Dorne
Sunspear
Within the Water Gardens, the threads of coolness still couldn't completely ward off Dorne's scorching heat.
Prince Doran Martell sat quietly in his wheelchair, cushioned with cool silk. He gently placed the parchment bearing the Greyjoy Kraken sigil onto the table carved from sand-jujube wood.
"Take a look, both of you." His voice was calm, betraying no emotion.
Prince Oberyn, the Red Viper, snatched up the letter, his sharp gaze rapidly scanning the words. His brow furrowed tighter and tighter, followed by a short, mocking sneer. "He's going to fight for the Summer Isles?"
Oberyn slapped the letter onto the table, his voice rising in disbelief. "For a foreign exiled prince, Jalabhar Xho? I remember that fellow. Like a peacock drenched in rain, dark-skinned, good for nothing but complaining!"
Princess Elia, sitting nearby, elegantly took the letter. She read much slower, her gaze lingering on every word, and softly agreed, "Yes, I remember him too." She smiled with a trace of distant memory. "It was our ship that found his dilapidated little boat in the Narrow Sea back then and brought him back to Sunspear. A poor soul who lost his home and hope."
"That's not what I mean, Elia!" Oberyn's patience had clearly been exhausted by the letter's contents. He stood up abruptly, pacing back and forth on the gorgeously tiled floor, his red and yellow robes fluttering. He raged, "What I mean is—the Stepstones! The Stepstones are a mess right now. Myr, Tyrosh, Lys—those pirates and mercenary companies are fighting over the carrion like vultures! What did Euron Greyjoy promise back then!? He promised to help us support your son, my nephew, Caesar! To make him the true 'King of the Stepstones'! And now? He turns his prow and sails ten thousand miles away to the Summer Isles for a laughable excuse?!"
Elia looked up at her agitated brother, her gaze calm. "Oberyn, the situation in the Stepstones is far more complex than it appears. The entrenched powers of the three Free Cities mean that pulling one hair moves the whole body. Perhaps... Euron believes this is not the best time to intervene, or he sees more direct, richer benefits in the Summer Isles."
Prince Doran remained silent, his fingers unconsciously tapping the armrest of his wheelchair. His eyes, accustomed to the sands of Dorne, narrowed slightly, as if piercing through the letter to see a more distant sea and a more complex chessboard. He finally spoke slowly, his voice low but carrying undeniable weight. "Euron Greyjoy never does meaningless things. What he sees is perhaps not just an exiled prince, nor just the wealth of the Summer Isles." He paused, his gaze sweeping over his brother and sister. "What he sees is a new route... that can bypass all current stalemates and lead to a stronger future."
Prince Doran's gaze landed on his sister Elia, his tone teasing. "Is our little Elia already starting to think for the little kraken?"
Elia was unmoved by her brother's teasing. She simply shook her head gently and analyzed rationally, "Unifying the Stepstones inevitably means a head-on war with the Kingdom of the Three Daughters formed by Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys." Her fingertip tapped lightly on the sand-jujube table as she said indifferently, "For the Iron Islands alone to confront an alliance of three Free Cities simultaneously, even with the formidable Greyjoy fleet, would be no easy task."
"In contrast, the Summer Isles are internally loose, and their military force is far inferior to the Three Daughters. Easy first, difficult later; accumulating strength. This is a choice any wise commander would make."
"Hmph!" Oberyn waved his arm sharply, raising his eyebrows. "Spoken so grandly! Clearly, he just doesn't want to put in the effort to make your son the 'King of the Stepstones'! Delay, endless delay! Can delay drag down the Tyroshi navy? Can it starve the Myrish mercenaries?"
Doran waved his hand gently, an invisible pressure slightly suppressing Oberyn's impending outburst. "The Iron Islands fleet will arrive soon," the Prince said slowly, massaging his knee with one hand. "Since you have doubts, wouldn't it be better to ask Euron face-to-face then and hear exactly what he plans?"
He paused, as if remembering a trivial matter, and added, "By the way, Euron and Ashara's child has been born. It's a boy!"
Oberyn and Elia's gazes instantly focused on him.
"Alexander Greyjoy!"
---
The fierce sun turned the seawater golden, and the distant coastline was clearly visible.
It was a vast expanse of scorching red earth, like burning fire, forming a stark contrast with the azure seawater. The salty sea breeze carried the crisp sourness of lemon groves and the bitter, faint fragrance of olive trees.
Ashara Dayne walked to the prow and stood beside Euron. The sea breeze gently ruffled her silver-gold hair. She gazed at the approaching red land with a bright smile of familiar homecoming. She turned her head, her violet eyes holding a hint of slyness as she looked at her husband. "Happy?" she asked softly, her voice gentle as the waves.
Euron's gaze remained on the crimson land. Hearing this, he coughed lightly. "Of course I'm happy," Euron smiled and said. "We've been drifting on the sea for over ten days; it's been nothing but water and sky. To step on solid ground again and let the warriors rest for two days is naturally the best."
Ashara hummed softly, her voice mixed with a bit of playfulness. "Is that so? I meant, you'll be seeing Princess Elia soon. Are you happy?" She deliberately pronounced the name "Elia" clearly and beautifully, her gaze locking tightly onto Euron's face, not missing a single subtle expression.
Euron turned his head to meet Ashara's gaze. He didn't answer immediately. Instead, he reached out and gently tucked her windblown hair behind her ear, his movements tender and meticulous. He leaned in close, his voice low and clear, piercing through the wind and waves straight to the bottom of her heart:
"No matter how dazzling the sun of Dorne is, it cannot light up my lonely soul. In my heart, from beginning to end, there is only one lady, and that is you—my beautiful, gentle, virtuous, and intelligent wife, Ashara Dayne!"
Ashara was slightly stunned. Then, the smile that had originally held a probing intent finally turned into warm light in her eyes.
Three lithe figures flashed out from the side like startled pearl birds, tacitly inserting themselves between Euron and Ashara.
The three sisters from Lonely Light linked arms, forming a flexible barrier, giggling as they gently pulled Ashara away from Euron.
"Don't believe his sweet talk!" one sister in a pale green gauze dress spoke first, her voice crisp.
"Mm-hmm!" another in goose-yellow nodded vigorously, her expression as serious as if announcing a law. "A man's mouth is the most unreliable thing!"
"Especially when it suddenly becomes very sweet," the third in an aqua-blue dress followed up, completing a seamless ensemble. "He must be planning to deceive someone!"
Euron was startled by this sudden interruption, then nearly laughed out of anger. He waved his hand helplessly, like shooing away small flies buzzing around honey. "Go away, go away, none of your business here. Besides, where did I lie to her? Every word I just said was true."
The three sisters exchanged a "just as expected" look and besieged him again, one after another:
"You said it yourself!"
"Just a few days ago, on the deck!"
"When you were teaching Asha, you said, 'Remember, little kraken, a man's words cannot be trusted lightly, especially when he suddenly speaks sweet nothings to you. He is surely planning to deceive you!'"
They spoke in unison, perfectly replicating his tone from that time. Then, six eyes stared at Euron with triumphant light.
Euron: "..."
He opened his mouth, finding himself momentarily speechless.
Those words, spoken casually to teach his niece to be wary of outsiders, were now thrown back in his face verbatim, becoming irrefutable evidence. Behind the three sisters, Ashara covered her mouth and laughed softly, a smile more dazzling than the sun of Dorne...
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