[118] The Dragon on the Sun Throne

Chapter 118: The Dragon on the Sun Throne

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I strode into the cavernous throne room of Sunspear, my footsteps echoing against the polished marble floors.

The space was impressive—all soaring columns and intricate Rhoynish mosaics depicting ancient battles and mythical water magic. Sunlight streamed through high, narrow windows, casting long fingers of light across the chamber's cool expanse.

Yara marched behind me, her leather armor squeaking softly as she moved. The gleam in her eyes was full of amusement, accompanied by a hunger for battle which did not break out, making her all the more attractive. Twenty of her Ironborn reavers flanked her, grim-faced men with salt-crusted beards and weathered skin, hands never straying far from their weapons.

"Quite the palace they've got here," Yara muttered, her eyes sweeping the ornate ceiling. "Though I prefer the smell of salt water to all this perfume."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," I replied. "We won't be staying long."

On my other side walked Dany, her head going around as she took in the beauty of the desert castle.

Her eyes glinted with appreciation at the display of Dornish wealth. "I always thought the desert country was a poor one," she said, her wings twitching a little. "It's a pity I never got to see the palace before. I'd have redesigned my abode in Meereen with inspiration this gorgeous.”

"Focus, Dany," I warned. "We're here for a reason."

Yara watched Dany from the side, not making any comment even as her eyes skid past her wings, horns, and swaying tail. I could guess what she thought though.

‘He gave his sister more power than me,’ she must be thinking. That wasn't quite right. I'd only given the “permission” for her awakening, I hadn't expected those cosmetics to come with it. Heck, even I didn't have dragon horns and tails yet, but she did.

Regardless, the two of them hadn't exchanged any words. I could feel the tension building between them.

Deciding to ignore it for now, my gaze shifted to the far end of the hall, where the Sun Throne stood upon a raised dais. It was an ancient seat carved from pale weirwood, inlaid with gold and amber in patterns resembling the sun's rays. The throne of House Martell for centuries.

Now, it was mine.

I ascended the steps without hesitation, feeling every eye in the chamber upon me. The smooth wood felt cool beneath my fingers as I settled into the seat of Martell power, arranging myself comfortably as if I'd sat there a thousand times before.

Even Aegon the Conqueror never managed this, I thought with satisfaction. His dragons burned half of Westeros, yet Dorne remained independent. Mine brought it to heel in hours.

The doors at the far end of the hall swung open again, and Arianne entered, her hips swaying with deliberate, hypnotic rhythm. She'd left early to get dressed for this matter.

She wore a gown of sheer Dornish silk in her house colors, the fabric clinging to every curve of her body. She also wore a crown now. The plunging neckline revealed the swell of her breasts, bronzed skin gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

When she saw me looking, a grin spread across her lips. While maintaining eye contact, she clapped her hands twice, the sound sharp and authoritative.

A servant rushed forward, nearly stumbling in his haste.

“Y-Your Grace…?” His eyes darted nervously between me and Arianne, clearly unsure of the new power dynamics.

“Bring me the second Prince's chair,” she said, and after a moment's hesitation, he brought forward a high-backed chair adorned with smaller sun motifs, placing it to my right, slightly lower than the throne I occupied.

Arianne ascended the steps with feline grace and lowered herself into the chair. The silk of her dress slipped higher up her thighs as she crossed her legs, revealing a tantalizing expanse of smooth skin. Her silver eyes met mine briefly, a small smile playing at the corners of her full lips.

"The sun throne suits you, Your Grace," she purred, her voice low enough that only I could hear. "Though I imagine it's not nearly as comfortable as your iron one."

"Quite the opposite. Mine is made out of a thousand blades, if you remember," I replied, letting my gaze linger on her exposed thigh. "You look quite at home there yourself."

"I've dreamed of sitting here since I was a child," she admitted, leaning closer. Her perfume—citrus and exotic spices—filled my senses. "Though in my dreams, I sat where you are now."

I smiled. "I'd have offered you my lap, Princess, but I doubt your father’s heart might fail him at the sight. You can take this when I leave."

“Don't I get a seat?” Dany asked from where she was standing beside Yara right below the throne, on the right side.

“With all respect, dear sister, you have no official position in this nation yet. Let's be satisfied with just watching from the sidelines today, yes?” I asked, and she shrugged.

The doors opened once more, and the temperature in the room seemed to drop several degrees.

Areo Hotah wheeled Doran Martell into the throne room, his massive frame towering protectively over his prince. Behind them followed Oberyn, his usual swagger subdued, and Ellaria, whose dark eyes missed nothing.

Doran's gaze found me first, sitting in his throne, then shifted to Arianne beside me. The look that crossed his face was one of pure rage, transforming the usually composed prince into something fierce and dangerous despite his confined body.

"Guards!" Doran shouted, his voice cracking with fury. "Do you stand idle while a foreigner sits on the throne of Dorne? While this usurper daughter commands you? Seize them!"

The Dornish guards lining the walls shifted uncomfortably, hands tightening on their spears.

They had all heard Viserion's announcement earlier.

They glanced at each other, at Doran, at the ceiling—as if they could see through it to the dragons circling overhead. Not a single man moved forward.

I couldn't help but chuckle softly at the display. Power isn't just about who sits on a throne—it's about who commands enough fear to keep them there.

"They understand, Doran," I said calmly, resting one arm casually on the armrest. "Unlike you, they value the lives of their people. They know resistance is futile. Defiance now would only see Sunspear's women weep and children burn."

It was fascinating to watch the anger on Doran's face worsen somehow—the moment he truly understood that his rule had ended.

This man, who had played the long game of politics for decades, waiting patiently for vengeance and opportunity, had finally miscalculated.

In another time, I might have respected his patience—his willingness to plan for years, to appear weak while plotting strength. But he'd backed the wrong dragon, and now he would pay the price.

Oberyn stepped forward, his face tight with controlled anger. "Viserys, I understand you want to keep an image, but this is too far—"

I cut him off with a raised hand, my tone hardening slightly though I maintained respect for the man I'd once considered an ally.

"Oberyn. We began as friends. Do not force my hand against you. Your brother made his choices. For Dorne's sake, and for the sake of your own daughters, stay silent."

Mention of his daughters struck home. Oberyn's jaw clenched, muscles working beneath his skin, but he stepped back without further comment.

This was the Red Viper, deadly and proud, choosing caution for the first time in his life.

He was one of the finest fighters in this realm, but the current me could never be scared of a single man. There need be ten Oberyn Martells for me to even glance his way.

In another reality, he would have died fighting the Mountain, searching for a confession that would never truly satisfy him. Here, at least, he lived—even if under my thumb. He should be grateful.

Doran wasn't finished, however.

He turned his attention to Arianne, his words dripping with venom. "You betray your own blood, your own legacy. The throne you covet so desperately—you think sitting beside it grants you power? You're nothing but his puppet, his Dornish whore. You lack the wisdom, the patience, the vision to rule. You always have."

Arianne listened but her expression did not change, allowing his rage to spend itself like a storm breaking against stone. Only the slight tightening of her fingers on the armrest betrayed any emotion.

When Doran finally fell silent, she rose slowly, the movement causing her dress to cling even more provocatively to her curves. I watched her with appreciation; she had learned much in our time together. She'd learned to be calm. She'd grew into the ruler Dorne needed.

"Father," she said, her voice devoid of warmth, "I'll ignore that you called the Ruler of Dorne a whore. But for your treason and your refusal to accept the new reality, you are hereby confined to the lower dungeons."

Doran's face contorted in outrage. He laughed in disbelief. "Dungeons?! Really…? My own daughter—"

Arianne cut him off with a cool, imperious gesture. "It was the dungeons or death, Father. His Grace is merciful and listened to my request. Request that I had to beg in his bed, mind you. Me being his whore is saving your life. You should be grateful."

She turned to Areo Hotah, who had stood like a statue throughout the exchange. "Captain, escort my father to his new accommodations."

The giant Norvoshi hesitated, his hand tightening on his longaxe.

For a breathless moment, I wondered if he would defy the order—if his personal loyalty to Doran would override his reasoning capabilities.

My hand drifted subtly to my belt, ready to draw my sword if necessary. But the moment passed. Hotah bowed his head slightly to Arianne, turned Doran's wheelchair, and began to push him from the hall.

"You! You'll regret this!" Doran shouted, twisting to look back at us. "Both of you! The sun does not bend to dragons!"

"Perhaps not," I called after him. "But you aren't the sun. You're mere sand."

Doran was wheeled away, still sputtering curses and threats, as I smiled. It was a lovely sight.

The following half an hour was occupied by Arianne giving orders to guards and officials and different small and big matters. Including commodities for the guests who'd come over. The Ironborn couldn't just stay in their ships, after all.

Ultimately, Oberyn and Ellaria were sent away from Dorne under the pretence of meeting Arianne's mother back on Norvos. She was a noble in that place, and Oberyn was to preach to the nobility there about King Viserys’ rule.

It was just an excuse to get Oberyn and especially Ellaria out of Dorne, so that Arianne could establish herself properly during the first stage of her rule.

At last, Yara and Dany were also sent away to guest chambers, ultimately leaving me and Arianne alone in the throne room.

“Whew,” I let out a breath as I leaned back on the Sun Throne, savoring the moment. Beside me, Arianne reached over and placed her hand on mine, her touch warm and possessive.

"Shall I have wine brought, Your Grace?" she asked, her eyes gleaming. "To celebrate our new arrangement?"

"In a moment," I replied, meeting her gaze. "First, I want to enjoy the view."

And what a view it was.

Not just Arianne in her revealing silk, but the entirety of what I had accomplished.

The Red Keep.

Winterfell.

The Iron Islands.

And now Dorne.

One by one, the great houses of Westeros were falling into line.

Where Aegon the Conqueror had failed, I had succeeded. The thought filled me with immense satisfaction.

I knew, as a transmigrator with a System, that it wasn't that big of a deal, but as Viserys Targaryen, it was.

This was… this was all I could dream of as a kid. Now it was reality.

In my old life on Earth, I'd watched Game of Thrones, seen the Martells reduced to ineffectual players before being wiped out entirely. Here, I'd subverted that fate, twisted their thread into my own grand tapestry. Because I could. Because I held the strength to.

Arianne stood, smoothing her dress with deliberate slowness. "There are many more beautiful rooms in Sunspear that I'd love to show you, Your Grace," she said, her voice dropping to a sultry whisper. "Some with views even more... satisfying than this one."

The invitation in her eyes was unmistakable.

I rose from the throne, wholly enjoying the flicker of anticipation that crossed her face as I towered over her. But I didn't approach her.

"Sounds good, but… First things first, little Princess," I said. "There's still the matter of how Dorne will serve its new king."

“Mhm, well,” she tilted her head slightly, slowly biting her lip as she approached me. Her arms locked around my neck, lovely chocolate boobs pressed against my chest, as she looked deep into my eyes. “I think I know exactly how to serve you, daddy. Do you want your little princess to show you?”

“....”

Crazy.

Of course, I didn't have it in me to reject her offer.

That might, Dorne was filled with sounds louder than the dragon roads. And I wasn't even exaggerating.

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