Doran decided to lay the full terms on the table.
“That is precisely what we must consider.
Rahallo has given his word that he will not expose our cooperation.” Oberyn glanced at Arianne.
“How could anyone fail to notice a Dothraki horde, my princess?
This is simple practicality.
You understand that, don’t you?” “Let them be noticed,” Arianne said with a shrug.
“What matters is what we gain from it.
Dorne is vast and thinly populated.
We cannot stop the Dothraki from landing even if we wanted to, and we certainly cannot defeat them in the field.
Father is not the Warden of the South.
Any gap in the border is the puffed-up fish’s problem to worry about.
Even if the truth comes out, we can lay the blame squarely on Rahallo and the Targaryens.
Father, don’t you want to see how those proud Tyrells scream and beg when the Dothraki iron hooves trample their lands?” Ellaria immediately poured cold water on the idea.
“The Dothraki do not always leave their allies in good standing.” Arianne gave a cold laugh.
“Ellaria, I believe Rahallo when he says all he wants is gold.
Once the Tyrells are weakened, the balance of power will shift.
Our northern border will be secure for years.
Watching from the mountain while the tigers fight below carries little risk and great reward.
It is a better bargain than any war we have fought before.” “Arianne,” Oberyn said, watching his niece with open interest, “are you telling us we should throw a wolf into the sheepfold while we stand among the flock and enjoy watching the slaughter?” “Yes.
The wolf will kill sheep,” Arianne answered without hesitation.
“But we are not sheep.
We are Sand Snakes.
Unbowed.
Unbent.
Unbroken.” She turned back to her father.
“Rahallo is no mindless savage.
He understands alliances, and he clearly knows the political situation in Westeros better than most.
An ally like that is not a threat to Dorne.
He is a powerful weapon.
Once the Tyrells are broken, you will never again have to lose sleep over the balance of power in the north.” Oberyn was quiet for a moment, then a slow, dangerous smile spread across his face.
“Arianne makes a fair point.
This horse-lord was bold enough to come to Dorne in person.
That means he believes we will not betray him.
For that courage alone, I think it is worth the risk.
Brother, you have not forgotten the pact I signed in Braavos, have you?” Years earlier, while serving as a sellsword in Braavos, Oberyn had made an agreement with Ser Willem Darry, the knight who had spirited the Targaryen children into exile.
In the presence of Illyrio Mopatis and Varys the Spider, Oberyn had signed a pact on behalf of House Martell promising military support to House Targaryen.
The agreement had also included a betrothal between Arianne and Viserys, though everyone had quietly let that part die once it became clear Viserys was unfit to rule.
Supporting Daenerys and Rahallo now offered far better odds.
Seeing her uncle waver, Arianne pressed the advantage.
“Father, leave this matter to me.
I know how to keep control of the situation.
You can simply sit back and reap the rewards.” Doran sighed.
He understood every point she had made.
He had always believed the time to openly defy the Iron Throne had not yet come.
But refusing Rahallo now would not kill the man’s ambition.
Could Doran truly stop the Dothraki from landing somewhere else along the coast?
Rahallo had come to Sunspear openly and laid out his plan as a sign of respect.
If Doran rejected him, Rahallo might very well decide to raid Dorne instead.
Creating a powerful enemy for no reason would be foolish.
Doran could almost feel the pressure Rahallo was applying.
The khal was forcing Dorne to choose a side.
Accept a strong new ally, or gain a dangerous new enemy.
There was really only one sensible choice.
Arianne had always thought him too cautious.
She still resented his attempt to marry her to the eighty-year-old Lord Walder Frey.
Agreeing to her plan now would ease the tension between father and daughter while gaining them a powerful weapon.
Two birds with one stone.
His daughter possessed more ambition and daring than most men.
She was decisive and willing to pay any price to achieve her goals.
In these dangerous times, that ruthlessness might be exactly what House Martell needed to survive.
After a long silence, Doran finally nodded.
But he set clear limits.
“We will not openly declare for him.
And we will watch his every move.
He must not be allowed to threaten Dorne itself.” … In the afternoon, sunlight filtered through sheer curtains and fell across Arianne’s milk-pale skin.
She wore only a thin gauze sleeping gown.
Her small, lithe body was half-buried in silk cushions, one leg hooked casually over the back of a chair.
Snake-patterned sandals laced up her bare thighs and disappeared beneath the short hem of the gown.
The three Sand Snake sisters—Nymeria, Obara, and Tyene—sat facing her, each with a different expression.
“Arianne,” Obara said impatiently, “what scheme are you cooking up now?
Spit it out.
You’re wasting our time.” Nymeria toyed with a sharp dagger between her slender fingers.
“Yes.
Say what you have to say.
The Fowler twins are waiting for me.” Arianne leaned forward slightly.
The neckline of her thin gown gaped, revealing the delicate line of her collarbones and the soft curve of her breasts.
“There is an opportunity,” she said.
“A Dothraki horse-lord is about to open a door for us straight into the Reach.” Tyene’s eyes went wide with feigned innocence.
“Oh, those savages are terrifying!
The women they capture… they must be treated very badly, don’t you think?” Arianne took a sip of summer wine and set the cup down.
“If we can master the Dothraki, Dorne will become the strongest of the Seven Kingdoms.” Nymeria gave a dismissive little snort.
“Don’t fool yourself.
They only bow to greater power.” Arianne traced the sand snake head on her arm ring and smiled sweetly.
“Would you like to try?
Only the strongest beast-tamer can break a creature like that.
Don’t you want to tame a man like Rahallo?” “I don’t find those savages the least bit appealing,” Nymeria said.
Arianne swung her bare foot idly, letting the short gown ride higher.
“Dothraki men fight with the same cruel, savage intensity whether they are on the battlefield or between the sheets.
It is nothing like what those soft Westerosi princes can offer.
The memory stays with you for life.” A faint flush rose on Nymeria’s cheeks.
“Please.
You always exaggerate.” Tyene covered her mouth and giggled.
“Seven hells, Nymeria, you’re blushing!
Arianne is offering you a wild stallion to break!” Arianne pressed the advantage.
She draped her snow-white foot across Nymeria’s thigh and let her toes slide slowly upward.
“Are you sure you don’t want to find out what it feels like?” Nymeria scowled and pushed the foot away.
“Shut up, Arianne.
No matter how pretty you make it sound, you cannot talk me into getting myself killed.” “It would be a kind of death,” Tyene said with a wicked little grin.
“Just not the permanent kind.” Arianne dropped the teasing tone and sat up straight.
“Nymeria, if we can bring Rahallo under our control and make him serve Dorne willingly, our house will have a glorious future.
Do you understand what I am offering?
You are the most dangerous and alluring woman in Dorne.
No one is better suited for this task than you.” Nymeria was quiet for a long moment.
She slid the dagger back into its sheath at her waist and stood.
“Fine, my princess.
Since you are begging so sweetly, for the sake of Dorne I will go and see what this Rahallo is made of.” “No one is begging you,” Arianne said, her smile turning bright and satisfied.
“But once you have tried him, you will thank me.
Believe me, Nymeria—he will be interested in you.
Just as interested as you will be in him.”