips curling into the faintest image of a smile as he spoke, "If I cannot trust my nephew to not slay me, then what hope is there in the world of men?"

Arianne was shocked, for she had never known Uncle Oberyn to have begotten a boy child, and so she spoke, "Obara would be pleased to learn that there is finally a male Sand Snake, though hidden away he was… for what purpose I know not."

Doran shook his head gently as he spoke, "He is not one of Oberyn's.", and Arianne, dumbstruck, mouthed slowly, "Not one of Oberyn's? Then… surely not?" to which the guard merely removed his face covering, and Arianne thought, if this boy was not my cousin, I would ask him to ravish me, and indeed, there were no maidens in the Seven Kingdoms who would deny this boy, so clearly of Targaryen birth.

Arianne was quick to understand who this was, "Aegon Targaryen, son of Elia then? And so… if one dead man can come to life, I can only assume the other is…" to which Doran raised his hand and spoke, "It is another dead man come to life, but not Prince Rhaegar, the Prophecy Prince I'm afraid perished at the Trident. The boy's false father was Jon Connington, who you shall remember was the former lord of Griffin's Roost, and who failed to… burn the town of Stoney Sept."

Arianne was quick to understand what was happening now, "So… Dorne shall rise soon?" to which Doran replied, "Soon enough. Perhaps with Aegon wed to Daenerys, and his brother wed to a Tyrell."

Now Arianne was truly left dumbstruck, but it was the boy-prince who responded, "Not by my mother… cousin, we merely share a father. Eddard Stark passed him off as his own bastard-son, and Uncle Oberyn shall bring him with himself when he returns for your wedding."

Arianne spoke, "It would seem I was mistaken… then, my father is not…", she was interrupted by the Prince speaking, "I know, I am too meek, and weak and cautious, too lenient to our enemies. And I have never been so… but the method by which I was undermining the image… seems to have been weak in its own right, hence you see your cousin before you now, hence you see Dorne raise a newer army and navy, hence you see me forge contracts with the free-cities so as to finance the war we undertake, for wars are costly."

But his faced then went impassive as he spoke, "But we shall have war all the same, maybe not now, maybe not in a year but war shall come, Dorne shall rise, and we shall have with it… vengeance, and a Targaryen on the Throne."

Arianne was happy to say the least, for her father was confiding more of her plans to her then ever, and what was the lost chance of gossip to know that she would have her own part to play in achieving justice for her aunt and dead cousins… cousin, for one now came back from the dead stood before her.

The Prince then spoke, "Very well, Arianne, I have told you of the same, for it is your duty to be able to thoroughly beguile your Lord Husband to rise for us, for if he does so… Stark's son, that is, Aegon's brother's cousin, shall rise as well, and if our gambit with the Tyrells works, perhaps we can smash the Lannisters and Baratheons like Hammer and Anvil from both North and South."

The Prince then continued, his lips curling into a smile yet again as he spoke, "Arianne, call Ricasso, Ser Manfrey and Hotah now would you, it would seem I must educate you, and by proxy, your cousin, of how to finance a… Kingdom"

Arianne raised an eyebrow as she spoke, "Kingdoms, is it not?" to which the Targaryen Prince laughed softly.

Expect more infrequent updates, swarmed with work.