River Gulley on the Qhoyne River, North of the Rhoyne
A slim, toned man lay in bed. He was tall—around six feet—with short black hair, his features sharp and undeniably handsome. Oberyn Martell, the Dornish Prince, sat up, reaching for a nearby goblet of wine as his paramour lay nude beside him.
Across the small cabin, his brother's wife sat watching.
"So, you say this Dothraki Khal we are meeting is… willing to cross the sea?" Oberyn asked, swirling the wine before taking a sip.
Mellario studied her husband's younger brother. He was intelligent, yes, but a diplomat? Not in the slightest.
"The last time I was there, he had around one hundred thousand men, all armed with steel," she said. "And word has it that many of the scattered hordes have been heading to his city to challenge him. His army has grown. I do not think he needs Dorne—I think we were simply lucky I was here."
Knock! Knock! Knock!
"Speak," Oberyn called, irritation lacing his voice.
"My Prince, my Lady Consort—there seems to be a problem," a voice answered from outside the cabin.
The words stirred the woman beside Oberyn. She threw on a robe with startling speed for someone just waking up. Oberyn followed suit, grabbing his spear as he moved toward the door, barefoot and shirtless, dressed only in brown pants.
When he opened it, his daughter stood there.
Obara Sand.
She was tall for a woman, her skin marred with scars she wore with pride. His fierce warrior. But her face… her eyes. They bore something he had never seen in them before. Fear.
Like the girl in that brothel, long ago.
Her knuckles had gone ashen around the grip of her spear. Her face was pale.
"What is it, Obara?" Oberyn asked, his voice quick, sharp.
The woman was lost.
She had run to her father's side at the sight outside. Why? She did not know.
She was a warrior—a Sand Snake.
Yet what was outside… was not a man.
It was death and fire.
Obara shook her head, her whole body trembling.
Oberyn ran.
When he reached the deck, he saw his other daughter, Nymeria, standing frozen, her gaze locked onto the pier.
Then he saw it.
Black, red-eyed.
It was the size of the Gulley—no, larger.
A shadow passed overhead. Oberyn ducked on reflex, barely dodging it.
Two more. Smaller, yet still—
He turned to Mellario. His voice was eerily calm.
"You said nothing of dragons."
The woman was too stunned to respond.
His paramour approached, wrapping a robe around his shoulders with trembling hands.
Oberyn barely noticed.
His gaze was fixed on the figure standing on the pier.
Bare-chested. A horse skull covering his face.
Three pregnant women stood beside him—one with red hair, northern; another tall, with dark skin; the last with inky black hair and olive skin.
But a glimmer of light caught his eye, pulling his attention up.
A girl.
She sat atop the dragon.
She wore all black leathers, her face covered like the other women.
Oberyn's mind raced. What is this?
MC's POV
The Bear Man, Jorah Mormont, had arrived a few moons ago.
Now, the Dornish had come.
Or rather, for the first time.
The last time had been the Norvoshi.
Watching the people disembark from the ship, my thoughts were simple.
She was tall. She carried a spear.
She was no delicate flower.
Yes, there were others, but that woman—who was she?
I had never been entranced by women. I enjoyed them, yes, but Maria had my eyes. Eyes that knew suffering. That knew how to survive it.
And here was another.
I took a step forward.
Immediately, my bloodriders reacted, shifting beside me. Maria was the first to reach for my hand.
I stopped.
Her fingers curled around mine as she whispered in Yitish—a word for calm down.
I looked back at the approaching party. Yes, there were others. Another woman—beautiful, but… she was not like me. Then, the man in orange, yellow, and gold.
His gaze was sharp, but he wasn't watching me.
He was taller, yet our builds were the same—built for speed and mobility.
Then, a face I recognized.
Mellario.
The woman spoke first.
"Great Khal Rohan Sunak, I see you have acquired new steeds," she said carefully, eyes flicking to the dragon behind me.
I turned my head.
Why it was here, I still did not know.
The Bear had spoken of "presence" to Daenerys, and the girl saw fit to show off.
"Yes. Down," I commanded in Dothraki.
The dragon lowered its neck slowly.
Turning, I held my hands open as the girl leapt from its back.
She was still small.
I fed her as much as possible, yet she hardly grew.
They told me she was ready to be wed.
I had my reservations.
She was two years from sixteen—the bare minimum I was willing to take in this world.
Setting her beside my women, I turned back to the visitors.
The dragon walked away, then took to the skies.
The Bear Man looked unamused.
These westerners forget their place.
I shook my head before answering in their tongue.
"Princess Mellario. Welcome back to my city. The welcome was a misguided attempt at intimidation, but my future wife tends to entertain the help's whims far too much."
The girl in question lowered her head.
Mellario blinked in surprise at my vocabulary.
"Yes… This is my good-brother, Prince Oberyn Martell. His paramour, Ellaria Sand. And his daughters—Obara and Nymeria Sand."
The women nodded their heads.
Sand.
I frowned.
"Are they not princesses, if their father is a prince?" I asked.
The man looked momentarily surprised. Then, a flicker of frustration crossed his face.
"No. They are bastards, Khal. So they bear a different name."
Odd.
I turned to the tall woman.
"Lady Obara. Do you wish to be one of my Khaleesi? Myr will be yours. No—Lys. No… perhaps Pentos, once I start heading that way."
Silence.
Obara's eyes widened, caught off guard by the sudden proposal.
Her father looked confused. Then angry.
"You speak of giving away cities," he said, "yet you have not even begun your conquest."
I ignored him, my gaze fixed on the woman before me.
"Lady Obara. If you do not wish for a city in Essos, then I will give you one in your homeland.
The skies belong to me. The land is mine.
Be one of my brides, and wear my name with pride.
You will ride at the head of two hundred thousand Dothraki riders and have ten thousand shield and spearmen to carve your way.
A woman of your nature will be wasted anywhere else. But by my side, you will have sisters—not of blood, but of the Undying Horde."
I removed my mask.
I reached for her hand.
I had to have her.
I don't know why.
No—I knew why.
She had those eyes.
Eyes that could never be satisfied with one enemy.
There was always another.
And this world was full of them.
Obara Sand's POV
Shock was not the word.
She was beyond that.
She had been with many men—being Dornish, lying with both men and women was nothing new to her. But those eyes.
Those eyes did not look at her with lust.
No—there was lust. But there was something more.
He wanted her. Not just her body—her.
Why?
She was not her sisters.
She was older.
He looked young. Dark-skinned—darker than her sister Nymeria. His face was gaunt, yet his strength was undeniable.
He was like a chained beast, muscles taut, ready.
Not stiff.
Not nervous.
But ready.
His hand—his hand looked like her father's.
Like her own.
Rough.
Calloused.
His nails were blackened, filed to points.
Yet still, he wanted her.
She flicked her gaze to Nymeria, who was chuckling into her shoulder.
Then to her father.
Oberyn Martell looked at her as a father would.
Yes—he loved her. Yes—he was her father.
But her hand was already in his.
Her body betrayed her.
Why?
No—she knew why.
So she spoke.
"Westerlands," she said.
The man—Khal Rohan—tilted his head in confusion.
Of course. He would not understand.
"I want them burned," she clarified, her voice calm. "All of it. The Stormlands. The Westerlands. King's Landing."
"You are Dothraki. Your seat of power is your saddle. So you do not mind, do you?"
She met his gaze, unflinching.
"Honor this, and I am yours."
His eyes gleamed.
Madness. Vengeance. Fire.
A slow, cruel smile spread beneath his mask.
"I will burn it all."
His voice was unshakable.
"None of them will ever walk as free men.
They will not know life without chains.
They will curse their birth.
Their leaders will be castrated—used as breeding stock for pigs."
Silence.
Only the sound of the dragons above.
Then, he turned to the others.
"Prince Oberyn of Dorne. Princess Mellario of Norvos.
I am a man of my word.
In two weeks, my freedmen will march.
One thousand chariots. One thousand Dothraki riders. Engineers.
They will be my feeler army.
They will lay siege to Myr.
Make whatever preparations you must.
The Undying Horde begins to move."
His voice was final.
"As for my wedding—"
A slow exhale.
"I was supposed to marry in Vaes Dothrak.
But two of the Dosh Khaleen have been in my city for months.
Waiting.
I will not make them wait any longer.
I will take Daenerys Targaryen as my Khaleesi.
After the ceremony, she will take to the skies.
And we will break the Triarchy."
Obara barely heard the words.
She was still standing beside him, his hand wrapped around hers.
Still processing.
Then, he pulled her forward.
Toward a chariot.
Black.
Lined with bones.
Inside were four quivers, two bows, an arakh, a longsword, and four spears.
The horses shook.
She stepped onto the chariot.
He left briefly—gathering his wives.
The small one—Daenerys.
The tall one—not as tall as herself, but still striking.
The other two were guided into a carriage.
Then, more movement—another carriage, followed by four horses for her father and the others.
The Khal spoke again.
Louder, this time.
"These people have my permission to move as they please in my name.
Khal Rohan Sunak, the Undying.
Whoever oversteps my order… will spend their life in a cage."
Then, he turned to her father.
A simple gesture.
"Follow."