Doran Martell was a calm, composed, cold headed, patient, and a cunning man. Everything he did, every word that came out of his mouth, and every expression that appeared on his face had a purpose. He did not speak uselessly. He spoke less but his words were worthy. Or, at least this was what Doran thought.
Physically, he was immobile. His gout had left him confined to a wheelchair for quite some time now. He would occasionally suffer tremendous pain in his legs because of the condition. At times, the pain would become completely unbearable.
There was a time when he used to think that, with enough time, maybe he would get used to the sensation. Oh, how wrong had he been? He had never gotten used to the pain. Every time the pain struck him, it felt the same as it had the very first time. Unbearable. He loathed that pain.
It was simply that he now knew exactly what to expect when the agony arrived.
It was hard for him to continue living his life. Every day to day activity was a tumultuous task for him. He needed servants for the most basic of things.
But he was a warrior. No, not the kind who wove his swords through the enemy lines, but the kind who wove his mind. He formulated plans and schemes for the benefit of his house and family.
The constant physical pain that he suffered from had only made him stronger. He did not give up, and he did not panic. He always remained in control of the situation. He rarely lost his composure and his cool.
The last time he had truly lost it was when he had received the news of the death of his sister. More than her death itself, it was how she had died.
How barbarically she had been killed? That affected him the most. The savagery that had been unleashed upon her.
Even then, he had stopped himself from losing his calm. His hot headed brother had wanted to lead an army against the Lannisters, but Doran had prevented him from doing so. He had known that time, he and Dorne did not stand a chance against the combined might of the other six kingdoms.
He was silently building his army and his power base, waiting for the correct opportunity to strike at them. He knew that he had been patient for a very long time and that most people believed he had given up the thought of revenge, but no. He knew that an appropriate time would surely come.
But today, once again, he had lost his composure. His expression was one of pure disbelief. Whatever he had learned today, he was deeply shocked.
Prince Doran Martell was sitting in his wheelchair within the massive garden of Sunspear. Though this garden was not as beautiful as their private retreat, the Water Gardens, it had a charm of its own.
Doran particularly liked the multicolored flowers that grew there, but right now, his mind was not on them. He was focused entirely on the parchment he had just received and then had it delivered to his brother.
"Brother," the loud voice of Oberyn snapped Doran out of his thoughts. "Brother!"
The Red Viper was almost marching as he approached him. The expression on Oberyn's face was similar to what Doran had on his face a few moments earlier. Just that Oberyn's expression was far more intense.
"What is this?" Oberyn questioned, raising a crumpled piece of parchment in his hand.
Doran did not reply immediately. He looked at the servants standing next to him and commanded, "Leave us."
The servants bowed and scurried away, leaving the two brothers alone in the garden.
"Have a seat, brother," Doran muttered calmly. Now that his hot headed brother was here, Doran began to regain his composure. Oberyn seemed frustrated by his brother's calm behavior. Even so, he took his seat on a wooden chair directly across from Doran's wheelchair.
"What is this?" Oberyn questioned again.
"News from Essos," Doran replied. "I had this sent to you so that you could read it. And I assume that you did read it. Then why are you demanding answers from me?"
"What do you mean?" Oberyn asked, his voice thick with frustration. "Rhaenys? Elia's daughter? And as if this were not enough, she has five dragons and has even taken over the city of Qohor?"
"The person from whom I received this news is a very sharp, intelligent, and capable man," Doran sighed. "And before writing anything like that to us, he would have known what it would imply to us. He knows that to the world, Rhaenys might just be another name, but to us, she is our niece. If this is true then it changes everything. Everything."
"So," Oberyn almost drawled in disbelief. "You are saying that whatever is written on this parchment is true?"
Doran sighed, "I do not know."
"But," he cut off whatever response Oberyn was about to give. "I know that the person who has written to us was very serious in his information. He himself has not seen the dragons or the lady who is claiming to be Rhaenys, but all of Essos is talking about her."
"She might be Rhaenys, or she might not be," he added. "But I am inclined to believe that the dragons are real. Very real."
Oberyn was staring at his brother with a stunned face.
"If that lady really has dragons, then why would she claim to be Rhaenys?" Oberyn asked. "Why would she choose Rhaenys of all people?"
"Maybe to gain legitimacy for the Iron Throne," Doran replied. "Or maybe she really is Rhaenys."
"If she really is Rhaenys," Oberyn almost snapped. "Where was she all these years? And why did she not seek us out?"
Doran did not reply immediately.
"I do not know," he ultimately sighed. "But we must find out the truth."
"I want you to go to Essos," Doran continued, surprising Oberyn. "To Qohor, and find the truth. Find the root of this matter. Find out whether she really is Rhaenys or not."
Oberyn remained silent before he finally nodded. "I will go."
"And what of our pact with the young dragon?" he questioned. The usage of 'young dragon' in his question was more insulting, rather than actually meaning it.
"Take Arianne with you," Doran replied. "If possible, reach out to Viserys too. The appearance of dragons has far greater implications for him than for us."
"Also," he added. "The reports which I have been receiving about Viserys are not very good. I want you to judge him, and Arianne can help you in this matter."
Oberyn nodded. He looked thoughtful. His hands were clenched, and his emotions were complex.
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