Chapter 223: Aegon’s Crown

In the glowing hues of the sunset, Samwell and his fiancée Margaery arrived at the docks of Starfall. Awaiting them was Nathalie Dayne, who had been there for quite some time.

When she saw Samwell holding Margaery's arm as they descended from the ship, a hint of sadness flickered in Nathalie's eyes. But she quickly composed herself, putting on a polite smile and stepping forward to greet them.

"Welcome to Starfall, Lord Caesar, Lady Margaery!"

"Why so formal, Nathalie? Just call me Sam," Samwell said, habitually ruffling her hair.

The familiar gesture and tone instantly lifted Nathalie's spirits, washing away the disappointment she'd felt since hearing of his engagement. A sweet smile reappeared on her delicate face.

"Nathalie, it's been too long!" Margaery stepped forward, embracing Nathalie warmly and kissing her cheek. "You're even more beautiful than before! Especially in that gown—it matches your violet eyes perfectly."

"Really?" Natgalie's lingering jealousy evaporated completely. "My mother helped me pick it out."

"Lady Ashara has excellent taste! Could I ask her to choose a scarf for me? The Dornish sand is always irritating my eyes."

"Of course."

Watching the two young women get along so well, Samwell felt relieved. But then, he'd expected as much. After all, even the infamous "King Joffrey" had been no match for Margaery's charms in the original story. Compared to him, Nathalie, with her gentle and mild nature, would be a breeze for Margaery to win over.

Turning to the castellan of Starfall, Gil Shad, Samwell asked, "Has Prince Doran arrived?"

"Yes, my lord. The prince reached Starfall three days ago."

"Quite punctual. What has he been doing since then? Has he met with anyone?"

"No, he's mostly stayed in his quarters, save for a few strolls around the courtyard."

Samwell nodded thoughtfully. Prince Doran seemed straightforward enough, perhaps genuinely here just to talk.

The group returned to the castle, where Samwell freshened up and changed his clothes before going to meet Prince Doran. Initially, he considered leaving Cleopatra, his white dragon, with Margaery, but after some thought, he decided to bring her along. Cleopatra was now the size of a large eagle, and Samwell's shoulder barely provided enough room for her anymore.

A servant led Samwell to a sea-facing courtyard where a sprawling olive tree shaded the space. Beneath it sat Prince Doran, gazing absently at a cyvasse board.

It was Samwell's first time seeing the ruler of Dorne, though the encounter left him somewhat disappointed. Prince Doran lacked the imposing presence one would expect of a ruler; his face was swollen, hair streaked with gray, and his gout-ridden leg rested on a padded stool, making him look more like a frail elder than a sovereign.

Still, Samwell was careful not to underestimate him. Given a choice of opponents, he would much rather face the "Red Viper" than deal with the ostensibly milder Doran.

Hearing footsteps, Prince Doran turned, his bleary eyes focusing on Samwell. "Lord Caesar, I presume? Forgive me—I cannot rise to greet you."

Samwell gave a slight bow. "Yes, Your Highness, and please, there's no need for formality."

The prince nodded in acknowledgment, then turned to his captain of guards. "Areo, leave us. I would like to speak with Lord Caesar alone."

"Yes, my prince." Areo Hotah hefted his enormous axe and departed.

"She's beautiful," Doran said, his gaze lingering on the white dragon perched on Samwell's shoulder. "Exquisite, really."

"Thank you," Samwell replied. "But surely you didn't come all the way from Sunspear just to admire her."

"Of course not. But she is part of the reason." Doran's unsteady hands raised a goblet to his lips, taking a deep drink. "Care for some wine? Dorne's finest. It's the only relief I find from the pain these days."

"No, thank you," Samwell declined. "I don't have any pains that need easing."

Now he understood why the prince's gout was so severe.

"That's only because you've not been in the game long enough." Doran's tone was wistful. "Give it a few more decades, when you've watched friends, kin, and allies fall away, leaving you alone amidst bloodshed and treachery. By then, you may also find comfort in wine."

"I'll put that day off as long as I can," Samwell replied lightly, steering the conversation back. "I heard House Martell has allied itself with the Lannisters?"

"Yes," Doran admitted without hesitation. "But you must realize it was done under duress."

Samwell frowned. "Regardless of your motives, you're still aiding the Lannisters. If you released the armies of the Riverlands, the Vale, and the Stormlands, they'd be scrambling to handle the pressure."

"We're helping you too," Doran replied with a calm smile.

"Helping me?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Doran held up a cyvasse piece. "Don't deny it, Lord Caesar. Although you openly support Stannis Baratheon's claim to the throne, I suspect you don't truly want him to win."

"And why is that?"

"If I released those armies to return to their lands, the Lannisters wouldn't stand a chance. Stannis would emerge victorious, and then, having secured the throne, he'd see you as a threat—a man with dragons. Would he thank you for your support? Or would he snuff out the threat while it's small?"

Samwell smirked. "So, without me knowing it, I now owe the Martells a debt of gratitude?"

"Not a debt—simply a reminder that we are allies, not enemies."

"Why help me?" Samwell asked, his gaze unwavering.

"Vengeance," Doran said softly, as if the word itself were forbidden. "Justice." He held up a cyvasse piece shaped like a dragon. "Blood and fire."

Samwell narrowed his eyes. "And this vengeance—is it against the Lannisters?"

"Yes. Tywin Lannister thinks giving us one of his dogs can erase what he did," Doran replied, his voice thick with bitterness. "No, it's not enough. From the day I heard how my sister Elia and her children perished in King's Landing, I swore to make the true culprits pay. Not the 'Mountain,' the tool—but the one who gave the order: Tywin Lannister."

"And yet you're not seeking revenge against me, even though I killed your brother," Samwell pointed out.

"That's different. You killed Oberyn on the battlefield, honorably. I don't hold that against you. Tywin's actions against my sister were murder—cold-blooded murder. And for that, he will pay."

Samwell shrugged, appearing to accept the explanation, then asked, "So what about this 'justice' you mentioned?"

"The justice of Robert Baratheon," Doran replied. "He was once my liege. I won't allow a bastard to usurp his throne."

"And the 'blood and fire'?"

Doran gestured to Cleopatra. "You have a dragon. That alone makes you a worthy ally."

"And what does House Martell want in return?"

"For you to marry my daughter, Arianne."

"Apologies." Samwell held up his hands. "I'm already engaged to Lady Margaery Tyrell."

"I know. I'm not asking you to break off that engagement," Doran said with a faint smile. "You could simply take another wife."

"Two wives?" Samwell chuckled. "The laws of Westeros recognize only one spouse."

"Laws are for the weak. Aegon the Conqueror took two wives, didn't he? And you have dragons; why shouldn't you follow his example?" As he spoke, Doran opened a wooden box on the table.

Inside the box was a crown.

A band of Valyrian steel, edged with sharp, sword-like points that glinted coldly in the light. Red gemstones as fierce as fire adorned the crown, flickering like dancing flames.

"This is the crown Aegon the Conqueror wore," Doran explained.

Samwell stared at it, mesmerized.

Cleopatra, too, seemed captivated, her wings twitching with excitement as she let out a silent roar.

"This crown has been with my family since Daeron the Young Dragon's second invasion of Dorne," Doran said, his eyes darkening.

Samwell knew the story: Daeron I Targaryen had once conquered Dorne but was later betrayed and killed in an ambush. This crown, it seemed, had remained with the Martells ever since.

"Would you like it?" Doran's voice took on a tempting edge. "Marry my daughter, and it's yours—a wedding gift."

Samwell felt his heart pounding, but he forced himself to remain calm, shaking his head slowly.

"Why?" Doran looked surprised.

"How did Daeron the Young Dragon die in Dorne?" Samwell asked, fixing Doran with a steady gaze.

Doran said nothing.

Samwell answered for him. "Daeron conquered Dorne, and your people swore loyalty. Yet when he came to accept their fealty, they ambushed and killed him."

With a bitter smile, Samwell continued, "Tell me, how can I trust a people who change sides so easily? Today you're allied with the Lannister, but you turned around and thought about how to stab the lion in the back. Who's to say you when you'll sell me out one day. "

That's right, to Samwell being betrayed by dorne is not a matter of why, but when.

Prince Doran sighed, somewhat helplessly: "Is this the reason you rejected the goodwill of House Martell?"

"Oh, there's another reason."

"What?"

"I don't want to marry your daughter."

(End of this chapter)