Chapter 286: Coronation

The deep blue waters of the Dornish Sea were calm and serene.

A ship flying the quartered sun-and-moon banner sliced through the waves, heading southward.

"Lord Tarth, that up ahead is Bloodstone Island," the captain said.

Selwyn Tarth, Lord of Evenfall Hall, gazed at the small island ahead and gave the order:

"Approach the island."

"My lord, we can't get any closer," the captain explained. "The waters around Bloodstone Island are riddled with reefs. A large ship won't be able to dock. If you want to reach the island, you'll have to switch to a smaller boat."

Lord Selwyn nodded slowly, realizing why the Three Realms Meeting had been arranged on this particular island.

The reefs prevented large ships from approaching, and the rule that each lord could bring only one guard ensured that no one could create chaos during the negotiations.

Given the treacherous reputation of the Dornish, such caution was necessary.

After transferring to a smaller boat and bringing along a family knight, Selwyn Tarth rowed to the island.

Once ashore, he found that many others had already arrived.

Nearly all the lords of the Stormlands were present.

It seemed that Caesar's influence in the Stormlands was considerable, Selwyn thought to himself as he stepped forward to greet the assembled nobles.

"Has Lord Caesar arrived yet?"

"Not yet," answered Lady Mary Mertyns, the elderly Lady of Mistwood.

Selwyn scanned the crowd but was puzzled. "I don't see any Dornishmen."

"They're inside the cave," Lady Mary replied, pointing toward the northwest corner of the island.

Following her gesture, Selwyn noticed a towering hill. He walked a few steps closer and, rounding the hill, spotted an opening in the rock face resembling a beast's gaping maw, its jagged stalactites forming teeth.

Inside the cave, the Dornish had set up a crude stone platform with a rusty iron chair atop it.

"What are they doing in there?" Selwyn asked, bewildered.

"Preparing for the coronation."

"Coronation?" Selwyn was taken aback. "Whose coronation?"

"I've heard the Dornish plan to crown Princess Myrcella Baratheon," Lady Mary said with a hint of mockery in her tone. "According to Dornish inheritance laws, Myrcella has a stronger claim to the Iron Throne than Tommen."

"Dornish nonsense," Selwyn scoffed, spitting on the ground. "And Highgarden agrees to crown her? What about Caesar?"

"I suppose they all agree. Otherwise, this meeting wouldn't be happening. If Princess Myrcella is crowned here, the three regions—Dorne, the Reach, and the Stormlands—will form an alliance to oppose the Lannisters in King's Landing." Lady Mary sighed, her expression tinged with disappointment. "And Caesar likely seeks recognition as the Lord Paramount of the Stormlands from Myrcella."

Selwyn frowned deeply.

Because of his daughter Brienne's connection to Caesar, and his own admiration for the dragonlord, the Tarth family had already sworn allegiance to Caesar.

But the notion of Caesar recognizing Myrcella as queen did not sit well with him.

"Caesar wouldn't do that," Selwyn said. "He killed Myrcella's brother and declared that none of them carried the blood of the true king…"

Before he could finish, the sound of flapping wings echoed in the air.

Looking up, Selwyn saw a milk-white dragon hovering above them.

It was larger than any elephant he had ever seen, its outstretched wings casting a massive shadow over the ground.

Caesar had arrived.

The dragon's presence captured the attention of everyone on the island.

Selwyn stepped forward, hoping to catch sight of his daughter. But he was disappointed.

Samwell dismounted from the dragon, carrying a young woman in a green gown adorned with a wreath of winter roses—Margaery Tyrell.

Selwyn had thought his daughter Brienne might accompany Caesar as a guard, but Caesar hadn't brought a guard at all—just his wife.

Then again, with a dragon at his side, what need was there for additional protection?

"Lord Caesar," Selwyn greeted, bowing. "Lady Margaery."

"Lord Tarth," Samwell replied with a warm smile. He held a favorable impression of this lord, who had voluntarily sworn allegiance to him.

"Lord Selwyn," Margaery said with a bright smile. "I see where Brienne gets her towering stature and valor."

Selwyn laughed heartily and returned the compliment with well-wishes and praise.

Other Stormlands lords quickly gathered around, and Samwell led Margaery in greeting them one by one. The atmosphere remained cordial.

Then Lady Mary unexpectedly asked:

"Lord Caesar, I hear you plan to crown Princess Myrcella?"

"That's the Dornish and Reachmen's idea," Samwell said with a grin. "Not mine."

Selwyn sighed in relief. "Lord Caesar, you must believe me when I say that the Stormlands despise the Lannisters and reject the false king on the Iron Throne."

Seeing the nods of agreement from the assembled Stormlands lords, Samwell's smile deepened.

It was clear that most Stormlands lords harbored resentment toward the Lannisters for stealing the Iron Throne from the Baratheons. They longed for vengeance, to see the Lannisters punished, and to restore the honor of the Stormlands.

They just needed a leader.

And with the Baratheons in decline, Samwell was ready to step into that role.

After leaving Margaery to mingle with the lords, Samwell entered the cave.

Inside, over twenty Dornish lords were gathered. A glance confirmed they were primarily from the central and eastern regions of Dorne, with the western lords notably absent.

Unsurprisingly, the Daynes of Starfall, who had grown estranged from Sunspear, were not present.

"Prince Doran."

"Samwell," the prince of Dorne greeted him with a smile.

"Where is Princess Myrcella?"

"She's watching the sea," Doran said, gesturing toward the shore.

Samwell spotted a small figure standing on a rocky outcrop by the water, gazing silently into the distance.

"You know which house owns this island?" Doran asked abruptly.

"It belongs to House Toland of Ghost Hill, doesn't it?"

"Yes. Do you know their sigil?"

Samwell recalled, "A dragon eating its own tail."

"Exactly. That dragon represents time—endless, circular, without beginning or end," Doran mused. "During the Dance of the Dragons, Criston Cole crowned Prince Aegon, sparking a brutal civil war with his sister Rhaenyra. And now, we're crowning the sister to fight the brother… Another cycle."

Samwell chuckled. "Someone once told me time is like a wheel. It seems to move forward, but it's always turning in place."

"Indeed. There's nothing new under the sun," Doran sighed, handing Samwell a box. "Do you remember my proposal in Starfall?"

Inside the box was a Valyrian crown set with rubies—the very crown worn by Aegon the Conqueror.

Doran's voice softened. "Three hundred years ago, Aegon wore this crown, married two queens, and united Westeros. Today, you could wear this crown, marry Margaery and my daughter, and do the same. A more harmonious cycle, don't you think?"

Samwell stared at the crown, momentarily lost in thought.

The meaning behind Doran's words was clear—House Martell might not fully align with Olenna Tyrell's plans.

Before Samwell could respond, Loras Tyrell interrupted.

"Prince Doran, everyone's gathered. Shall we begin?"

Doran smiled. "Yes, let's proceed."

Then he turned to Samwell and said, "If you've made up your mind, let me know anytime. I've always thought this crown, belonging to the Conqueror, is better suited for your head."

With that, Prince Doran began summoning the gathered nobles for the ceremony.

By the shore, Princess Myrcella Baratheon was also brought back, standing silently before the iron chair atop the platform with her head bowed.

The High Septon of Sunspear took the crown from Prince Doran's hands and stood before Princess Myrcella.

"Myrcella Baratheon," the Septon proclaimed solemnly, "today, under the watchful eyes of the Seven, you are crowned as queen.

In wearing this crown, you shall show mercy to the people of the Seven Kingdoms and ensure their livelihoods. You shall uphold the honor of the Seven Kingdoms' nobles. You shall protect the followers of the Seven, ensuring they forever bask in the glory of the gods.

May the light of the Seven forever guide your path, granting you strength and protection, and may you live free from harm, now and always..."

Throughout the lengthy proclamation, Myrcella kept her head lowered, never looking at the man before her or the nobles below the platform. She was as still and lifeless as a marionette.

The Stormlands lords exchanged glances and turned to Samwell, as if waiting for his stance on the matter.

"What's your decision?" Prince Doran whispered.

"Can I avoid marrying your daughter?" Samwell asked. "Let's negotiate another condition."

Prince Doran looked exasperated. "Do you dislike Arianne that much?"

"It's not that. I'm just concerned that hastily marrying two wives will offend the Seven Kingdoms' noblemen who follow the Faith of the Seven. The Conqueror Aegon could marry two wives because he already had the strength to conquer the Seven Kingdoms. I'm not quite there yet."

"Fine," Doran unexpectedly relented. "Let my son Quentyn marry one of your sisters instead. But you must still leave a child within House Martell."

"Leave a child?"

"Yes. If you won't marry my daughter, then choose one of my nieces—Nymeria, Dorea, Loreza... These beautiful Sand Snakes can serve as your paramour. But you must leave an heir of Martell blood."

Samwell frowned deeply.

Doran Martell pressed further. "As long as you agree to my terms, House Martell will offer you its full support. The Stormlands army trapped in Dorne will be yours to command whenever you want, and with them, you'll easily win the loyalty of the Stormlands nobles. I can even offer you troops from the Riverlands and the Vale.

Believe me, with the backing of House Martell, taking the Iron Throne is only a matter of time.

Samwell, to reap the harvest, you must be willing to sow.

And as a king, you must set aside personal preferences and make the choices most advantageous to yourself."

At that moment, the High Septon finally finished his lengthy prayer. He stepped forward and placed the crown atop Myrcella's head.

Samwell exhaled deeply and nodded at last.

"Fine."

Prince Doran smiled. "Then go, take that crown from her and place it upon your own head. Caesar, you are the true king!"

"Lords, step forward to swear fealty to your queen!" the Septon declared loudly.

Samwell strode up the platform but did not kneel.

"Myrcella," Samwell addressed her directly, "whose blood flows through your veins?"

Myrcella kept her head down, refusing to meet his gaze.

The gathered lords erupted in murmurs. The Reach nobles exchanged bewildered glances, the Stormlands nobles stirred uneasily, and the Dornish lords looked to Prince Doran, who raised a hand to signal silence.

"The late King Robert Baratheon's bastards all had black hair. Every child born of a Baratheon and a Lannister union also had black hair. Why is your hair golden?"

Myrcella lowered her head even further, her small frame trembling slightly.

Seeing this, Samwell found himself unable to press further.

This girl likely hadn't wanted the crown in the first place. She was just another casualty in the ruthless games of power.

Samwell sighed quietly and softened his tone.

"My apologies, but this crown is not yours to wear."

He stepped forward to remove the crown from Myrcella's head.

Suddenly, a searing pain shot through his right hand.

Looking down, he saw a slender snake hidden among the girl's golden locks. Its fangs were deeply embedded in his finger!

Myrcella finally raised her head, her gaze icy and cold.

"A man owes a life to the gods."

(End of Chapter)