The fall of House Targaryen had become a foregone conclusion across all of Westeros.
Still, the current situation remained sensitive.
Oberyn had no choice but to first sail to Tyrosh across the Narrow Sea, then transfer through Pentos before finally arriving at Dragonstone.
The journey took quite a bit of time.
Upon his arrival, he was received by Willem Darry, recently appointed to the Kingsguard.
Willem looked at the young man before him and instinctively wanted to keep his distance.
It was as if a proper gentleman had spotted a street thug—dyed yellow hair, exposed tattoos, and all. Especially since this man's reputation was downright vile.
He'd run off with another man's wife, poisoned an opponent in a trial by combat, and was rumored to have a whole host of bastards.
In short, his character and morals weren't just questionable—they were outright disgraceful.
In truth, the man known as the Red Viper was quite handsome.
Dark, gleaming eyes, lustrous black hair, and even a distinct widow's peak on his forehead. It was that very widow's peak that added a touch of devilish charm to his appearance.
"Oh, Willem Darry. I didn't expect you to be among the White Cloaks now. I nearly didn't recognize you."
"Yes, thanks to the grace of His Majesty Viserys."
Willem knew Oberyn was mocking his lack of seniority, but he also knew he couldn't retort. Doing so would be a loss of face—especially Viserys's.
After being appointed to the Kingsguard, Viserys had granted him the right to speak freely and offer counsel.
Willem had thought such an honor was reserved only for the likes of Ser Gerold and Ser Arthur. Never had he imagined he'd be included too.
He swore to protect Viserys's honor no matter what.
Seeing that Willem responded without warmth or hostility, Oberyn gave a faint, inaudible scoff.
He wasn't here to quarrel with Willem, a mere Red Keep instructor, nor with King Viserys himself. His true target was Rhaella.
Aerys was dead. Rhaegar was dead. The Targaryen crown should rightfully sit upon the head of Elia's son, young Aegon.
How did it fall to Viserys instead?
Oberyn knew full well there was no turning back from Viserys's kingship. He also understood that, in such times, the Targaryens needed to crown the eldest surviving male.
But that didn't mean he couldn't make Rhaella uncomfortable.
Passing beneath a stone arch shaped like a dragon's tail, Oberyn entered the main hall of the Stone Drum.
He had thought himself a man of the world, backed by House Martell and the whole of Dorne.
Yet the moment he laid eyes on Ser Arthur Dayne and Ser Gerold Hightower in their white cloaks and silver armor, any insolent words he'd prepared died in his throat.
His relaxed posture and casual demeanor immediately drew the attention of the two Kingsguard.
Oberyn felt as though he were standing before two war chariots, ready to crush him at a moment's notice.
"What's going on? Wasn't Arthur Rhaegar's closest friend? Why is he defending Viserys when young Aegon's rightful claim has been ignored?"
Alarmed, Oberyn realized that his assumptions had been based on the belief that these Kingsguard would support his cause.
He glanced toward the throne where Viserys sat, with Rhaella at his side.
Neither of them seemed troubled by his presence. If anything, they appeared calm—indifferent even—as though the Dornish envoy didn't warrant so much as a gesture of goodwill.
'So smug, all because they won a battle that hardly decided anything?' Oberyn fumed inwardly, just as his eyes fell on Elia.
She held young Aegon in her arms, with little Rhaenys beside her, smiling warmly at him.
In that instant, the Red Viper felt his heart melt. He longed to sit down and speak with his sister all night long.
He hadn't come empty-handed, either. He'd brought an entire ship filled with exotic gifts from the Free Cities for Elia and her children.
But there was no time for such heartfelt reunions.
Oberyn bowed low before Rhaella and Viserys.
Though Arthur and Gerold had indeed exerted some pressure on him, he was still determined to speak his mind.
Before Viserys could utter a word, Oberyn feigned innocence and asked:
"Queen Rhaella, forgive my ignorance—but why is it your son who sits the throne? Should it not be Rhaegar's son instead?"
"Prince Oberyn! Watch your tongue!"
Even before his words had fully landed, Gerold Hightower, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard, stepped forward with his hand on his sword.
Rhaella, though kind and at times gentle to a fault, had her limits.
Hearing Oberyn question Viserys's legitimacy, she rose in anger.
"Did you journey all this way simply to question your king?" she demanded, her violet eyes flashing like dragonfire.
Her voice echoed through the hall, making the air cold and tense.
Elia, who had seldom seen Rhaella angry and was unused to such hostility, immediately realized her brother had crossed a line.
Little Rhaenys, sensing the tension, clung tightly to her mother's skirts.
Just then, a burst of laughter rang out.
"Hahaha! Prince Oberyn, my brother always said you were a clever man. How could you ask such a foolish question?"
Oberyn turned to Viserys, surprised by the young king's response.
"And what exactly is foolish about it?" he asked.
"Have you never heard the saying, 'He who wishes to wear the crown must bear its weight'? Prince Oberyn, are you truly unaware of how heavy the Targaryen crown is right now?"
Viserys subtly exposed Oberyn's willful mischief.
If this were a time of peace, perhaps the question could be entertained. But now, with the Targaryens cornered onto a tiny island, was he really still fixated on that battered crown?
He who wishes to wear the crown must bear its weight.
Oberyn silently repeated the phrase and found himself unwilling to take Viserys lightly anymore.
"Forgive my ignorance, Your Majesty," he said.
Viserys smiled faintly. He didn't bother saying whether he forgave him or not. Instead, he asked:
"Surely your journey to Dragonstone wasn't easy, Prince. I imagine you've come for something far more pressing than crowning a new king."
He knew Dorne would eventually have to swear fealty to Robert, at least on the surface. Still, that didn't stop him from jabbing at the Red Viper.
Oberyn's face shifted from red to green.
As long as Elia and young Aegon lived, Dorne could not truly sever its ties with House Targaryen.
Yet he couldn't just bluff and say Dorne would never submit to Robert. The Martells were Dorne's ruling house—they had a responsibility to the whole realm.
So he could only swallow this bitter pill.
"Installing a new king isn't urgent. My main purpose this time is to take Elia and her children back with me. If their rightful protections cannot be guaranteed here, at the very least, they'll always have a warm home in Dorne."
As he spoke, Oberyn turned to look at his sister.
________________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/BloodAncestor