The air inside the Solar of Sunspear was dry and heavy with the scent of indigenous oranges of Dorne, their sweetness faint beneath the musk of parchments and old wax. Doran Martell sat deep in his goose-feathered wheeled-chair by the wide table, his body settling into the soft cushions, fingers slowly turning through all of the letters and seals arriving from every corner of Dorne. Each parchment bore the same impatient sentiment the lords from south of Red Mountains, and the lords with the greenblood alike clamoring for war, for vengeance and for banners to rise against the lions of Westerlands and Kings Landing. He took his time reading and noticing the weight of a thousand years of Martell loyalty present in the Lords of Dorne .
Areo Hotah stood by the door, his hand on the great axe resting beside him. The household captain's eyes, dark and uneasy lingered far too long upon his prince. He considered himself a simple man and understood duty and protection of his liege the best. Schemes were the meant for princes and lords with power, and these slow and patient games that his prince usually played, they smelled far too boring to him than any.
Doran did not look up feeling his gaze. "You've something to ask, Areo."
The Norvoshi hesitated but the words were already on his tongue. "Do you think swearing fealty to the Targaryen King was the right thing to do, my prince?"
Doran's hand paused above a wax seal of House Jordayne, his gaze fixed upon their blazon a golden quill on checkered background of dark and light green. Only after a long silence did he speak, his voice soft as silk as always. "Tell me Areo, what do you know of my mother?"
Areo frowned, uncertain with the turn of topic. "She was… an accomplished ruler, my prince. Maester Caleotte has told me she ruled well during her time, with few family members present to support her."
Doran's mouth curved but not quite into a smile. "Accomplished," his words came out as sneer and quiet derision. "My mother had an ego that could make Tywin Lannister's pride look like an egg beside Balerion the Black Dread. She was no loving mother to us, only a schemer cloaked in silken voice. It was she who sought to bind Elia and Oberyn to Tywin's broods, both twins no less, in her grand desire to raise House Martell above its present station. Tywin saw through her mind and refused her offer, and she took his rejection as an insult worthy of vengeance."
Doran tightened his fingers upon the parchment crinkling it to extreme. "So she turned to the Mad King and Aerys vanity was an easier thing to play upon. My mother whispered to him of presence of dragon blood in Dorne, and so Elia was bound to Rhaegar, all to make Tywin appear the fool denied. When it was he who wanted his daughter Cersei to be in Rhaegar's wedding bed. A marriage made not from love, nor alliance, but spite from Aerys and my mother to Tywin Lannister. The same spite that burned our House once the dragons fell."
Doran sighed and continued after that. "I swore never to be like her. And yet… the same hunger began to gnaw on me, to raise Dorne and I began to walk her path all the same. Oberyn wanted vengeance for Elia in cruelest and fastest possible way, and I- fool that I am- never noticed his need of vengeance different from my own. His mercy to Ned Stark, meant to wound Tywin's pride, began a chain that I could not control. I saw it as a way for my house reach new heights, and in so doing I forgot what my family had already suffered for such ambitions."
He leaned back, the chair groaning beneath his weight. "When I took Arianne with me to Kings Landing, to agree of marriage to that golden Lannister whelp, I thought myself clever. I thought I was steering Dorne to safety. Instead, I was doing as my mother had done, trading kin for power and totally ignoring what my own family, what Oberyn might feel about it. And think Areo, a targaryen saved my kin just because Oberyn saved Ned Stark, the same Stark who now rallies behind his crowned son."
Areo shifts in his positions hearing his prince emotional outbursts, the movement barely perceptible, his hand still resting on the smooth wood of his axe handle. "You think the King should fight against his Uncle and cousin over the crown when it was his own Uncle who saved his life when he was a child."
Doran's head snaps up, eyes dark with sudden fire hearing his words. "Protecting your kin from death is not some tally to be weighed, Areo. Ned Stark did nothing extraordinary that day, he did what any man of honor and a brother would have done. Had I or Oberyn been there in Kings Landing during the sack, we would have done the same. Do you think I forgot? Not a day passes that I do not grieve my sister, niece and nephew."
His hand trembled as he reached for his goblet, carved with polished stone. "As for the king's conquest," His voice softens. "only a Targaryen can hold this realm together. The dragons brought there share of blood and ruin, that is true, but before the Conquest there was only endless war. Look beyond all that fire and blood, Areo, and you'll see the truth of it."
Before Areo could reply, the doors burst open. The guards outside had no time to warn them as Arianne swept in her soft summer silken dress, her silks in color of gold and orange and curls wild about her face. In her hand she held a parchment, its folds marked with a clumsy seal. She slapped it down upon the table before her father. "I will not marry a fish."
Doran did not lift his eyes from the slapped parchment. He rubbed his chin instead in a weary motion. "And did I ask you to, child?"
She falters with a flicker of surprise marring her fury. "Then why is this still in Maester Caleotte's solar?" She points her sharp finger at the offending letter.
Doran looks up at her, and for the first time that day, a faint smirk touched his lips. Areo saw the glint in his eyes, the gleam of a man whose mind was already weaving through the game unseen.
"Apparently," Doran starts softly, "Lord Hoster Tully believes he can court Dorne's favor with talk of marriage and vengeance. He thinks our hatred of the Lannisters makes us eager for his banners but he forgets that he too marched beside Vale and North when Robert Baratheon brought House Targaryen to ruin."
Arianne folds her arms across her ample chest, knowing what happened after lions entered the Kings Landing. "It is as if they think we have forgotten their crimes."
Doran's gaze drifts to the window, where sunlight spilled over the garden below. "We have forgotten nothing, my daughter and nor has the king. This letter…" He gestured to the parchment she brought before him. "I shall present it to him. Let him see how loyal Tully's are to the crown. He is clever enough to deal with such fools."
Arianne's brow furrows. "He is clever, then?"
Doran's smile deepens in a knowing state. "Bravery alone did not bring him to the black cells of Red Keep to save your uncle and his family, dear. It takes cunning mind to bind Dorne to his cause as well. A king with a sharp mind and a kind heart, Arianne, is worth more than a mad one with wildfire in his brains, a drunkard and lustful lecher with a hammer in his hand or selfish fool that thinks only of his own family over realm."
He lifts his goblet, his fingers trembling faintly as he drinks it to last drop. "The lions will bleed soon enough, let the fish and wolves swim in trident as if belongs to them."
Arianne glances at her father with admiration on her face. Doran's eyes, half-lidded now, returns back to the letters of his lords. "Send for Maester Caleotte," he murmured, "Tell him to fetch me many parchments, I need to answer our eager lords with letters of our own, stating that House Martell has now allied to the true King. And then," he added, his voice regaining a silk-soft menace, "we will send another proposal north to Lord Tully."
"As a warning?" Arianne questions.
"As a message," Doran corrects, dipping his quill into the inkpot.