Destiny of Man

Chapter 7: Sand, Sand and Even More Sand


"An eye for an eye is a very just cause of action, general, I assure you. If I've lost an eye, it is only fair everyone else across this valley does so as well."

Prince Aemond 'One-Eye' Targaryen at the Battle of Ramsford


Beneath the burning sun of Dorne, I was truly beginning to understand why wealth was measured more in water than it was in gold.

This wasn't to mean it was little more than a desert as I'm sure the presumption was to the vast majority of people. If anything, the principality's climate (at least along the coasts) was more akin to Greece, Spain, or any other country surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. And considering its vast size there was no reason for Dorne to not have a diverse climate characterised by dry summers and mild wet winters.

From what I've seen and estimated from looking at maps of the Seven Kingdoms, much of Dorne was at the mercy of ocean currents that brought cooler temperatures down from the Narrow Sea and warmer currents from the Summer Sea with the two colliding in the Stepstones which had the lovely effect of causing the common occurrence of rainstorms and whirlpools most commonly seen around autumn time. Such currents left the Dornish coasts the most habitable for human life, and behind them was the territory just south of the Red Mountains where the snow at the top melted and watered the fertile soil. It was for these reasons Dorne was so varied with biomes ranging from forests and savannas to grasslands and sprawling evergreen shrublands growing up through rocky soil. But that wasn't talked about. Instead, people's first assumptions of Dorne were always the interior. That was where it was windswept deserts and every oasis and well was zealously guarded and hidden away if not fortified. From what I knew from cloud patterns, the Red Mountains were largely the cause of the Red Dune's existence. They formed a mighty wall blocking cooler air and rainfall blowing downwards, ensuring the Marshes kept all the heavy rainfall and the occasional monsoon.

I knew the meme in the fandom was canals, which was funny considering one of Aerys the Second's megaprojects was to build an underwater canal to make the deserts of Dorne bloom after visiting the principality around two-seventy. It was enough for me to wager he might have been a self-insert but one who suffered a nervous breakdown and became insane. But whether Aerys was or not, between all the ideas he got into his crazed head, that was perhaps one of his better ones. It was just unfortunate Westeros had neither the technology nor the wealth for such an extensive terraforming project. Even countries on Earth would have a hard time of it.

It did make me wonder what I could do to help Dorne when or if I became king of the Seven Kingdoms. I could begin a series of megaprojects to assist the continent like upgrading the roads linking the cities to boost commerce as well as make it easier for armies to mobilise should there be a war or uprising and that was perhaps the easiest. But like all megaprojects, it'd be time-consuming though considerably less considering the road network had already been built by King Jaehaerys, and I'd simply be upgrading and expanding upon them.

I could do that.

I wasn't so sure about the others. I couldn't one man revolutionise an agricultural revolution by inventing seed drills or thrashers or whatever else brought that about. I might be wrong, but I'm certain a scientist might have invented some advanced fertiliser as well, but I didn't know if that was the case. What I could say however was that I had no knowledge of how to create any of those things. I was no farmer. But even if I had knowledge from my previous life, after so many years cooped up in the Water Gardens much of it would've faded and been forgotten.

But if there was one thing I could do it was to reform society and lay the formations for further scientific advancement. Like providing education for the masses and that wasn't to say the average Westerosi smallfolk was uneducated . . . depending on their field. While the average farmer was illiterate, they knew much more about agriculture than I could ever hope to, as well as being better at fixing things, tanning a hide, woodworking etc. Thanks to the lack of specialisation in this world, everyone had more generalised knowledge and tended towards self-sufficiency. Doubtless, they'd regard me as an idiot for being incapable of any of those things. Moving on from the feudal serfs who made up much of the population, there is what could be regarded as the middle class in the form of merchants and craftsmen. They were able to write to some degree – and sometimes in High Valyrian which was the language of the Westerosi courts – though any language skills they had were largely restricted to their profession. It reminded me how in the medieval ages you'd be regarded as illiterate if you didn't read or write Latin which was the language of the Bible, and it was heresy to translate it to anything else.

Oh, there were also germs. Public health and all that jazz would need to be one of my top priorities. It'd be unfortunate to educate large swaths of the population only for them to die because they didn't wash their hands.

I smiled once I found out I was once again deep in my thoughts as we rode down the dirt road to Castle Yronwood. On either side of us were vast hills and rocky outcrops that reminded me of what the Parthenon was built atop. Those flattish-topped rocks served as popular foundations for castles both great and small. Holdfasts were always located in prominent positions and looked down upon the countryside dotted with pastures and orchards. Dorne was hillier than I ever thought possible. Especially along the eastern side and it'd only get worse as we neared the Red Mountains.

"This is pretty," I told my uncle as we rode, him on the fittingly named Bucephalus and me on the humbler Traveller. "Hot but pretty." Thankfully, it was a dry heat that didn't make me sweat though I still needed to occasionally remove my straw hat to fan myself.

"This is Dorne," my uncle grinned. "At least a part of it. How're you enjoying being outside the Water Gardens?"

"For longer than an afternoon? Would it be wrong to say I miss the abundant water and oranges growing ripe for the taking?"

"I doubt you'll find anyone who has not. But this is what you can expect from now on and not just as a travelling squire. This will not be an easy life."

"I know. But what I miss the most are the others. Mother and Rhae and everyone else. Being a squire is the first time I've been separated from them for longer than a day . . . and I haven't seen them for the last couple of weeks. I miss them."

I missed Mother's laugh, her gentle smile, and tender witticisms. I missed Rhaenys wrapping me in a hug should I do anything she loved, or us sparring verbally against each other. I missed my sister's adorable pout and even her gently wracking my shoulder whenever I annoyed her. I missed talking with Sarella about books and history or us debating on the meaning of this and that. I missed the younger Sand Snakes as well. Elia as she tried to get me to play and being a terror to everyone around her. There was Obella who promised to match her older sister. Then Dorea and Loreza who were little more than babies but otherwise adorable.

"You and every other squire who's left home," Oberyn said not unkindly. "I'll tell you now that Daemon was homesick when I first took him as a squire as much as he'll deny it. It will pass I assure you, but it will never go away. Not fully."

"But it'll hurt less so?"

"Hopefully. I won't lie to you."

"I know."

"Do you want to go back?"

"What I want and what I should do are two different things, uncle—I mean father." I blushed and straightened myself in the saddle. I needed to train myself to regard Oberyn as my sire but I'm sure people would understand given my fake backstory if I didn't. It was forbidden I refer to him as my uncle. I was a Sand Snake now. Qoren Sand, bastard son of Oberyn Martell from a whore he'd visited in Lys as to explain my purple eyes and paler shade of skin. "I'm sorry . . ."

"Don't be. I can forgive you for getting it wrong but that can't happen when we're around others." He looked back at the small escort of Martell household troops a fair distance away all mounted and gleaming in the sun. "While we can expect our closest allies to not go flapping their mouths to Robert Baratheon, we can't leave such a thing to chance. Even less so regarding servants and travellers to whatever court we visit. There're even some Dornish houses I'd be careful around."

"What houses might these be? Isn't Dorne united under Uncle Doran?" Surely we can expect their help when we take up arms. I was told all of Dorne was angry when Mother wasn't crowned Queen of Love and Beauty and, in the books, they all wanted war with the Lannisters after hearing of her fate.

"What kingdom is wholly united under their lord?" the Red Viper asked me with a raised eyebrow. "All houses have rivals for their positions. Even houses that stand as high as kings and emperors and those as lowly as knightly houses. Even smallfolk have their own game of thrones being played amongst themselves." He pulled out his waterskin, took a swig, and offered me the sack. I refused. He shrugged and put it back. "I was told you're well-educated and wiser than most. What houses do you think are more loyal to House Martell?"

It didn't take me long to answer. "The houses closest to Sunspear and the broken arm of Dorne. They have more of the Rhoynar in them. I assume Houses Dalt, Torland, Jordayne and Allyrion . . . at least I assume so. There are also the Orphans of the Greenblood who're more Rhoynish than anyone else in Dorne and Trystane's sworn shield is an Orphan. Prince Doran should trust them a fair bit for that to be the case."

"Very observant. What about House Blackmont?"

"Uh . . . I think they'll be loyal to Uncle Doran. They're further away so maybe not as much, but they do hold an important position and the head of their house is a woman as is her heir. They'd be more predisposed to support Dornish law and the Rhoynish way of life. That aligns them with House Martell rather than Yronwood which is more influenced by the Andals and their line of succession which favours men."

"Wise. Very wise. I can assume you know which are the less trusted houses then."

"House Yronwood of course. They're the second most powerful dynasty in Dorne and have tried to take Sunspear numerous times throughout history. They ruled the largest kingdom in Dorne at one point and never forget they once wore crowns. They also sided with House Blackfyre during the First Blackfyre Rebellion. The Black Dragon offered them Dorne in return for their support, and they did so by holding back Prince Maron Martell's armies from joining their banners to those of the Iron Throne."

"The obvious answer. Are there any others?"

That required more thought to be put into it. "House Santagar? I know Princess Arianne is close to Lady Sylva Santagar, but that can be expected as to build closer relations. House Santagar has traditionally been an Andalic House and still follows many of those traditions. Not to mention Ser Aron Santagar serves as Master-at-Arms for the Red Keep under House Baratheon. One of the so-called olive branches Lord Jon Arryn tried to give Dorne but not House Martell. Are they untrustworthy?"

"Not as disloyal as the Yronwoods but not exactly trustworthy either. They have a closer ear to House Baratheon than any other house in Dorne and their history doesn't make them look favourably upon our traditions. Who else?"

Biting my lip now, I asked, "House Dayne?"

"What makes you say that?"

"I assume they're like House Yronwood. They're a powerful house. Not the most powerful but they were kings once and are more ancient than House Nymerios Martell. Not to mention their lands are rich and fertile for they are watered by the Torrentine River." I grinned at my knowledge of Dornish geopolitics and just how better this mind was at remembering stuff than my previous one. If it was anything like my preceding brain, I'd be stuttering and taking long pauses to recall everything. I put it down to the lack of electronics and the need to remember much more information.

"That's an interesting assumption. But don't you think they might be closer considering Lady Ashara and your aunt are close friends?"

"That might play a part, but I don't think Lord Alester of Starfall would care much if he was ambitious enough. He's betrothed his sister, Lady Allyria Dayne, off to Lord Beric Dondarrion of Blackhaven so you could make an argument he wouldn't mind closer relations with the Stormlands and the Iron Throne. He's also the eldest son, and his son Edric Dayne will come after him. You can say he's more sympathetic to the Andalic line of succession than the Rhoynish one."

That wasn't forgetting House Dayne wasn't a Rhoynish house. It was a First Men House. They might have had a healthy infusion of Andalic customs throughout its history, but the First Men were much more sexist regarding inheritance. House Stark never had a lady ruling Winterfell and actively made a point to skip over whatever woman they had for an uncle, nephew or distant cousin. From what I saw, House Dayne was much more sympathetic to the traditions of those further to the north. Considering much of the conflicts in Dorne were more ethnic and cultural, that'd put them against House Martell during such conflict.

"Do you think Alester is an ambitious lord?"

"I'm afraid I don't know the man. I'm more knowledgeable about his sister and how she's close to Princess Elia. But the lordship himself? I . . . I'm afraid I cannot say."

It didn't matter all that much, though. I didn't think he'd be alive for much longer. He was dead by the time Game of Thrones started where his heir Edric Dayne was lord of Starfall. A young lad currently warding for Lord Beric Dondarrion where he'll remain throughout the War of the Five Kings and join the Brotherhood without Banners. From the little I knew of Edric Dayne, he was a sweet kid and his relationship with Arya had been adorable.

"He is honourable but, as we all should know, honour doesn't mean he lacks ambition."

"He's untrustworthy then?"

"About as trustworthy as any bannerman of sizable power."

We continued riding in silence and I didn't mind all that much. I enjoyed the silence that accompanied us. It was peaceful listening to the sound of the gentle wind, the rustling of foliage and horse's shoes drumming along the road. The air was fresh. Clean. Much cleaner than the air you breathed in in jolly old England where you could taste the pollution from cars and industry and fertiliser. You could even see stars at night. They weren't obstructed by light pollution and looked so much more vivid than any night sky I'd seen before. There were so many stars as we made camp a distance from the road we were travelling. Our breath was visible thanks to the nights of Dorne being as cold as the days were hot.

It was beautiful, I decided, as I removed the saddle from Traveller and Bucephalus and the lesser mounts we would occasionally switch to.

I was a squire and before I could join the others beside the campfire, I needed to care for the horses under the careful watch of Uncle Oberyn's senior squire – Daemon Sand – who I might soon replace as his sole ward.

Together we cleaned the horses' coats, picked rocks from their shoes, and ensured they were watered and fed. I was performing much better than I had at the start of our journey. After a couple weeks on the road, going from lordship to lordship, I was slowly gaining more responsibilities. Because of my inexperience, they had me ease my toes in rather than just throw me headfirst into the pool and expect me to sort myself out as I'm sure some mentors had done with their squires. Only to then reward them with a slap to the back of the head for not knowing what they were doing.

When that was done, we feasted on roasted snake flavoured with spices. Normally I'd despise the idea of eating snakes and reptiles in general. But being forced to live in a medieval world – even as high a position in the hierarchy as I was – forced me to become much less fussy about what I consumed and if I needed to consume rattlesnake meat I was going to eat it else I go hungry. It was fortunate I wasn't a vegetarian let alone *shiver* a vegan. Funnily enough, dying was much better for my health at least as far as diet was concerned.

Oh, how things have changed.

Handing me a portion of the snake, I thanked the man and took a bite. Grease ran down my fingers and I decided it tasted like chicken. Only tougher and chewier. I spat out a tiny bone. Considering I seldom consumed snake, it wasn't that bad, but I'd put that down to the seasoning. I simply loved spicy food.

It was fortunate they decided to drain the blood as well.

From what I learned from one of the household guards by the name of Yoren, it was customary to drink the blood of a snake – usually a rattlesnake – for it was believed to increase sexual virility. And such a thing was mixed with liquor to make it more palatable. Personally, I had no desire to try that out and I was thankful Oberyn didn't pressure me to either for he consumed that a few times throughout his life. No doubt when they heard of traditions like this, it was one of the reasons northerners viewed Dorne as perverse and wrong, but I wager they had their own traditions just as strange if not stranger.

"Do you know how long it'll take to reach Yronwood?" I asked after swallowing.

One of the guardsmen poked the fire to keep it alive. "It should be nearly three hundred miles to reach House Yronwood from Sunspear. That's assuming we're heading straight as the arrow flies and not following the tracks that bend 'round hills and rivers."

"And we travel . . . we travel roughly twenty miles with horses give or take," I narrowed my eyes in concentration. That wasn't the most accurate for we needed to stop to water the mounts, switch them out so they didn't buckle from exhaustion, as well as stop so Oberyn could train me and Daemon in our duties. That wasn't to mention visiting passing holdfasts so the locals didn't forget House Martell ruled Dorne. Having a prince of Dorne was always a moment of celebration for the smallfolk and Oberyn would weigh in on their concerns and mediate any problems they had with their local lord. Three hundred divided by twenty will be . . . "If it's coherent, that'd have us visit Castle Yronwood in fifteen days and, considering we've been riding for four, that would mean we have eleven to go. Yay!"

One of the other guardsmen laughed. He was older than the others and his hair had turned salt and pepper grey. But he was among one of the better swords who matched Daemon blow for blow. "Tis a sharp mind you have there, Qoren. Is that your mother's wits or your father's?"

"I'd wager it's the latter," quickly added young Torrance Sand and he was striking for having red hair which was a rarity among the Salty Dornish. "Prince Oberyn, I might be mistaken but you visited the Citadel, correct?"

"True," the Prince confirmed with a grin made up of perfectly straight white teeth. "Qoren inherited my wits and mind but not my wisdom." That made the men laugh. "I am proud of what I've seen so far."

"Pretty good for a whore's get," laughed another soldier and I saw Oberyn's face flicker ever so slightly but where he might have thrashed the man for speaking that way of his sister under other circumstances, he instead laughed. It was a notably forced laugh. "How was Lys, lad? Heard it's beautiful to look upon, and the women as well . . ."

I never visited Lys or Essos so I couldn't say. At least Uncle Oberyn had visited a few times which included the brothels so he could in fact give me a few pointers to make it believable if anyone dared pry into my fake backstory.

"Lys . . ." I began, "Well, Lys is beautiful. But even still it cannot hold a torch to Dorne as, well, as a candle to the sun." That got the men's patriotic spirits up and they nodded in agreement with wide-open grins. "There's a reason it was founded by the Dragonlords to serve as a paradise to get away from the politics of the Freehold. It's always sunny very much like here, with forests of palms and fruit trees growing in the palaces of the wealthy. The waters surrounding Lys are blue-green and calm, abundant with fish and colourful with coral. Many go diving in the lookout for clams and pry them open for pearls."

"But what about the city?" grinned the red-headed man, leaning closer and licking his lips. "What about the brothels? Are the women as comely as they say?"

"Needless question," Yoren rolled his eyes, taking a pause from oiling his sword. "Open your bloody eyes. Have you looked upon Qoren? He's prettier than me wife and daughters. The blood of the dragon flows strong there. That should answer your blimmin' question."

"Very," I agreed with an awkward smile. "It's a beautiful city. Coloured marble and streets shaped like grids. Temples and shrines are plentiful, especially on the waterfronts. There's the red temple of R'hllor where red priests sing choruses that last into the dead of night. There's the Temple of Yndros of Twilight who's a minor deity but many brothels have small altars to her or him depending on whether it's day or night."

"What do you mean?" questioned Torrance.

"Yndros is male by day and female by night. Their followers can supposedly transform themselves from male to female and female to male in the act of love."

Kinky, Torrance's eyes seemed to say but instead said, "That sounds bloody queer to me, and wrong. Very wrong."

"Degeneracy," Old Man Trebor agreed. "Do you follow any of those gods, lad?"

"I never cared for them when I was in Lys, but when Prince Oberyn brought me to Dorne I met a septa and took the Faith of the Seven as my own. My father's gods. They are much more reasonable."

"Good lad," nodded Trebor in approval, no doubt glad I wasn't going to convert others to foreign ideas. "We might make a pious knight of you yet."

"I mean to be. It'd be wrong of me to be otherwise. Now, where was I? Oh, but the most popular is the Weeping Lady of Lys and trust me, Torrance, you're going to love her. There's no official faith in the city, but the most worshipped deity is the Weeping Lady which makes sense considering how the city was founded. The god of love and fertility, good fortune, and wealth – the latter is why she's stamped onto the coins."

"I assume she's also naked?"

I grinned at Trebor. "Not really but she might as well be. They didn't leave much to the imagination."

"Have you got one of these coins of yours?" Torrance asked and, to my surprise, he didn't add, "I'm asking for a friend."

"Sadly not."

"Typical," Torrance rolled his eyes before cracking his hands and grinning. "You've given me sweet dreams, Sand. Mayhaps when I'm wealthy I'll pay the Perfumed City a visit else I'll go on my hands and knees and beg my prince to take me with him when he visits next."

That caused Oberyn to grin slyly. "I don't mean to visit Essos for some time so I cannot help you there. Not to mention, I don't want you to grovel before me, Torrance. You're not comely enough."

That caused the others to laugh and the guardsman's ears to turn red.

I grinned but didn't think that what my uncle said was to be the case.

I didn't know what was going to happen in the future . . . well, I knew what was likely to happen according to the books, but there was always the possibility something might change. Such as me and Oberyn visiting Essos in a few years to deal with Uncle Viserys and Aunty Dany, or they might come over here. It was an interesting question I'd need to think long and hard about. Whether to let Viserys die and Daenerys suffer so I'd have the chance of getting my hands on her dragons. Otherwise, I could do the moral thing (at least regarding those two) and interfere and destroy the stations of canon by having them avoid that plotline. That'd spare Dany from being raped by Khal Drogo, and Viserys' death but it'll also mean no flying superweapons that breathed fire. Nor could my dream of having a baby dragon perched atop my shoulder become reality.

When everyone had eaten and it was time to sleep, I offered to take up the first watch. I wasn't tired despite the long day, and it was better if I pulled more of my own weight. Around us, the darkness was slowly encroaching upon our little campsite where only the campfire kept the night at bay. But when I did sleep, I'd need to check my bedroll for scorpions. The last thing I needed was to die unceremoniously to a bug. But until then, I prodded the fire and fed it further twigs to keep it alive.

Looking up, I saw Daemon still awake, staring at the fire as well. I smiled. "Can't sleep?"

Without saying anything, the older squire and soon-to-be knight sat up. Daemon Sand looked very much like a leader-type that made you want to stop and listen to him despite his youth. Tall and handsome, he had a strong chiselled jawline, sky-blue eyes and light sandy-brown hair that flowed majestically as we rode. When he smiled dimples appeared in his cheeks. Understandably, many guys grew envious, and girls turned weak at the knees, giggling nervously, and stumbling over their words.

If such a situation happened – and it did happen – where some knight somewhere saw one of the girls he was courting look longingly at Daemon, take it as a threat to their dignity and proceed to challenge the squire in the courtyard, said knight was sadly mistaken if they thought they'd thrash him. Daemon was a damn talented swordsman and could have any girl he wanted. Well, almost any girl. As is one of the unspoken rules of the universe, the girl that interested him was the one he couldn't get. He only had eyes for my cousin, and I was frankly a bit jealous Arianne felt the same way. Maybe it was the Targaryen in me, but I did have a crush on my cousin. It didn't help that she'd tease me regularly as well. And fortunately for me, Daemon Sand was too lowborn for a princess of Dorne.

"I can't sleep," the Bastard of Godsgrace unhappily told me.

"Don't trust me to keep watch?" I grinned.

"Mayhaps," Daemon smiled somewhat where his cheeks dimpled. He glanced around at the darkness like there was anything to see before sitting up. The glow of the flames caught his cheekbones and made them even more striking. If I'd had some parchment and ash with me, I might even have captured the image in a drawing, but it was unfortunate I had neither on me. "How're you finding being a squire?"

"It's different," I admitted and was telling the truth. "Different from what I expected. For starters, there're more duties than I ever thought." I laughed but kept my voice soft to avoid waking the others. Prince Oberyn wasn't a man who liked being woken. "I'd like to thank you though. Thank you for what you've done. Showing me the ropes and all that."

"Show you the ropes?"

"Oh," I felt myself blush and ran a hand through my curls. "It's a saying. It means to show someone how to do a job or task. You've shown me the ropes of being a squire and doing a marvellous job at it. I thank you and I'm in your debt."

"I'm only doing what is required of me," the bastard said, too humbly. "When I'm a knight it will be expected of me to have my own squire, and I wager I'll need to show him what to do as well. Hopefully, he won't be as slow to learn as you are." He smiled and more honestly said, "For someone who's not from Westeros you are doing very well."

"Thank you."

"But there's more to being a squire than simply caring for horses, cleaning, and maintaining your ser's equipment. More than simply oiling his spear. You will need to learn to fight. You will be a knight at some point as I'm sure you know. I haven't seen you fight. Can you?"

"I know the basics," I admitted. "Slash and stab and all that good stuff."

Daemon looked at me in silence for a moment. "I'll show you what to do. I'm sure Prince Oberyn would approve. What do you use? Sword, spear . . ."

"Sword. I know how to use one, though I doubt I'll be as proficient as you. For starters, you're older than me. Not to mention have the Red Viper tutoring you. I only know the basics, and when it comes to jousting . . . I can hold a lance and remain seated but that's about it."

"You're really behind on your education then. Tis a shame for I'm going to punish you if your father has me mentor you. Welcome to a world of hurt."

"No pain no gain," I grimaced. And no doubt I'll be given a lot of pain. "Shall I write a letter to my mother should she never see me again?"

Daemon smiled thinly but he wasn't necessarily saying I shouldn't. I decided it was best to write my will and my last words as soon as I could. Daemon looked out at the moon illuminating the night sky. It was larger than Earth's but otherwise similar. All silvery grey and covered with craters.

"Did you know there were once two?" I asked him.

"Two?"

I nodded, relaxing and leaning back so I didn't strain my neck. "The Qartheen believe dragons were hatched from the second moon. I know it's silly, but they believe that. They say it flew too close to the sun, cracked, and out flew thousands of dragons to coat the world in darkness after drinking fire from the sun. That's why dragons breathe fire, and that someday this moon will kiss the sun too and that's when dragons will return."

"I hope that never happens. The last thing we need is dragons in this world. They are monsters without equal. You just have to look at what they've done to Dorne. There are many castles where you can still see scorch marks from where one of the Conqueror's beasts set them ablaze. Before them were the dragonlords of Old Valyria. They mounted their dragons and flew across the world, destroying ancient civilisations and putting entire peoples to the sword if not enslaving them to work their fields and dig deep into the ground to never see the sun again. Look at what they did to the Rhoynar. They were destroyed and those who survived only did so because they fled here. To Dorne. Prince Oberyn told me stories of the Rhoynar. He told me of the cities that were left in the dragon's wake from his visit and how they've fallen into ruin. Maybe you should ask him yourself and ask what fate dragons had befallen all those who sought to keep their freedom. It was a good thing the dragons all died off during the Dance. Dorne certainly celebrated. That way no more will be forced to submit to the dragon's yoke, Aegon Targaryen."