The ship slowly sailed into the harbor of Sunspear. When the unique ochre cliffs of Dorne came into view, Elia unconsciously moved to the prow.
The sea breeze brushed her face gently, carrying the familiar scents of sand and spice from her homeland. A long-lost, heartfelt smile finally bloomed on her pale face, like a rare desert flower after rain.
On the dock, an honor guard was already waiting.
Doran Nymeros Martell, Prince of Dorne and Lord of Sunspear, sat composed in a finely carved wooden wheelchair. His expression was as calm as the Greenblood in summer. Though illness had taken the use of his legs, his gaze remained wise and majestic, as if he could see through everyone's thoughts.
Behind him stood two guards like iron towers. Areo Hotah, the captain of the guards from Norvos, held a massive longaxe that glinted coldly in the sun. Sebastian Fernandes (or a similar trusted Dornish guard) held a curved Dornish blade, his sharp eyes scanning the surroundings. They stood like immovable mountains, guarding the ruler of Dorne.
When the gangplank was lowered and Elia stepped onto the soil of her home, Prince Doran slowly raised his hand. His voice was gentle but full of strength: "Welcome home, sister."
After arriving at Storm's End, Oberyn had asked the Maester there to send a raven detailing everything that had happened at the Harrenhal Tourney back to Sunspear (omitting the news of Elia's pregnancy). Now, seeing his sister's paper-pale face with his own eyes, deep guilt and sorrow surfaced in Doran's eyes.
Years ago, it was their mother—the ruling Princess of Dorne—who had arranged Elia's marriage to Prince Rhaegar for the sake of Dorne's interests and political alliances. As her brother, Doran had once been pleased with the match, seeing his beloved little sister standing beside the talented Dragon Prince, looking like a couple from legend.
But now, seeing the unconcealed pain in Elia's eyes, Doran's fingers tightened unconsciously on the armrests of his wheelchair. He had never expected things to develop to this point, nor that Rhaegar would publicly humiliate Elia at the tourney, dragging Dorne's dignity through the dust.
The sea breeze ruffled the hair on Doran's forehead, his gaze deepening. In this moment, the heart of the Dornish ruler held not just a brother's pity for his sister, but a surging disappointment—and anger—toward House Targaryen.
Unlike her last joyous return to Dorne, this homecoming was shrouded in a heaviness that was hard to dispel.
When Elia stepped onto the familiar brickwork of Sunspear, she deliberately straightened her back, offering her wheelchair-bound brother a gentle but weary smile—she didn't want him to worry about her anymore.
After a simple welcoming ceremony, Prince Doran signaled for Oberyn, Elia, and Arianne to follow him into his solar.
As Arianne passed by Euron, she suddenly stopped. She whipped her head around, her deep, uniquely Dornish eyes shooting daggers of cold light at him, glaring viciously. That look seemed to pierce through flesh straight to his soul, filled with unmasked anger and condemnation.
Euron couldn't help but return a helpless, wry smile. Though he didn't fully understand the source of this sudden hostility, the meaning was clear—her eyes were screaming: You're in big trouble now. Just wait and see!
The heavy wooden doors of the solar closed behind them, shutting out the world.
There was no grand welcome feast at Sunspear that night. The dining hall was set with only a few simple local dishes. Until deep in the night, the lights in the solar remained bright. The Prince's wheelchair never left the room surrounded by maps and scrolls. Occasionally, suppressed voices drifted out, signaling a destined sleepless night.
---
In the late-night corridors of Sunspear, the sea breeze wove through the stone pillars, carrying a salty tang.
Euron had just escorted his betrothed, Ashara, back to her room. Turning around, he saw a familiar figure standing under the archway at the end of the corridor.
Elia stood alone on the moonlit terrace. The breeze gently lifted the hem of her dress. The sheer fabric clung to her slender frame, looking as though she might vanish with the wind in the next second.
The bright moonlight traced her exquisite profile, casting a soft silver glow on her overly pale face. She stood there like fragile porcelain, possessing a heartbreaking, delicate beauty that made one want to protect her.
Euron unconsciously softened his steps. He saw Elia's fingers unconsciously stroking the railing of the terrace, her gaze fixed on the pitch-black sea in the distance, immersed in an invisible sorrow.
In that moment, she seemed to be the person in all of Dorne most in need of shelter.
Euron asked softly, "It's so late, why haven't you rested? Have you finished talking with the Prince?"
Elia turned around, the breeze brushing the tips of her hair. "I came specifically to find you," her voice was light but held an undeniable firmness. "There is something I must tell you."
Euron looked at her solemn expression and immediately realized this would be an important conversation. "Alright," he replied briefly, asking no questions.
Elia nodded slightly, turning to walk slowly toward the sound of the waves. Euron followed silently behind her. One after the other, they crossed the moonlit corridor, casting long shadows on the stone slabs.
The night wind was cool, but it couldn't disperse the heavy atmosphere.
Elia's voice was so soft it almost melted into the sound of the waves: "That night we left Dorne the last time... do you remember?"
Euron froze, a look of guilt appearing on his face. "I'm sorry. I drank too much that night... about what happened with Arianne, I apologize. That was my fault..."
Elia sighed gently. "Let's not talk about Arianne for now. That night..." She paused, seemingly finding it difficult to speak, but eventually continued. "When she left, she accidentally left some private items in your room. But she... wasn't able to move freely, so she asked me to retrieve them for her."
The breeze lifted the hair on her forehead, her voice growing fainter. "When I entered your room... we..."
Euron's pupils contracted slightly. "We?"
Elia closed her eyes, as if gathering courage. "Yes. We did things that shouldn't have happened."
"I'm sorry," Euron's voice was low and hoarse, carrying genuine regret.
"You can't be fully blamed," Elia opened her eyes, filled with complex emotions. "I bear responsibility too. I didn't push you away, didn't refuse you..."
"I will take respo—" Euron started, but Elia interrupted him with a gentle shake of her head.
They fell into a long silence. Only the sound of waves hitting the shore echoed in the night, seemingly narrating this irrevocable mistake.
Elia's voice was barely audible in the wind, yet it fell clearly in Euron's ears.
"I am pregnant."
Euron was struck speechless. Countless thoughts and questions flashed through his mind. Could that accidental night really...
As if reading his mind, Elia continued softly, "Since giving birth to Rhaenys, my body has been weak. Rhaegar has not touched me since... You are the only man in all this time."
Euron took a deep breath, the salty tang of the wind suddenly sharp. "It is my child?"
The successive truths hit him like thunder, throwing his thoughts into chaos. He needed time, needed to digest all of this properly.
Elia shook her head calmly. "I am telling you this not to make you take on anything. Only because this is your flesh and blood too; before I make any decision, you have the right to know." Her hand gently covered her lower abdomen, the movement tender and firm. "The Maester said after Rhaenys, it would be hard for me to conceive again. This child is an accident, and possibly the last child I will ever have."
Her gaze looked toward the undulating sea in the distance, her voice carrying unshakeable resolve. "I will not drink Moon Tea. I will give birth to him, and raise him well."
Euron was silent for a long time before speaking solemnly. "I will take responsibility. I won't shirk it." The words fell heavy in the night, like an oath striking the ground.
Elia shook her head gently. "No. I've said it, I don't need you to take on anything. On the contrary, no one else must know about this."
Euron frowned. "Then this child..."
"Starting tomorrow, I will move to the Old Palace until the child is born," Elia's voice was calm but resolute. "No one will know of my pregnancy. After the child is born, it will be announced to the public as Oberyn's bastard, raised by me."
Euron's face darkened instantly. The thought of his own flesh and blood being treated as another man's bastard caused an indescribable knot of frustration in his chest.
Elia seemed to see through his dissatisfaction and explained softly, "Before... with you... I was still nominally Rhaegar's wife. Even with the engagement dissolved now, if people misunderstand and link this child to Rhaegar, it would be dangerous." Her fingers unconsciously stroked her belly. "You said great chaos is coming. If people mistake this child for having Targaryen blood, it will only bring him disaster. Besides, I do not wish for anyone to associate him with the House of the Dragon."
Moonlight shone on her pale face, reflecting a maternal strength and resignation. Though cruel, this decision was the best protection she could give the child.
Elia gazed at Euron, a look of helplessness yet firmness in her eyes. "Do you have a better way?"
She continued, her voice carrying the open-mindedness unique to the Dornish. "Here, bastards do not suffer discrimination like in other places. He will grow up in sunlight and love, receiving no less care than any other child."
Euron's brow remained furrowed. "It is still an unpleasant status."
Elia took a step forward, the moonlight gilding her pale face in silver. "But I believe, with your ability and wisdom, one day you will be able to let him cast off the name of a bastard with dignity." Her voice suddenly became soft but full of trust. "I believe the future you will have this power. But for now, this may be the best way."
The sea breeze passed through the space between them, bringing the whispers of distant waves. Elia's words held both realistic calculation and expectation for Euron's future.
Euron stood alone on the shore shrouded in night, like a frozen statue. The wind blew his dark curls wildly, the salty mist dampening his clothes, but he felt none of it. The waves shattered on the reefs, emitting sobbing sounds that mirrored his chaotic thoughts.
Elia watched his upright but stiff back silently for a moment, then quietly turned away. Her dress rustled softly against the stone, a sound quickly swallowed by the sea. She knew this man, usually so composed, was facing an unprecedented shock. He needed time—needed the company of this sea, needed the embrace of this endless night—to digest this news that would change the fate of many.
Moonlight stretched her shadow long as she walked further away.
On the coastline, Euron remained motionless, letting the tide wash over the soles of his boots, as if seeking an answer in the sound of the waves.