You sail into Sunspear, and the Prince of Dorne is there to greet you at the docks. A stately man with the Martell dark hair and eyes, he looks at you somberly – but he is usually somber, so you're not concerned. "Welcome, your grace. Your presence is much appreciated," says your goodbrother.
"Elia's not here to greet us?" asks Oberyn.
"She would, but alas she's been called to the birthing bed early," Doran explains.
There is a small pause as you process that.
"What?" cries Oberyn. "Gods damn it, I never should have gone to Oldtown!"
"She's not due for another three weeks, at least!" you protest.
"She's still in labor, and has been for a full day," Doran says, trying to calm you. "By all means, you can–"
Oberyn takes off running.
"Oberyn! I haven't given you the bread and salt yet!"
"I trust you not to stab me in my sleep, brother!" he calls over his shoulder.
"Ugh," Doran sighs. Turning to you, he says, "Fine then. If you're willing to skip the formalities, you can follow Oberyn. He knows where she'll be."
You nod. "Lord Quellon," you order, "I give command of the fleet to you. Try to start loading troops if you can; we need to get these men to the theater of battle as soon as possible."
"So you're sticking me with all the work?" He chuckles. "I'm teasing. Go see your wife."
----
Elia is within the Old Palace, in a room Oberyn seems familiar with. The two of you stride in, surprising the occupants.
"Oh! Oberyn, Rhaegar!" Your wife looks tired, but she's still able to smile at you. "You have excellent timing."
"From our perspective, it seems we should have come here earlier," you complain, before leaning down to give her a kiss. She seems a bit warmer than usual. Perhaps that's simply the weather here?
"No, it's been a day of almost nothing. You would have been very bored," she replies. Then a contraction shakes her, and she grunts. "How was your journey?"
"Uneventful. I did speak with our…friends from the far North. But we can talk about the war later."
She nods. "Yes, that seems best. Qyburn has been a great help," she indicates the attending maester, deep in conversation with Oberyn, "and very understanding about my condition, but with what's happened in Oldtown I have difficulty trusting any maester too much. Congratulations on that, by the way. I'm glad you got it done now; without the war to distract people I'm sure there would be complaints about your unorthodox interventionism or abuse of power or something like that. And the Hightowers will die for us now. Ah!" Irritated, she waves at a cup of water on a nearby table, just out of her reach. You hand it to her. "Gods, why does childbirth still hurt? Nothing else does!"
"How often are your contractions coming now?" Qyburn asks. "I need you to count."
The contractions are coming more and more often, and Qyburn declares that she's progressing into the birth itself. He sends Oberyn to get certain medicines from his supplies, just in case. Your job, he says, is to stand by the bed and be a comfort. You get the sense that he would prefer you to clear the room, but you refuse to leave her side after what happened with Aegon's birth.
You kneel down by Elia's right side and lay your head on the bed, letting her twist her fingers through your hair. You hum a song for her, as her grip tightens, as her fist pulls on your silver. "Uagh!"
"Crowning," Qyburn says tersely. "Don't push yet, your grace. Not until the head is free." She whimpers, but her fist relaxes. She twists your hair anxiously between her fingers. "Now, push!" and you feel her hand gather into a fist again, squeezing with each push she makes. She's strong, stronger than she was. She can do this. You needn't be afraid.
"Here, hold this," you hear Qyburn say, after Elia's hand has relaxed once more. You raise your head and watch as the maester cuts the thick grayish birth cord, the area around him splattered with foulness and afterbirth. Oberyn comes to you then, a small gentle smile on his face.
"Look," he says, "a daughter."
"Oh," is all a breathless Elia can say as her brother lays the babe on her bare chest, but the light in her eyes needs no words to explain. Together your hands help the babe find the breast and take her first feeding. A pale little thing, eyes still closed; the wet strands of hair on her head are pure silver. And the magic you hear from her is pure ice.
"Is she healthy?" you demand of Qyburn.
"She's small," he tells you. "Not surprising, since her birth was premature. And pale. She might have a delicate constitution. But there are no striking problems."
"Good, very good." You're certain you love her already. You bend your head down to the little child and give her head a kiss. She doesn't react, but keeps rhythmically swallowing at the breast. She'll go to a wet-nurse soon enough, but some people consider it bad luck if a babe doesn't get their first feeding from their mother's own breasts.
Your third child, second daughter. What shall you name her?
[ ] Visenya
[ ] Elaena
[ ] Adara
[ ] Write-in
----
Although it was long and early, on the whole the birth of your third child was much less hard on her that Aegon's was. Nevertheless, it will be some time before Elia is well enough to attend meetings. You spend as much time with her as you can, following Oberyn's lead in doting on her and showering her with her favorite foods, but you also have a war to prosecute. So it comes to be that, the day after the birth, you gather with Prince Doran and all your advisors (save Elia) for a war council.
"News has come from the Crownlands," Doran announces. "King Aerys called his hosts to meet Lord Tyrell in battle. He also dismissed Owen Merryweather from his position as Hand, for cowardice; apparently the man was reluctant to lead any troops into battle himself."
"Aerys should try taking up a sword himself, then," Lord Quellon says dryly. "Has he even been in any fighting since the War of the Ninepenny Kings?"
"No," you confirm, "unless you count the Defiance of Duskendale. But he has always been quick to criticize people for faults that he has himself. I doubt he'll leave the city, though it would be a boon to us if he did."
"Is he so incompetent?" asks Baelor Hightower.
"No, he's not…stupid, exactly. But his paranoid and delusional beliefs lead him to bad decisions. I more meant that this war would be over if we could just capture him."
"At any rate," Doran continues, "Lord Chelsted is now the new Hand of the King. And the battle went reasonably well for our side, in that the king's men were forced to retreat, but Mace Tyrell lost more men than I would like. Apparently he was baited into attacking them on unfavorable terrain."
Oberyn rolls his eyes. "Well, he has men to spare. I'll not weep for him."
"The Reach has reserves, yes, but getting men where we need them takes time. Right now, Lord Tyrell's force in the Crownlands is one of our most important pieces in this war," Baelor tells him. Oberyn gives a gesture of acknowledgment.
"Lord Tyrell wrote that he intends to continue marching to King's Landing. He expects that if he does, the King will pull men away from the siege of Dragonstone to bolster the city's defenses," Doran adds.
Do you have anything to add to those plans?
[ ] Write-in
"What's the situation at Maidenpool?" you ask.
"I was getting to that," Doran says patiently. "First of all, a pleasant surprise: as you know, Maidenpool has been depending on smugglers and foreign ships for food. A fortnight ago, one such smuggler delivered a cargo that contained, in addition to food, two rogue Kingsguard."
"You mean Arthur and Jaime have reappeared?" you ask eagerly. Jon nods. Seeing as he came to Dorne with Elia, he's already familiar with most of what Doran is telling you.
"Apparently, Monford Velaryon helped them escape the capital and get to Driftmark, where they eventually found a smuggler by the name of Davos to take them to Maidenpool." Your goodbrother looks down at the papers before him, considering. "I recommend we keep quiet about how exactly they escaped the city, however. Velaryon's actions will probably invite harsh punishment from the king if they become known. You see, he also gave them the naval plans drawn up by his father, the Master of Ships."
"A brave move," you praise. "We'll need to reward him well, if he survives."
Doran nods. "As we suspected, the king is keeping most of his ships in the Gullet. But the orders revealed that a group was quietly detached, and sent to attack a target in Dorne: the castle of Bloodspill. Forewarned, we were able to man the castle's defenses fully and turn back the attack."
"That's…in Martell territory, yes?" Baelor asks hesitantly.
"Don't worry, I hadn't heard of it either," Jon replies. "It's in Uller territory, on the river Brimstone. It guards the way to the Hellholt. The seat of House Sphinx."
"Why would anyone be interested in that castle over the rest of Dorne?" Oberyn complains. "It makes no sense."
Doran nods. "Indeed. I felt the same way at first. Prince Rhaegar, you have a knight of House Sphinx among your retainers, yes? How did he react when told of his sister's treatment at the hands of King Aerys?"
"He was aghast. Worried. Vengeful. I saw nothing out of the ordinary in him."
"Myria Sphinx escaped death," Doran tells you, "because she revealed, under torture, that her house had been keeping a dragon egg ever since the death of Meraxes. Thus Aerys sent a force to Bloodspill to claim it. I have been in correspondence with the Sphinxes and we have decided this is the only reasonable explanation."
You are in shock. Across the table you see Baelor give a gasp of understanding. "Now the prophecy makes sense!"
"What does? Which prophecy?" you ask.
"A while ago, Malora had a vision of three dragons emerging from a sphinx. We thought that meant the Citadel, even though only two dragon eggs were recovered from there. But now there's a third dragon egg from House Sphinx…heh."
Lord Quellon sighs. "Let's not get distracted by intrigues and shiny things. What of Maidenpool?"
"Well, on one hand, the armies led by Alliser Thorne and Tywin Lannister were able to trap the besiegers and annihilate them. On the other hand, it seems the foreign ships have brought in a plague, and Lord Lannister has ordered the gates sealed again, though he is having food passed through."
"The salmon are just having a terrible time in this war, aren't they?" Oberyn comments.
"Harsh, but we can't afford to let the plague spread to our armies. I judge Lannister made the right decision," you say.
"Aye," Baelor says, looking haunted for some reason. "We of Oldtown know what it is to deal with a foreign plague. Hard as it might be to keep your people trapped in a dying city…history shows that it is necessary."
"In other news," Doran says, rubbing his face, "Lord Frey has sent a proposal, offering terms for his switching sides. He listed eight sons that he wants landed. And several more that you might chose to foster."
"Please tell me he's taking the piss," says a disgusted Jon.
"His first request was for Lord Paramountcy of the Riverlands," you tell him dryly. "I think he expects us to haggle him down."
"You'd think after six hundred years of nobility, the Freys would have learned to stop acting like merchants. By the time we bring him down to a reasonable price, this war's going to be over already!" Jon complains.
"Perhaps that's his plan," Oberyn muses, "declare for us right at the end of the war, so he won't have to put any effort in."
"Why go to the trouble of courting the Freys if they're going to be this difficult about it?" Jon asks. "They have, what, four thousand men?"
"And they control the only way an army can cross the Green Fork north of Harrenhal," Lord Quellon adds.
"And why do we need that crossing?" Jon replies. "Most of the fighting is taking place in the south part of the Riverlands. The only allies we have up north are the crannogmen, and they're best used right where they are, fortifying the Neck. Considering the horseshit they've served to you so far, Rhaegar, you can tell the Freys to fuck right off."
"Well, there's one thing you haven't considered, Lord Connington," Doran tells him. "Judging from the reports of the crannogmen, the Freys aren't putting their whole strength into fighting, possibly because they expect to change sides later. Thus, if the prince tells them to 'fuck right off', as you put it, they might actually start putting some pressure on the Neck."
How will you respond to Lord Frey?
[ ] Accept his terms
[ ] Continue negotiating for a better deal (Write-in)
[ ] Continue negotiating, but without any intention of coming to an agreement
[ ] Tell him you're not interested
"And for our final, and perhaps most important order of business," Doran says, "there is the matter of the troops here in Sunspear. We have twenty-five thousand men gathered here. I might have summoned more, but I did not want to leave the mountain passes undefended, in case the Stormlanders decided to end their neutrality. I've consulted with Lord Greyjoy and we will be able to fit them all on the ships, though conditions will be cramped. The only thing that remains is to decide on a target."
Where should your fleet attack?
[ ] Break the siege of Dragonstone
[ ] Duskendale
[ ] Driftmark
[ ] Saltpans
[ ] Write-in
Is there anything else you wish to do while your allies are still gathered together in Dorne?
[ ] Write in
And as the new year dawns, where will you be found?
[ ] In Dorne, taking care of your wife and child
[ ] Sailing into battle with the Dornishmen
[ ] Sailing to the Wall – you want an ice dragon!
[ ] Write-in
