[10] Dorne, Sunspear
Chapter 10: Dorne, Sunspear
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The morning mist clung to the ship as it cut through the water, the distant silhouette of Volantis fading into a faint smudge on the horizon.
I leaned on the deck’s railing, the cool ocean breeze slipping through my hair, carrying the last traces of Volantis with it. It had a strange way of pulling my mind back, if only for a moment, making me think about the power I’d gathered there and the alliances I’d secured.
I watched the city shrink, its temples and towers dissolving into the haze. No part of me felt nostalgic. I’d done what I needed to, and that place was behind me now.
Viserion flew around me, soaring the sea, catching a fish with her claws. She was growing. She grew faster when I let her out. Tyrion Lannister’s theory about the caged dragons might be true, after all…
Footsteps clicked against the deck, breaking my thoughts. I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was. Kinvara’s presence was almost a tangible heat radiating before she even reached my side.
“Missing Volantis already?” she teased, her voice as light as the breeze.
A laugh escaped me. “Shouldn’t I be asking you that? It’s the home to your church, after all,” I said, glancing down at her. “I wasn’t exactly expecting you to tag along.”
“Oh my king, why will I not tag along? Any other Priestess can do the church's work. But this matter can only come to fruit through me…” she leaned against me, her hand trailing up to rest on my shoulder, fingers pressing just enough to remind me she wasn’t fragile. “I’m hurt. Are you already pushing me away?” Her eyes glinted with mischief. “Or are you just so eager to meet your little fiancée?”
“Heh. I’m glad you’re coming along,” I replied, my gaze drifting back to the open water. “I’m going to need your powers, Kinvara. And as for my fiancée… well, we’ll see.”
“Oh please,” she said, giggling as she pushed herself against my body.
Princess Arianne Martell wasn’t a character I was familiar with. She was a character that only existed in the A Song of Ice and Fire Books, not in the Game of Thrones TV show.
But my nerd of a friend back in my old life had once mentioned her in passing, describing Arianne Martell with no small amount of enthusiasm. Apparently, she was… an eager girl, someone who found her way around men even before she’d come of age.
Well, what did I expect from a Dornish woman? Absolute whores.
My mind drifted briefly. I wasn’t walking into Dorne expecting a delicate flower. Still, the engagement… Whether it could be rekindled? I didn't think so. I didn't want to, anyway. Her reputation aside, she had a personality problem. She was a brat.
The name “Viserys Targaryen” will soon be far larger than Dorne. So why must I tie myself down to a Dornish princess then? The marriage of The Viserys Targaryen can be used as a negotiating tool in the future. So, I was leaning towards not letting the engagement relight. But we'll see.
Kinvara shifted, her body pressing closer, eyes holding that teasing gleam. “Aren’t you worried?” I said, smirking. “The men are staring. What will they think, seeing a priestess behaving like this?”
“Mhm… Let them think whatever they want. Unless their stares scare you?” Her voice was low, and her hand trailed down my chest as though daring me to make a move.
A scoff left my lips as I lifted my hand, letting it fall with a swift spank across her curvy ass. She gasped, arching toward me, her smirk deepening as my hand lingered, squeezing her firmly.
“Let’s take this to my chambers,” I murmured, grabbing her hand and leading her below deck. She laughed softly, her fingers lacing with mine as I pulled her through the narrow corridor, pushing open the door to the dim room.
I let her go, watching as she staggered a step, her lips curved in a challenging smirk. Without a word, I shoved her back onto the bed, her robes falling in disarray around her as she hit the mattress.
“Ah!” she gasped, looking shocked, and then giggled. “Oh, the dragon’s aggressive today,” she said, and my eyes traced her form. The cloth slipped from her shoulder, baring just enough to stir that heat.
She looked up, the shadows of the room casting her eyes in a dark gleam, her smile daring me.
I didn’t need a second invitation as I yanked her clothes apart and started ravaging her into a moaning mess.
****
The desert seemed endless, a vast sea of dunes that had carried us for days. The sun was a half-buried coin on the horizon, painting the sands in shades of gold and red. Ahead, Sunspear finally took shape, its towers breaking the sky like the jagged teeth of some ancient beast. From this distance, it felt unreal—half mirage, half-truth.
I kept my face wrapped, a piece of cloth hiding everything but my eyes, while the wig scratched against my scalp. Beside me, Kinvara rode in silence, her form cloaked from head to toe, her presence subdued. Neither she nor I wanted to catch attention. We were shadows in the desert, trailing behind Prince Oberyn and Ellaria Sand, while the Second Sons followed in disciplined silence.
Oberyn cast a glance back, catching my gaze with a smirk. “Quite the sight, isn’t it?” His voice was tinged with pride. I could understand why. “That is Sunspear, my home. She’s protected on three sides by the sea and on the fourth by the Shadow City. To those who don’t belong, she’s a labyrinth, a trap. But to the Dornishmen, she’s as open as the sky.”
I watched the city grow closer, the walls high as if to touch the sky. “A meticulous work of art,” I replied, and it was a genuine compliment. It was an Arabian masterpiece of a city from the Middle Ages. “Your home’s a painting, Prince.”
Oberyn’s smirk deepened at my words. Compliments did charming work on anyone. “That’s one way of putting it. But as beautiful as Dorne is, the Dornishmen are strong. We’re survivors. And our enemies always make the mistake of forgetting that.”
He liked to talk about his people, and I was glad to humor him since those same men were going to fight for me soon. We traveled the rest of the path in small talk.
As we approached, the outer city—Sunspear’s shadow—unfolded around us. Narrow streets wound like veins, packed with people who stopped to watch us pass. They whispered to each other, some even calling out Oberyn’s name. They adored the man.
Eyes lingered on our procession, a curious gaze that only grew sharper as they noticed the armed men marching in our wake. But there was no fear, not with Oberyn at the head.
The Dornish held him in their gaze as one would watch the desert sun—daring it to burn them but never turning away. If not for his adventurous nature, Prince Oberyn would have ruled Dorne far better than his brother.
We reached the gates soon after that as Oberyn spoke. “That imposing structure is the Threefold Gate,” he said, nudging his chin toward the structure that had doors stacked like shields guarding the heart of Sunspear. “The Old Palace looms beyond. Can you see?”
“I can,” I nodded. The royal castle’s spires reached up like defiant fists, crowned by the Spear Tower and the great domed Tower of the Sun. The weight of Dorne’s legacy pressed down on us as we rode forward.
[Image Here]
A guard stepped out from the gate, bowing low as he addressed Oberyn. “Welcome back, Prince Oberyn,” he greeted, the respect in his voice clear, though his eyes flicked briefly over the rest of us, lingering on the Second Sons. “Shall I arrange quarters for… your company?”
Oberyn chuckled, dismissing the formality with a wave. “Yes, make sure they’re shown to proper quarters. They’re the men of this important friend I’ve brought alone, and I don’t want my men getting lost in the alleys. Wouldn’t want them spooking the locals, now would we?”
Daario Naharis took that as his cue, guiding his horse to my side with a chuckle. His gaze, as usual, bordered on insolence. “My lord,” he murmured, bowing his head with that exaggerated flourish of his. “You know where to find me should you need me.”
I gave him a brief nod, and he pulled back, blending into the parade as the guards guided the Second Sons to the place they’d be staying. In the meantime, some other guards moved to escort us toward the Old Palace.
“Beautiful place,” Kinvara brought her horse closer and said.
“First time coming here?” I asked.
She shook her head. “No. I’ve visited Dorne before… a long time ago.” She said and smiled at me, making me raise an eyebrow.
We stayed close, silent, as we entered the palace grounds, leaving the sounds of the city behind. Within the walls, Sunspear’s age and legacy seemed to seep from every stone, like a silent declaration that it would endure long after we were gone.
“Welcome,” Oberyn turned to me and said. “To the Old Castle.”
The air was thick with the scent of incense, mingling with the faint trace of flowers from hidden gardens. The halls swallowed sound, our steps muffled as if the palace itself held its breath. And then we reached the chamber, where Doran Martell sat waiting—a man carved by the years, his body confined to a wheelchair, yet his gaze as sharp and watchful as a hawk.
Beside him stood a giant of a man, dark-skinned. Areo Hotah noticed my gaze and stared back. He was as tall as the Hound but larger. Quite imposing to look at.
Oberyn dismounted with fluid grace, spreading his arms wide, his grin full of boyish mischief that belied his age. “Brother,” he called, his voice warm.
“Oberyn, you’re back from your vacation,” Doran Martell smiled at his younger brother, his gaze flickering to Ellaria who nodded in respect. “I thought you’d remain there for a bit longer.”
“I was planning to. But after hearing the situation in Westeros, the one too many people calling themselves ‘kings,’ I couldn’t remain still,” Oberyn said and then grinned. “Brother, I bring you a gift. One so precious I didn’t dare trust the news to a raven.”
Doran’s gaze moved from Oberyn to us, his expression unreadable. His eyes lingered on Kinvara, and I saw the flicker of unease in his face. She slowly took off the robe that hid her face, and Doran’s eyes widened. He tried to hide his reaction but didn’t quite succeed.
“A Red Priestess,” he murmured, his tone carefully neutral, though the distaste wasn’t lost on me. The Dornishmen worshiped the Seven Gods, after all.
Kinvara only smiled, inclining her head with a serenity that bordered on mockery. “The Lord of Light’s blessings upon you, Prince Doran,” she said softly, her voice smooth as silk but carrying an edge that made Doran’s fingers twitch on the armrest of his chair.
I smirked at that exchange. I was starting to like her antics. Much of her priest talk was just jabbing at people, it was funny. Thankfully, my face was hidden, so the smirk went unnoticed.
Doran inclined his head in acknowledgment, his eyes wary. But then his gaze turned to me, curiosity mingling with suspicion as he looked into my eyes. “I assume it’s him who’s the gift?” He said, dismissing the idea that Kinvara could be the said gift.
“Yes, it is him,” Oberyn said, turning to me. I slowly took off the cloth that wrapped my face. I let it fall, watching Doran stare at me carefully. He didn’t recognize me yet. Then I reached for the edge of the wig. With a single motion, I pulled it free, letting my silver hair fall loose, the stark color catching the torchlight.
Gasps rippled through the guards, a whisper of recognition passing through the air. Prince Doran’s eyes trembled.
I took a step forward, meeting Doran’s gaze directly, a faint smile playing on my lips. “Prince Doran,” I greeted, bowing my head slightly.
“He’s Viserys Targaryen, the blood of the Conqueror,” Kinvara stepped forward to introduce me. I liked that. The words lost their weight if I was the one to introduce myself all the time. “He’s come here not as a stranger but as an old friend.”
The silence that followed was absolute, the weight of my words settling like stone. Doran’s expression tightened, his gaze cutting through me like a blade. His eyes held mine, and for a moment, I could see the conflict there, the way his mind turned over the implications. And then, with a small, resigned nod, he accepted the truth of what stood before him.
Something big was going to hit Westeros—even the cripple Prince could tell.
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Author Note: Ayy, bonus chapter!
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