A marriage alliance

"Cooperation." Oberyn leaned forward. "Baratheon rule is far from secure. The Reach has only just bent the knee and has yet to settle down. House Arryn lost its heir in the war, and the current lord of the Vale is old, with no one to succeed him. His rule isn't as secure as you might imagine, either.

"Old Tully in the Riverlands probably hasn't much time left. He doesn't get along with his brother, the Blackfish, and his heir is a fool. The Stormlands just lost its fleet, the Iron Islands have been watching hungrily all along, and the nobles of the Crownlands have only recently suffered suppression and purges. The only ones we really need to worry about are the Lannisters and the Starks. If you can establish yourself in Essos, Dorne will be your ally when you strike back."

He paused, a meaningful smile curling his lips. "To strengthen the alliance, my brother, Prince Doran, is willing to betroth his eldest daughter, Arianne Martell, to you. A princess of Dorne, matched with the last Targaryen king. That would make our alliance all the more unbreakable."

The stone chamber fell silent for a moment. Ellaria studied Viserys's face.

Viserys remained silent for a moment, then slowly shook his head. "I thank Prince Doran for his generous offer. But I am already betrothed."

Oberyn raised an eyebrow, amusement lingering at the corners of his eyes. "Might I ask which lady has received that honor?"

"Not just one, and neither is some other woman."

Viserys answered clearly. "It is an ancient Targaryen tradition. My ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, married both Queen Visenya and Queen Rhaenys. As a Targaryen who also intends to conquer Westeros, I should naturally follow his example."

Although he was not truly a Targaryen now, and neither was Rhaenys-only Daenerys was-the others had no idea. At most, they believed Rhaenys to be Rhaegar's bastard daughter.

Those words wiped the smile from Oberyn's face. He gave Viserys a long look, speechlessness in his eyes eventually giving way to a trace of amusement.

"Marrying two, just like Aegon the Conqueror." He chuckled softly, and it was impossible to tell whether he meant it in mockery or admiration. "That's certainly a straightforward answer. But what if my brother insists on a marriage alliance?"

Viserys met his gaze. "If House Martell can accept those terms, I certainly won't refuse another wife. After all, a dragon king never objects to having too many queens, provided their blood is noble enough."

Oberyn stared at him for a long while, then suddenly burst out laughing. "Good. Very good. I'll take your 'terms' back to my brother, word for word." He rose. "Your Grace, I hope you'll have more surprises for me the next time we meet."

"And treat Rhaenys well, or you'll answer to me." With that, he left without bidding Viserys farewell, putting an arm around his companion and heading straight for the door.

As he passed Arthur Dayne, he briefly slowed his steps. "It's good to see you, Ser Arthur, but today isn't the right time. We can catch up properly when another opportunity arises."

Arthur merely inclined his head in agreement.

Once they had left, silence returned to the secret chamber, with only a faint trace of spice lingering in the air. Viserys remained seated, tapping his fingers lightly against the table. Dorne's olive branch came with poisonous thorns, but he had also given them an answer they were almost certain to reject.

To Viserys's surprise, however, Dorne agreed to the marriage alliance. They did insist that the marriage must be lawful and sanctioned by the Seven, leaving Viserys to settle that matter with the Faith himself.

Since Viserys had already said he did not mind another wife, he naturally would not refuse one offered to him. Making it lawful would be even simpler. With dragons at his command, the terms would be easy enough to negotiate.

And so, with the Sealord as witness, the two sides secretly signed a betrothal agreement that would take effect when Viserys launched his campaign to retake Westeros.

Time flew by in the blink of an eye.

Viserys stood at his bedroom window, gazing out at the gray sea in the distance. Seven years had passed since he first set foot in Essos. Seven years were enough for a child to grow into a youth, and enough for Viserys to become fully part of this very real world.

His days over those years had been largely uneventful, even regular. Every morning, he trained in two-handed swordsmanship with Ser Arthur in the training yard. He had also learned Water Dancing from Syrio Forel and combined the two styles into a seamless whole.

He had grown considerably taller, and his shoulders had broadened. Blackfyre had gradually changed from a heavy burden in his hands into something he wielded as naturally as his own arm.

In the afternoons, he mostly spent his time with Rhaenys and Daenerys. To Rhaenys, he was both an "older brother" and a teacher, teaching her Valyrian, something Ashara could not do. He knew it because Queen Rhaella had taught him when he was young.

To Daenerys, he was an older brother who cared for her in every way. Through her innocent childhood, he dispelled the shadows of exile and planted warm seeds of home and belonging. The two girls were his closest family in this world, and indispensable parts of his plans for the future.

Between him and Ashara Dayne, a subtle yet profound affection had slowly grown through their days together. She was no longer the lady of Starfall with the somber eyes he had first met, but a companion with whom he could share silence and mutual understanding. Their trust intertwined like vines, and an unspoken rapport formed whenever their eyes met.

On certain late nights, atop the lookout tower at their base or in a quiet gondola somewhere in Braavos, they would speak of their pasts and secrets, and of their hazy hopes for the future.

Their feelings had long since crossed the bounds of friendship, passion and restraint existing side by side. Only the final barrier remained unbroken. Perhaps they were waiting for a better moment, or perhaps, deep down, he was still weighing the burden of commitment and responsibility.

Yet beneath that tranquil surface, the currents never ceased. Assassination attempts from Westeros clung to them like a persistent disease, coming several times almost every year. Sometimes the killers disguised themselves as merchants; sometimes they used bribed insiders.

The first few attempts had indeed been dangerous, but as Viserys's strength soared and his knights grew more vigilant, they gradually became alarming but harmless interludes, serving only to add a little excitement to his life.

Viserys's swordsmanship had long since surpassed his teacher's. After one particularly exhilarating sparring match, Arthur Dayne had fallen uncharacteristically silent before finally saying with a sigh, "Your Grace, your strength now exceeds my own."

That was no kindly lie, but the truth. Viserys had combined the best of several schools, and with a combat instinct that bordered on foresight and extraordinary physical gifts, he had progressed rapidly. He had long been capable of defeating the Sword of the Morning. Ordinary assassins were little more than grass beneath his feet.