( Oberyn POV )
Oberyn saw the sun lazily rise over the Water Gardens, not a single cloud obscuring his view.
However, a storm was still brewing under these auspicious conditions. A storm, which, hopefully, would be quick to pass and would not cause too much damage.
Oberyn breathed heavily, remembering all that led to this day and this moment. Was it the right choice? Or was he betraying his family, and what he had fought for? No matter, he had made his choice, he would have to live with it.
He thought back to the afternoon, more than five-and-ten years ago, when he had begged Doran to declare for Viserys Targaryen, and he had been refused. He remembered the anger he had felt, but also the trust he had put in his brother to orchestrate their vengeance.
And what did Doran do? He had plans, grand plans! A lot of them…hinging on suspicions, on words coming from informants whom we did not even ensure the loyalty of.
Every single one of them ended up failing. Every single plan or contingency to rise for Viserys Targaryen, dead when the foolish boy decided to marry his sister to a Dothraki horselord and eventually got himself killed.
A plan that was whispered to him by that Essosi magister and Varys.
Oh, Varys!
If Oberyn ever got his hands on him, he'd send him to the bottom of the Narrow Sea in a heartbeat.
And five-and-ten years later, despite his brother's meticulous planning, they had not been an inch closer to their vengeance than before.
It took the last person Oberyn ever expected to finally get something.
His nephew, Quentyn, had finally had enough and took matters into his own hands, like Oberyn should have done long ago.
It was this action that finally prompted Doran to send him to King's Landing and complete their vengeance, but, again, it was Quentyn who ended up reaping the rewards of it all.
Not only did he eliminate Tywin Lannister, but he managed to secure the loyalty of every single person in Dorne for the manner in how he did it, and the spoils he brought back.
And today…well, today Quentyn had finally decided that it was enough. Doran had summoned him, likely demanding why the Dornish lords were being summoned to Sunspear without his knowledge, and, more importantly, why they had apparently heeded an order from his son rather than him!
Of course, Quentyn had planned this. Today was Overlord day, and today, Doran would finally stop having a say in anything.
Oberyn sighed.
It was the good choice. Quentyn had brought Dorne glory, richness and progress. What had Doran done but bring pain, disorder and weakness? Yet, there was something wrong with this.
Doran was still his older brother. He was still the man he looked up to for many years. He was the man he not only revered, but respected, and now…now he was betraying him.
Betraying him for kin, mayhaps, but a betrayal nonetheless.
Was it still wrong to do something such as this for the right reasons? However noble the cause, wouldn't providing support to remove his own brother from power be a revulsive act? Wouldn't it set an incredibly dangerous precedent? After all, despite all the discontent, Dorne had followed Morion Martell in his endeavors without flinching.
But Oberyn wasn't stupid, he knew the reason for that was because Princess Mara never had to try and remove her brother from power. Why move on her brother when he was going to his death anyways?
But the situation at hand was completely different. It was precisely because Doran was not moving that they needed Quentyn to be in charge, the sooner the better.
His nephew was right, there needed to be change. They needed to move earlier. Declaring for either Targaryen in the mess of a year or a few months ago…but they had let their chance slip.
The Ironborn were mostly defeated, both Baratheon brothers defeated and their forces either scattered or joining those of the Tyrells and Lannisters, the Vale declared for the North, and joined the Riverlanders…it was too late.
The forces and lines had been drawn, and Dorne alone could not stand to either alliance. They could defend themselves easily, of course, but taking to the offensive would need much more firepower, especially after what Quentyn had shown him. That piece of paper.
By gods did Eddard Stark make a fool of them all. He had outplayed every single one of the kingdoms by hiding a royal b…not even! Seven hells, a royal prince under everyone's nose. And now said royal prince had somehow acquired a dragon?
Oberyn didn't envy his enemies, but it made it all the more important to go get Daenerys Targaryen and bring her back to Westeros. Something Quentyn had planned. Beyond that, though…he could not say.
Would he push for a unification with the Northern alliance and Prince Daeron? A betrothal between Princess Daenerys and Prince Daeron would bind Dorne and the Northern alliance, trapping their enemies between hammer and anvil, with dragons bearing down on them.
The only issue was that Dorne would lose any chance at having their blood on the throne, and that he would certainly not accept the stain on Elia's honor as his king.
Yes, the Stark girl most likely did not have her word in the boy's conception when that bastard Rhaegar raped her and forcefully got her to marry him.
It was likely that should they have won at the Trident, Oberyn himself would have made sure the boy married Rhaenys or Arianne, lest Dorne secede or an unfortunate accident happen to either Rhaegar or the boy before any other betrothals were agreed upon.
And Doran would have likely agreed with him there. Perhaps his brother would have been even harsher, pushing for a fostering at the same time.
However, this did not change much. Daeron lived, while Aegon and Rhaenys were dead. How was that fair? Why did they lose their blood on the throne while a Stark bastard would get it?
Luckily, it seemed Quentyn did not share his views.
"Daeron can be whatever we want him to be, Uncle," Quentyn had told him.
"Bastard or no, he has the blood, the name and the dragon, nephew. A flimsy sheet of paper will not change much," he had answered.
"A dragon to three?" his nephew then questioned with a smile.
But who to marry the Targaryen girl to? Trystane? He seemed happy enough with Myrcella, although this was doomed to fail eventually.
Unfortunately, it seemed Quentyn didn't share his views on the importance of having their blood on the throne either. Indeed, he shrugged and said that as long as Dorne came out stronger and Westeros was unified again, their blood on the throne mattered little.
Dorne would have a say in everything, and although they would not sit the throne or ride dragons, they could very well have more power than those who did.
"Prince Oberyn, are you ready?" the voice of a guard took him out of his thoughts.
"Yes," he said with a nod.
For better or worse, Oberyn has made his choice.
He got up, took his things, and went out the door, walking down the large corridors, now mostly empty of their occupants.
Oberyn slowly made his way to a large alley filled with palm trees, where Quentyn was waiting, in his regal attire, albeit with his new Valyrian steel sword at his hip, never leaving him.
Around him were a dozen guards, as well as Nymeria, of course, at his side, and a few of his companions: the giant Archibald Yronwood, and the blonde-haired Gerris Drinkwater, among others.
"Uncle." Quentyn nodded with a slight smile. "I am glad you could join us."
Oberyn didn't smile, but acknowledged his nephew.
"I promised my support for your plan, and you have it."
"With a bit of luck, none of this will be useful," Quentyn declared with a sigh, "but I appreciate your support and concern. I wish for this to go as smoothly as possible."
"So do we all, Quentyn." Oberyn nodded in response.
His nephew looked him in the eyes and bowed his head slightly, before the group set off along the shaded gravel alley, heading straight towards the small palace in the heart of the Gardens.
Oberyn took a step forward, catching his daughter's arm with his right hand.
"Father?" Nymeria turned around, surprised.
"Are you sure you wish to come?" he asked.
"I thought at this point it was clear that wherever he goes, I go," his daughter answered half-annoyed, half-surprised.
"I…I don't think it will be of much use."
"Nonsense." She waved him off. "He has need of me, even if it is just to whisper encouragements when he needs it."
"No, I mean…" Oberyn sighed, unsure of the way of putting it. "Listen, Prince Doran has been suspicious of you, Obara and Tyene for a long time now. He has been keeping a close watch on all of you, and has been feeling like your relationship with Quentyn isn't…"
"Isn't…?" his daughter frowned, a snarl forming on her face.
"Right is the milder word." Oberyn lowered his eyes to the ground. "He thinks that Quentyn's rash actions are in no large part due to your actions."
Nymeria scoffed at that.
"Listen, sweet." Oberyn put a hand on her shoulder. "I do not doubt your feelings for him. I have made my peace with that long ago, and I will always be here to support you if your uncle goes too far. But you have to be prepared for less than flattering statements about yourself."
"He would insult me?" Nymeria turned to him, shocked.
"Perhaps not insult you directly, but insinuate bad things and…" Oberyn took another deep breath, stopping in his tracks for a few moments, resting both his hands on his daughter's shoulders. "…you are a grown woman; you know how to act. However, I ask you that if Prince Doran does say something that insults you, try not to overreact immediately."
"He cannot order me around." Nymeria shoved his hands off of her and made to walk again.
Oberyn sighed again, catching up with her.
"Perhaps not yet, but he is still your prince," he pointed out. "And Quentyn is but Regent of Sunspear. As it stands, we do not even know whether Quentyn will act rashly. There is a chance my brother will be reasonable and concede some things to him. I would prefer for it to be that way."
"Why?" Nymeria frowned, "So he can try to undo all the good Quentyn does? I'd rather have him gone and I hope that's what will happen."
"Sweet, it's not that simple. Dethroning a Prince is risky. There has not been a single precedent in the history of house Nymeros-Martell," Oberyn explained. "This has to be done within the rules of succession, as best as possible. If we do it too brutally, well…Quentyn knows the possible consequences it could have for his children, or if not, his descendants."
Nymeria nodded, still unconvinced.
"I am supposed to just let myself be insulted, then?" she asked sarcastically.
"No." Oberyn shook his head vigorously. "But at the very least when you protest, do so in the most diplomatic way possible. Do not insult him in turn, do not say anything that is not known to him, and most of all, do not draw a single weapon."
His daughter felt annoyed and uncomfortable, but relented.
"Fine."
"Good." Oberyn gave her a kiss on the cheek.
Nymeria humpfed and just let Oberyn join the rest of the guards, who, seeing them, did not ask for them to hand over their weapons or even for anyone to stop at the gate. Quentyn just saluted them, said a word or two of greetings, and continued walking.
Times were changing indeed.
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