POV: Third Person
Dorne, Sunspear.
The gardens of Sunspear glowed under the early morning sun, casting warm light over the delicate blossoms and lush greenery. In the quiet tranquility of the garden paths, Lady Mellario, the wife of Prince Doran, strolled slowly alongside her husband. Just ahead, their youngest son, Quentyn, laughed with the pure delight only a child could muster. Arianne, his sister, carried him in her arms, pointing out a delicate butterfly that fluttered near the path.
Look, Quentyn, a butterfly!" Arianne cooed, pointing at the tiny, shimmering creature.
Quentyn's face lit up, and he clapped his small hands. "Butterfly!" he exclaimed, his voice bright and unrestrained.
Arianne laughed, hugging the boy close. "See how smart he is?" she said proudly, glancing back at Prince Doran and Mellario.
Doran gave a faint smile, his thoughts drifting, despite his efforts, to the news he expected to receive any day. His younger brother, Oberyn, had remained at Harrenhal for the tournament, where all of Westeros gathered to witness the clash of knights and lords. Now that the jousting and melees were concluding, the prince of Dorne could not shake his unease, a gnawing feeling that grew each day. Something was bound to happen, something beyond his control, and his instincts had never misled him before.
Mellario noticed her husband's tension, her sharp eyes catching the set of his jaw and the distant look in his gaze. She gently placed her hand on his arm, bringing his attention back to the present.
"Doran, it's Oberyn," she said quietly. "You're worried he might return with… unexpected news?"
Doran nodded slowly. "Yes, I feel it in my bones. Oberyn is prone to act upon his passions, and in a place like Harrenhal, with the stakes so high…" He trailed off, his eyes on the garden where Quentyn babbled cheerfully in Ariadne's arms.
"You fear for Dorne," Mellario said softly. "And for Elia."
He looked down at her, his expression filled with the weight of his thoughts. "Something tells me that the end of this tourney is only the beginning."
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POV: Oberyn Martell
Riverlands, Harrenhal.
Oberyn stood with his sister Elia, the stone walls of the castle casting long shadows across the quiet chamber. Away from prying eyes, he felt the anger and worry that had been simmering in him since the tourney's final events rise to the surface. He knew he had to tell Elia everything, and he could only hope she'd understand the depth of his concern.
Elia sat opposite him, watching his every move. Her face was calm, though her hands fidgeted in her lap. Finally, Oberyn leaned forward, his voice a strained whisper.
"Elia, there's something you must know." He swallowed, choosing his words carefully. "I'm certain now that Quentyn's… that his words.... that prophecy he spoke—he described the events with terrifying accuracy."
Elia's eyes widened, her calm composure beginning to fray. "What did he say, exactly?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"The prophecy," Oberyn began, his voice bitter, "spoke of a 'dragon prince of melodies' claiming his fight, but it's the crown that would ignite a terrible night. I didn't understand it fully then, but now… after what Rhaegar did, I can't ignore it."
Her face paled, and her gaze dropped to the floor. Rhaegar's actions at the tournament had shaken her deeply, more than she let show to the public. He had crowned Lyanna Stark as the Queen of Love and Beauty, ignoring Elia, his own wife, in front of all of Westeros. It was a slight that no words could undo, and the silent pain she had been carrying now rippled to the surface.
Oberyn's jaw tightened, fury flashing in his eyes as he recalled Rhaegar's reckless gesture. "What was he thinking, Elia? To humiliate you so publicly, to crown another woman in your place… If Quentyn's prophecy holds true, his actions may lead to ruin. There's talk, murmurs among the courtiers, and the more I hear, the more I realize this may spark something far darker. Robert had to be held back by Jon Arryn from using his hammer to smash your handsome husband's face."
Elia nodded slowly, her voice trembling as she repeated part of the prophecy: "The sun queen with her daughter, in flames of sorrow will be…" Her gaze lifted, meeting her brother's. "Does this… does this refer to me? And Rhaenys?"
Oberyn's face softened, but there was no way to soften his response. He nodded, his visible worry deepening. "Yes, Elia. I believe it does."
The weight of his words settled over her like a storm. Her expression wavered, but when she looked back up, her determination was fierce. "Then we must protect her. Rhaenys… she's too young to understand, too innocent to be caught in the games of power that men like Rhaegar play."
Elia's fingers tightened around his, and she nodded, her gaze resolute. "Yes… it is the only way. But we need a plan. I doubt the king will simply allow her to leave." Her face darkened as she thought of the king's disdain for the Dornish, his words dripping with prejudice and distrust whenever he addressed Doran or Oberyn.
Oberyn's hand instinctively reached out, gripping hers in solidarity. "If you wish, I will take Rhaenys back to Dorne myself. Sunspear will keep her safe."
Elia's fingers tightened around his, and she nodded, her gaze resolute. "Yes… it is the only way. But we need a plan. I doubt the king will simply allow her to leave." Her face darkened as she thought of the king's disdain for the Dornish, his words dripping with prejudice and distrust whenever he addressed Dorne and the people.
Oberyn's mouth set in a hard line. "Aerys does not care for our people. His contempt for Dorne is palpable, even here, when he thinks no one is watching." His voice grew bitter. "He won't listen to reason, Elia. He may be a king, but he's blind to anything but his own paranoia."
Elia nodded, her face a mixture of pain and resolve. "Then we will have to find a way to convince him. I'll speak to Rhaegar. Perhaps he can persuade the king, convince him that it's in his family's best interest to send her to Dorne."
"Rhaegar," Oberyn muttered, his voice laced with frustration. "And what if he chooses not to help, Elia? The man just crowned Lyanna Stark as his Queen of Love and Beauty, for all to see. He's willing to risk everything for some Stark girl, with no thought to you, to Rhaenys… his own family." His fists clenched at the thought.
She looked away, the hurt clear in her eyes, but when she turned back to him, there was no trace of weakness. "He will listen. He has to. If he won't… then I will find another way."
Oberyn met her gaze, his heart heavy with the knowledge that even in her vulnerability, Elia's spirit remained unbroken. He reached over and gently touched her shoulder. "No matter what, I'll be there to see Rhaenys safe. You have my word, Elia."
The siblings shared a long, weighted look. They were both aware of the dangers they faced, but in each other's presence, they found strength.