The Dornish sun burned gold and red as it dipped beneath the jagged hills to the west. Sunspear stood quiet in the dusk, its sandstone towers casting long shadows across the courtyard. The Sea of Dorne shimmered beyond the walls, peaceful, ignorant of the storm that brewed far across the realm.
Princess Daenerys returned to her home as the sun touched the horizon.
Her arrival was quiet, unannounced save for the retinue that accompanied her. She rode with a straight back and a composed face, her silver-gold hair tucked beneath a light veil, her hands gloved, her expression unreadable. But Prince Maron Martell knew her too well to be fooled by the stillness of her face.
He descended the steps of the Tower of the Sun himself to greet her, sparing no protocol nor guards, no banners nor trumpets. Their eyes met across the courtyard. She dismounted without assistance, and walked straight to him.
"You are home," he said softly.
"I am," she replied, just as softly.
But her voice held no joy.
Prince Maron dismissed her guards with a quiet word. Even the white-cloaked Kingsguard who had accompanied her departed without question, well aware of his charge's need for privacy.
They climbed the winding stairs to their chambers without another word, save for the echo of their footsteps on the stone. The doors closed behind them with a heavy thud, shutting the world outside.
In the privacy of the solar, Daenerys let her shoulders fall.
"It was all for nothing," she said. "He will not be swayed. He—Daemon—he listens, but he does not hear."
Maron stepped forward, not as a prince, but as a husband, and took her into his arms. She did not resist. She leaned against him, resting her head on his chest, and allowed herself to exhale. Her composure, held tight across a long and painful journey, slowly began to unspool.
"I'm sorry," Maron murmured against her hair. "I hoped you could reach him, if anyone could."
"I thought I could," she said, her voice breaking. "We shared so much. So much before. But the man I found was not the boy I once knew. Not even the man I once kissed beneath the godswood. He's… changed."
"Time changes all men," Maron said. "Some for better, others…"
"For worse," she whispered.
He led her gently to the cushioned divan beside the arched window, where the breeze from the sea carried the scent of salt and blooming cactus flower. They sat together in silence for a while. Below, she could hear the faint laughter of her children in the courtyard, their innocent joy untouched by the machinations of lords and kings.
"I did everything I could," she said quietly, tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "For my brother, for the realm, for him. I loved him, Maron… I will not lie. I did. A part of me always will. But I am yours. This is my home. You are my family now."
Maron took her hand and kissed it. "And you are mine. All of Dorne would rise if you but asked it, my love. But we will not fight a war for a man who forgets peace."
She nodded slowly. "There will be war. Sooner than we feared. And it will tear us all apart."
"Then we will stand apart from it as long as we can," he said. "For the sake of our children. For Dorne."
"And when the dragons truly rise against one another?" she asked, her voice barely a breath.
Maron looked toward the sea, his expression darkening like the horizon. "Then we will decide whom to burn for."
They said nothing more. They simply sat, the Targaryen princess and the Dornish prince, as the night crept in around them. The winds stirred the veil from her hair. And far away to the north, black wings began to stir, and swords began to whisper of blood and fire.