Chapter 5: Sands of Destiny

The sun blazed high above the endless sands of Dorne, casting its relentless heat across the barren landscape. The scorching winds whipped at the ground, carrying with them the taste of dust and salt from the sea. Arthur Dayne rode steadily through the arid terrain, his eyes focused on the distant horizon. Every muscle in his body ached from days of ceaseless travel, but he pressed on, determined. In his arms, swaddled in cloth and held close to his chest, lay the future of a shattered kingdom—Aegon Targaryen, the last son of Rhaegar Targaryen.

The journey had been long, fraught with danger, but now, finally, the familiar walls of Starfall—the ancestral seat of House Dayne—came into view. Perched along the edge of the mountains, overlooking the Torentine River, the castle's pale stone walls seemed to glow beneath the unforgiving sun. It had been many years since Arthur had last set foot here. Much had changed. He had changed.

The gates of Starfall creaked open as Arthur approached, flanked by the violet and silver banners of House Dayne. The guards, though familiar with him, cast curious glances toward the bundle in his arms. Their lord, the Sword of the Morning, had returned home—but not alone.

Inside the courtyard, Ser Gerold Dayne, Arthur's uncle and the master-at-arms of Starfall, stood waiting. His once-black hair had turned stark white with age, but his eyes were as sharp and calculating as ever. He stepped forward as Arthur dismounted, his gaze shifting from his nephew to the small child in his arms.

"Arthur," Gerold greeted, his voice gravelly. "It's been too long since we've seen you at Starfall."

Arthur nodded in acknowledgment but didn't waste time on pleasantries. "There's much to explain, Uncle. But first, we must send a message to Prince Doran at Sunspear. I've brought... someone of great importance."

Gerold's brow furrowed, his eyes narrowing as they darted toward the child. He had seen many strange things in his years as a knight, but the sight of Arthur, one of the most legendary swordsmen in the realm, carrying an infant across the burning sands of Dorne was enough to give even him pause. But he asked no questions—Gerold knew better than that.

"I'll have a messenger sent immediately," Gerold said, motioning to one of the servants nearby. "Come inside. You look half-dead from the journey."

Arthur followed his uncle into the castle, where the familiar scent of cool stone and the sound of rushing water from the nearby river greeted him. For the first time in what felt like ages, he felt a brief moment of relief. Starfall, with its ancient halls and quiet solitude, had always been a place of strength and solace. Now, it would serve as a temporary sanctuary—for both him and Aegon.

Once inside, Arthur sat near the hearth, feeding Aegon with the care of a man who had learned quickly to manage the needs of a child. The boy's quiet demeanor was a blessing; Aegon was peaceful, unaware of the storm brewing around him.

Gerold watched them from a distance, his mind no doubt racing with questions. But he knew better than to pry—Arthur's return with this child spoke of something far more delicate and dangerous than mere words could capture.

Several days later – Sunspear

The road from Starfall to Sunspear was long and winding, but Arthur had made the journey in silence, his mind focused on the task ahead. Dorne's capital, with its imposing towers and the shimmering waters of the Narrow Sea beyond, represented a beacon of power in the south, and Prince Doran Martell was one of the most cautious and calculating rulers in Westeros.

Arthur rode through the gates of Sunspear with purpose, Aegon still concealed beneath his cloak. Though the journey had offered moments of quiet, he knew that what awaited him within Sunspear's walls would change everything. Doran Martell—ever patient, ever watchful—would now learn the truth of what had happened at the Tower of Joy.

Upon entering the palace, Arthur was led into a private hall where Doran awaited. The Prince of Dorne, seated on a low dais surrounded by his closest advisors, looked up as Arthur entered. His gaze was steady, but the curiosity in his eyes was unmistakable.

"Ser Arthur Dayne," Doran greeted, his voice as calm and measured as always. "It has been a long time since we last spoke. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?"

Arthur bowed his head slightly in respect, then stepped forward, still cradling the child close. He knew that every word he was about to speak would carry enormous weight.

"My prince," Arthur began, his voice grave. "I have come from the Tower of Joy... and I bring someone who must be kept secret. Someone of great importance."

Doran's gaze shifted to the bundle in Arthur's arms. His eyes narrowed, and his expression grew more serious. "You've brought a child? Explain yourself, Ser Arthur. Who is this?"

Arthur took a deep breath, knowing that once he revealed the truth, there would be no going back. "This is Aegon Targaryen, the son of Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. The last true heir of House Targaryen."

The room fell into a stunned silence. The advisors standing near Doran exchanged nervous glances, but Doran himself remained still, his eyes fixed on the child. The mention of Rhaegar's name, combined with the revelation of a living heir, weighed heavily in the air.

For a long moment, Doran did not speak. His mind, as sharp as ever, was clearly processing what this could mean. He had loved his sister, Elia, and her marriage to Rhaegar had once been a bond that tied Dorne to the Targaryens. That bond had been broken in blood and fire. Now, standing before him, was the last thread of that legacy.

"Aegon Targaryen lives?" Doran finally said, his voice low but controlled. He rose slowly from his seat, approaching Arthur with measured steps. "How is this possible? All believed him lost... after the Trident."

Arthur met Doran's gaze steadily. "Few knew of the child, my prince. His birth was kept secret, even from those loyal to the Targaryens. Only those present at the Tower of Joy knew the truth. I swore to protect him, and I have done so—until now."

Doran stood before Arthur, his eyes narrowing as he studied the child. Aegon, still asleep, seemed peaceful despite the storm of emotions swirling around him. "So you bring him here, to Sunspear, expecting... what, Ser Arthur? That we can hide him forever? That this secret will never come to light?"

Arthur shook his head. "I don't expect to hide him forever. But for now, he must remain safe, and there are few places safer than Dorne. With your help, he can be raised in secret, away from those who would seek his death. When the time is right... when he is ready... Aegon can reclaim what is rightfully his."

Doran's expression hardened, his eyes glinting with both resolve and uncertainty. The weight of this decision was immense, and he knew it. To shelter Aegon Targaryen would place Dorne in the crosshairs of any who sought to maintain the status quo. But Dorne had never shied away from defiance, especially where it concerned vengeance for Elia.

"Very well," Doran said at last, his voice soft but firm. "We will shelter the boy. For now, he will remain here, under our protection. But we must proceed carefully, Arthur. The boy's existence cannot be known—not yet. The game of thrones is not one we play lightly."

Arthur bowed his head, relief washing over him. Aegon was safe, for now.

"As you wish, my prince," Arthur replied. "But know this—when the time comes, I will not hesitate. Aegon will be ready to claim his birthright, and I will stand by him, as I stood by his father."

Doran nodded, his face unreadable. "Let us hope that when that time comes, Westeros is ready for the return of a Targaryen."