His legs trembled violently, and a fine sheen of sweat instantly broke out across his forehead.
The agonizing pain of gout made his face even more sallow, but he did not stop.
One step.
Two steps.
Dragging legs that scarcely obeyed him, he made his way toward Aegon, one step at a time.
Every step felt like treading on a blade. His breathing grew heavier and heavier, but he never bowed his head.
At last, he came to a stop before Aegon.
Then he tried to kneel on one knee.
But his legs could no longer support him-as soon as his knees bent, he lost his balance and collapsed heavily to the ground. Dust rose, coating his princely robes.
He lay on the ground, looking up at the silver-haired young man standing before him.
"Your Highness, Aegon Targaryen," he said, his voice hoarse and trembling, yet still clear. "Dorne... was wrong. I was wrong as well. I am willing to bear all the consequences."
He lay there, drawing a few ragged breaths, then braced his hands against the ground and slowly pushed himself upright.
He made no attempt to stand. He knew he could not, so he simply remained half kneeling, half sitting, looking up at Aegon.
He spoke, his voice raspy, but every word distinct. "In my capacity as Prince of Dorne, I am willing to surrender all authority over Dorne. Sunspear, and every castle and parcel of land in Dorne, shall fall under the jurisdiction of the Iron Throne."
"I am willing to accept officials sent by House Targaryen to govern Dorne."
He paused and lowered his eyes, as though swallowing something bitter. "The title of Prince of Dorne... I am willing to abolish it here and now. From this day forth, Dorne shall have no prince. House