“Cooperation.” Oberyn leaned forward, “Baratheon’s rule is not stable, and The Reach has just knelt and has not yet stabilized.
House Arryn of the Vale lost its heirs in the war, and now the Lord of the Vale is old and without an heir, so his rule is not as stable as one might imagine.
The old Tully of The Riverlands is probably failing fast, and his relationship with his brother the “Blackfish” is poor, plus his heir is a fool.
The Stormlands just lost its fleet, the Iron Islands have always been eyeing us covetously, and the nobles of The Crownlands have just suffered suppression and purges.
The only ones we need to worry about are Lannister and Stark.
If you can gain a foothold in Essos, when you counterattack, Dorne will be your ally.”
He paused, the corners of his mouth curving into a meaningful arc: “To consolidate the alliance, my brother Prince Doran is willing to betroth his eldest daughter, Arianne Martell, to you.
The Princess of Dorne paired with the last King of Targaryen will make our alliance even more unbreakable.”
The stone chamber fell silent for a moment.
Ellaria’s scrutinizing gaze swept across Viserys’s face.
Viserys was silent for a moment, then slowly shook his head: “Thank you for Prince Doran’s kind offer.
But I am already betrothed.”
Oberyn raised an eyebrow, a smile in the corners of his eyes, “I wonder which young lady has received this honor.”
“Not one, and not an outsider either.”
Viserys’s voice replied clearly, “Targaryen maintaining blood purity is an ancient tradition.
My ancestor Aegon the Conqueror took both of his sisters, Queen Visenya and Queen Rhaenys, as his wives at the same time.
Since I am a Targaryen and will likewise conquer Westeros, I must naturally emulate my ancestors.
When the time is ripe, I will marry my sisters Daenerys and Rhaenys.”
This remark made the smile on Oberyn’s face vanish completely.
He gave Viserys a deep look, his eyes holding a hint of speechlessness, which ultimately turned into a trace of playfulness.
“Emulating Aegon the Conqueror by marrying two.”
He chuckled softly, making it impossible to tell whether it was mockery or praise, “This is certainly a straightforward answer.
But what if my brother insists on a marriage alliance?”
Viserys met his gaze, “If House Martell can accept such conditions from me, naturally I will not refuse one more wife. Visit g.com for the full chapter.
After all, dragonlords never mind having too many queens, as long as their blood is noble enough.”
Oberyn stared at him for a good while, then suddenly burst out laughing, “Good, very good.
I will bring your ‘conditions’ back to my brother word for word.”
He stood up, “His Majesty Viserys, I hope that the next time we meet, you can show me even more surprises.”
“Also, treat Rhaenys well, or I won’t let you off.”
Having said that, without bidding farewell to Viserys, he straightway put his arm around his companion and walked towards the door.
Passing by Ser Arthur, he paused slightly, “Very glad to see you, Ser Arthur, but today is not a suitable time; we can catch up slowly another time when there is an opportunity.”
Arthur merely nodded slightly in agreement.
After they left, the secret chamber returned to silence, leaving only that faint trace of spice.
Viserys sat in his original place, his fingers lightly tapping on the table.
Dorne’s olive branch came with poisonous thorns, but he had also given an answer that the other party could hardly accept.
However, to Viserys’s surprise, Dorne actually agreed to the marriage alliance.
But they demanded that the wedding must be legal, certified by the Faith of the Seven, and in this regard, Viserys would have to handle the church himself.
Since Viserys had previously said he wouldn’t mind having one more, naturally he wouldn’t refuse one delivered to his doorstep.
Furthermore, making it legal was even simpler; as long as one had dragons in hand, terms were quite easy to negotiate.
Thus, under the witness of the Sealord, the two sides secretly signed a betrothal agreement, which would take effect only when Viserys counterattacked Westeros.
Time passed in the blink of an eye.
Viserys stood before his bedroom window, looking out at the distant greyish sea.
Since setting foot in Essos, seven years had already passed.
Seven years was enough for a child to grow into a youth, and enough for Viserys to completely integrate into this real world.
Every morning he would train in two-handed swordsmanship with Ser Arthur in the training yard, and he also learned the Water Dance sword style from Syrio Forel, moreover blending and mastering both sword techniques.
His figure had also grown taller, his shoulders had broadened, and Blackfyre in his hands had gradually transformed from a heavy burden into something as easily directed as his own arm.
In the afternoons, he mostly accompanied Rhaenys and Daenerys.
To Rhaenys, he was both an “elder brother” and a teacher, instructing her to learn Valyrian, things that Ashara could not teach.
He knew this because Queen Rhaella had taught him when he was a child.
To Daenerys, he was an immensely caring elder brother, who in her still-ignorant childhood dispelled the gloom brought by “exile” and planted warm seeds concerning “home” and “belonging”.
The two of them were his closest kin in this world, and an indispensable part of his blueprint for the future.
Between him and Ashara Dayne, a subtle and profound emotion was also slowly growing through their daily companionship.
She was no longer the Starfall young lady with deep eyes from their first meeting.
But rather a companion who could share silence and understand each other.
Trust intertwined like vines, and tacit understanding was built in the silent intersection of their eyes.
On certain deep nights, upon the lookout tower of the stronghold, or in some silent gondola in Braavos, they would discuss each other’s pasts and secrets, and also speak of those vague yearnings for the future.
The emotion between them had long crossed boundaries, with passion and restraint coexisting, leaving only the final layer unpunctured—perhaps waiting for a better opportunity, or perhaps his inner weighing of the weight of commitment and responsibility.
However, beneath the calm lake surface, undercurrents had never stopped.
Assassinations from Westeros, like a bone-gnawing bane, visited a few times almost every year.
Sometimes they were killers disguised as merchants, sometimes bought-off inside informants.
The first few times were indeed rather thrilling, but as Viserys’s strength soared and the vigilance of his subordinate knights increased, these assassinations gradually turned into narrow escapes, existing merely to add a bit of amusement to life.
Viserys’s swordsmanship had long since surpassed the master’s.
After a thoroughly satisfying sparring session, Ser Arthur had once fallen into a rare silence, finally exclaiming: “Your Majesty, nowadays, your strength is already above mine.”
This was not a benevolent lie of his, but the truth.
Viserys integrated the essence of multiple schools, coupled with a combat intuition approaching pre-judgment and super-strong physical talent, making him grow rapidly.
He could already defeat the Sword of the Morning, and ordinary assassins were even more like mere grass in front of him.