The skies above Sunspear burned blue and gold as two vast shadows passed overhead.
People screamed.
Fishermen dropped their nets into the sea. Merchants froze in the streets. Guards on the outer walls shouted warnings as horns began to sound, their calls sharp with panic.
Dragons.
Two of them.
Bahamut and Albion circled high above the Tower of the Sun, their wings beating slow and heavy, stirring the desert air into violent gusts. The heat seemed to rise with them, as if the sun itself had drawn closer to Dorne.
Inside the palace, Prince Doran Martell stiffened in his chair as the distant roars echoed through the stone halls.
"So," he murmured, fingers tightening on the arms of his seat, "the rumors were not exaggerated."
Guards burst into the chamber moments later.
"Your Grace," one said breathlessly, "two dragons circle the city. Black and silver. Enormous."
Doran closed his eyes briefly.
"Summon my brother," he said calmly. "And tell my daughter to remain inside. We have yet to find out his intention, but seeing fire hasn't started burning our walls yet, he seems to have come in peace."
Outside the city walls, the ground trembled as Bahamut descended into the wide sandy clearing beyond Sunspear's gates. Albion remained airborne, circling slowly like a watchful sentinel.
The dragon's landing sent a wave of hot wind rolling across the dunes.
Aegon dismounted with practiced ease, his cloak snapping behind him. Baqo and Rahko followed, their arakhs sheathed but visible, their posture relaxed yet coiled like predators waiting for prey.
Within moments, a squad of Dornish guards approached cautiously, spears leveled but hands trembling.
"Halt!" their captain called. "State your name and purpose!"
Aegon didn't move.
"My name is Aegon Targaryen," he said evenly.
The guards swallowed.
"And your purpose in Dorne?" the captain asked, voice tight.
"To speak with the Martells," Aegon replied. "About loyalty, blood and death."
The mention of blood alone was enough.
One guard turned and ran back to carry the message.
The wait was brief.
The gates of Sunspear opened, and a smaller escort emerged, weapons lowered but eyes sharp. The captain bowed stiffly.
"Prince Doran Martell will grant you audience," he said. "You and two companions only."
Aegon nodded once.
Baqo and Rahko flanked him as they passed through the gates, the heat of Dorne pressing down on them like a living thing. People lined the streets, staring openly now with fear, awe, even some hatred, curiosity all mingled in their eyes.
Whispers followed him.
Targaryen.Dragon.
Above the city, Albion let out a low roar, reminding all who watched that Aegon was not alone.
The audience chamber of Sunspear was cool and shaded, water flowing softly through carved channels in the marble floor.
Prince Doran Martell sat at the head of the room, face calm but eyes sharp with calculation. At his side stood Princess Arianne Martell, her dark eyes locked on Aegon from the moment he entered. A step away, leaning casually against a pillar, was Oberyn Martell, his expression openly curious and dangerous.
"So," Oberyn said first, lips curling into a half-smile. "The dragon finally comes to Dorne."
Aegon inclined his head slightly. "Dorne has always remembered dragons better than the rest of Westeros."
Doran gestured to the space before him. "Sit, Aegon Targaryen. Let us hear why you've brought dragons to my doorstep."
Aegon remained standing.
"I came because Dorne has suffered greatly, and I can give you what you crave." he said calmly.
"Your sister, Elia Martell, was murdered. Her children were butchered. And the realm moved on."
The room went silent.
Arianne's jaw tightened. Oberyn's smile vanished entirely.
"I did not forget," Aegon said.
The tension in the room thickened, sharp as a drawn blade.
Doran leaned back slightly.
"Then speak," he said."Tell us what you want from House Martell."
Aegon finally took a step forward.
"Loyalty," he said."And when the time comes… I shall give you vengeance."
The water continued to flow softly through the chamber as the fate of Dorne began to shift.
The chamber remained cool, but the air between them had grown heavy.
Prince Doran Martell studied Aegon in silence, fingers steepled, his dark eyes thoughtful rather than fearful. Oberyn leaned against the pillar, arms crossed now, amusement replaced by sharp attention. Arianne said nothing, though her gaze flicked between them all.
Aegon broke the silence.
"Before we continue," he said evenly, "let us be clear about one thing."
He turned his golden eyes fully on Doran.
"I do not care about your vengeance."
The words landed like a slap.
Oberyn's posture shifted instantly. "You come to Dorne speaking of Elia and her children," he said, voice dangerous, "and you claim you do not care about...."
"I care about results," Aegon cut in, his tone calm but absolute. "Vengeance is a tool, not a goal. You have spent nearly two decades waiting, whispering, scheming, and mourning. And where has it brought you?"
Silence.
Arianne's jaw tightened. Doran did not look away.
"You want blood," Aegon continued. "I want the throne. Our desires happen to not conflict for now, and can be carried out together."
Oberyn laughed softly, but there was no humor in it. "Bold words for someone standing in my brother's hall."
Aegon glanced at him, unimpressed.
"Bold?..... I always am if you knew what I knew, or were able to do what I am, you would be too."