Sunfort, Late 276 AC
Four Months Later
Mors hauled at the ropes of a pulley alongside several men until the ironwood timbers of the new gate locked into place with a resounding thud. Around them, more than five hundred men and women worked—stonemasons repairing walls, laborers clearing rubble, cooks and cleaners hurrying through the camp. The pirate's den was becoming a fortress.
At his side stood Maester Orwyn, newly sworn to his service. Oberyn had recommended him after their time together at the Citadel, and Mors could see why. Orwyn carried a streak of Dornish boldness rare among the Citadel's grey men, though his loyalty seemed true enough for now.
King Aerys had been unexpectedly generous. Three moons earlier, Mors's tourney winnings had arrived, accompanied by three royal warships, five medium galleys, and fifteen light patrol ships, crewed by a skeleton force of two hundred fifty men. Combined with another two hundred fifty levied from Dorne, they formed the foundation of his own fleet. Loreza had refused to reclaim the coin she had loaned him, insisting it was her duty to strengthen the 'Defender of the Dornish Seas'.
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As the gate was secured, a small procession entered the courtyard. To Mors's surprise, Elia led the way, flanked by Ashara Dayne, Alyssa Uller, and—unexpectedly—Mellario with Areo Hotah towering at her side.
"Elia!" Mors exclaimed, embracing her despite her protests.
"Stop, you're sweaty!" she laughed, half struggling against him.
Still smiling, Mors turned. "Ashara. Alyssa. Mellario. Areo."
Ashara darted forward, hugging him tightly. "Stop harassing Princess Elia," she teased with a wicked grin. "Don't worry, I'll defend her." She brushed her hand playfully across his arm.
Behind her, a one-armed man stood watching with quiet pride. Mors's smile deepened. "Nael. Good to see you, old friend. I trust all is in order?"
Nael, once one of his guards alongside the late Veyra, now served as his chamberlain and Master of Laws. It was a heavy role, but just reward for his faith and loyalty.
"I expected you, Nael," Mors said warmly. "But all of you together—this is a true surprise. Come. Let's walk to my solar."
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At the top of the main tower, they gathered in Mors's solar while servants brought refreshments. Though he wasn't drenched, Mors dabbed himself with a towel before sitting.
"My good-sister," he said, turning to Mellario, "it's rare to see you so far from Doran."
"I only wished to see what my good-brother was building here," she replied. "I'm surprised by how much has already been done."
Elia agreed. "Yes. I didn't think so much could be accomplished. This doesn't feel like a pirate's den anymore—it's beginning to look like a Dornish castle."
Ashara grinned mischievously. "As expected of the 'Shield of Dorne'. He's already defended our Dornish pride by making this place feel like home. I approve!"
Mors groaned. "Please, don't start…"
"Oh, come now." Ashara's eyes gleamed. "Our 'Sun of Dorne' doesn't like his titles? Let me recall them: 'The Youngest Knight of the Seven Kingdoms'. 'The Prince of Lances'. 'The Dragon of Dorne'. 'Defender of the Dornish Seas'. 'Shield of Dorne'. And those are just the common ones!"
Mors laughed softly. "My apologies, 'Moon of Dorne'. But you've collected a few titles yourself: 'The Star of Starfall', 'The Violet Lady', and the 'Queen of Love and Beauty'."
Ashara blushed, murmuring, "The only one that matters is being your queen of love and beauty…"
The words caught Mors still for a moment. Their eyes met, and both smiled faintly before he turned to the others. "And of course, 'the Flower of Dorne'," he said, looking at Elia, then smiling at Alyssa, "and 'the Desert Rose'."
Elia chuckled while Alyssa's cheeks flushed.
Mors turned to Mellario in good humor. "Alas, my good-sister—you must travel more if you want a title."
Mellario smiled serenely. "No need. I'm content as 'Doran's goodwife'."
At that moment, Jeremy entered, giving Mors a discreet nod. "My prince. My princess. Ladies. Areo"
"Perfect timing," Mors said. "Jeremy, please escort them around the grounds. I've tasks to finish, then I'll join you."
"Congratulations on becoming Castellan, Ser Jeremy," Elia said warmly. "There's no one I'd trust more."
They all voiced agreement.
Jeremy inclined his head. "I thank you, princess. It's the least I can do. I have sworn my sword to Mors and will serve for life."
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Since taking Sunfort, Mors had formally left the Spears. His personal regiment came with him, and Ser Daven Quarr had joined with Lewyn's blessing.
His council now stood thus:
Castellan / Steward: Ser Jeremy Norridge
Master of Arms / Captain of the Guard: Ser Bedwyck Uller
Master of Ships: Ser Daven Quarr
Master of Laws / Chamberlain: Nael
Spymasters: Arodan Sand and Syenna
Treasurer: Naerya
Advisor: Ser Bedwyck Uller
Maester: Orwyn
Personal Guard: Ser Qerrin Toland, Ser Idrin Qho, Ser Tahlor Sand, Jorran "the One-Eyed", Cale "the Brute", and Daro "the Swift",
Mors had seen Jeremy struck by a poisoned arrow once, and vowed never again—pulling him from the front lines to ensure his survival.
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As Jeremy prepared to lead the ladies out, Mellario suddenly retched. Areo caught her with concern.
"Good-sister, are you well?" Mors asked.
Mellario waved it off. "No worry, just nausea from the voyage."
"Perhaps," Mors said gently, "but I'd be a poor brother not to have it checked." He nodded to Jeremy. "Send for Maester Orwyn."
Jeremy left at once.
Mors turned back. "How fares everything else? Doran, mother… Oberyn, Lewyn, Manfrey?"
Elia smiled. "All has calmed. Uncle Lewyn presses the Yronwoods, and Manfrey rides with him. Oberyn wrote two weeks ago—he's finishing at the Citadel, then may travel to the Free Cities, though he means to drop off a gift before departing. As for mother…" her smile faltered. "Her injury has not healed. Maester Torvian suspects something more and has written to the Citadel."
Mors's expression hardened. "I'll return in a month. She improved when I was near—I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you, Mors," Elia whispered with affection.
At that moment Jeremy returned with Maester Orwyn. Mors rose. "Good. See to my good-sister. I'll join you all again shortly."
Ashara stepped forward. "Can I come with you?"
Mors hesitated, then shook his head gently. "Not this time. It won't take long—I'll be back before you know it."
She looked disappointed but gave in with a small smile. "Fine. But you'd better not slip away afterward."
Mors returned her smile. "Wouldn't dream of it."
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As Mors stepped out of the solar, Ser Idrin Qho and Ser Tahlor Sand fell into step beside him. After a few moments in silence, he asked quietly,
"Is he ready?"
Idrin nodded. "Yes. We're only waiting for you to ask the questions."
"…Good."
They descended into the lower keep's interrogation hall. The air was heavy with the scent of blood and damp stone. A pirate of Myrish appearance sat bound to a chair—his black eyes sunken, blood streaking down his face from fresh wounds. A crude bandage wrapped the stump where his left hand had been, and his broken fingernails were still bloodied. Despite his condition, he wore the tattered remains of expensive garb and carried himself with an air of practiced arrogance—far too polished for a common sellsail.
Mors seated himself across from him. Without looking away, he spoke to one of his guards.
"Daro. That splendid tea you brewed earlier, if you please."
"At once, my prince," Daro replied, quickly pouring.
Mors sipped calmly, letting the silence stretch. The pirate's heavy breathing filled the chamber. With each moment, Mors could sense the man's fear rising—his heart pounding faster, his composure fraying—as he was forced to sit there under the prince's violet gaze.
Finally, Mors set the cup down. His voice was steady, almost casual.
"So, our nameless pirate who is 'not a Myrish noble'… yet dressed as one. Let's not waste time." He leaned forward slightly. "Who in Myr is targeting Dorne? And why did everything slow down a few months ago? I may be young, but I'm not naïve enough to believe our cleansing of the Stepstones alone broke your masters' grip."
He lifted the cup once more, taking a slow sip without breaking eye contact. His gaze held the pirate's, steady and unyielding.
"If you choose silence," Mors said evenly, "then Daro will be the one asking his questions again."
"Wait—wait! I'll talk," the pirate gasped, desperation cracking his voice. "Blackflame… the Blackflame Syndicate." He coughed, choking on blood.
Mors turned calmly to Daro. "He's earned some water."
Daro nodded, lifting a flask to the man's lips. The pirate gulped greedily, then looked up to find Mors still watching him in silence, violet eyes unblinking.
"They… they're the youngest of the glass syndicates, but the most ruthless," the man stammered. "They were starting to outpace the Clearhands and the Guild… until their leaders were struck. All of them—killed by whores." He swallowed, faltering as memory failed him. "Now there's chaos. No coin flowing to the Stepstones. An internal war has begun over who will rise next. They're still hunting the culprits, blaming the rival syndicates. A bloody struggle is underway, though it hasn't yet spilled fully into the streets."
He glanced up, hoping for approval. Mors said nothing, only sipped his tea and watched. The silence dragged until the pirate cursed in Myrish and blurted on.
"We're without direction. Most pirates have gone back to raiding merchants or clashing with the other fleets from the Three Daughters. Now that the trade war has ended, they're desperate for… for business."
Mors finally spoke, his tone cool and deliberate. "That's all very well. But how did you infiltrate Dorne? Who helped you?"
The pirate's eyes widened. "I don't know."
Mors rose slowly, his gaze hard. "You… lied." He turned to Daro. "It seems he doesn't like my methods. Continue with yours."
Daro's mouth curled into a cruel smile. "At once, my prince."
"No! No!" the pirate screamed, thrashing against his bonds. "I told you—there's no one—no one!"
His pleas echoed as Mors stepped away. The heavy door closed behind him, with Tahlor and Idrin falling into stride at his heels.
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After leaving the lower keep's interrogation chamber, Mors made his way up and soon stepped into the courtyard. There he found Elia, Ashara, Alyssa, Bedwyck, Jeremy, and Syenna gathered together, their voices bright with laughter. With the sun shining down and the courtyard restored, it was hard to believe this castle had been overrun by pirates only four moons ago.
Ashara caught sight of him first. Her face lit up, and without hesitation she rose and hurried across the stones, her gown sweeping behind her. She threw her arms around him.
"Mors! Mors!" she cried, breathless with excitement. "Mellario is with child!"
Mors froze mid-step, the words sinking in. Then a broad smile broke across his face.
"What? Truly?" he laughed, genuine joy ringing in his voice. "That is wonderful news!"
By now, the others had risen to greet him. Elia beamed, while Jeremy stepped forward with a respectful incline of his head. Ashara lingered only a moment in his embrace before slipping to his side, her smile still radiant as she stood beside him.
"After you left, Maester Torvian examined Lady Mellario," Jeremy explained. "He believes she is at least two moons along. She is resting now to ease the sickness she has been feeling, but otherwise her health is sound."
Mors let out a breath of relief and smiled warmly. "Excellent. Send a raven to Sunspear at once with the news. I'll return soon myself, once matters here are in order. Jeremy—" he rested a hand on the knight's shoulder, "—you'll remain in my stead. There is no one I trust more."
Jeremy hesitated, clearly wishing to accompany him, but bowed his head. "As you command, my prince. I will not disappoint."
"I know you won't," Mors said with quiet certainty. Then, turning to Bedwyck, he added with a bright grin, "Ser Bedwyck, since you seem to have so much free time, you'll be my sparring partner tomorrow morning."
The smile vanished from Bedwyck's face. "Heh—no need, my prince. I was only ensuring that…" He darted a mischievous glance at Alyssa. "Well, I recently discovered my sister seems to have a cru—"
Before he could finish, Alyssa clamped a hand firmly over his mouth, her eye twitching. "Forgive my idiot brother, my prince. He has clearly been starved of familial affection. I'll see to it… and take out the trash."
Bedwyck wriggled free, retreating quickly. "Ah, it seems I've misplaced my breastplate stretcher. I'll fetch it at once!" His voice trailed as he fled down the corridor.
Alyssa made to pursue him, but Mors caught her arm, laughing. "Leave him. You'll join me tomorrow as well—let's test his reflexes against two blades instead of one."
Alyssa gave a rare smile. "Brilliant idea, my prince."
Elia and Ashara were chuckling at the impromptu comedy, while Syenna covered her laughter with her hand before excusing herself. Jeremy lingered in the background, smiling faintly as he watched. For a moment, the courtyard felt light, alive, and at peace—something Jeremy silently vowed to protect, so that Mors could continue to smile like this.