The cliffs of Lannisport loomed ahead like jagged gold, catching the late afternoon sun in shimmering defiance. The Martell banners flapped softly aboard the deck, the winds gentler now as if even the sea was hesitant to draw too close to Casterly Rock.
Mors stood at the bow, eyes fixed on the harbor city unfurling before them. Compared to the arid beauty of Dorne or the windswept grace of the Reach, Lannisport looked carved out of wealth and polished stone. Ships packed tight in orderly rows, docks swarmed with banners of crimson and gold. Even the warehouses gleamed.
"They polish their walls the way we polish steel," Oberyn murmured beside him.
"And yet, something still stinks," Manfrey added, nose wrinkling.
Mors said nothing. But he silently agreed with Manfrey.
A host waited at the docks. At its head stood Ser Kevan Lannister, resplendent in polished armor that seemed to gleam without flaw. His face was grim, though he bowed in proper deference as Loreza disembarked.
"Princess Loreza. On behalf of House Lannister, I welcome you to Lannisport," he said. "Though I wish it were under brighter stars."
Loreza's expression was somber but composed, her eyes steady with quiet understanding. "You are kind to receive us."
Kevan gestured toward the waiting carriages. "Lord Tywin sends his regrets. He is… indisposed, but will receive you soon. Perhaps tomorrow, depending on how he fares."
Oberyn arched a brow, but said nothing.
As they boarded the carriages, Mors felt it—the eyes. Dozens of them. From behind merchant stalls and beside guard towers. Lannisport's people were watching them not with curiosity, but judgment. Some even held disgust. As if the presence of Dorne itself was an offense.
"They're staring," Elia muttered beside him. "And not kindly."
"They look at us like we're stained," Manfrey said.
"Not all of us," Oberyn noted. "Look at the ones near the steps—they're gawking at Mors."
Indeed, several onlookers seemed caught between intrigue and confusion as they lingered on Mors's pale hair, the subtle glint of violet in his eyes. The unease turned to uncertainty—some almost bowed.
'They think I'm Targaryen,' Mors realized. 'Or close enough.'
It didn't matter. They had grown used to it over the course of this 'tour.' The Dornish were always viewed differently—watched with curiosity, judged with suspicion.
But all of that faded the moment they saw it.
Casterly Rock.
Not just a castle—but a mountain sculpted into a fortress. Towers rose from its golden sides like spears cast in the sun. The sheer size of it defied belief, its gates alone larger than most Dornish keeps.
Kevan rode beside the lead carriage and spoke without flourish. "Casterly Rock has never been taken by force. It never will be."
Mors kept his expression neutral, but a thought surfaced:
'That's what the Casterlys said, before Lann the Clever tricked them out of it.'
Once inside the gates, the Martell party was led through winding stone halls that echoed with wealth. Gold-inlaid sconces. Tapestries stitched with pride. Even the servants moved like they knew they belonged to greatness.
The feast was small. Intimate, even. But nothing about it felt welcoming.
Kevan sat at the center of the table, his wife Dorna Swyft beside him—a soft-spoken woman with kind eyes and pleasant manner. She did most of the talking, gently inquiring about Sunspear, the Reach, even the Arbor.
The surprise came when the twins joined.
Cersei and Jaime, golden-haired and barely six, walked in under the watchful eye of a Septa. Cersei wore a red velvet gown, expression set in practiced confidence. Jaime trailed behind, fidgeting with a wooden lion toy.
The moment Cersei saw Mors, she stopped.
Her eyes widened—just slightly—and she tilted her head as if she couldn't decide whether he was a prince or a statue.
"You're very pretty," she said.
Oberyn nearly choked on his wine.
Jaime scowled. "He's not!"
"What would you know," Cersei shot back. "besides, I didn't say he was a girl,"
Elia leaned in, whispering to Mors with a smirk, "Careful. You might have just won a Lannister heart."
"Thank you, young lady," Mors said, a slight twitch at the corner of his eye and a polite, strained smile. "But 'handsome' is the word we usually use for boys."
It would've been amusing, if not for what came next.
Cersei tilted her head again and asked, far too casually, "Is it true that Dornish people used to steal babies? Kill them sometimes?"
The entire table went still.
Kevan's fork paused mid-cut. Dorna Swyft paled.
Loreza's expression remained unchanged, but her gaze sharpened, quietly taking in more than before.
Maron cleared his throat. "Many, many centuries ago, one rebellious house in the Red Mountains committed atrocities during the Nymerian unification. It was stamped out."
Cersei didn't flinch. "Can I hire them? I want them to kill my baby brother."
Jaime gasped. "Cersei—!"
"I hate him," she hissed. "He's a monster. He killed Mother. Why does no one else see that?"
Elia rose from her seat slowly. "Cersei," she said gently. "You've just lost someone you love. That kind of pain… it doesn't always make sense. But no one is to blame."
"He is," Cersei said, eyes shining. "You didn't see him. He's… wrong."
She turned and ran, red skirts swishing, Jaime scrambling to follow her, voice breaking as he called her name.
For a moment, no one moved.
Kevan pressed his hand to his brow. "Forgive us. She… doesn't understand what she's saying."
Loreza finally spoke, her voice low and certain. "She may not understand the weight of her words—but she meant every one of them."
The rest of the evening passed under that shadow.
Even Oberyn kept quiet.
Two days passed before Tywin emerged.
The meeting was held behind closed doors, though it didn't stay private for long. Mors watched his mother and uncle return to the guest hall afterward, faces drawn taut.
Maron didn't speak. He only poured a goblet of wine, drained half, and stared at the fire.
Loreza stood with rigid posture, voice cold and final.
"There will be no agreements with the Westerlands."
Elia blinked. "Nothing at all?"
"No alliances. No betrothals. No promises." Loreza's voice dropped, quiet but cutting. "He wanted our blood and our name without offering a damn thing in return—not even respect. He went so far as to call his newborn a 'perfect match' for you."
She let out a long breath, her posture softening as years seemed to settle on her shoulders. "With Joanna gone… his heart has hardened beyond reason. I fear he'll never be the man he once was."
"And what of Lady Joanna's promises?" Mors asked.
"Not a word," Maron muttered. "He spoke of legacy, of duty—how Casterly Rock doesn't bow to sentiment."
Loreza's lips thinned. "I would've left that hour. But Joanna deserved our respect. She was a good friend, once."
The next day, the sept of Casterly Rock was visited by many highborn mourners. Gold-threaded banners hung limp. Silent Sisters guided the body of Joanna Lannister down the central aisle with slow, practiced steps.
Tywin Lannister never left her side.
He didn't weep. He didn't speak. He simply stood there, a stone carved in the shape of a man—unmoving, unflinching.
Cersei clung to the bier, screaming for her mother.
Jaime held her tightly, tears rolling down his cheeks, trying to soothe her even as his own voice broke.
Mors watched in silence, hands clasped before him. For all his frustration with the Lannisters, he could feel it—grief like a weight in the air.
Even Tywin, for all his steel, looked broken in a way that words couldn't reach.
'This is what pride becomes, when there's no one left to soften it,' Mors thought.
No one from the Rock said a word to the Martells that morning.
By nightfall, the Martell party was already back at the docks, escorted by Kevan Lannister and a contingent of guards.
The same watchers stared from rooftops and alleys, but now they kept their distance.
Pleasantries were exchanged, though it was clear everyone simply wanted the moment to pass.
"Thank you," Loreza said, her voice composed. "You and your wife have shown us great courtesy—especially under such difficult circumstances."
Kevan offered a tired nod. "It's what's proper. And what must be done." He paused, then added, "Stay near the mainland on your return. The Ironborn have grown bolder of late."
"We will. Thank you," Loreza replied.
The sails were unfurled. The ship creaked and shifted with the tide. Mors stood beside his siblings at the rail, eyes on the cliffs.
Oberyn exhaled. "So much for Westerland alliances."
"Good riddance," Elia muttered, arms folded.
"Do you think she meant it?" Manfrey asked softly.
"Cersei?" Mors asked. "I think she meant every word. But I also think she's just a child. A broken one."
Oberyn nodded. "Like many children raised too close to power."
As the ship pushed out into open waters, Casterly Rock faded behind them—less a fortress now, and more a wound they were eager to leave behind.
The sea wind caught their cloaks.
The Martells turned south once more, yearning for the stillness of the Water Gardens after a journey heavy with politics and grief.