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Essos, Xandar, Minas Tirith
Throne Room
9th Moon of 58 AC
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Silence filled the Throne Room of Xandar as Mara approached the spot where she was to stand before the court. High atop the dais, beneath the vaulted ceiling where the precious metal branches of the Golden Tree intertwined above the majesty of the three thrones, Caspian Darkwood sat impassive. To his right, Queen Valka observed the scene with an icy composure; to his left, Khaleesi Aerea Targaryen kept her shoulders rigid, her violet eyes fixed on the advancing delegation.
Accompanied by Yennefer, whose black-veiled steps made not the slightest sound upon the dark flagstones, Mara Nymeros Martell took ten steps forward, bringing herself to a halt at the foot of the marble podium.
"Princess Mara, of House Martell," echoed the voice of the Prime Minister, standing erect at one side of the dais. "You have the attention of the Xandarian Crown."
Mara kept her head held high, drawing upon every lesson of composure instilled in her within the halls of Sunspear. From that distance, Caspian's figure could be discerned with greater clarity: he was a young man, yet his features bore an inaccessible severity befitting his office and all the titles he had claimed. His eyes scrutinized her with a measured, distant coldness devoid of any hint of intimidation or diplomatic warmth, treating his visitor with the dry courtesy required by etiquette.
"Welcome to Xandar, Princess Mara," Caspian said. His voice, deep and calm, rumbled through the vastness of the hall without the need to raise his tone. "I trust you have enjoyed your stay in my city since your arrival. You have the floor before this court."
Before Mara could articulate her first sentence, a movement to the king's left caught her attention. Aerea Targaryen leaned slightly forward in her dark metal throne. The young rider of Balerion did not attempt to hide the aversion she felt toward the presence of a Martell in the hall. For the blood of the Dragon, the name of Dorne did not evoke alliances or diplomacy, but poison, the open wound of the Conquest, and the shadow of Meraxes plunging over the cliffs of Hellholt with Queen Rhaenys upon her back.
Valka, by contrast, displayed no emotion whatsoever. The Queen of Xandar remained motionless, hands folded in her lap and expression distant; yet her dark eyes missed not a single detail of the Dornishwoman's movements, weighing every gesture with cool restraint.
"I thank you for the audience, Your Majesty," Mara began, projecting her voice firmly so it echoed above the distant hum of the crowd waiting at the far end of the great nave. "I have crossed the Narrow Sea and traveled across Essos not as a visitor wishing to gaze upon the wonders of your capital, but as an emissary of the true stability of Dorne. I come to lay before you an imminent threat looming over the western trade routes, one that will soon strike at Xandar's interests in the Stepstones."
Mara paused, gauging the impact of her words.
"My nephew, Prince Morion, has secured the backing of most of the great houses of Dorne, taking advantage of my brother's weakness and advanced age," Mara continued. "Morion does not seek peace. He is rallying more than half the Dornish houses to unleash total war against the Stormlands and the Reach. But what makes this matter urgent for this court is that he does not march alone: he has forged a strategic alliance with the Vulture King, with free companies from the Disputed Lands, and, most dangerously of all, with the pirate captains of the Stepstones backed by the gold of the Triarchy."
The name of the Triarchy fell upon the dais like a heavy stone.
In that instant, the atmosphere of the Throne Room shifted drastically. Caspian did not move from his seat, but the distant coldness of his face gave way to an absolute rigor. A slight tilt of his head toward the Prime Minister was enough to convey an order without uttering a word.
The Prime Minister took a step forward and raised his right hand.
"The general audience for this session has concluded," the official announced in a loud, sharp tone. "Unsullied, clear the Throne Room. All remaining delegations scheduled for today shall be rescheduled for tomorrow. The doors will be closed immediately."
A surprise murmur rippled through the more than thirty merchants, envoys, and bankers crowding the rear of the hall, but the discipline of the Unsullied left no room for protest. Formidable columns arrayed with spears and shields opened a path, guiding the crowd out toward the monumental doors forged of Netherite steel, which began to glide shut with a heavy mechanical thrum.
Within minutes, the vast expanse of the Throne Room fell into absolute silence, occupied only by the three monarchs upon the high dais, the witch Yennefer at one side, squads of the guard in the upper balconies, and Princess Mara at the center of the main processional walkway.
Caspian leaned forward, resting his elbows upon the gold-carved armrests of his throne.
"You speak of the Triarchy, Princess Mara," Caspian said, his gaze locked onto her. "The Three Whores of Myr, Tyrosh, and Lys have long financed the rabble of the Stepstones to test the boundaries of trade in the Summer Sea and the Narrow Sea. If your nephew has linked Dorne's forces to those corsairs and the gold of the Free Cities, this is no simple border raid in Westeros. It is a coordinated attempt to establish hostile control over the strait."
"It is, Your Majesty," Mara confirmed, taking two cautious steps toward the podium. "Morion believes that closing the Stepstones will force the great Free Cities to pay exorbitant tolls to keep their sea lanes open, thereby funding his war against Westeros. He is aware of the power and fleets of the Free Cities, but he trusts that the backing he holds will consolidate his position along the western coastlines."
Hearing this, Aerea let out a short, bitter laugh, shaking her head in contempt.
"Your nephew is an idiot, Princess," Aerea cut in, her tone sharp with her Targaryen heritage showing through. "To think a handful of Dornish ships and a few filthy pirates can close a sea lane under the shadow of dragons is madness worthy of someone who has never seen a fleet burn from the sky. My family made the mistake of underestimating your mountains in the past, but do not confuse the Iron Throne with the might of Xandar."
"I confuse nothing, Khaleesi," Mara replied, locking eyes with Aerea's violet gaze without blinking. "I know full well what dragons and the fleet surrounding this city are capable of doing. That is precisely why I have come here: because if Morion unleashes this war, Xandar will answer with fire, and fire will not distinguish between the guilty who followed my nephew and the innocent people of Dorne who desire only peace."
Valka, who had remained silent watching the exchange, spoke for the first time. Her voice was calm, yet cold and distant, as if the matter held little interest for her.
"Compassion for your people is a noble sentiment, Princess Mara, but this court is not moved by sentimentality," Valka declared, adjusting her posture upon her throne. "If the Stepstones become an obstacle to the flow of our merchants, Xandar's solution will be direct, military, and final. We do not need an alliance with Sunspear to clean out a nest of rats."
Caspian raised a hand to halt the discussion and stood up. His imposing figure, framed against the structure of the Golden Tree, completely dominated the dais. He descended three steps with a slow pace until he stood closer to the silver railing separating the high level from the central walkway.
"Queen Valka is right on one fundamental point, Princess," Caspian said, eyeing Mara with analytical coldness. "You frame this problem as though Xandar needed an alliance with Dorne to protect its interests. But let us be precise: you are not Dorne. By your own admission, the Dornish houses march behind Morion's banner, not yours. A treaty signed with you in this hall is not worth the parchment it is written on if you hold neither control over Sunspear nor the backing of its lords."
Caspian folded his arms behind his back, keeping his eyes fixed on the Dornishwoman.
"If the Triarchy and your nephew complicate passage through the Stepstones, Xandar finds it infinitely more promising to sign a naval cooperation agreement directly with the Sea Lord of Braavos," the king continued. "Braavos possesses a fleet equal to our own, commands the largest navy in the north, and shares our interest in crushing the piracy funded by Myr, Lys, and Tyrosh. An alliance with the Secret City would resolve the problem at sea without Xandar having to shed a single drop of blood on the sands of Dorne. What can the princess of a divided realm offer me that surpasses the capability of Braavos?"
Silence reclaimed the majestic hall once more. Mara felt the weight of the three royal gazes upon her, alongside the constant presence of Yennefer at her back. She knew the crucial moment of her journey had arrived—the point of no return where diplomatic words had to give way to a final wager.
She reached her right hand to her chest, unpinned the small wooden identification tag fastened to her tunic, and squeezed it in her fist before raising her eyes to the king.
"Braavos can offer you ships, Your Majesty, and perhaps a signature on a trade treaty that will last only as long as their bankers' interest does," Mara declared in a firm voice, making every syllable ring off the pale stone walls. "But Braavos can never offer you what I have come to lay before this hall."
Mara took a step forward, placing herself squarely at the center of the podium.
"If you help me overthrow Morion's madness, if Xandar's might backs me to claim the throne of Sunspear and rule Dorne in the name of House Martell's rightful line... I will offer you my hand in marriage," Mara affirmed with absolute resolve. "And with my hand, I will deliver to you the keys to all of Dorne."
Upon the dais, Aerea narrowed her eyes in a mix of surprise and skepticism, while Valka remained motionless, evaluating the proposal with her usual coldness. Caspian, for his part, altered not a single expression on his face, but his eyes locked onto the Dornish princess with a renewed, calculating intensity, weighing the true scope of the offer that had just echoed beneath the Golden Tree.