It was midday, and the sun shone brightly over Sunspear as Rhaegar landed his dragon, greeted by a grand reception.
"Your Grace," Prince Qyle called out, trotting along with a face beaming with joy.
"It's been a long time, Prince." Rhaegar dismounted from the dragon's back, his eyes scanning his loyal adviser to the Iron Throne.
Since childhood, he had been filled with both fear and admiration for dragons and had found it difficult to resist Targaryen rule. The adviser's constant admonitions had also shaped him into a gentle and chivalrous leader.
Qyle's forehead glistened with a fine line of sweat, unable to hide his excitement. "Your Grace, please follow me into the Sun Tower."
"Lead the way," Rhaegar replied, sweeping his gaze around the room. He spotted Beric Dayne, the Kingsguard and Regent of Dorne.
"Your Grace," Beric said with all the righteousness in the world as he bowed to the king. Despite the weight of his responsibilities, he had not forgotten the original intention of joining the Kingsguard.
...
The Tower of the Sun, Throne Hall.
Rhaegar changed into a light yellow robe in the style of Dorne and took his place at the head of the banquet. A little girl with black hair and olive skin crept up beside him, staring intently. This was Coryanne Martell, the youngest daughter of the former Prince of Dorne, Qoren—a much-loved little princess.
Rhaegar glanced at her, though his thoughts were elsewhere. He had deep connections to House Martell. Qyle and Coryanne had once traveled together by boat to Braavos and Volantis's capital cities when they were attacked and taken hostage.
Coryanne had even been engaged to a member of the Triarchy's parliament, but his head was severed before the marriage could take place.
"Sorry I'm late," Qyle said as he hurried about, instructing the servants to set the table. He had been feeding the dragons, preparing livestock for the two enormous, castle-like beasts, and watching as dragonfire poured out.
Rhaegar waved his hand, his tone serious. "The orphans of the Greenblood River are rebelling, pirates are emerging from the Summer Sea, and the Prince still has much to worry about." His visit to Sunspear was meant to help Qyle consolidate his rule and guard against threats from the Iron Islands and Basilisk Isles. Unlike on land, dragons were slightly less formidable at sea. Sunspear, sitting on the docks of the Greenblood River, could serve as an ideal bridgehead.
Qyle, though young, had a thick skin and spoke without hesitation. "Your Grace, I really need money and trade. Pirates have been stirring up trouble along the coast, causing panic in the city." As he spoke, a pleading expression crossed his pale face.
Rhaegar turned his head away in silent disgust. 'This boy really knows how to take advantage of the situation and ask for a lot.' Though Qyle looked young with his baby face, he was fourteen years old and already had the mature thinking of an adult.
"There's also the Greenblood River Dock," Qyle continued, "where the ships are packed every day, but most of them stay in the inns, and the bulk of the business is going to Oldtown and Lannisport."
His complaints were relentless. Since Dorne became independent, nobles across the territory had seized control of maritime trade. Now, as morals declined, Dorne had split into East and West, and merchants were reluctant to come.
Rhaegar listened patiently before offering a solution. "The rebels and pirates are a result of Sunspear's lack of defense. Strengthening maritime trade will provide the funds needed to arm an army. I'll notify the three Free Cities of the Narrow Sea to increase trade with the Greenblood River and, incidentally, provide protection for Dorne's coastal areas."
The rise of the Red Kraken and the Alliance of Three Cities foretold trouble brewing in the Summer Sea. If the Stepstones were used to link the two sides of the Narrow Sea and Dorne's coast, a naval blockade could be formed to isolate the continent of Sothoryos. Colonization, however, was not the best option. Westeros was already sparsely populated, and moving to the barren continent of Sothoryos wouldn't aid in development. Instead, they would trap their enemies in a land infested with mosquitoes and poisonous miasmas, cutting off their sources of food and clothing.
"I can't thank you enough, Your Grace," Qyle said, nearly jumping with joy as he raised a cup of Harrenhal's special sweet fruit wine in celebration.
...
After lunch, Rhaegar suggested a tour of the Greenblood River. As the only large dock in all of Dorne, it would bear the burden of the sea fleet's entry and exit in the future.
"Your Grace, I see you have brought another dragon with you. Is it like Vhagar from the time of the Conqueror?" Qylebrant asked, full of enthusiasm as he walked and talked, mentioning dragons.
Rhaegar shook his head. "No, it's not. This is an old, solitary dragon that rarely shows itself to the world." Uragax was a wild dragon without an owner that had survived the Doom. Rhaegar intended to find a suitable rider for it and fully integrate the dragon into House Targaryen.
"It is an unparalleled honor to become a dragon rider," Qyle flattered, then suddenly said, "Your Grace, I heard that you have several daughters. I wonder if you are interested in marrying them?"
"Huh?" Rhaegar paused, realizing something was amiss. 'This kid doesn't care about dragons; he's just after my bloodline.'
Qyle continued sincerely, "I remember from the history books that the Old King, the Arbiter, fathered thirteen children in his lifetime and betrothed several of his daughters to noblemen of good character."
As a Prince of the Realm and head of House Martell, which ruled the Dornish domain, asking the King for the hand of an orthodox Targaryen Princess would add noble Valyrian blood to his family, thereby strengthening the alliance between the two houses. It was a royal family's reward for its loyal advisers and an important part of Dorne's true integration into the rule of the Iron Throne. With a Princess as his wife, who would dare question his status? Just like Lord Corlys of House Velaryon, whose wife was a dragon rider!
Rhaegar's expression remained unchanged, and his tone was light. "Do you know what happened to the daughters of the Old King who married outsiders?"
"Er..." Qyle was at a loss for words.
Among the many daughters of the Old King, only one was actually married outside the family—Daenaera Targaryen, who married into the Vale. She wed an old man decades her senior and died of puerperal fever at the age of 18. Another Princess, Viserra, was engaged to the Lord of White Harbor, but she broke her neck while trying to escape the marriage. The remaining Princesses either became holy sisters, prostitutes, or were mentally deficient and easily seduced.
To be fair, even for girls from ordinary noble families, their fates were not as disastrous as this.
"I'm sorry, Your Grace," Qyle said, lowering his head in guilt. "I shouldn't have mentioned your family's sad story."
"Hmph!" Rhaegar snorted, his voice firm. "My daughters will not marry outside the family—at least, not if they don't want to."
He already had nine children, and Aegon was also beginning to spread his seed. Once Aemond and Daeron produced heirs, the family would grow rapidly. To maintain his rule and expand his lineage, he could simply arrange marriages within the family. Marry a noble from Westeros? 'Ha! They're not good enough for me. A dragon cannot be tied to a lowly cow.'
"Your Grace," Qyle hesitated, then cautiously asked, "what do you think of my sister?"
Rhaegar frowned. "I already have three wives, and my oldest child is only two years younger than Coryanne. I'm not the Sea Snake, I won't marry someone a decade younger than me."
"No, no, you misunderstand," Qyle quickly corrected himself, adding, "You have several sons, and marrying a woman from House Martell would also be a sign of trust."
This time, he spoke bluntly, directly invoking the word 'trust.' An alliance was necessary. If he couldn't marry a Princess Targaryen as he wished, it would suffice to marry his sister to a Targaryen Prince. As long as the two families established a marriage alliance, peace could be restored in Dorne. Otherwise, when the civil war in Dorne would end would depend not on when the rebels gave up, but on the mood of the current king.
Rhaegar did not refuse again and fell into deep thought upon hearing this. An alliance was indeed the most direct way to establish a bridge between nobles. House Arryn of the Vale and House Baratheon of Storm's End were both potential allies for House Targaryen. One of them obstructed the weak control of the North, while the other had opposed Dorne for generations. Dorne had submitted to the Iron Throne, and it was only right to give it due trust.
After a moment of silence, Rhaegar met Qyle's determined gaze and said indifferently, "My eldest and second sons are already engaged, so your younger sister can only choose from the younger boys."
After a pause, he emphasized, "If their personalities don't match, I won't force an engagement on children who are not yet of sound mind."
"I am most grateful, and House Martell will forever follow the banner of the Iron Throne," Qyle replied with a beaming smile, bowing respectfully.
The second half of the sentence was lost on Qyle; all he heard was the king's agreement to the marriage alliance. 'Dorne must seize the opportunity when it is given to them.'
As he noted the other man's smiling face, Rhaegar felt a sense of unease. He turned away and strolled along the banks of the Greenblood River. He had mentioned choosing a boy, and it would likely be his third son, Maekar. Maekar was his favorite son, and he had originally planned to betroth him to Aegon's daughter, Jaehaera. But Viserion and Aegor were too young—they were still too young to "fly". Maekar, at seven years old, was five years younger than Lyanna Martell, making them a barely suitable match.
...
As they walked, the sky darkened. The group, escorted by guards, reached the far side of the Greenblood River, in the region that was once Lemonwood. After the Dragon's Wroth, Lemonwood had been tragically scorched by Sunfyre, reducing large swathes of the forest to charred earth as far as the eye could see.
A deep, rumbling growl echoed through the surviving trees, where the old, dark green dragon slithered along, its breath rustling the shrubs, causing them to crackle and sway violently.
"Your Grace, that's the cargo ship at the dock," Qyle said, pointing to the multitude of ships crowding the wide river. The vessels ranged in size, flying the flags of various nations, making the scene as bustling as the Mud Gate in King's Landing.
Rhaegar's eyes were drawn to the banners of Oldtown's Hightower and House Velaryon, which marked a fleet of two merchant ships that stood out among the others. Suddenly, a small sailing ship bearing a black flag caught his attention.
"Where is that ship from?" Rhaegar asked, his brow furrowed in curiosity. It was unfamiliar to him.
Qyle strained on tiptoe, eager to explain to the king, but his stature failed him, leaving him sweating in frustration. Beric, standing nearby, answered respectfully, "That ship is from Asshai. It's been anchored in the Greenblood River for several days. Rumor has it that sorcerers aboard the ship are accompanying the Velaryon fleet."
"Is it connected to the Sea Snake?" Rhaegar inquired openly, comfortable in the presence of his Kingsguard.
Belis's expression grew serious as he pondered the question. "I'm not certain, Your Grace, but Lord Corlys has been fixated on modifying his grand ship. He sent men to consult with the sorcerers of Asshai. Whether there's a direct connection, no one can say for sure."
"Brother."
Qyle's ear twitched as he heard his sister's voice, surprised to find her behind him. Turning, he saw Coryanne standing by a wooden box at the river's edge, her face pale and distant. In her hand, she held a small seashell, her movements strangely entranced as she slowly approached.
Concerned for his sister, Qyle reached out as Coryanne, with a dreamy smile, handed him the shell. "Why are you here?" he asked, bewildered.
"Get out of the way!" a guard suddenly barked, snapping Qyle back to the tense reality around them.
Clang!
A long, black sword plummeted from the sky, pinning a palm-sized poisonous spider to the ground in an instant. Rhaegar swiftly grabbed the stunned Qyle and crushed the spider underfoot, shouting, "You ghostly thing, do you want to die?"
Qyle had suddenly changed his expression moments before, walking directly toward the river as if in a trance. He never imagined someone would attempt an assassination in broad daylight.
"Ssshhhh!" Coryanne's pupils turned pitch black as she bared her fangs like a beast before spinning around and leaping into the river.
"Sister!" Qyle cried out in shock, about to dive in after her.
"Don't worry, it's a fake!" Rhaegar held him back, his gaze icy as he fixed his eyes on a small Asshai boat shrouded in black canvas.
A slender figure stood on the boat, motionless as a corpse. The swift current carried the boat away, and it vanished silently behind a larger ship nearby, leaving no trace.
"Protect Your Grace!" Beric unsheathed his ancestral sword, Morning, and positioned himself in front of the two kings.
At that moment, beggar-like children appeared on both sides of the Greenblood River, their eyes glowing with eerie intent as they stared at the group. Rhaegar's expression hardened as he realized that someone was trying to assassinate Qyle and incite chaos in Dorne.
(Word count: 2,310)