Even though he was a prince who ruled Dorne, he could neither manage his own legs nor keep his own family in order.
The sweetness of blood oranges filled the courtyard, mingling with the smell of the dragons' sulfur and flame.
Doran looked at the tall Gendry, like a swath of golden sunlight stretching across his heart.
Doran had to consider the truth of Gendry's predictions.
His three pieces would most likely stray off course: his younger brother, the Red Viper Oberyn Martell, his eldest daughter, Arianne Martell, and his second son, Quentyn Martell.
Heaven's will was hard to defy. Knowing it was easy; opposing it was hard.
Doran was planning a restoration game of a snake swallowing an elephant. Without dragons to hold the field, it was already beyond Dorne's capabilities.
To win over House Yronwood, Doran had used his son Quentyn Martell as a bargaining chip.
To conceal the secret marriage alliance, he had given his daughter Arianne Martell a list of old men no girl would like.
Afraid that Arianne would reveal the secret, and wanting to protect his daughter, Doran had deliberately distanced himself from her, maintaining an ambiguous stance on her right of inheritance, neither acknowledging nor denying it.
For his cause, sacrifices and concealment had to come first. Yet those sacrifices and lies had divided his house and scattered his family, making a complete mess of things instead.
But would the pieces really follow the player's will?
The pieces might suddenly slip out of control, just like oranges.
Timing, timing-but the timing would never be flawless.
Waiting for an opportunity was ultimately inferior to creating one.
That was the difference between patching things up and struggling to build something from scratch.
Without the courage to smash the old stage, there would be no opportunity