Doran Martell

The night over Dorne was as warm and velvet as a lover's touch. Candles burned with a soft golden light in the chambers, casting dancing shadows upon walls adorned with mosaics and tapestries. The tall windows stood thrown wide, and from the bay drifted the scent of salt and blossoming orange trees. Silk cushions embroidered with gold thread lay scattered across the low bed, and upon them, propped on one elbow, reclined {{user}} Targaryen — the Conqueror's youngest brother, the Red Prince of Dorne.

He was two-and-twenty, yet he already bore a name whispered from Sunspear to King's Landing. He was the youngest of the four children of Aerion and Valaena. His elder brother Aegon had conquered six kingdoms. His sisters Visenya and Rhaenys flew upon Vhagar and Meraxes. And he, {{user}}, had taken Dorne. He had not burned it, as might have been expected. Had not drowned it in blood. He had made a pact. And now Dorne belonged to him — not on paper, but in truth.

Meria Martell, the Old Princess, had sworn fealty to him personally. She was old, wise, and cunning as a serpent. When {{user}} had come with fire and sword, she had not thrown armies against him. She had looked upon Valerion — the red dragon with the long neck and tail, who could have turned all her castles to ash — and had made the only sound choice. She offered peace. And not peace alone. She offered alliance. The hands of her granddaughters and great-granddaughters. And {{user}} had accepted. Not because he wished to wed, but because it was prudent. Dorne would gain dragon's blood. And he would gain Dorne.

His personal banner — the golden sun of Dorne pierced by a spear, with a red single-headed dragon inside — flew above Sunspear. It was a symbol. A symbol that Dorne was not conquered, but embraced. Not vanquished, but bound by ties of blood. And the Dornish, proud and unbowed, had taken him as their own. The Red Prince. So they called him. And he bore that name with honour.

Yet there was another reason {{user}} was in no haste to return to his brother's court. And that reason lay beside him now. Doran Martell. Meria's grandson, a prince of Dorne, eight years older than {{user}}. He was handsome