-Chapter 47-
-Chapter 47-
-Sunspear-
-3rd POV-
In the royal apartments of the palace of Dorne, Doran Martell was pensively observing the shimmering waters of the water gardens.
The murmurs of the waters harmonized with the troubling thoughts dancing in his mind.
The news of the crushing defeat of the Golden Company and the death of Aegon 'Blackfyre' had been a severe blow, a hope that had vanished too soon.
While reflecting attentively, his hand caressed the smooth wood of his wheelchair. Doran had always been a man of patience, a chess player in the complex game of thrones, but the time might have come to act.
His daughter, Arianne, entered the room, her eyes blazing with resentment and worry.
"Father," she said, her voice filled with frustration, "this news... it changes everything, doesn't it? The Lannisters get away with it once again. How can we stay silent while this world seems to conspire against us?"
Doran nodded. "I agree, Arianne, but we must act wisely. Blind revenge has never been our way."
Arianne sat beside him and said in a haughty tone, "What do you suggest, then?"
Doran took a deep breath and said in a tired tone, "We may have lost a Targaryen, but we still have pieces on the board. The Bloody Griffin, Ronnet Connington... He could be the key."
Arianne frowned and said, "What do you mean?"
Doran leaned forward, his eyes deeply gazing into Arianne's, "It's clear that the Griffin has his own ambitions; he could be an ally, or at least a tool, to shift the balance of power."
Arianne seemed incredulous, "You want me to approach Connington? Seduce him?"
Doran nodded and said, "You are my daughter, my proud Dornish princess. You have the intelligence, beauty, and charm to get close to him. Discover his secrets, his weaknesses, use him against Cersei and the Lannisters."
Arianne sighed deeply, "It's a dangerous game, father, but if you think it's best for Dorne, I will do it."
Doran smiled, his eyes shining with renewed fire.
"For Dorne," he murmured.
Arianne nodded and repeated, "For Dorne."
---
-21st day, 11th moon, 299 AC-
-Lys-
-3rd POV-
Quentyn Martell stood on an ornate balcony in Lys, the luminous city unfolding before him like a sea of lights and colors.
The sea air mingled with the exotic scents of the street vendors, and the gentle melody of the sea sang in his ears. Yet, despite the beauty surrounding him, his thoughts were elsewhere.
A messenger, breathless from climbing the palace steps, presented himself to him with a sealed letter.
Quentyn took it, recognizing the seal of his house. The messenger, after murmuring a brief salutation, left as quickly as he had arrived.
Quentyn, curious, broke the seal and unfolded the letter, his eyes quickly scanning the written lines.
The content surprised him: Aegon, the so-called Targaryen heir, had been defeated at sea, his fleet annihilated, and he was presumed dead.
Quentyn held back a triumphant smile. The news eliminated a threat to his own quest for the throne of Westeros.
If Aegon had truly been a Targaryen, his presence would have complicated things. But now?
Quentyn's chances of claiming the throne through an alliance with Daenerys seemed much more promising.
He folded the letter and slipped it into his tunic, his eyes turning towards the horizon, imagining what the future held for him.
Everything seemed to be aligning for him. Dorne, the only kingdom in Westeros that had always been loyal to the Targaryens, would be his unwavering support. With Daenerys by his side, they would be unstoppable.
Indeed, the Lannisters and the other houses had systematically eroded their power and influence, but the rise of Daenerys and the imminent death of her father meant that they would be the dominant forces on the political chessboard.
While savoring a sweet wine from Lys, Quentyn smiled at the thought of the crown on his head. With Daenerys by his side, reputed to be the most beautiful woman in the known world, marrying her would be all the more pleasant.