She had inherited all of Cersei's beauty.
"Eat the elephant with your dragon, my son." Tyrion gazed at the Cyvasse board by the hot springs, a new and fascinating game.
When Myrcella heard the familiar voice, she raised her eyebrows slightly and chirped, "Uncle Tyrion!" She stood up and embraced him, and the dwarf opened his arms to welcome the beautiful little angel. She doesn't have the slightest bit of Cersei's ruthlessness, Tyrion thought to himself.
"Lord Tyrion." Prince Trystane Martell, sitting on the other side of the chessboard, also rose. This is a well-behaved boy, Tyrion observed.
"How long will you stay here?" the girl asked him.
The dwarf pursed his lips and rolled his eyes, feigning thought, then suddenly grinned, "That depends on how long our little princess wants her uncle to stay."
"Trystane and I can stay with you all day, Uncle. We can make Cyvasse and eat apple pie together!"
"That will have to wait at least until I meet His Excellency the Prince," Tyrion said, a hint of ferocity in the scars on his face as he smiled. He didn't have much to do in Dorne, especially after his interest in prostitutes had waned considerably. Apart from wine, Tyrion could only wander or remain in his room, reading all day.
Tyrion ascended the marble stairs, stated his purpose to the guards, and met Prince Doran Martell on the balcony. The elder Martell was confined to a wheelchair, suffering from severe gout—a common ailment among nobles. He wore a red silk gown, a jeweled girdle, and a satin mat lay before his legs.
"Lord Tyrion, did you enjoy your trip to Dorne?"
"Of course, I am very grateful for the Martells' kindness." Tyrion saluted him.
"I hope I wasn't too negligent."
"Dorne has the best wine in the world; I think I'll never want to leave," Tyrion said with a smile.
"The maester advised me to drink as little as possible, but Oberyn told me that the blood of the Dornish people is half blood and half wine." Doran asked an attendant to bring wine. "This is one of the few hobbies he and I have in common."
The wine glass was handed to the dwarf. Tyrion swirled the crimson wine in the copper cup, raised the glass, and took a light sip. "Life without wine loses half its pleasure."
A ray of sunlight fell, dispelling some of the chill, reflecting a sparkling shimmer in the cup. The joyous sounds of children drifted up from below, and Tyrion and Prince Doran couldn't help but look in their direction. By the pool and fountain, children chased and played, boys and girls shouting about their heroes: "Prince Garin" and "Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning."
"Prince Garin." It was an interesting name, and Tyrion happened to be reading a history of the Rhoynar.
Doran had been captivated by such stories since childhood. "The Valyrians were defeated by him." The dragonlords never made the Rhoynar bow on the battlefield.
"He is a great warrior, and of course, there are the curses whispered by the minstrels, and the Doom of Valyria."
"You seem to know Valyria well?" the prince inquired.
Tyrion shook his head. "I don't know much about it. There are many books about Valyria in Casterly Rock. Those books were already there when Aegon landed in Westeros. I even found the handwriting of King Tommen II among them. You know, he later led a fleet to search for the ruins of Valyria, never to return." The dwarf felt pity for his ancestor, who had also lost the Lannister ancestral sword, "Brightroar."
"During those days when I traveled to the Free Cities, I often heard stories about Valyria," Doran said. He had traveled extensively in the Free Cities when he was young; it was in Norvos that he and his wife met.
Oberyn was right; they would have plenty to talk about, but none of it was what Tyrion truly wanted to know.
"I am Nymeria!" one of the children yelled.
"I once read The Voyage of Ten Thousand Ships. It's the story of Queen Nymeria leading the Rhoynar people west."
"It seems Oberyn was right; you are a knowledgeable person," the prince praised.
"That's interesting. Dorne's inheritance law has always emphasized equality between men and women. I think this queen must have contributed a lot," Tyrion said suddenly. He remembered what Oberyn had told him: Dorne wanted Myrcella to inherit the Iron Throne, believing her right of succession superior to Tommen's in the eyes of the Dornish people.
Prince Doran merely smiled. "The women of Dorne are also powerful warriors."
"So, in your opinion, that Targaryen girl should be qualified to inherit the Iron Throne?" After Oberyn's hints during their journey to the Red Mountains, Tyrion had vaguely guessed something.
"In my opinion, Myrcella is also qualified to inherit the Iron Throne, but she is a good and obedient child," the prince said.
Tyrion took a sip of wine and nodded in agreement. "Yes, she is a good girl. Good children should live in gardens. Castles will make them learn bad things, don't you think so, Your Highness?" Perhaps he had once entertained the idea of Myrcella becoming queen. His father and Cersei must have looked utterly shocked at the news. But after seeing the child for the first time, Tyrion had abandoned the notion.
"Oberyn told you a lot of things, didn't he?" the prince asked.
"He told many stories."
They chatted for a long time. Prince Doran's words were as cautious as the rumors claimed, devoid of any emotion or clear stance, as if he were merely an impartial observer. Careful, smart, thoughtful, unfathomable; every word, every action, carefully weighed for its impact and consequences, Tyrion recalled Lord Tywin's assessment of Prince Doran.
He walked down the stairs, feeling exhausted. On the way from King's Landing to Sunspear, Oberyn had hinted that Dorne would rebel. All Tyrion could guess was that they would raise an army for Daenerys Targaryen.
Would Lord Tywin not think of it? No, Tyrion internally denied it. He only hoped that Myrcella would not be involved, but Prince Doran did not seem to give him a clear answer. Tyrion knew that the Targaryen girl would definitely bring the justice the Dornish desired.
Dothraki, Ironborn, Dorne. Could such an alliance truly be solid? Tyrion suddenly laughed at himself. What did any of this have to do with him? He was just a dwarf living under someone else's roof.
At that moment, two people were walking towards him in a hurry.
"Ser Manfrey," Tyrion greeted one of them.
Manfrey Martell, the acting lord of Sunspear, nodded to him. Tyrion noticed that the young knight following Manfrey had significant damage to his armor. Although he didn't recognize the person, he recognized the emblem on the armor—the Yronwood family of Yronwood City.