Dorne, Sunspear.
The sun illuminated the rose-pink sandstone of Sunspear, bathing the entire city in a warm glow. This was the seat of House Martell, the rulers of Dorne, known for their beauty and tolerance.
In the hall, a long table was laden with unique Dornish delicacies: spiced lamb, dates, figs, pomegranates, and the signature Dornish strongwine. Handmaidens in light gauze robes moved among them, pouring wine and serving food to the guests.
Upon the high throne sat Prince Qoren Martell of Dorne. He was in his thirties, his skin tanned by the Dornish sun to a healthy bronze, his features lean, his eyes sharp. He wore a crimson silk robe with an open collar, revealing an old scar on his chest from a duel with a marcher lord in his youth.
To the left and right of Prince Qoren sat the commanders of the combined fleet.
To the right was Lord Redwyne of the Arbor, Paxter Redwyne. Lord Paxter was in his early fifties, with neatly combed reddish-brown hair and a well-trimmed beard. To the left was the Lannister fleet commander, Tybolt Lannister. Tybolt was a cousin of Lord Jason, forty years old, with fair hair.
Below them sat guests from the Iron Islands. At their head sat a young man of ordinary appearance. Dalton Greyjoy, heir to the Iron Islands, privately called the "Red Kraken" by the ironborn. He was barely past twenty, with long black hair hanging loose, and several faint scars on his face—the marks of countless sea battles. He wore dark grey leather armor with no surcoat, emphasizing his strong muscles. At his hip hung a sword with a spiral hilt and a dull blade—the Valyrian steel sword Nightfall. He had taken it from a pirate he killed in battle. Behind him stood several equally fierce ironborn, who did not sit straight like the others but lounged in their chairs, eating meat and drinking, completely ignoring the looks of others.
Prince Qoren watched the guests with a polite smile, but secretly observed them in his heart. These three forces were now allied; together with the combined fleet waiting at sea, they were enough to frighten any navy. But Prince Qoren clearly did not intend to let them do whatever they wanted on Dornish soil.
"Gentlemen," the Prince of Dorne said with a smile, raising his glass. "Welcome to Dorne. Please drink this cup to the fullest, as a sign of Dorne's respect for its guests."
All raised their glasses and drank them down.
Paxter Redwyne set down his glass and said with a smile, "Prince Qoren, thank you for your hospitality. The Arbor has no quarrel with Dorne, and I hope this friendship will last forever."
Qoren nodded and returned the smile. "Lord Redwyne is right. We have many friends and do not like to make enemies without cause."
Tybolt Lannister responded from the side. "Your Highness, we are here to thank Dorne for opening its ports and allowing the combined fleet to dock for supplies. House Lannister will remember this kindness."
Qoren waved his hand. "Please. Dorne opened its ports only because it is displeased with certain matters. But that does not mean Dorne will participate in this war."
The prince paused, his gaze sweeping over them all. "Dorne is neutral. That is our position. You are guests of mine. But after you leave Dorne, Dorne does not care what you do, nor does it wish to be involved."
Lord Paxter nodded and said, "I understand. Your Highness has already helped us greatly by opening your ports."
Tybolt also nodded in understanding.
Only Dalton Greyjoy, taking a sip of wine, said lazily, "Neutral? Interesting. Then if we encounter Dornish ships at sea, do we fight them or not?"
The atmosphere in the hall instantly cooled.
Qoren looked at him; the smile on his face did not change, and he spoke lightly. "Lord Greyjoy, Dornish ships rarely go to sea. If you meet one at sea, it is most likely a trading vessel. The ironborn would surely disdain to raid neutral trading vessels during wartime, would they not?"
Dalton smiled. "Not necessarily."
The ironborn behind him laughed coarsely.
Tybolt looked at these unruly ironmen, frowned, and was about to say something. But Lord Paxter spoke first.
"Lord Greyjoy has had too much to drink. Your Highness, please do not mind."
Dalton shrugged and continued drinking.
---
The banquet continued.
After three rounds of wine, the atmosphere gradually warmed.
Lord Paxter set down his glass and sighed. "By the way, this war is truly an unnecessary disaster. Why must a good kingdom be torn apart and slaughter each other?"
Tybolt snorted coldly. "It's all because of that pretender Rhaenyra. Poisoning the late king and usurping the throne—she deserves death."
Dalton chewed on lamb and said indistinctly, "You fight your fight, we rob our rob. That's not a conflict."
Tybolt frowned. "Lord Greyjoy, we are allies."
"Allies?" Dalton smiled. "The Iron Throne offered a good price. What we take is forty percent ours."
Tybolt's face changed, but he held back and remained silent.
Lord Paxter hastily smoothed things over. "Lord Greyjoy is joking. We can still trust in the honor of the Iron Islands."
---
In the middle of the banquet, Prince Qoren finally got down to business.
"Everyone," he set down his glass, looking more serious. "Dorne opened its ports for one reason."
All looked at him.
"Rhaenyra Targaryen," Qoren said seriously. "She invaded Tyrosh and carved up the Triarchy."
A note of coldness entered the prince's voice. "Dorne has been friends with the Triarchy for generations. Our nobles intermarry and trade with each other. Now Tyrosh has fallen, Myr is occupied, and Lys is surrounded. This is something we Dornish cannot accept."
Lord Paxter nodded. "Understood. The Triarchy should not have been invaded."
"Therefore," Qoren said, "Dorne's allowing the combined fleet to dock for supplies is a warning to Rhaenyra."
Tybolt asked, "If the Greens win, will Your Highness..."
"Congratulate the Iron Throne," Qoren interrupted. "We Dornish have recognized Aegon the Second as King of the Seven Kingdoms. After this, relations between Dorne and the Iron Throne remain as before."
Tybolt was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Understood."
Lord Paxter also nodded. "Your Highness being able to say this shows your sincerity."
Qoren smiled slightly and raised his glass. "Come, to sincerity—cheers."
All raised their glasses again.
---
After the banquet, the guests left the hall one by one and returned to their chambers to rest. Dalton Greyjoy was the last to leave. He had drunk a great deal, but his steps were steady.
He walked to a corner of the corridor and suddenly stopped.
There stood a woman in a red gauze robe, her face veiled, only her eyes showing. Those eyes sparkled with a smile as she looked at him.
Dalton's eyes narrowed.
The woman stepped forward, and a fragrance wafted from her. Dalton drew a deep breath; the scent was exotic and intoxicating.
"A pity," he suddenly spoke.
The woman smiled. "What pity?"
"A pity that this is Dorne," Dalton said, his eyes gleaming dangerously. "If it were at sea, I would make you my salt wife."
The woman covered her mouth and laughed. The laugh was very pleasant, like silver bells.
"Lord Greyjoy certainly knows how to joke," she said. As she spoke, she took a folded parchment from her sleeve and handed it to him.
Dalton casually took the parchment and unfolded it.
Then his expression changed. It was a mixture of surprise, shock, and a flicker of excitement.
He raised his head, stared at the woman, and lowered his voice.
"You are bold. Do you know that we are surrounded by my men? If I so much as roar, you, a spy, will be torn to pieces immediately."
The woman, Mysaria—the spymistress of the Blacks—smiled slightly; there was no fear in that smile.
"My lord," she said quietly, "but I can only shrink on the Iron Islands for the rest of my life."
Dalton's eyes narrowed.
Mysaria continued. "My lord, I risked my life to see you because the Blacks can offer a price the Greens cannot afford."
Dalton was silent for a moment, then said, "Why join the Blacks? Do you think you can win? In my view, the Greens have a better chance."
"Perhaps," Mysaria said. "But, my lord, what will the Greens give you? Allow you to plunder the Blacks' spoils? How much is that worth? When the war ends and the Greens win, you will continue to shrink on the Iron Islands as a pirate."
Dalton was silent.
"But the Blacks are different," Mysaria continued persuading. "Though Tyrosh had some trouble, we have reached an agreement with Hugh Hammer. He has become Lord of Tyrosh, and after the war will be crowned Prince of Tyrosh. Those bastard dragons will still fight for us."
She paused and looked into Dalton's eyes.
"Queen Rhaenyra has said that if you are willing to help us, the Westerlands will be yours."
Dalton's pupils contracted slightly.
The West. The entire Westerlands. That is not a small amount of plunder.
"Queen Rhaenyra has promised," Mysaria spoke word by word. "Why can't you replace the Lannisters? The West will be your future domain."
Dalton was silent for a long time.
Mysaria did not rush; she simply looked at him quietly.
Finally, Dalton smiled.
"This offer... is truly generous," he said. "Far more generous than what the Greens gave me."
Mysaria smiled. "So, would you like to consider it?"
Dalton nodded. "I still need to think about it."
Mysaria knew that was already a success. She smiled slightly, took a parchment from her sleeve, and pressed it into Dalton's palm.
"This is how to contact us. After you have thought it over, my lord, you can send someone to contact us."
She turned and vanished into the corner of the corridor.
Dalton stood still, looking at the parchment in his hand, and a smile slowly spread across his lips.
He... was ironborn to the bone...
But she had offered too much...