Creak. Clang.
The iron portcullis slammed down behind them, cutting off the deafening cheers of the crowd.
Princess Arianne was waiting in the outer courtyard with half of the court to welcome them.
Her jet-black ringlets shimmered in the sunlight, and the copper sun disk on her forehead swayed gently with her movements.
The straps of her snakeskin sandals wound all the way up her calves to her thighs. As she walked, her gown of purple and yellow silk rippled like water.
Among the courtiers, Arthur recognized the elderly, blind Seneschal Ricasso, the Castellan Ser Manfrey Martell, and the young Maester Myles in his grey robes.
"Brother, Ser Arthur," Arianne announced as she strode toward them. "Sunspear rejoices at your arrival."
"I could hear their joy from all the way out here, though most of it was welcoming Arthur." Quentyn dismounted with a faint smile. "Sister, you look well."
"Princess Arianne." Arthur handed his reins and the garlands of flowers to a stable boy, offering a standard, polite greeting.
The Sand Snakes were all tall women. By Arthur's estimation, Arianne was nearly a head shorter than Lady Nymeria.
However, beneath her jeweled girdle and loose, flowing layers of purple and yellow silk, her figure was noticeably fuller, her curves more voluptuous.
Arthur recalled what Nymeria had told him about Arianne's plan: Arianne wanted him to propose to her as a show of support for her claim as heir to Dorne.
Just as Arthur was pondering this, Arianne leaned in close, bringing with her the scent of citrus and spice. "Ser Arthur, my champion. Would I have the honor of hearing you recount your battles with the Reachmen personally?
"Though the city is buzzing with rumors, surely the version from your own lips would be far more thrilling. It would certainly feel... different."
Arianne's voice was soft and syrupy, laden with unmistakable suggestion.
"You siblings have been apart for a long time; surely you have much to catch up on." Oberyn's voice cut in suddenly. His eyes, dark as midnight, swept over Arianne.
"Arthur, come with me. Doran wishes to speak with you privately."
He then turned to instruct the blind Seneschal. "Ricasso, arrange rooms and food for our guests."
Arthur shrugged apologetically at Arianne and followed Oberyn through the gathered courtiers, walking along the winding corridor of the castle.
The familiar scenery jogged Arthur's memory.
The first time he came to Sunspear for the tourney, he was just Arthur Snow, seeking knighthood from Oberyn, with pitifully few titles to his name.
Now, he was the Governor of the Dornish Marches, Warden of the Torrentine, Acting Lord of Starfall, and the Sword of the Morning, Ser Arthur Snow.
Oberyn remained silent the whole way, only occasionally glancing at Arthur with a sharp, probing gaze.
Arthur asked, puzzled, "Why are you looking at me like that?"
Oberyn huffed. "You know what you did."
What did I do? Oberyn's cryptic remark left Arthur completely confused.
Just as Arthur was about to ask for clarification, they finished climbing the long stone steps of the Tower of the Sun and entered the massive, domed circular hall.
Sunlight filtered through the thick, colored glass of the dome, casting dozens of diamond-shaped patches of colored light onto the pale marble floor.
On the dais stood two nearly identical thrones. One bore the inlaid gold spear of House Martell on its back, while the other displayed the blazing sun of the Rhoynar.
Prince Doran sat on the spear throne, his Captain of the Guards standing below the dais, longaxe in hand.
Arthur stood in the center of the hall, bowed, and said, "My Prince, thank you for your declared support of Starfall and myself."
"Paxter attacked Dornish lands first. As your liege lord, I had to respond," Doran said, his voice as calm as still water.
"Regarding the Governorship of the Dornish Marches... what are your thoughts and plans?"
"My Prince, to be honest," Arthur began, reciting the excuse he had prepared beforehand.
"The title of Governor is merely honorary, much like the title of 'Warden of the Marches' held by House Caron of Nightsong."
"The Marcher lords have feuded for a thousand years, bearing deep grudges, and they all answer to different liege lords."
"To truly fulfill the duties of the Governor—uniting the Marcher lords to suppress the wildlings of the Red Mountains and mediating disputes between the three regions—would be harder than climbing to the sky."
Doran nodded in agreement at first. "What you say makes sense."
Then, his tone shifted. "If the position of Governor had been given to anyone else, I wouldn't care. But because it is you, I believe you actually possess the ability to fulfill those duties."
"I heard Jon Arryn is so old he's lost half his teeth, but it seems his eye for talent remains as sharp as ever."
Hearing Doran affirm his ability didn't make Arthur happy; instead, his heart tightened. So much for passing this test easily.
Doran's words were akin to Cao Cao telling Liu Bei, "The only heroes in the world are you and I."
Arthur adjusted his mindset, preparing to launch into his second prepared speech. "My Prince, I..."
Before Arthur could get a word out, Doran interrupted him. "Enough. Go and be your Governor of the Marches with a clear mind. Sunspear will not be an obstacle to you."
"You know of the great enterprise we are planning. I have only one requirement for you: When war eventually breaks out between Dorne and the Iron Throne, Starfall must fulfill its feudal obligations and answer Sunspear's call to arms."
"And you must remain neutral. You will help neither side, even if you face your uncle, Eddard Stark."
"Huh?"
Doran's words left Arthur, who had been fully prepared for a rigorous interrogation, completely stunned.
given Dorne's performance in the original story—losing not a single soldier (except for the Red Viper)—Doran's requirement was essentially no requirement at all.
Doran looked serious. "I want you to swear on your sword to meet this requirement."
Arthur snapped back to reality immediately. He drew Dawn without hesitation and swore the solemn oath.
After Arthur swore and sheathed his sword, Doran nodded to Oberyn.
"Nymeria writes that she is pregnant," Oberyn said suddenly, pulling a letter from his robe. "It's your child."
"What?!"
Arthur was dumbfounded. He stood frozen for a long moment before his eyes widened in realization. He repeated the words to confirm he hadn't misheard. "Nymeria is pregnant... with my child?"
Oberyn didn't say more, just shook the letter in his hand.
Arthur took the letter. Nymeria's familiar handwriting jumped out at him. It was indeed written by Lady Nymeria herself.
Well... before leaving Sandstone for King's Landing, we did play a very intense 'high-stakes match.'
Counting the time, that was about three months ago.
If this is true... does that mean I'm going to be a father?
Thinking of this, Arthur asked, his voice dry, "Where is Nymeria now?"
The corner of Oberyn's mouth lifted slightly. "Where else? Starfall!"