Sunspear, Mid–276 AC
One Week After the Pirate Raid
The docks still smelled of pitch and salt. Cleanup from the battle was done, but the evidence of it lingered—ships in various states of repair, captured pirate vessels moored alongside the Dornish fleet. If even half of these could be integrated, Dorne's navy would stand at four times its size from just five years ago.
Mors had cut short his training when word came that Doran had returned from the Lannisport tourney. When he entered the solar, it was full—Doran, Elia, Ashara, Alyssa, Mellario, Jeremy, Lewyn, Manfrey, Bedwyck, and, surprisingly, Oberyn. Oberyn was hugging Loreza; Doran and Mellario were in an embrace of their own.
"Oberyn! You're back!" Mors crossed the room in two strides and pulled him into a strong hug.
"Of course," Oberyn said with a grin. "Had to swing by once I heard what happened. Fortunately, Doran stopped in Oldtown, so I caught a ride. Bold work against those pirates."
Mors offered a smile to Elia, Ashara and Alyssa as in sat down.
They returned it in kind—Elia with quiet pride, Alyssa with a nod of approval, and Ashara with a look that lingered just a moment too long. She seemed on the verge of speaking, but held her tongue, saving it for later.
'They must have heard about what happened,' Mors thought..
As everyone began to sit, Mors's smile dimmed. Loreza moved slowly with a walking stick; the arrow wound in her thigh was still bandaged, the cloth faintly spotted with blood.
She took the high-backed chair at the head of the solar, pride in her eyes as she looked over those gathered. Her gaze settled last on Mors, warm with gratitude.
"I'm glad to see you all here—safe, sound. This is the family, blood and sworn, that is the bedrock of our strength," she said. A pause, then: "To think a simple moment of negligence while we were focused inward nearly became one of the greatest tragedies in our history…" She exhaled heavily. "It makes me wonder if I'm still fit to lead."
"Nonsense, Mother," Doran said firmly. "We all gave counsel, and none of us caught this. If there was failure, it was our overconfidence. We'll correct it. More importantly, we came out ahead. But these pirates have become too much of a nuisance—something must be done."
"I agree," Mors said. "From the start, I thought we should act. And now… I say we finish what we began. Cleanse the Stepstones—at least the lower isles. The traitors we caught were certain they'd crush us before reinforcements arrived. Instead, we hit them so hard it may take years for them to recover."
Lewyn chuckled. "Not one ship escaped our net. Satisfying. But Mors, as much as I'd like to burn the Stepstones clean, we didn't go further last time for a reason."
Doran nodded. "We couldn't afford to alienate the Crown. And… certain internal matters complicated things." His glance flicked toward Oberyn.
Oberyn smirked. "What's there to worry about? Go in, raze the place to the ground, and leave before anyone notices. We'd be doing them a favor—they're probably miserable anyway."
Manfrey smiled faintly, a rare sight. "As Oberynish as that sounds… I could get behind it."
Loreza rubbed her brow. "Enough. Mors wouldn't bring this up without reason. What's changed?"
Mors smiled. "Well, as you know, you're looking at the Champion of the Lannisport tourney."
Elia smirked. "As nice as the prize must have been, I doubt it's enough to bribe the Crown into letting us do what we want."
Ashara and Alyssa exchanged a proud glance; the image of Mors's victory was still fresh in their minds.
He chuckled. "I'll remember that tactic for next time. No—after the tourney, King Aerys granted me… a boon."
The weight of that word settled over the room.
"I doubt we could push it too far," Mors continued, "but perhaps we could use it to expand—or at least secure an outpost in the Stepstones to contain pirate activity. Even the small council might approve if it's framed as a benefit to the realm."
Loreza leaned forward, considering. Doran's eyes gleamed with the possibilities. All eyes shifted to her.
"…This is doable," she said at last. "Knowing Aerys, he might only trust you, Mors, to lead it. That could keep you away from Sunspear for long periods. Are you willing?"
"Without a doubt, Mother. I live to serve Dorne."
Loreza sighed but smiled. She glanced over the others, then murmured so softly only Mors caught it: "I wish you all didn't have to sacrifice so much for Dorne…" Then, louder: "Very well. Doran, send a raven to the King. Lewyn, prepare the forces and sweep up any stragglers. Mors, work with Lewyn to pick the best site for an outpost, if approved. If not… nothing lost. Dismissed."
As the room emptied, Mors stopped Doran. "Wait—I need to speak with you and Mother."
Oberyn, Manfrey, and Bedwyck paused at the door. "Don't keep us waiting long," Oberyn called. Elia left with Mellario, Alyssa, and Ashara in tow. Areo followed silently. Lewyn headed off to muster his men.
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A Moment later
When the solar was quiet, Mors said, "You've probably guessed it by now. My powers are still… changing. I think I now have dragon dreams."
Loreza and Doran exchanged a grave look. Loreza spoke slowly. "I never thought I'd see this… and from my own son."
Doran's voice was careful. "Have you seen anything else?"
"Not as clear as before," Mors admitted. "But I know chaos is coming—a rebellion. It will touch most, if not all, the kingdoms. After meeting Aerys, I'm certain he's not entirely sane. His behavior is more erratic than the rumors suggest."
"That makes sense," Loreza said quietly. "If the King is unstable, the court will hide it to protect the Crown."
"There's more," Mors said after a pause. "After meeting Rhaegar… I sensed the same madness in him. Controlled, but there. Obsession. Jealousy. A hunger to be revered. Dangerous traits in a prince. The way he looked at Elia and Ashara wasn't normal. Arthur Dayne warned me in confidence. We should avoid a royal match at all costs."
The air seemed to thicken. Loreza searched his face. "…You're certain?"
"I am."
"Then we will abandon the plan," she said, her voice quieter now, though her shoulders seemed to lose some of their proud set.
"I've had doubts too," Doran admitted. "But there's another problem—Elia is smitten with Rhaegar. And publicly, he seems to return the feeling."
"Wasn't there talk of Tywin Lannister arranging a betrothal between his daughter and Rhaegar?" Mors asked.
Doran grimaced. "Just before we left, I overheard Aerys berating Tywin for thinking he could marry his son to a 'simple servant.' It… escalated."
"Oh," Mors said, recalling Aerys's earlier interest in marrying him to a nonexistent daughter.
Loreza steered them back. "Mors—any sense when this chaos will begin?"
He shook his head. "No. Only that the Crown will be the source, and we must steer clear."
"…Understood." Loreza's voice carried finality. "Go now—Oberyn won't be here long. Spend time with him."
Mors smiled faintly. "Gladly."
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The docks of Planky Town bustled with life—ships unloading crates of timber and stone, nets dripping with the morning's catch, children darting between workers with baskets of bread. Mors walked with Oberyn, Manfrey, and Bedwyck at the head of their small party, with Jeremy, Idrin, Tahlor, and a few other Eclipse Guard members following close behind. The air smelled of salt, pitch, and the faint perfume of spice from a merchant barge recently arrived from Volantis.
They had been moving through the town for over an hour, helping with small tasks and greeting locals. Mors paused more than once to haul a crate for an older dockworker or offer a brief word to the town's foreman about the reconstruction progress. The people seemed to brighten at their presence, and even the most harried laborers stopped to salute or call out blessings.
It was midway down a busy street that Oberyn suddenly glanced over his shoulder toward Idrin, his expression shifting from casual to keen.
"So, Idrin… how's your sister these days? I trust she's still running the finest establishment in town? More importantly… is she available?"
Idrin, unfazed—as if being the brother of a famed courtesan-turned-madam was the most normal thing in the world—nodded easily.
"She's been busy with reconstruction, but she's back now. And yes, if you'd like, we can see if she's available. Last time we spoke, she mentioned she's brought in a few new girls."
Oberyn's eyes lit up instantly. "Oh, perfect. Let's go."
Mors stopped in his tracks. "Well… in that case, I'll see you all later."
"Oh no, you don't," Oberyn said, spinning back to hook an arm around him. "Manfrey—help me out here. This guy's gotten even more monstrous since the last time we tried to drag him along."
Manfrey, already grinning, stepped forward to assist. "Gladly."
Mors resisted half-heartedly. "No, really, I don't have time for this. I haven't even bathed—I'm filthy from training—"
Idrin 'helpfully' added, "No worries. There are baths at the house."
Mors gave him a flat look. 'Et tu, Idrin?'
Even Jeremy stepped in now, his tone maddeningly calm. "My prince… waiting too long to learn certain… skills… can be detrimental to one's development."
Mors groaned. "What—you too, Jeremy??"
Jeremy's smile broadened. "Absolutely."
Minutes later, the group reached a grand timber building overlooking the bay. Lanterns swayed gently in the sea breeze, casting warm light over polished wooden doors. Inside, soft music played over the low murmur of conversation and laughter.
They were ushered into a private salon almost immediately, drinks placed in their hands as silken-clad attendants moved about. The moment the double doors at the far end opened, conversation paused.
Syrana Qho entered with the grace of someone who commanded the room without needing to raise her voice. Her hair was dark and sleek, her gown a masterwork of emerald and gold that set off her sun-kissed skin. Beauty clung to her like perfume—but so did authority.
"Prince Oberyn—always a pleasure," Syrana purred, her smile warm but edged with mischief. Then her gaze slid to Mors, lingering a heartbeat too long. Surprise flickered there, followed by something keener—intrigue. "And the famed Sun of Dorne… in my humble house. Now that is an honor I didn't expect."
Oberyn stepped forward, all charm wrapped in mischief. "Syrana, my dear, I hear you've been keeping some new treasures all to yourself. I've come to meet them… and to see that our late-blooming prince here finally graduates from his—" he paused, letting the grin sharpen, "—endless studies."
Syrana's brows arched ever so slightly. "Is that so?" Her smile deepened, slow and knowing. "Well… that is an honor I would not trust to anyone else."
She approached Mors, her eyes never leaving his. "Come, my prince. Let's give you the full VIP package. We'll start with a proper meal—can't have you fainting on me—then a bath… a massage… and…" She let the sentence trail off with a look that made Oberyn's grin widen.
Her hand was already at his arm, guiding him toward the corridor beyond. The soft notes of a harp drifted from somewhere deeper inside the house, mingling with the scent of spiced wine and roasted lamb from the kitchens.
Mors exhaled, resigning himself to the inevitable. His eyes moved from Oberyn, Manfrey, and Bedwyck—already well on their way to getting acquainted with a few of the ladies—to Jeremy, who lingered near the entrance with the air of a proud father before stepping outside to keep watch over the perimeter.
Behind him, the door closed, muffling the sounds of the common room. Somewhere ahead, the light dimmed, the air warmed, and Syrana's voice dropped to a silky murmur. "Come, Prince Mors… the day is still young."
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The evening glow bled through the sheer curtains, painting the room in shades of amber and rose. Syrana lay sprawled across the bed, hair tangled, skin faintly flushed, her breathing slow and heavy. She looked utterly spent—less the victorious seductress she had intended to be, and more the defeated challenger.
Mors stood by the bedside, fastening the last clasp of his tunic. He glanced down at her, violet eyes narrowing with a faint, almost imperceptible smirk—a look that said without words: That's what you get for thinking you could dominate me.
Without another word, he turned and left the room. The scent of jasmine and sandalwood clung faintly to him as he stepped into the hall. There was a noticeable ease in his stride, a looseness in his frame.
'Hmph… I feel like I've just taken a weight off my shoulders. I'm not making a habit of this… but maybe I should loosen up a bit more often.'
He descended the stairs, offering nods to a few attendants, before stepping out into the cool sea air—ready to face the night with an unfamiliar, yet satisfying, lightness.
Jeremy fell into step beside him without a word, as seamless as ever, the faintest smile tugging at his lips. "Congratulations, my prince."
Mors glanced back at him with a wry smile. "Thanks… I suppose. Let's not make a habit of this."
"Of course, my prince. But, given the… track record of your siblings—and her brothers—your mother had begun to worry for you. This will put her at ease."
Mors chuckled under his breath. "Mother… yes, that makes sense."
The night was beautiful and calm, the sea whispering against the docks. Lantern light danced on the water as they made their way back toward Sunspear, the air carrying the scent of salt and the promise of quiet.