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"Have we met before?" The prince studied Jon's face intently.
Cole nodded. "We met on Silk Street."
"Within this dunghill of a city, that's one of the better places."
They sat in the front hall of the courtyard.
"Are you Dornish?" Oberyn asked as soon as he took his seat.
Cole shook his head. He remembered that Lord Eddard Stark, the Warden of the North, had asked him the same question.
"I was raised in the North."
"A silver-haired northerner." Oberyn regarded Cole with a skeptical smile.
Cole shrugged. "My hair was black for as long as I can remember, until something strange happened."
"Oh? I'm curious what occurred." The prince seemed to be comparing Cole to someone in his mind.
"It's rather absurd. I doubt Your Highness would want to hear it."
"I have traveled throughout the Nine Free Cities and witnessed many absurdities. Wizards and sorcerers possess potions that alter hair color. I've also encountered many with silver hair. They are all of Valyrian descent."
Indeed, Jon's silver hair marked him as Valyrian, possibly even with Targaryen blood, though how distant from the main line was uncertain.
Cole had speculated that it might have been Caesar who awakened his Valyrian bloodline, transforming his hair from black to silver.
Of course, it could also have been Maester Aemon who used some potion.
"No, I retract my earlier statement. I should call you a Dornishman with silver hair." When Oberyn mentioned his silver hair, Cole noticed that at least half the prince's features resembled the resolute salt men of Dorne.
"You jest, Your Highness." Cole himself had not seen many Dornishmen to make a comparison, nor did he particularly care about his heritage, be it Valyrian or Rhoynar.
"Your Highness, are you here for the wedding?"
"For justice," Oberyn replied—justice for his sister Elia and her two children. "Lord Lannister promised to uphold justice."
"For strict law and true justice, I believe His Grace Stannis would be better suited to preside," Cole remarked, not missing an opportunity to mention his king. He knew the alliance between Dorne and House Lannister stood on shaky ground.
"He cannot judge the true murderer now."
"And can a lion?"
Oberyn chuckled. "You are quite interesting. Dornishmen never expect justice from others. We believe only in the spears we hold. I hear you are skilled in combat, but how proficient are you with a spear?"
"Has Your Highness come to test my martial prowess?"
"I merely heard there was an interesting person in King's Landing," the prince answered.
"Many interesting people have gathered in King's Landing to prepare for the wedding—jesters, fools, singers, and craftsmen. Dragonstone is far more austere. There are only soldiers and fishermen there. His Grace Stannis even forbids prostitution." Cole steered the conversation elsewhere.
"How dreadfully dull."
"War is always dull, my lord. Recent conflicts have been frequent, and the situation ever-changing. Soon, the storm will engulf Westeros once more."
"You needn't try to frighten me, boy. I know those across the Narrow Sea. Speaking of which, that girl can be considered my kin." A smile played across Oberyn's face.
Cole seemed to understand the prince's meaning.
The Martells could have supported Daenerys Targaryen's claim to the Iron Throne, and surely the Dragon Queen would seek justice for Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia of Dorne.
So why come to King's Landing? Did he wish to hear House Lannister admit they were the architects of that tragedy?
"I hope you find the justice you seek, Your Highness."
"And I wish you good fortune."
They exchanged a few more pleasantries before the prince rose to leave. Once alone, Jon's expression grew solemn.
Dorne actually intended to turn to the Dragon Queen. There were eyes and ears throughout the Red Keep. Who knew if Oberyn had been speaking to Cole or to someone else entirely?
What purpose had his visit served? Did he want Dragonstone to join forces with them? And who would sit the Iron Throne then? Stannis? Or the Dragon Queen?
Cole did intend to forge an alliance with Dorne, which was why he frequently mentioned Stannis and justice. He hoped to use Stannis's reputation for strictness to convey to Oberyn that if they supported his claim, the justice they sought would be delivered.
The ideal time to form such an alliance would have been before the Battle of the Blackwater. When Cole was about to meet Stannis, he had wanted to advise him to ally with House Stark in the North and Dorne in the South, then coordinate their attacks.
Now Dorne clearly had better options.
And the alliance with the North had likely fractured. After all, Cole had attended the wedding of Tyrion and Sansa—a union the Stark family would never recognize.
He felt he had made a misstep, yet he had to proceed regardless, as the current crisis would affect them first.
It was a move born of necessity. An alliance with the Lannisters was destined to be nothing more than mutual exploitation.
Cole touched his face, drew his sword, and studied the vague reflection in the blade.
A Dornishman? Were they similar?
Oberyn had visited Cole with purpose. In this castle, he could identify enemies and friends alike.
But upon seeing this young man, he had suddenly reconsidered.
The youth evoked an inexplicable sense of familiarity in Oberyn, one that felt profoundly subtle.
He had once considered supporting King Aerys's son Viserys in returning the Targaryens to the Iron Throne. He had even traveled to Braavos personally to sign a pact with Willem Darry.
They had agreed that when Viserys returned to claim the Iron Throne, Dorne would raise armies for him, and he would take Dorne's princess Arianne Martell as his queen.
Now that contract was mere waste paper. Willem Darry had entered the eternal night, and Viserys reportedly had been killed by the Dothraki khal.
Only the girl remained—Daenerys—who had been given to the horse lord of the Dothraki and borne him a son, a twin.
Oberyn noticed Ellaria watching him closely. They had been honest with each other for many years.
"What are you staring at?"
"You," Ellaria answered. "He gives me a familiar feeling."
Oberyn knew exactly whom she meant.
"Then I found my answer in your face." Lady Ellaria smiled. "You look at least half alike."
A silver-haired Dornishman. A silver-haired Martell.
Oberyn's heart gave a sudden lurch.