Sunspear, the Throne Hall.
Prince Doran slumped in his wheelchair, a heavy shadow hanging over his face.
Ser Manfrey Martell, acting castellan of Sunspear, stood before him with his brows drawn tight. "Your Highness, there are forty thousand troops outside the city. The Easterner has finally made his move. He chose his moment well, knowing our main forces were committed elsewhere and Dorne left exposed. What none of us expected was that those wretches of House Yronwood had already colluded with the Easterners. Anders gathered nobles and knights from the Boneway. Those traitors led the Eastern army straight through, and nearly every outpost we set along the road has been wiped out."
A deep sense of helplessness rose in Prince Doran's chest.
He had to admit it. After a lifetime of careful plotting, this time he had truly misjudged the board.
The Easterner had struck with perfect timing, waiting until Dorne and the Lion were locked in mutual exhaustion before making his move.
What he had never foreseen was Anders Yronwood pledging himself to the Easterner.
Doran was almost certain that whatever bargain Yronwood had struck involved the future rule of Dorne itself.
"And Aegon is a fake!" Manfrey nearly roared. "The entire realm is talking about it! We must send word to Quentyn and Arianne at once. They must withdraw and return to defend Dorne. First we drive these bastards who crawled over from across the Narrow Sea out of our lands!"
Prince Doran slowly shook his head. "Those are only rumors, Manfrey. Unverified claims should not be trusted lightly."
What he did not say was that even if Aegon truly was Blackfyre, Dorne had already ridden too far to turn back.
Jon Connington's burning of Stoney Sept and the slaughter of its people had already stained Dorne's name beyond cleansing, nearly placing it alongside House Lannister in infamy.
If Dorne withdrew now, not only would all their efforts be wasted, they would become the laughingstock and common enemy of the Seven Kingdoms.
Manfrey clenched his teeth. "Then what of Oberyn? Was his death a rumor too? Quentyn's letter made it clear. Oberyn was burned alive by the Lannisters because of that Blackfyre. Are we to leave his death unavenged?"
At the sound of his brother's name, Prince Doran's body trembled ever so slightly, a deep grief flashing through his eyes.
Oberyn's figure seemed to stand before him, that wild, unrestrained smile…
He closed his eyes and drew a slow breath. "Oberyn died for Dorne's honor. We cannot allow his sacrifice to be meaningless. Manfrey, write to Quentyn. Tell him of Sunspear's peril and have him bring the Dornish and Norvos forces back at once. The fighting in the Crownlands can be left to the Golden Company and the Dothraki. Aegon should understand this, unless he wishes to watch one of his most important allies destroyed by the Easterner."
At that moment, the doors of the hall were thrown open.
Ser Ulwyck Uller, brother to Lord Harmen Uller of Hellholt, strode in at a quick pace. He had remained in Sunspear as the commander of its defense.
His armor was caked with sand, his face taut with urgency. "Your Highness, Ser Manfrey, the Easterners have begun their assault!"
A fierce light flashed in Manfrey Martell's eyes. "Good. Prepare the scorpion crossbows. Shoot those damned dragons out of the sky and let them taste the strength of Dornish steel!"
Ulwyck went pale and shouted urgently, "No, my lord! Their dragons haven't entered the battle at all. It's the Easterners' undead legions attacking the walls. They're wearing Valyrian steel. Our arrows can barely pierce them, and they're already closing in!"
Prince Doran's expression darkened further as his fingers tightened around the arms of his wheelchair.
The enemy had clearly seen the defenses at Godsgrace and left the scorpion crossbows no chance to be used.
With Sunspear's garrison so depleted, could they truly hold until Quentyn returned?
Doran's face grew ever more somber.
After a brief silence, a cold resolve flickered in his eyes, as if he had reached a final decision.
In a low, steady voice, he commanded, "Ulwyck, go to the dungeons. Bring out Cletus Yronwood. Take him to the city walls."
Manfrey and Ulwyck both froze.
Cletus Yronwood, heir to Lord Anders, had been held in Sunspear for over a year, nominally for his 'protection,' but in truth as a hostage.
Prince Doran's voice held no emotion at all. "Tell Lord Anders below the walls that if he does not wish to watch his son die before his eyes, he is to withdraw his army at once."
This was his final card.
...
On the towering walls of Sunspear, wind and sand howled without pause.
Cletus Yronwood was dragged roughly to the battlements by two Dornish soldiers.
His clothes hung in tatters, his face gaunt and drawn. Long months of imprisonment had left him weak, yet a trace of the stubborn pride unique to House Yronwood still burned in his eyes.
Ser Ulwyck Uhrel stepped forward with a hand on his sword and shouted toward the dark mass of enemy troops below, his voice twisted by the wind:
"Lord Anders, take a good look at who this is! Order your allies to halt their attack at once, or prepare to collect your son's corpse!"
Below the walls, before Lord Luo Wen's lines.
Lord Anders stared at the familiar figure atop the battlements, his heart jolting violently.
That was his son, the heir in whom he had once placed all his hopes.
More than a year of captivity had changed him so much that he was almost unrecognizable.
Pain surged through Anders's chest as his hand clenched tightly around his sword hilt.
Commander Luo Wen stood beside him, watching the scene with a grave expression.
He spoke in a low voice, "Lord Anders, what is your decision?"
As a commander, he had to take into account the feelings of the vassals under His Grace. Forcing an assault that would lead to the death of a powerful lord's son was far from an ideal choice.
Lord Anders struggled fiercely within himself.
On one side stood flesh and blood. On the other lay the future of his house and the entirety of the gamble he had already committed to.
He looked up at his son's thin yet upright figure on the wall, his eyes glistening with unshed tears.
In the end, however, long-nurtured ambition and his hatred for Doran won out.
He bit down hard and rasped, "Lord Luo Wen, attack! For His Grace's great cause, for the pacification of Dorne, Cletus will understand! His sacrifice will be worth it!"
The words seemed to age him a decade in an instant.
Luo Wen frowned. Though Anders spoke decisively, he could not simply take those words at face value.
After a brief pause, he said cautiously, "Lord Anders, there's no need to decide so hastily. We could surround the city first and apply pressure. Perhaps—"
Before he could finish, Cletus on the battlements suddenly gathered every last bit of strength, straightened himself with a violent effort, and roared hoarsely toward the ground below:
"Father! Don't worry about me! For the glory of House Yronwood, attack! Take Sunspear and kill Doran—"
"Silence, you traitor's whelp!"
Ulwyck Uller shouted in shock and fury, fearing the words might shake the army's resolve. He yanked his sword free, the cold edge flashing as it was pressed straight against Cletus's throat, forcing him to stop.
Yet at the instant the blade touched his skin, a look of resolve and strange relief flashed through Cletus's eyes.
Without the slightest hesitation, he surged forward, slamming his own throat hard into the sharpened edge.
Splurt—
The sound of flesh tearing rang out.
Blood erupted from Cletus's neck, spraying Ulwyck from head to toe.
Cletus's body jerked violently, the light in his eyes fading in moments.
He stared toward the army below, his lips moving as if he still had something to say, but only a faint wheeze escaped before his body slumped limply against the stone of the battlements.