[Dorne - Sunspear]

"Here, my sweetlings," Alysanne cooed, cradling her twins, Valaena and Corlys, as they eagerly latched onto her breasts.

The room was suffused with the warm glow of the rising sun, casting an orange light that danced on the walls, highlighting the intricate tapestries that depicted the storied battles of House Targaryen. Outside, the sounds of Dorne's bustling streets were muffled by the thick stone, allowing for a serene quiet that Alysanne cherished.

Her twins, Valaena and Corlys, nestled against her, their small hands clutching at her silk gown as they suckled greedily. Alysanne gazed down at them with a fierce love, feeling the warmth of their bodies against her own. It was a moment of peace, a brief respite from the storm of political intrigue that often surrounded her.

The door to her chamber cracked open, and Robin Massey, the steadfast protector of her children, peered in. His eyes searched the room before landing on Alysanne with a nod of reassurance. His hand rested on the pommel of his sword, a silent declaration of his vigilance. He stepped aside as Laenor, her husband and the Lord of Driftmark, slipped into the chamber, his eyes alight with urgency. He carried a few pieces of parchment, which he offered to her.

"These arrived for you," he whispered, handing her the letters. The seals were unbroken, but she could feel the weight of their contents pressing into her palm.

With gentle movements, Alysanne lifted Valaena and Corlys from her, placing them in a nearby cradle with a soft smile. Their eyes remained closed, oblivious to the matters of state that would soon claim their mother's attention.

"Thank you," Alysanne murmured, as she broke the seal on the first letter with a sense of foreboding. Her eyes scanned the neat script, her heart racing with each word. Stannis Baratheon had journeyed to Braavos, seeking the Iron Bank's support to bolster his dwindling forces, and back his claim to the throne.

"He means to march on the North," she said aloud, the parchment trembling in her hand. "If he reclaims Winterfell from the Boltons, he will have the backing of the North. And with the Iron Throne in his sights, he will not stop until he has it all."

"What would you have us do?" Laenor asked, his voice low and steady. He knew her well, knew that she was not one to be rushed into decisions.

Alysanne took a deep breath, the weight of her heritage and her dragons' future heavy on her shoulders. "We must prepare for the worst," she said finally. "I wish to go to Driftmark. If Stannis were to fall in battle, we will be close enough to reclaim Dragonstone with the support of our allies."

Laenor nodded thoughtfully, his eyes never leaving hers. "And what of our children?"

Alysanne paused, her gaze drifting to the cradle where Valaena and Corlys lay sleeping. "They will come with us," she decided. "Driftmark is safest for them, and it is only right that your mother meets her grandchildren."

Laenor's mother, Lady Lysara Rogare, was another of Alysanne's distant relatives.

House Rogarre had once united with House Targaryen, when Larra Rogare married Viserys II, the second son of Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen and her uncle-husband, Daemon Targaryen.

A generation earlier, Larra's uncle, Drazenko, married Aliandra Martell, the ruling Princess of Dorne during the reign of Aegon III, the older brother of Viserys II.

"Stannis sent his Hand, Ser Davos Seaworth to treat with a Lysene pirate, Salladhor Saan for his sellsail fleet, which he has acquired. Ser Davos will then journey North to White Harbor, to treat with Wyman Manderly." Alysanne relayed.

"Wyman Manderly," Laenor repeated, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "His son is still a hostage in King's Landing, is he not?"

"Yes," Alysanne replied, her eyes still on the letter. "Wylis is being held by Cersei, as a guarantee of his father's loyalty to the Lannister cause. Wyman was forced to confess his treason for supporting Robb Stark, and was made to pledge fealty to Joffrey. Though, I suppose that oath now passses to Tommen. Stannis will soon journey North, though, to treat with the Night's Watch."

"What of the second?" Laenor asked, gesturing to the second letter in her hand.

She instantly recognized the seal of Qareen, her spymaster in King's Landing, who operated the Silent Sister, her tavern/brothel.

Her stomach tightened as she unfolded the second letter. The script was less formal, almost hastily written, as if the words themselves had been penned in fear of discovery. The news it bore was of Tyrion's trial. The dwarf's fate had been twisted into a spectacle, a performance to appease the capital's elite that his son had been given a fair trial.

But, from the start, it was clear it was anything but fair.

Numerous witnesses were called to paint a foul picture of the youngest of Tywin Lannister's children.

Amongst them, Dowager Queen Cersei, the Master of Whispers, Varys, Grand Maestar Pycelle and a member of the Kingsguard.

"The trial is a sham," Alysanne murmured, her eyes darkening as she read the details of Tyrion's mockery of justice. "They have paraded his whore, Shae, before the court to lie about his intentions."

Her mind raced as she digested the information. "And to think they dare implicate the Stark girl in this plot," she said, her voice tinged with anger.

"They seek to tarnish her name further," Laenor murmured, his jaw clenched tightly. "It seems they will not rest until every Stark is eradicated or smeared beyond redemption."

Sansa Stark had been implicated as being complicit in murdering Joffrey.

Justice for her murdered family, they said.

Of course, it didn't help that Sansa had disappeared in the chaos of Joffrey's death, and had not been seen since.

"Tyrion has demanded a trial by combat."

The second letter spoke of a trial by combat. Alysanne had heard that Tyrion was clever, and she assumed he would not have requested such a thing without a plan. Her heart raced as she read on, her eyes flickering over the parchment.

The Mountain had been named as the crown's champion, a monstrous brute of a man, feared throughout the realm for his brutality and lack of mercy.

Also, the man, a term Alysanne used very loosely, who had murdered Alysanne's brother, before assaulting and murdering her mother.

Her silver hair cascading over her shoulders, Alysanne rose from her chair, the letters from Qareen clutched tightly in her fist. The room felt suffocatingly small, the walls closing in as she digested the implications of Tyrion's trial by combat.

Her Uncle Oberyn remained in the Capital after travelling for Joffrey and Margaery's wedding.

Alysanne knew his fiery spirit and love for justice would not allow him to ignore this.

Her uncle, the Red Viper of Dorne, had always been one to seek vengeance, and the mention of The Mountain's name sent a cold shiver down her spine. She could already imagine the glint in his eyes, the thirst for blood that had remained unquenched since the death of his sister, Elia, and her children.

"Oberyn will not be able to resist this," Alysanne murmured, her heart heavy with the thought of what was to come. "He will see it as his chance to claim justice for my mother and our family."

"Then we best hope another steps up before he gets the chance."

"Yes... let us hope."