[Dorne - Sunspear]

In the sweltering heat of Dorne, Alysanne Targaryen, the fiery daughter of the doomed union between Prince Rhaegar and Princess Elia, found refuge in the shadows of her chamber. Her silver hair fell in soft waves around her tan shoulders, a stark contrast to the deep purple eyes that reflected the intensity of her dragon's blood.

Her thoughts were consumed by the whispers of vengeance that echoed through the hallowed halls of Sunspear, the ancestral seat of House Martell.

The recent events had painted a grim picture, one that she knew she had to navigate with the precision of a Dornish viper.

A knock at the door startled her, and she swiftly concealed the dragon egg she had been cradling in her arms. "Enter," she called out, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

The door creaked open, and Arianne, her Martell cousin and confidante, slipped in. "Cousin," Alysanne greeted, "I trust the news you bring is not of further trouble?"

Arianne's eyes searched the room before landing on the hidden egg. "Wise of you to keep it close," she murmured, nodding towards the purple tapestry that now shielded the precious artifact. "The Sand Snakes have returned," she announced, her voice low and taut with tension. "They've heard of your attack and demand an audience with you and my father."

Alysanne felt a chill run down her spine. The Sand Snakes, the fierce and cunning bastard daughters of her uncle, Oberyn, were known for their passionate loyalty and quick tempers.

"Tell them I will receive them," she said, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. "And ensure Uncle Doran is made aware of their arrival."

As Arianne slipped out, Alysanne took a moment to compose herself, the gravity of the situation weighing heavily on her.

The Sand Snakes had always been a force to be reckoned with, and their thirst for Lannister blood was legendary.

Their mother, Ellaria Sand, had taught them well the art of war and diplomacy, and they were as deadly as they were beautiful. Each one a reflection of the fiery passion that had claimed their father, Oberyn.

Obara, the eldest, strode into the chamber first, her eyes scanning the room with the precision of a seasoned warrior. Nymeria followed, her gaze cold and calculating, and Tyene, the youngest, trailed behind with a serene smile that belied the lethal skill she had honed as a shadowy assassin.

"You've been touched by the hands of our enemies," Obara said, her voice like the crack of a whip. "This cannot go unanswered."

Alysanne met her gaze, her own eyes burning with a quiet resolve. "I know," she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. "But we must be smart. The Lannisters are not our only threat, and a hasty move could be our undoing."

The Sand Snakes exchanged glances, their anger simmering just beneath the surface. "What would you have us do, then?" Nymeria demanded, her hand resting on the hilt of her whip.

Alysanne stood, the dragon egg still hidden in her embrace. "We must wait," she said firmly. "We must be patient and gather our strength. Dorne has been quiet for too long, but our venom still runs true. We will strike, but when the time is ripe."

Obara, her cheekbones sharp and her eyes filled with the fire of a thousand suns, stepped closer. "And what of your rightful claim to the Iron Throne?" she spat. "Will you let the usurpers keep it while you play the pawn in their games?"

"I will not be rushed into a war I cannot win," she said calmly. "But rest assured, I have not forgotten the promise I made to my mother, brother, and sister. House Targaryen will rise again, and when it does, it will be with the full might of Dorne behind us."

The Sand Snakes nodded in unison, recognizing the steely determination in Alysanne's voice. They knew better than to question her resolve.

"We will bide our time," Tyene agreed, her voice soft and deadly. "But we will not be idle. We shall prepare for the day when we can avenge our kin and set you upon the throne that is rightfully yours."

Doran Martell, the wily and cautious ruler of Dorne, entered the chamber, his expression inscrutable. The Sand Snakes bowed low in respect, while Alysanne stepped forward, her posture proud and defiant. "Uncle," she began, "we must talk of alliances and strategy."

Doran nodded gravely, his eyes flickering over the three women before him. "The Lannisters grow bold," he said, "but we must not let our anger blind us to the larger game." He motioned for his guard to spread a the map out on the table, the Iron Throne's influence sprawling over the Seven Kingdoms like a crimson stain. "Olenna Tyrell's offer of a marriage pact is a tempting one, but we must consider the implications."

Alysanne stepped closer to the map, her hand hovering over King's Landing. "The Iron Throne," she murmured, "has always been a seductive prize, but one that requires careful planning and powerful alliances to claim."

"Indeed," Doran agreed. "The Tyrells are a formidable house, and their support would be invaluable. But we must tread lightly. The Lannisters are like lions, dangerous when cornered. If we align ourselves too openly, we may find ourselves in a war we are not ready to fight."

Obara spoke up, her voice laced with the rasp of the desert. "We are Dornish. We fight in the shadows and strike when our enemies least expect it."

"But I am also a Targaryen," Alysanne reminded her. "We do not hide in the shadows forever. We fly on the backs of dragons."

Her words hung in the air, a declaration of intent that resonated with the very essence of her being. The room grew still, the tapestries fluttering slightly as if stirred by the unspoken promise of fire and blood that lay dormant within her.

Doran studied her, his expression thoughtful. "You speak with the voice of a leader," he said finally. "But a leader must also know when to be silent and listen."

Alysanne nodded, understanding the wisdom in his words. "I am ready to learn, Uncle," she said. "What would you have me do?"

Doran leaned heavily on his cane, his gaze never leaving hers. "For now, we watch and wait," he instructed. "We must ensure that we are not seen as a threat to the Lannisters, nor to any other great house."

"My Targaryen blood makes me threat enough. As the attempt on my life proved."

Doran's gaze softened. "Indeed, it does. But we must play a more delicate game. We need to be as unpredictable as the sands that shift beneath our feet. Trust in me, Alysanne. I will not let your mother and sibling's killers go unpunished, nor will I see you thrown into a war that could destroy all we hold dear."

The Sand Snakes exchanged glances, their frustration palpable. They had always been eager for battle, but even they recognized the weight of Doran's words.

"In the meantime," Doran continued, "we must secure our borders and fortify our alliances. The Lannisters may have struck at you, Alysanne, but their reach is long and their pockets deep. We cannot underestimate their cunning."

The three Sand Snakes nodded in agreement, though their eyes remained fixed on the map, their thoughts no doubt racing with the strategies of war.

"You have been busy," Alysanne said, turning to the Sand Snakes. "Tell me of your journey to Highgarden and Lady Penrose's audience with Lady Olenna."

Obara spoke first, her voice filled with the passion of the desert. "We delivered the night blooming orchid, as you instructed, and waited for her response. She was shrewd, as one would expect from a Tyrell, but she did not immediately dismiss your claim."

"But she did not offer her full support either," Nymeria added, her voice clipped and precise.

"We must be patient," Doran cautioned. "Lady Olenna is a woman who understands the value of timing. Her silence speaks louder than any declaration of war or peace."

The Sand Snakes shared a look of frustration, but they knew their uncle's counsel was not to be taken lightly. They had all seen the cunning that lay behind the old man's gentle demeanor, a trait that had kept Dorne unconquered for centuries.

"Our priority is to ensure Alysanne's safety," Doran said, his voice firm. "The dragon must not be harmed again. The Lannisters will not find it so easy to reach her here."

Obara, ever the warrior, clenched her fists. "We should send a message, Uncle," she urged. "Let them know that Dorne has teeth and we will not be cowed."

Doran raised a hand to silence her. "Patience, Obara. The time for messages will come, but it must be chosen with care." His gaze swept over the map, lingering on the distant lands beyond Dorne's borders. "For now, we must be the serpents in the grass, watching and waiting for our prey to reveal itself fully."

The room fell silent, the weight of his words sinking in.

Alysanne grabbed the obsidian dragon egg, clutching it tightly, feeling the warmth of her ancestry seep into her very bones. The call for vengeance was a siren's song that sang in her blood, but she knew Doran was right. A hasty move could cost them everything.

"We shall act," she said, her voice filled with the promise of fire, "but it will be at the right moment. We will not let our anger lead us to ruin."

The Sand Snakes nodded begrudgingly, their impatient spirits bending to the will of their future Queen.

Instead they turned their attention to the dragon egg in their cousin's hand.

"So, it's true?" Obara asked. "You've begun the process of hatching them?"

Alysanne nodded solemnly, her gaze fixed on the egg. "The dragons will rise again," she vowed.

The room seemed to hold its breath as the gravity of her words settled over them. The dragon eggs had been thought lost, the last vestige of the Targaryen legacy buried with the ruins of the old world. Yet here they were, three precious orbs of power and hope, one of them resting in the hands of the very bloodline that had been almost extinguished.

"But how?" Tyene asked, her voice filled with awe. "The eggs have been dormant for so long, it was said they would never hatch again."

Alysanne's eyes gleamed with the light of ancient secrets. "The Targaryens had their way. But it is a delicate process that requires time and caution. The dragons are not to be summoned like bannermen to a war. They are the embodiment of our house's power, and they will be born when the world is ready for their return."

The Sand Snakes exchanged glances, the gravity of the revelation sinking in. "And what of your alliance with the Tyrells?" Nymeria asked, her gaze sharp. "With dragons at your side, the Iron Throne is all but yours."

Alysanne took a deep breath, her eyes never leaving the egg. "The marriage pact is a means to an end," she said. "But it is not the end itself. I seek to restore House Targaryen, not to exchange one set of chains for another."

The three Sand Snakes nodded, their respect for their Targaryen cousin growing with each word she spoke. They knew that she was more than just a pretty face with a claim to the throne; she was a strategist, a leader, and a survivor.

"As long as there is a living Targaryen, there will always be men who seek our Valyrian blood for their offspring, and a chance for their child to sit the Iron Throne."

The room was silent as the implications of Alysanne's words hung in the air.

"The Lannisters will not take kindly to the return of dragons." Doran cautioned. "Nor will the Usurper."

"Let them tremble," Obara spat. "They've had their day in the sun, now it's time for the dragons to cast their shadows."

Alysanne's grip on the egg tightened, her eyes blazing with a determination that had not been seen in a Targaryen for a generation. "Our focus now is on survival and preparation," she said firmly. "We must be ready to strike when the opportunity presents itself, not stumble into a war we cannot win."

The Sand Snakes nodded, their fiery spirits tempered by the cold logic of their future queen. They knew the importance of patience in the game of thrones, even if it was a lesson they had to learn the hard way.

"We must be the storm that no one sees coming," Tyene murmured, her eyes never leaving the egg.

Doran nodded in approval. "The dragons will be our weapon, but not our only one. We must cultivate alliances and let our enemies believe we are content to sit idly by."

"How can you be sure Lady Olenna will not reveal your plans to the Lannisters?"

"It's simple. Lady Olenna is clever. She wants House Tyrell to be on the winning side. What happens if she betrays me and I defeat the Lannisters?"

Alysanne's question hung in the air, the room thick with the tension of unspoken threats. "Indeed," Doran said, stroking his chin.

"Lady Olenna is a shrewd player in this game," he continued. "If she were to betray us now, she would have nothing to gain. Her granddaughter, Margaery, wishes to be Queen, which, as it stands, would only happen if she married the Usurper's son, who is already engaged to Lord Stark's eldest daughter. If the Lannisters fall, she risks losing everything. But if she supports us and we emerge victorious, she secures a powerful alliance and a chance for her blood to rule the Seven Kingdoms."

Arianne, who had been quietly observing the exchange, spoke up. "But what of the marriage pact she offered? Does that not concern you, Alysanne?"

Alysanne turned to her, the egg still cradled in her arms. "It does," she admitted. "A pact that benefits House Tyrell more than it does us. But I will not be used as a broodmare for a child to sit the Iron Throne. If a Tyrell wishes to marry into our house, it will be on my terms."

The Sand Snakes murmured their agreement, their loyalty to Alysanne unwavering.

"Our first step," Doran said, his voice measured, "is to ensure Dorne's borders are secure. We must not allow any more attempts on your life, my dear."

"Agreed," Alysanne said, her eyes darkening at the mention of her near-death experience. "We must fortify our defenses. I must also continue my combat training."

Obara stepped forward, her hand on the pommel of her sword. "We will train with you, Your Grace," she said with a fierce smile. "You shall fly on the back of a dragon, but you must also learn to slay your enemies on the ground."

Alysanne nodded her thanks. "Your sisters and I will begin tomorrow," she said, her eyes shining with the prospect of finally embracing her Targaryen heritage in full.

She would be the perfect blend of her ancestors, Rhaenys and Visenya Targaryen.

As the discussion turned to the state of affairs in King's Landing, Doran leaned heavily on his cane, his expression growing more serious. "We have reports from our spies in the capital," he began, his eyes flicking to the map where the Iron Throne loomed.

Arianne leaned in, her curiosity piqued. "What news do they bring?"

Doran's eyes glinted with the shrewdness that had kept Dorne out of the fray of the recent wars.

"The tension between the Starks and Lannisters is growing."

Doran's words sent a shiver down Alysanne's spine. "How so?" she asked, her eyes never leaving the map of Westeros.

"Lord Eddard is investigating the death of Jon Arryn."

"Didn't he die of a fever?"

"Fever... or poison?"

Doran's words sent a ripple of unease through the chamber. The implications were clear: if the Lannisters had gone so far as to eliminate the Hand of the King, then the game of thrones was about to take a darker turn.

"Our spies have reported that Lord Stark has become a thorn in their side," Doran continued, his voice a low rumble. "He is asking questions they do not wish answered."

Obara's eyes narrowed. "What does he seek?"

"The truth," Doran replied, his voice grim. "He suspects foul play, and he's not one to let sleeping dogs lie."

The room grew tense as the implications of Doran's words sank in. If Lord Stark were to uncover the truth, whatever it may be, it could mean war, a war that could engulf the entire realm.

The realm had not recovered from Robert's Rebellion, despite how many years had past.

Another war could prove catastrophic.

Alysanne knew the delicate balance of power in the Seven Kingdoms. The Usurper's rebellion had already ravaged the land, and she had no wish to see it torn apart again.

"What else have your spies uncovered?" Alysanne asked, her voice taut with anticipation.

"Shortly before Lord Stark made the journey to the Capital, his son, Brandon, fell from one of the towers in Winterfell. Rumour has it, the boy lost all use of his legs."

Alysanne's eyes widened in shock, the egg momentarily forgotten in her arms.

"A grim fate for a boy with the blood of the wolf in his veins," Obara murmured, a flicker of pity in her usually stoic gaze.

Doran nodded solemnly. "The Starks are a proud house, but even they are not immune to tragedy."

Nymeria leaned forward, her gaze sharp. "And what of the Lannisters' response to Lord Stark's suspicions?"

Doran's expression grew even more grim. "They are watching him closely, playing the game of smiles and lies. But make no mistake, they will not allow him to threaten their grip on the throne."

The room fell silent as they contemplated the news from King's Landing. The Lannisters were notorious for their ruthlessness, and Alysanne knew that if they felt threatened, they would not hesitate to eliminate any perceived threats.

As they likely were the ones to order her death as Tywin had done to Rhaenys, Aegon, and Elia all those years ago.

The Sand Snakes listened intently, their expressions a mix of anger and determination. They had grown up hearing the stories of the Targaryen's slaughter and had dedicated their lives to avenging their aunt and cousins.

"The Lannisters are like a pack of starving lions," Nymeria said through gritted teeth. "They're growing desperate. If we can drive a wedge between them and their allies, it may weaken their hold on the throne."

Doran nodded thoughtfully. "Our spies in King's Landing have reported dissent among the smallfolk. The realm is tired of war and the heavy hand of the Iron Throne." He paused, stroking his beard. "Lord Stark's investigation into Jon Arryn's death may be the spark that ignites the powder keg beneath their feet."

Alysanne felt a surge of hope. If the Lannisters were distracted by internal strife, it might give her the opportunity she needed to forge alliances and prepare for her own claim.

"We must stay vigilant," she said, her eyes never leaving the map. "We need to know everything that happens in King's Landing. Our spies must be our eyes and ears."

Doran nodded. "They are. We have sent some of our most trusted men and women, disguised as traders and merchants, to infiltrate the city and report back to us. Their findings are invaluable."

The room grew tense as they discussed the intricate web of alliances and betrayals that made up the political landscape of the capital.

The Lannisters were powerful, but they were not loved.

The again, the memory of the Mad King's reign still haunted the realm, and the suspicion of his surviving relatives lingered.

"The people of Westeros fear the return of a Targaryen to the throne," Arianne said softly, her eyes on the map. "The Lannisters, and Baratheons have painted your family as monsters, Alysanne."

Alysanne's jaw tightened. "Then we must show them that not all Targaryens are mad. That we can bring peace and prosperity back to the realm."

Doran nodded solemnly. "The Lannisters are prideful people. Tywin never forgave your grandfather for choosing your mother over Cersei."

"And Cersei," Alysanne added, "has always borne a grudge against our house."

The room grew quiet as the weight of the words settled. The Lannisters had been thwarted in their desire to marry into Targaryen royalty once, and now they sat on the Iron Throne they had usurped, in all but name.

Joffrey, the apparent Heir to the Iron Throne, was rumoured to have a vicious streak.

Many feared the day he ascended the Throne.

The last thing the realm needed was another mad king.

Alysanne knew she had to be better than that, for her mother's memory, for her lost siblings, for Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms.

"We must use this to our advantage," she said, her eyes gleaming with the beginnings of a plan. "We must show the realm that we are not the monsters they fear, but the protectors they need."

The Sand Snakes exchanged a look of understanding, their fiery spirits eager to be unleashed. "How do we do that?" Tyene asked, her gaze never leaving Alysanne's.

"The smallfolk are a terribly overlooked power. They care little for who sits the Throne, as long as they have a roof over their head and food on their table."

Alysanne's words brought a hint of a smile to Doran's face. "Your mother had a way with words too, she would have been proud."

"We shall," Alysanne continued, "extend our protection to the people of Westeros, show them that House Targaryen cares for their well-being. We must be seen as the saviors, not the conquerors."

The Sand Snakes nodded, their fiery spirits igniting with the spark of Alysanne's vision. They knew their cousin was not just a figurehead, but a true leader with a mind for strategy and a heart for her people.

"We shall spread the word of your kindness," Obara said, her voice filled with determination. "Let the smallfolk whisper your name in the alleys and taverns of the realm. They will be your shield, your voice when we cannot be."

Alysanne nodded, her gaze never leaving the map. "We must be careful not to provoke the Lannisters unnecessarily, but we cannot ignore the suffering of the people."

Her thoughts turned to the plight of the smallfolk in King's Landing, a stark contrast to the opulence of the Royal Palace. The common folk bore the brunt of the realm's troubles, often forgotten in the grand schemes of the nobility.

"We shall send aid to the orphanages and the poor," Alysanne declared. "But not under the Targaryen banner."

Her words were met with surprise, even from Doran, who knew his sister's gentle heart better than most, which he now saw his niece had inherited.

"But how will they know it is us, and not some random act of charity?" Arianne asked, her eyes wide with curiosity.

"We will use a sigil that is unrecognizable, one that does not bear the Targaryen dragon," Alysanne explained, her voice filled with conviction. "A symbol of hope, perhaps a sun rising over the sea. Maybe a phoenix to represent House Targaryen's rise from the ashes. It's similar enough to a dragon, but not overtly so."

Doran's gaze sharpened at the mention of the sigil. "A clever move," he conceded. "It will show the people of King's Landing that there are those who care for their plight."

The room grew quiet as the implications of her plan took root. To aid the smallfolk in secret was a bold move, one that could sway hearts and minds in their favour without alerting their enemies.

"The Lannisters will suspect nothing," Alysanne said, her voice filled with quiet determination. "They are too busy feasting and reveling in their ill-gotten gains to care for the suffering of those they are supposed to protect."

Doran nodded, his gaze thoughtful. "It's a risky move," he warned, "but one that could pay dividends if done correctly."

"We will be careful," Alysanne assured him. "We will use trusted hands to deliver the aid, and the sigil will be one that suggests hope, not royal interference."

The idea of aiding the smallfolk in secret was not new to Doran, but the use of an unrecognizable sigil was a stroke of genius. It would allow them to extend their influence without raising suspicion or provoking the Lannisters.

"We will use the symbol of the phoenix rising over the sea," Alysanne decided, her eyes alight with the fire of her ancestors. "It represents the dawn of a new day, a time of rebirth and hope."

Her voice grew softer as she contemplated the future. "When the people of King's Landing see this sigil, they will know that help comes from those who wish to see them rise from the ashes."

The room was silent for a moment before Doran spoke. "We shall make it so. I will send for our most trusted agents. They will be the ones to deliver the supplies, under the guise of a merchant caravan."

Alysanne nodded, her eyes never leaving the map of the Seven Kingdoms. "We will call this mission 'The Phoenix's Bounty'. It will be known that the aid comes from a mysterious benefactor, one who cares for the welfare of the people."

The Sand Snakes, ever eager for a challenge, were immediately on board with the plan. They knew the importance of winning the hearts of the common folk, especially in a city as volatile as King's Landing.

"We will spread the word," Obara said, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "We'll make sure the people know that there is a force that cares for their plight, even if the crown does not."

The room buzzed with the energy of the plan taking shape. They knew the risks, but the potential rewards were too great to ignore.

Alysanne would not be a bystander in the game of thrones, watching from the sidelines as the realm burned.

With her uncle's approval, she set her plan into motion. They gathered resources from across Dorne, ensuring that the quality was not that of a royal donation but that of a caring neighbor. Grain, livestock, and supplies were amassed in a hidden storeroom within the walls of Sunspear, ready to be dispatched under the cover of darkness.

The emblem they chose was indeed a phoenix rising from the sea, its fiery wings unfurling to embrace the sun. It was a symbol that spoke of rebirth and hope, a stark contrast to the fearsome dragon of House Targaryen.

Alysanne knew that the smallfolk of King's Landing, especially the children in the orphanages, were the most vulnerable to the whims of nobility. They were the ones who suffered the most from the heavy taxes and the scarcity of resources that came with war.

Her heart ached at the thought of them, and she was determined to make a difference.

And, she would.