[(Sun-baked Courtyard of Sunspear - The scent of citrus and salt hangs heavy in the air as Drogon's shadow darkens the pale stone courtyard. Prince Daeron dismounts just as Elia's sandship arrives in the nearby harbor. Doran Martell sits solemnly in his wheeled chair under a silken canopy, while Oberyn leans against a pillar, smirking. The tension is thicker than Dornish blood orange syrup.)
Oberyn: (grinning) Ah! The happy couple returns! Tell me, brother, does he snore as loudly as Rhaegar did?
Doran: (pinching bridge of nose) Oberyn...
Elia: (kissing both brothers' cheeks) Still charming as ever, I see.
Daeron: (dusting off his riding leathers) At least he didn't ask about our wedding night. Progress.
Oberyn: (mock-offended) I was getting to that!
[(A servant scurries forward with chilled wine. Doran waves them away.)
Doran: (to Daeron) You've come to check on Aegon?
Daeron: (nodding) Among other things.
Oberyn: (snorting) By 'other things,' he means ensuring Dorne hasn't raised its banners in outrage over our nephew being stripped of his birthright.
Elia: (sharp) Oberyn.
Doran: (calm but firm) Aegon is well. Thriving, even. Though he misses his mother.
[(An uncomfortable silence. Somewhere in the gardens, a nightingale sings.)
Daeron: (finally) The Crown values Dorne's loyalty.
Oberyn: (laughing bitterly) Is that what we're calling it now? 'Loyalty' instead of 'leashed'?
Doran: (warning tone) Brother.
Elia: (sighing) Must we do this every time?
Oberyn: (pouring wine) Only until justice is served.
Daeron: (raising a brow) Justice was served. Lyanna's confined to the Iron Islands, and—
Oberyn: (slamming down the decanter) And Rhaegar got a hero's pyre while Elia got his brother's hand in marriage!
[(The courtyard guards tense. Doran rubs his temples.)
Doran: (weary) We've had this discussion. Repeatedly.
Elia: (soft but firm) Aegon will want for nothing. He has lands, a title—
Oberyn: (muttering) A consolation prize.
Daeron: (coolly) Better than a grave.
[(The temperature drops ten degrees. Even the fountain seems to quiet.)
Doran: (breaking the silence) Come. Let's not keep Aegon waiting. (to servants) Prepare the princess' old chambers. And air out the guest wing.
Oberyn: (smirking) Oh, don't trouble yourselves. I'm sure the happy couple would prefer to stay together.
Elia: (deadpan) Seven hells, Oberyn.
Daeron: (dry) Remind me why we visit again?
[(As they move toward the palace, Oberyn's laughter echoes off the sun-bleached walls - equal parts amusement and warning. Somewhere in the Water Gardens, a young prince looks up from his lessons, unaware of the storm brewing in his name.)]
[(The Sunspear Common Room - Evening. The warm glow of oil lamps dances across the Martell family tapestries as Doran and Oberyn lounge on plush Dornish cushions. Elia sits nearby, sipping spiced wine while Daeron stands stiffly by the balcony, the salty sea breeze ruffling his hair. The tension is thicker than the humidity before a summer storm.)
Oberyn: (stretching lazily) So let me summarize—first Rhaegar was heir, then he died, and suddenly you were heir. How... convenient.
Daeron: (flat) "Convenient" isn't the word I'd use for a war that killed thousands.
Doran: (steepling fingers) Yet House Targaryen emerged stronger. And your line secured the throne.
Elia: (warning tone) Doran...
Oberyn: (grinning) Oh no, sister, let's have this out! The mighty Prince Daeron—once content playing merchant in Summerhall—now gets the crown, the wife, and our niece as future queen. While your son gets... what was it again? A sheep farm in the Crownlands?
Daeron: (jaw tightening) House Dawncrest controls—
Oberyn: (waving a hand) Yes, yes, very impressive for a boy who should be sitting the Iron Throne.
[(Elia's cup clatters onto the table. The sound echoes like a slap.)
Elia: (icy) Enough. Rhaenys will be queen. My blood will rule the Seven Kingdoms. That was the bargain.
Doran: (quietly) A compromise to avoid war.
Daeron: (turning from the balcony) A compromise that left my nephew alive and wealthy, when half the realm wanted Targaryen heads on spikes.
Oberyn: (leaning forward) And what of justice for Elia's humiliation? Rhaegar flaunting his northern whore—
Elia: (sharp) Enough!
[(Silence falls. Even the distant crash of waves seems to hush.)
Elia: (calmer) The past is dead. Rhaenys will marry Baelon. Aegon will want for nothing. And Dorne... (she looks pointedly at her brothers) Dorne remains.
Doran: (after a beat) Spoken like a queen.
Oberyn: (muttering) Or a hostage.
Daeron: (dry) If we were keeping hostages, Oberyn, you'd have "fallen" from a tower years ago.
[(A startled laugh escapes Oberyn despite himself. Doran hides a smile in his wine. Elia exhales, the ghost of Rhaegar's choices lingering like sand in the wind—inescapable, but no longer sharp enough to draw blood.)]
[(The Water Gardens at Dusk - The soothing sounds of trickling fountains and playing children fill the air as Prince Daeron and Doran Martell walk slowly along a secluded path. The last golden light of day paints the sandstone walls in warm hues, contrasting with the cool tension between them.)
Doran: (hands resting on his chair's armrests) Tell me, Daeron... do you ever wonder how different things might have been if Rhaegar had kept his vows?
Daeron: (stiffening slightly) Wondering changes nothing.
Doran: (studying him) No. But it reminds us not to repeat mistakes.
[(A child's laughter echoes from the pools. Daeron watches as young Dornish and nobleborn children splash together, oblivious to politics.)
Daeron: (flat) If you're asking whether I'll humiliate Elia as Rhaegar did—
Doran: (raising a hand) I'm stating that Dorne will not endure another insult. Not to Elia. Not to Rhaenys.
Daeron: (turning to face him) Elia is my wife. Rhaenys will be my daughter by law. They are under my protection now.
Doran: (leaning forward slightly) And yet, you took the throne that might have been Aegon's.
Daeron: (jaw tightening) By law, the succession passed to me.
Doran: (calmly) Laws can be changed. As your father proved when he kept Rhaegar as heir over his own sons for decades.
[(The fountain's water seems louder in the silence that follows.)
Daeron: (low, deliberate) What do you want, Doran?
Doran: (leaning back) Only what you've already promised. Rhaenys as queen. Aegon's safety. And Elia's dignity.
Daeron: (exhaling through his nose) You have my word.
Doran: (softly) Words are wind. But actions... (he gestures to where Elia appears in the distance, speaking with Oberyn) ...actions are written in stone.
[(Daeron follows his gaze. Elia smiles at something Oberyn says, the setting sun catching the silver in her hair—a queen in all but name, bound to a throne and a man not by choice, but circumstance. The moment stretches, heavy with unspoken understanding.)
Daeron: (quietly) I won't be my brother.
Doran: (nodding once) See that you aren't.
[(They continue their walk in silence, the splashing of the water gardens masking the quiet tension. Somewhere, a child shrieks with delight—innocent of the weight that kings and princes must carry.)]
[(Sunspear Courtyard - Morning. The rising sun paints the sandstone walls in golden hues as Drogon stretches his wings, casting a massive shadow over the Martell banners. Servants load the last of Elia's trunks onto her waiting ship while Doran and Oberyn stand nearby, their expressions unreadable.)
Oberyn: (grinning) Off to face the lions in their den? How thrilling.
Daeron: (tightening Drogon's saddle straps) Just a routine visit.
Doran: (dry) There is nothing "routine" about Tywin Lannister.
Elia: (adjusting her traveling cloak) He'll behave. He wants Maekar to inherit Casterly Rock, after all.
Oberyn: (snorting) Ah yes, your stepson—the future Lord Lannister. How delightfully complicated.
[(A servant rushes forward with a chilled carafe of lemon water. Doran waves them away with a sigh.)
Doran: (to Daeron) You understand why Dorne watches this... arrangement with interest.
Daeron: (mounting Drogon) If you're worried I'll favor the West over Dorne—
Oberyn: (interrupting) We're worried you'll trip over all the knives Tywin's no doubt left lying around.
Elia: (rolling her eyes) Oberyn…
Doran: (serious) Just remember where your true allies lie.
Daeron: (holding his gaze) I never forget.
[(A moment of tense silence. Then—)
Oberyn: (clapping hands) Well! If Tywin does try something, do send word. I'd love an excuse to visit Casterly Rock. (grinning) Preferably with an army.
Elia: (kissing her brothers' cheeks) Try not to start any wars while I'm gone.
Doran: (smirking) No promises.
[(With a final nod, Daeron urges Drogon skyward, the great beast's wings kicking up a gust of sand. Elia boards her ship, her silhouette framed by the rising sun. Doran and Oberyn watch until dragon and ship are mere specks on the horizon.)
Oberyn: (crossing arms) Do you think he'll keep his word?
Doran: (quietly) He'd better. For his sake.
[(The salty breeze carries the sound of waves crashing against the docks—a steady, relentless rhythm, much like the game of thrones they're all forced to play.)]