"Cooperation." Oberyn leaned forward. "The Baratheon rule is unstable. The Reach just bent the knee and hasn't stabilized yet. House Arryn of The Vale lost its heir in the war, and the current Duke of the Vale is old and lacks a successor, so their rule isn't as secure as it seems.
Old Tully of Riverlands must be nearing his end, and his relationship with his younger brother, 'Blackfish,' is poor, and his heir is also a fool. The Stormlands just lost their fleet, the Iron Islands are constantly eyeing them, and the nobles in the Crownlands have just been suppressed and purged. The only ones we truly need to worry about are the Lannisters and the Starks. If you can establish a firm foothold in Essos, Dorne will be your ally when you launch your counterattack."
He paused, a meaningful curve forming on his lips: "To solidify our alliance, my brother, Prince Doran, is willing to offer you his eldest daughter, Arianne Martell. A Princess of Dorne, matched with the last King of the Targaryens—this will make our alliance unbreakable."
The stone chamber fell silent for a moment. Ellaria's scrutinizing gaze swept across Viserys's face.
Viserys remained silent for a moment, then slowly shook his head: "I appreciate Prince Doran's kind offer, but I am already betrothed."
Oberyn raised an eyebrow, a smile in his eyes. "May I ask which lady has received this honor."
"Not one, and not an outsider," Viserys replied clearly. "It is an ancient tradition for the Targaryens to maintain the purity of their bloodline. My ancestor, Aegon the Conqueror, simultaneously married his two sisters, Queen Visenya and Queen Rhaenys. Since I am a Targaryen and intend to conquer Westeros, I must naturally emulate my ancestor. When the time is right, I will marry my sisters, Daenerys and Rhaenys."
These words completely wiped the smile from Oberyn's face. He stared deeply at Viserys, his expression initially dumbfounded, but eventually turning into a hint of amusement.
"Emulating Aegon the Conqueror by marrying two," he chuckled softly, his tone neither mockery nor praise. "That is certainly a straightforward answer. But what if my brother insists on a marriage alliance?"
Viserys met his gaze. "If House Martell can accept my conditions, I naturally wouldn't refuse an additional wife. After all, the Dragon King never minds having too many queens, as long as their lineage is noble enough."
Oberyn stared at him for a long moment, then suddenly burst into laughter. "Good, very good. I will relay your 'conditions' to my brother, word for word." He stood up. "Your Majesty Viserys, I hope you can show me more surprises the next time we meet."
"And, treat Rhaenys well, or I won't forgive you." Having said that, he didn't bid farewell to Viserys but walked straight toward the door, arm in arm with his female companion.
As he passed Arthur Dayne, he paused slightly. "It was good to see you, Ser Arthur, but the timing is not right today. We'll catch up properly when there's an opportunity."
Arthur merely nodded slightly in agreement.
After they left, silence returned to the secret chamber, leaving only the faint scent of spices. Viserys sat where he was, his fingers lightly tapping the tabletop. Dorne's olive branch came with thorns, but he had also given an answer that the other party would almost certainly reject.
However, much to Viserys's surprise, Dorne actually agreed to the marriage alliance. But they demanded that the wedding must be legal and certified by The Seven Gods, meaning Viserys would have to deal with The Faith himself.
Since Viserys had previously stated he didn't mind having an extra wife, he naturally wouldn't refuse one delivered to his doorstep. And making it legal would be even simpler; as long as he had dragons in hand, the terms would be easy to negotiate.
Thus, under the witness of the Sealord, the two parties secretly signed a marriage contract, which would only take effect when Viserys launched his counterattack on Westeros.
Time flew by like a white colt galloping past a crack.
Viserys stood by the bedroom window, gazing at the distant, gray sea. Seven years had passed since he first set foot on Essos. Seven years, enough time for a child to grow into a youth, and enough time for Viserys to fully integrate into this real world.
His life during these years had generally been uneventful, even routine. Every morning, he would train Two-Handed Swordsmanship with Ser Arthur in the training yard. He also learned the Water Dance style of sword fighting from Syrio Forel and managed to integrate the two styles.
His figure had grown taller, and his shoulders broader. "Blackfyre," which was once a heavy burden in his hands, had gradually become an extension of his arm.
In the afternoons, he mostly spent time with Rhaenys and Daenerys. To Rhaenys, he was both an "elder brother" and a teacher, instructing her in Valyrian, which Ashara could not teach. He knew it because Queen Rhaella had taught him when he was young.
To Daenerys, he was a deeply protective elder brother, dispelling the gloom brought by "exile" during her still-innocent childhood, and planting the warm seeds of "home" and "belonging." The two of them were his closest kin in this world, and an indispensable part of his future plans.
Between him and Ashara Dayne, a subtle yet profound emotion slowly grew through their constant companionship. She was no longer the deep-eyed lady of Starfall from their first meeting, but a companion who could share silence and understand him. Trust intertwined like vines, and rapport was built in the silent exchange of glances.
On certain late nights, on the lookout tower of their stronghold, or in a quiet Gondola in Braavos, they would discuss their pasts and secrets, as well as their vague aspirations for the future.
The affection between them had long crossed boundaries, existing with both passion and restraint, with only the final barrier remaining unbroken—perhaps waiting for a better opportunity, or perhaps due to his deep internal weighing of the burden of commitment and responsibility.
However, beneath the calm surface of the lake, undercurrents never ceased. Assassination attempts from Westeros, like a persistent plague, visited them several times almost every year. Sometimes they were assassins disguised as merchants, and sometimes they were bought-off insiders.
The first few attempts were indeed quite perilous, but as Viserys's strength rapidly increased and the vigilance of his subordinate knights sharpened, these assassinations gradually became near-miss incidents, existing only to add a touch of excitement to their lives.
Viserys's swordsmanship had long surpassed his master's. After a thoroughly enjoyable sparring session, Arthur Dayne was uncharacteristically silent, finally sighing, "Your Majesty, your skill now exceeds mine."
This was not a white lie, but the truth. Viserys had integrated the essence of multiple schools, combined with a combat intuition bordering on foresight and superior physical talent, allowing him to grow rapidly. He could already defeat the Sword of the Morning, and ordinary assassins were like straw before him.
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