Doran Martell held up the letter in his hand, the parchment crackling beneath his fingers as he sat in his wheeled chair within the Tower of the Sun. The afternoon light shone through the stained glass windows, casting warm patterns on the polished marble floor. His family gathered around him - Oberyn sprawled lazily across a cushioned bench, Quentyn standing stiffly at attention, and Arianne perched on the edge of her seat, her dark eyes fixed intently on the letter.

"Our enemies are moving," Doran said, his voice measured and calm. "Our spies in the capital report Robert Baratheon prepares to travel north in a month's time."

Oberyn snorted, twirling a dagger between his fingers. "The fat king bestirs himself at last. What has drawn him from his wine and whores?"

Doran studied his younger brother's face, noting the dangerous glint in Oberyn's eyes. The Red Viper's casual posture belied the tension Doran could read in his shoulders. His own gout-ridden fingers tightened on the armrest of his wheeled chair as he considered how to proceed.

"We have watched the North's transformation these past four years," Doran said. "Their trade with Essos has grown year by year More significantly, they no longer purchase grain from the Reach."

Arianne leaned forward, her jewelry catching the light. "The Tyrells must be furious. Their greatest source of influence, gone."

"Indeed." Doran's gaze returned to Oberyn. His voice dropped, heavy with implications. "But now our spies report something far more concerning. The North possesses weapons of magical nature. Blades of ice that freeze at a cut, if the reports are correct."

Quentyn shifted uncomfortably. "Surely these are just tales, Father?"

"No." Doran unfolded another letter. "Our most reliable source in King's Landing confirms it. A demonstration was made before the Small Council - a dagger that freezes whatever it touches. This has frightened the Baratheon court enough that Robert himself rides North to investigate."

Oberyn's dagger stopped spinning. "The usurper leaves his throne. How... interesting."

"The North's sudden rise troubles many," Doran continued. "Four years ago, they could barely feed themselves through winter. Now they export preserved foods that last months without spoiling. Their ships outmatch even the Redwyne fleet. And behind it all stands one man apparently - Owen Longshore, who appeared from some northern fishing village and married Stark's eldest daughter."

"He is the one who makes these magical weapons?" Arianne asked.

Doran nodded, his dark eyes studying his daughter's face. "Had Eddard Stark not moved so swiftly to secure this Owen Longshore through marriage to his eldest daughter, I would have proposed a match with Arianne, if I had known of him anyway."

A smirk played across Arianne's full lips at the notion, though she remained silent, her fingers toying with one of her gold bracelets. The evening light caught the sun-and-spear pattern etched into the metal.

Oberyn pushed himself up from his lounging position, his face darkening. "Give our precious jewel of Dorne to some upstart northerner? Brother, your caution has finally addled your wits." He stalked across the room, his movements fluid and predatory. "Need I remind you these are the same northerners who helped the usurper steal the throne? Who stood by while Elia and her children were butchered?"

The pain of old wounds flickered across Doran's face, but his voice remained steady. "I speak of what might have been, brother. The possibility is already lost to us." He shifted in his chair, attempting to find a position that eased the constant ache in his joints. "Though perhaps that is for the best. The North grows stronger by the day, yet they remain Robert's most loyal supporters. Any alliance there would have been... complicated."

"Complicated?" Oberyn spat the word. "It would be an insult to Dorne itself. Our Arianne deserves better than to be shipped off to freeze among those northern barbarians, no matter how many magical weapons this Longshore can craft."

Doran watched his brother's rage with patient eyes, understanding the familiar pain that drove it. The evening shadows had lengthened across the marble floor, and the air grew heavy with unspoken grief.

"You forget, brother," Doran said quietly, "that Eddard Stark was one of the few who demanded justice for Elia and her children. When he entered that throne room and saw their broken bodies, he called for the Mountain's and Lorch's head. He demanded Tywin Lannister be stripped of his lordship for ordering such barbarity."

Oberyn's pacing stopped. His hand gripped the dagger's hilt so tightly his knuckles whitened, but Doran could see the slight tremor in his brother's shoulders.

"He did nothing after Robert refused," Oberyn said sourly, though some of the venom had left his voice. "If he truly cared for justice, he should have turned against the Baratheon the moment he protected those murderers."

Doran sighed, feeling the weight of those old decisions press down upon him like a physical burden. "It was not that simple, Oberyn. You know this."

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with two decades of carefully laid plans and patient vengeance. Quentyn and Arianne remained silent, watching their father and uncle's exchange with grave attention.

Doran watched the subtle shift in Oberyn's stance, the way his brother's shoulders loosened slightly as he finally spoke.

"Perhaps Stark was not entirely to blame," Oberyn admitted, though the words seemed to cost him. "But until he turns cloak against that drunken usurper, he and his North cannot be trusted." His fingers drummed against the dagger's hilt. "Magic weapons or no."

Arianne and Quentyn nodded in agreement, their faces reflecting the deep-rooted mistrust of the Starks that had been bred into them since childhood. Doran noted how his daughter's eyes gleamed with curiosity despite her apparent agreement.

Doran sighed, adjusting his position in the wheeled chair as another spike of pain shot through his joints. "In any case, Owen Longshore is beyond our grasp for now." He paused, watching their reactions carefully. "Though perhaps we should also make our presence known at Winterfell, to see where loyalties truly lie."

All three pairs of eyes fixed on him with sudden interest. Arianne leaned forward, her jewelry chiming softly with the movement. "What do you mean, Father?"

Doran looked to the letter again, smoothing the creased parchment with his aching fingers. "What I mean is that we are not alone in receiving such information. Every major house in the Seven Kingdoms will no doubt have heard what transpired in the Small Council chambers by now."

He gestured to a stack of reports on the table beside him. "The Tyrells already move - their ships try to shadow Northern vessels, trying to learn their secrets though to no avail it seems. Tywin Lannister's gold flows freely through the North's border towns, trying to buy what little information he can though again my own reports suggest all he gets is frustration. Even the Tullys, despite their blood ties to the Starks, send ravens demanding explanations for the prosperity of their northern neighbors."

Oberyn's lip curled. "So the vultures circle."

"Indeed." Doran's dark eyes swept across his family members. "When Robert Baratheon rides North, he will not ride alone. Every great house will send representatives to Winterfell, each with their own agenda. Some will come with complaints of lost trade, others with hopes of securing their own piece of this new Northern wealth."

Arianne shifted in her seat, her brow furrowing. "The North has always been isolated, content to remain separate from the realm's politics. Why would they reveal such power now?"

"Perhaps they didn't intend to," Doran replied. "But wealth, like blood in water, draws sharks from leagues away. This Owen Longshore may have transformed the North with his weapons and perhaps more if some of the rumors on these papers are to be believed, but in doing so, he has drawn the eye of every power in Westeros."

Quentyn cleared his throat. "And what of Dorne, Father? Will we join this... pilgrimage to Winterfell?"

Doran's fingers traced the sun-and-spear seal on one of the letters. "We must. To do otherwise would mark us as either too weak or too proud to participate in this game. Neither perception serves our interests."

Doran watched his brother's face carefully as understanding dawned in Oberyn's dark eyes. The Red Viper's expression shifted from contemplative to predatory, a familiar gleam appearing that reminded Doran of countless schemes they'd hatched together over the years.

"So we will go and see if we can make Stark our new ally," Oberyn mused, his voice dropping to a dangerous purr. "See if we can break the iron wall that protects the usurper?"

Doran inclined his head, pleased that Oberyn had caught the deeper implications without need for explicit discussion. Years of working together had taught them the value of subtle communication, especially when discussing matters of such delicacy for their vengeance.

"Like everyone else, we will discover how the North has grown," Doran confirmed, his measured tone masking the calculations running through his mind, "and if they will be open to partnering in their ventures or sharing their weapons, even if it means buying them at high cost."

He paused, letting his gaze drift across the ornate chamber before settling on his son. Quentyn stood straight-backed and attentive, waiting for his father's words with the patient dedication that sometimes-made Doran's heart ache. So different from his uncle, yet no less valuable in his own way.

"At the same time, perhaps we can see if a more stable and permanent bond can be found." Doran's eyes remained fixed on his son. "The Starks still have an unmarried daughter. You will go, my son, and see if she would be amiable to marriage."

Quentyn's face remained composed, though Doran noted the slight tightening around his eyes - the only outward sign of whatever emotions might be churning beneath his controlled exterior. His son gave a formal bow, every inch the dutiful heir Doran had raised him to be.

"For Dorne and the family, I will, Father," Quentyn responded firmly.

Doran nodded, pleased by his son's immediate acceptance of the task. "Good."

Doran turned his attention to his brother and daughter, noting how the evening light caught the dangerous glint in both their eyes. So alike in their passions, these two, though they expressed it differently. Where Oberyn's anger burned hot and immediate, Arianne's simmered beneath a carefully cultivated facade of charm.

"You, Ellaria and daughters will also go, Oberyn." Doran watched his brother's reaction carefully. "And you, Arianne."

Oberyn's eyebrows rose slightly, but Doran continued before he could interject. "Robb Stark may be married just as Owen Longshore, but that doesn't mean neither can't be convinced to take a lover on the side. Either you or your cousins may catch their eye."

Arianne's full lips curved into a dangerous smirk, reminding Doran so much of Oberyn in that moment that it almost made him smile. Almost.

"It would be good to travel Westeros for a while," she purred, her fingers still playing with her bracelet. "See some new sights."

Doran nodded, knowing he wouldn't need to convince her much to seduce anyone. When it came to such matters, Arianne seemed to revel in her beauty and power over men. He had seen it countless times - the way she wielded her charms like a finely honed blade, leaving besotted men in her wake. It was a talent that, while sometimes concerning to him as a father, could prove invaluable in gathering intelligence as much as it irked him that it was his only daughter doing it.

He looked at Oberyn. "Be sure to take plenty of guards and perhaps a few ladies and second sons from some other houses. Better to have plenty of witnesses to whatever the North is doing and plenty of eyes to gather information."

Oberyn lounged back against the wall, his dark eyes glittering with understanding. The Red Viper had always excelled at gathering information through unconventional means. Between his daughters, Arianne's charms, and a carefully selected group of noble witnesses, they would have eyes and ears everywhere in Winterfell.

"I'll speak with the Dalts and Santagars maybe even the Dayne's," Oberyn said. "Their second sons are clever enough to notice details without drawing attention to themselves. And the Blackmont girls have been pestering their parents about seeing the North."

Doran nodded as he considered the suggestions. The Blackmont sisters were indeed a good choice - pretty enough to turn heads, but with sharp minds behind their lovely faces. And the younger sons of those houses had proven themselves discrete in past matters.

His joints were aching fiercely now, but he pushed the pain aside to focus on the delicate political maneuvering ahead.

"The royal party won't depart for at least a month, possibly two," he continued. "They'll need time to prepare for such a journey. The other great houses will coordinate their travel to coincide with the king's party." His lips curved slightly. "Though I suspect the Tullys won't wait that long. Once they confirm Robert's intentions, they'll likely be the first to arrive at Winterfell, eager to understand what their northern neighbors have been keeping from them."

Oberyn pushed away from the wall, his movements fluid and purposeful. "How soon do you want us to leave?"

"Make your preparations and gather who you need. We'll arrange passage from Planky Town to White Harbor." Doran's fingers traced the edge of his wheeled chair. "I'll send a letter to Winterfell expressing our desire to 'mend ties.' No doubt they've already received similar missives from other houses - everyone playing at courtesy while plotting to advance their own interests as soon as they reach winterfell."

Arianne rose gracefully, her jewelry catching the light. "I'll speak with the Blackmont sisters personally. They'll be more amenable if the invitation comes from me."

"Good." Doran nodded approvingly. "Quentyn, work with your uncle to select appropriate guards and witnesses from the noble houses. Choose carefully - we need eyes and ears that can observe without drawing attention."

Quentyn bowed slightly. "Yes, Father. I'll consult with Ser Deziel Dalt first. His younger brother would make an excellent addition to our party."

"The Daynes might be worth approaching as well," Oberyn suggested once more. "Edric is young, but he's sharp. And having the last sword of the morning's nephew in our party lends a certain legitimacy to our... peaceful intentions. Perhaps Gerold as well."

Doran watched his family begin to mobilize, each falling naturally into their roles in this elaborate dance of politics and power. His fingers pressed against his throbbing knee, but his mind remained sharp, calculating the countless variables that could affect their mission.

"One more thing," he said, causing them all to pause. "Remember - we are not the only ones who will be watching Winterfell closely. Every movement, every word, every alliance formed or spurned will be noted and reported back to interested parties throughout the realm. Act accordingly."

His family nodded, understanding the weight of his warning. As they filed out to begin their preparations, Doran allowed himself a moment to close his eyes, feeling the constant pain that plagued him. The game was changing, pieces moving across the board in new and unexpected ways. Whether this northern development would help or hinder their long-laid plans remained to be seen, but they had to be present to seize any opportunity that arose.

Just when Arianne and Quentyn had left the solar, Oberyn turned to follow, but Doran's quiet voice stopped him.

"Wait, brother." Doran shifted in his wheeled chair, the constant pain making his movements deliberate. "What of the Targaryens?"

Oberyn paused at the doorway, his hand resting on the ornate handle. "Where did you last see them?"

Oberyn shrugged, his casual gesture belying the gravity of the subject. "When I was last in Essos, they had been turned away from Volantis. Word was they sought passage either to Braavos or Pentos." His dark eyes narrowed. "The girl grows more beautiful by the day, they say. Like her mother."

Doran nodded slowly, his fingers drumming against the arm of his chair. "It coincides with what my contact in King's Landing reports."

Oberyn's posture changed subtly, the lounging grace giving way to a predator's focused attention. "Do you truly trust him, brother? The Spider weaves webs within webs, and his true loyalties remain as secretive as his methods."

A heavy sigh escaped Doran's lips as he considered his brother's question. The pain in his joints seemed to intensify with the weight of their discussion. "I trust him... for now." His dark eyes met Oberyn's. "The eunuch will have my full support only when Elia is avenged, and the Targaryens sit once more upon the Iron Throne - preferably with a Martell as queen or king consort."

Another sharp pain wound through Doran's gout-ridden body, causing him to actually flinch. Oberyn moved forward in concern, but Doran waved him off. The pain was familiar now, almost an old friend after so many years. It reminded him daily of the patience required for their carefully laid plans.

"Our vengeance for Elia will come soon, brother," Doran said steadily, mastering the agony that threatened to crack his composure. "Her and the souls of her children will rest once Tywin and his ilk are dead upon Dornish spears."

Oberyn nodded, his dark eyes gleaming with the same controlled fury that had burned there for nearly two decades. "For Elia," he said softly. "Always."

The words hung between them, heavy with shared grief and purpose. And a promise.

A promise of Revenge.