Dorne, the Water Gardens.
"My Prince, would you like a cup of milk of the poppy?" Maester Caleotte asked, standing beneath the shade of a lemon tree, after examining Doran's limbs, which were increasingly swollen from gout.
"It might ease your pain."
"No... not for the next few days." Prince Doran gazed quietly at the children playing in the pools. "Is there any news from King's Landing? From Quentyn?"
Maester Caleotte gently draped a thin silk blanket over the Prince's knees, though he still saw Doran wince slightly from the pain.
The Maester straightened up. "A letter has arrived from Quentyn. Paxter Redwyne lost his trial by combat and has been beheaded before the Great Sept of Baelor."
"Ser Arthur has been appointed Governor of the Dornish Marches by the Iron Throne. He is currently sailing south with the Royal Fleet and has promised to meet with you when the ships arrive at Sunspear."
Hearing of Paxter's death, a flicker of surprise crossed Doran's eyes. "Eddard Stark going south meant the Reach had lost, but I did not expect them to lose so thoroughly."
"Governor of the Dornish Marches, escorted by the Royal Fleet... Jon Arryn has truly gone to great lengths."
"My Prince," Maester Caleotte said. "Ser Arthur has now established his authority through his victory over Paxter and the Reach. Coupled with the mandate from the Iron Throne, I fear it will be difficult for us to stop him from fulfilling his duties as Governor."
Doran nodded. "Thank you for your counsel, Caleotte. Leave me alone for a while."
Caleotte bowed slightly and left quietly.
After the Maester left, Doran endured the throbbing pain in his limbs and carefully considered the sequence of events.
First, it seemed Arthur had not told Jon Arryn about the secret betrothal contract for Arianne. Or perhaps he had, and Jon Arryn was holding onto the information without acting?
Doran quickly dismissed the latter theory.
If Jon Arryn were holding onto it, he wouldn't have allowed Paxter to be beheaded; he would have at least preserved the last shred of noble dignity.
Nor would he have blatantly appointed Arthur as Governor of the Dornish Marches, had the Royal Fleet escort him home, and released his son Quentyn.
This meant Arthur had either kept his promise to keep the secret, or he had a poor opinion of King Robert and no desire to help the Baratheon dynasty.
For now, at least, he was a friend rather than an enemy.
"If I ever sit on that seat, it will not be because of someone else's charity or some exchange, but because I am worthy of it."
Doran recalled the words Arthur had once spoken to him. Perhaps he truly meant what he said and would get his wish.
And so, Doran sat alone in his wheelchair, watching the children play in the pools, while his mind worked through the puzzle Jon Arryn had set for him: the Governor of the Dornish Marches.
Slowly, the sun began to dip toward the west.
The voice of Areo Hotah, Captain of the Guards, came from a distance. "My Prince, Prince Oberyn seeks an audience."
Doran made a gesture, and soon the sound of hurried footsteps approached.
Oberyn got straight to the point. "Doran, what do you think of Arthur becoming the Governor of the Dornish Marches?"
Doran answered truthfully. "At least he is a friend, not an enemy. He can be won over."
A smirk played on Oberyn's lips as he pulled a letter from his robe. "We don't need to win him over."
Doran frowned and glanced at Oberyn. After reading the contents of the letter, he asked in surprise, "Is this true?"
Oberyn said with certainty, "My daughter would not lie to me."
---
The Fury, carrying Arthur, had already rounded Cape Wrath and entered the Sea of Dorne. It was estimated to arrive at Sunspear in a day or two.
As they drew closer to Sunspear, Arthur began to ponder how to navigate the hurdle that was Prince Doran. As a competent liege lord, Doran would never want to see a vassal become too powerful—especially one like a Governor of the Marches, who was practically his equal in rank.
Dorne's previously most powerful vassal, House Yronwood, had been neatly handled by the combined "combo moves" of the brothers Doran and Oberyn—a smooth sequence involving a cuckolding incident (Oberyn sleeping with Lord Yronwood's paramour), a duel to first blood (where Yronwood died from poisoned wounds), and sending a hostage (Quentyn) to foster peace.
After much thought, Arthur finally found his breakthrough point. He thought of the previous Sword of the Morning, his late, beloved uncle, Ser Arthur Dayne.
Arthur used to feel conflicted about the Tower of Joy—his uncle Eddard Stark against his uncle Arthur Dayne, cousin against cousin. It felt like no matter which side he stood on, it was wrong.
Back then, his thinking was too rigid. Now, looking at it with a more flexible mindset, didn't this mean he could stand on either side? It gave him the capital to play both ends against the middle.
To Jon Arryn, he could say: My uncle Eddard performed great deeds for House Baratheon! He bled for Robert's crown!
To Prince Doran, he could say: My uncle Arthur performed great deeds for House Targaryen! He gave his life for Prince Rhaegar!
Thinking of this, Arthur couldn't help the corner of his mouth from twitching upward.
When the Fury sailed into the Greenblood and docked at the Planky Town south of Sunspear, Prince Oberyn Martell led the welcoming party to greet Arthur and his group.
Stannis had no plans to visit Sunspear and showed no intention of disembarking.
However, Ser Imry Florent, a man of the Reach, enthusiastically followed Arthur off the ship.
Quentyn nodded with a calm expression. "Uncle, I didn't expect you to come personally to welcome us."
"I didn't expect your journey to go so smoothly." Oberyn nodded to Quentyn, then turned to Arthur. "Was Paxter really struck by lightning?"
Arthur answered truthfully, "I saw it with my own eyes. The High Septon declared it a manifestation of the Seven on the spot. Otherwise, Paxter wouldn't have been taken to the Great Sept of Baelor for execution."
Chatting as they went, the group made their way to the Shadow City. Visitors were allowed to pass directly through the Threefold Walls. The triple gates leading to the Old Palace were open, and the roads were lined with cheering crowds.
Even the winding walls were packed with people, adults carrying children on their shoulders.
Arthur hadn't expected a normal entry into the city to turn into something resembling a triumphal procession through the Arc de Triomphe.
When the Spear Tower came into view, Arthur had to hold the reins with one hand because his other arm was laden with flower garlands presented by maidens. Despite this, the crowd continued to cheer relentlessly for him.
They passed through the filthy outer city and entered the second gate.
The wind inside this gate carried the scent of tar, brine, and rotting seaweed. With every step, the crowd grew denser.
"Make way for the Sword of the Morning!" Although the guards tried their best to clear a path, the enthusiastic, crushing crowd made progress slow. "Make way for Prince Oberyn!"
"The Knight of Hearts before, the Sword of the Morning now!" a woman shouted from a balcony.
"To deal with the Reachmen, you must pick up a spear and wield a sword!" a man roared not far in front of Arthur.
"Sword of the Morning!" a noble shouted. "Dorne's sharpest spear!"
Areo Hotah gave up trying to find the speakers; there were simply too many people, and a third of them were shouting.
By the time they reached the third gate, the guards had to physically shove the crowd back to clear a path for Arthur.
Upon arriving at the gates of Sunspear, Arthur felt that perhaps he wouldn't need to pull the "My uncle served the Dragons" card after all. He might just pass Prince Doran's test easily.