Dorne's winter was vastly different from the bone-soaking chill of the Iron Islands.
Here, there were no biting winds like knives, no snow fluttering in the sky. Only a sky that was higher and more distant, and air that was mild and dry. However, this did not mean it was entirely harmless.
In the early morning, a fragile layer of thin ice would form at the edge of the Greenblood, glistening for a moment under the sun before quietly melting away. In the depths of the vast desert, the low temperatures at night were still enough to claim the lives of unsheltered nomads; frostbite and hypothermia remained deadly threats.
When the fleet of Prince Oberyn and Euron Greyjoy arrived at the port of Sunspear, a welcoming ceremony matching the desert's passion was already in place. Even more striking was that Prince Doran Martell, who had lived in seclusion for years, personally sat in his ornate wheelchair at the end of the shadowed corridor, waiting to welcome the army that had won immense glory and profit for House Martell.
His face still bore the endurance and fatigue of long suffering from gout, but his deep eyes shone with gratification and prudence. Beside him, standing like two precious flowers blooming in the desert, was his heir—Princess Arianne Martell. She stood tall, inheriting the olive skin and dark hair unique to House Martell. Her eyes were intelligent and full of curiosity as she sized up the returning heroes without timidity, especially the rumored "Son of the Drowned God."
Standing slightly behind Arianne was her companion, Ashara Dayne. Her demeanor was quieter, her gaze sharp yet reserved. She also watched the procession, but her gaze lingered mostly on her fiancé, Euron.
Prince Doran's personal appearance undoubtedly signaled that this victory was extraordinary for Dorne.
Inside the Great Hall of Sunspear, a grand banquet was underway to celebrate the glorious victory of the Dornish navy in the Stepstones, and more importantly, Dorne becoming a significant player in those rich and dangerous waters. The air was thick with the aroma of roasted lamb, spicy seasonings, and rich wine. Cheerful Dornish music interwoven with the noise of voices created an incredibly warm atmosphere.
Tonight, the focus of all eyes was undoubtedly on the VIP beside Prince Oberyn—Euron Greyjoy. In fact, long before this naval battle, his name had resounded like thunder in Dorne.
First was his engagement to Lady Ashara of Starfall, a relationship that made him almost "half-Dornish," closing the psychological distance between him and this land.
Second was the legendary "Battle of Ten Days," where he single-handedly challenged almost the entire younger generation of Dornish warriors in wheel battles without suffering a single defeat. His fame for martial prowess had long spread across the Red Mountains and the sands.
Third was the Tourney at Harrenhal, known to all Seven Kingdoms. Not only did he dominate the melee and win the championship, but his near-perfect skill and demeanor earned him the title "Blade of Justice," echoing throughout Westeros.
Finally, and most shockingly, was the just-concluded naval battle in the Stepstones. His terrifying power to command deep-sea monsters and crush massive fleets gave substance to his title "Son of the Drowned God." His declaration "Upon the sea, I am invincible" carried trembling majesty, and together with his signature "Crown of Sea Skulls," became a symbol of terror sufficient to awe the Triarchy Alliance.
Countless gazes of admiration, curiosity, fear, and even hidden calculation were cast upon him. Various wine cups were constantly raised before him. In stark contrast to this extremely lively scene, Euron himself appeared unusually restrained. Faced with the endless toasts, he only sipped lightly, no longer drinking heavily as he used to.
Because he kept firmly in mind that Elia's due date was close at hand. He had to remain absolutely sober to avoid repeating past mistakes.
---
Late at night in Sunspear, the clamor of the day gradually settled, leaving only the cool night breeze weaving through the pillars.
Under Prince Oberyn's personal guidance, Euron Greyjoy passed through the heavily guarded inner courtyard and silently entered Elia Martell's chambers.
The room was filled with the faint scent of soothing flowers and the warmth of candlelight.
Elia was leaning against a pile of soft cushions. Her once-slender waist was now replaced by a high, swollen belly. The life nurturing within made the day of birth draw ever closer, and the air seemed filled with a quiet, expectant tension.
Despite this, she maintained her usual refinement and tranquility. Seeing the two enter, she looked up, a gentle yet slightly tired smile blooming on her face. One hand was stroking her round belly softly and lovingly. Her gaze passed over her brother and landed directly on Euron, her deep eyes shining with wisdom and a trace of undetectable teasing.
"Congratulations, Euron," her voice was soft but clear, like a murmuring stream at night. "This victory is truly extraordinary." She tilted her head slightly, her smile deepening. "Now, your fame is not limited to the Seven Kingdoms. The entire Free Cities are singing the prestige of the 'Son of the Drowned God' who commands sea monsters and builds crowns of skulls."
---
Euron's gaze fell on Elia's swollen belly, his eyes deepening with complexity. His low voice carried the heaviness of a promise not yet fully kept. "I promised you I would give our son a... true crown. Though the Stepstones are settled, we are still some time away from that crown. It is not truly done yet."
Elia's smile remained gentle, as if capable of melting all ice. She shook her head lightly, her voice soothing as a feather. "You have done enough, and done well enough. There is no need to rush, Euron. The future... is still very, very long."
Hearing her tolerant words, Euron subconsciously took a step forward, seemingly wanting to get closer. However, a figure swiftly and firmly blocked the path between him and the bed. Prince Oberyn crossed his arms, leaning against the bedpost. A smirk hung on his lips, but his eyes were sharp as a hawk's.
He spoke lazily, but his voice carried an unquestionable reminder. "Don't forget, you have a fiancée at Starfall, Lady Ashara. So, mind your manners, Greyjoy."
Euron froze instantly, a rare look of embarrassment crossing his face—a fluster that would never appear on the battlefield.
Seeing this, Elia couldn't help but smile. She said softly to her brother, "It's alright, Oberyn. You go out first; let me speak a few words with Euron alone."
Oberyn raised an eyebrow, his gaze lingering on Euron's face for a moment, appearing to evaluate something. Finally, he shrugged, straightened up, and walked toward the door. As he passed Euron, he stopped, lowering his voice extremely low but making it incredibly clear, carrying a definitive warning: "Don't stay too long." He gave Euron a meaningful glance. "I'll be right outside. Remember, don't cross the line."
Euron's hand paused in the air for a moment, carrying a hint of imperceptible hesitation, before slowly reaching toward Elia's high, swollen belly nurturing new life.
Elia did not dodge or refuse. Instead, she smiled gently, extended her own slender hand, and lightly held Euron's calloused palm, accustomed to wielding swords. She guided it, placing it steadily against her warm belly.
The moment his palm landed, Euron clearly felt a powerful little point beneath the round curve bump hard against his hand—like a mysterious high-five from an unknown world.
Elia felt the movement and looked down at their overlapping hands, her smile deepening, her tone full of maternal indulgence. "Did you feel that? Very lively. Always making a fuss like this at night."
The rhythm of life seemed to shatter the last shred of estrangement. Euron leaned close to Elia, sitting down gently beside her. He hesitated, then slowly leaned forward, carefully pressing one ear against her belly, trying to catch more messages from that tiny life.
Seeing Elia show no objection, only watching him tenderly, Euron seemed to receive some form of tacit permission. His behavior became more intimate and relaxed. Like a sea beast sheathing its claws, he displayed a near-clumsy reliance vastly different from his usual self. Chuckling softly, he naturally rested his head on Elia's fragrant legs, his arm gently and protectively encircling her waist.
Elia's fingers lifted subconsciously, brushing through Euron's loose hair with a gentleness that carried indescribably complex emotions. After a long while, she looked out at the deep night sky and sighed faintly. The sigh was light as a feather, yet it seemed to carry countless unfinished words and intertwined fates.
She knew their destinies were inseparable because of the little life about to be born. But...
This warm and private moment did not last long.
Outside the door, a deliberately heavy cough with a clear reminder rang out suddenly, like a cold stone thrown into a calm lake, breaking the room's tranquility. It was Oberyn's signal, urging him to leave.
Euron's body stiffened slightly, then he took a deep breath of resignation. Heeding the warning, he slowly rose from Elia's soft, warm side. Before leaving, he looked at her deeply, then leaned down and placed a kiss, extremely gently, on her smooth forehead.
Elia did not refuse; she simply closed her eyes gently.
The kiss was brief and restrained, yet contained indescribably complex emotions. It marked the first time the two of them, in a state of full sobriety—aside from that accidental, drunken, and wholly unconscious night of chaos—had engaged in such clear and intimate contact.