Game of Thrones: Bastard? I’m the Damn Heir!

Chapter 348

Looking at the letter sent from the land, aboard the Dornish fleet, Prince Oberyn Martell—the "Red Viper"—could not help but snort coldly.

"These people are truly clever… hmph!"

Beside him, seeing that he was angry, Ellaria Sand poured a cup of summerwine and leaned against him.

"This is only a probe, Oberyn. We only need to put on a show."

"Yes, Father. Everyone saw the failure of Stannis Baratheon. At a time like this, there is no need for us to waste our strength on something so thankless."

"That's right. Just test them a little, put on a show, and let the Baratheons understand."

Aside from the comfort offered by his paramour Ellaria Sand, the daughters of the Red Viper also spoke one after another at his side.

But at the words of these women, Oberyn merely shook his head.

"No, you are wrong, Ellaria."

"This letter is not a suggestion, but a 'kind' warning."

"They do not wish for bloodshed. Yet if Dorne hopes to achieve anything during the coming rule of Kal Baratheon, then this will be our only chance to show loyalty."

Oberyn viewed this matter very deeply. He knew that this letter was not a demand, and indeed was a kindly warning.

Yet at the same time, in essence it was still a probe—or rather, an invitation.

Those interest groups that had already joined Kal Baratheon were testing Dorne, to see whether Dorne truly was their "friend."

At the same time, this was also an "invitation," inviting him, Oberyn Martell, and Dorne to become part of that circle.

Dorne borders the Reach and the Stormlands.

For thousands of years, with generations of friction between them—if one said there were no grudges at all, not even the dogs by the roadside would believe it.

Thus they were taking this opportunity for the two united interest groups to test Dorne in this way.

"Even so, we have no need to let them lead us by the nose. When Robert Baratheon lived, he could not do anything to Dorne either!"

Hearing her father speak this way, Oberyn's eldest daughter who had followed him to the battlefield this time, Obara Sand, was the first to react.

If they wanted Dorne to bleed merely to present a token of allegiance, she would never do such a thing.

Oberyn did not answer her rebuttal. He only knitted his brows, still reclining upon the couch beneath him.

At the side, however, Ellaria understood what Oberyn meant to express, and she also sensed the gravity deep within his heart.

She set down the wine cup, lifted Oberyn's head from where he lay upon the couch, and rested it upon her lap, her fingers gently kneading his temples.

Oberyn drew a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"Prince, are you worried about Dorne's future—and about Kal Baratheon, and even about the relationship between Dorne and the Seven Kingdoms under Kal Baratheon's future rule?"

Ellaria asked tentatively.

"Kal has dragons. And this time he has proven himself before the Seven Kingdoms—by force, by charisma, openly and uprightly. During this, he even defeated his two uncles."

"Kal Baratheon's rise has already become an established fact. There is no need for us to stiffen our necks at a time like this, is there?"

"Blind stubbornness will not lead to a reasonable outcome. Doran has taught me many things—he is a qualified ruler."

Ellaria's words were both voicing Oberyn's inner thoughts and, in truth, meant for the Sand Snakes present.

Yet as Ellaria spoke, Oberyn shook his head slightly.

"No, it is not only that."

"Ever since Robert Baratheon rebelled and overthrew House Targaryen, the alliance of fish, wolf, stag, and eagle has been unbreakable. Yet even after he sat upon the Iron Throne, not everyone truly submitted to him."

"During that time, Dorne could oppose him because of hatred—but the objectives we achieved were also built upon that very foundation. At the time, the Reach, Dorne, and even the Stormlands—indeed the entire south—were for Robert little more than nominal powers. In truth, he never truly held control over them…"

"Even to rule peacefully all these years, Jon Arryn had to worry himself to exhaustion."

"Thus Robert Baratheon's rule over the Seven Kingdoms held far more symbolic meaning than practical authority. Only the foolish House Tyrell kept their eyes fixed upon that so-called royal court."

Hearing this, the fingers Ellaria used to knead his temples could not help but pause.

She possessed a keen mind. What Oberyn had perceived, she too had faintly begun to grasp.

"You mean Kal Baratheon is different?"

"But with the blood and status of a bastard, should he not be even more constrained than Robert Baratheon?"

Ellaria's confusion was answered only by Oberyn's cold snort.

"A dragon that vanished from this world for more than a hundred years—the only dragon in the entire Seven Kingdoms, no, perhaps in the entire world—is now beneath his backside. Who would dare question his identity and blood?"

"The world still holds remnants of the former dragonlord house. The Targaryens still boast their so-called pure blood. But what of them? Do they have dragons?"

"Kal Baratheon no longer needs to prove himself. From the moment his dragon breathed its first breath of dragonfire, his bloodline and status were tempered by blazing dragonflame—made incomparably pure, and beyond dispute in their nobility."

"But even that is not the most crucial matter…"

At this point, Oberyn suddenly opened his eyes. Staring at the wooden ceiling of the ship's cabin above him, a sharp light flashed within them.

"House Stark of the North, because of the relationship between Robert Baratheon and Eddard Stark—Kal Baratheon can seamlessly inherit that legacy of Robert."

"Moreover, Kal himself has rendered favors to the North, and the eldest daughter of House Stark is even his betrothed."

"As for the Vale, there is even less to say. He was born in the Vale and raised in the Vale. One could say he himself is a man of the Vale, with nothing but the blood of these Andals flowing in his veins."

"When Robert was still at war with Tywin Lannister, why did he dare appoint this bastard of his as the so-called 'Warden of the East'? And then use that to spur the Vale for its inaction?"

"Everyone knows that a bastard with no foundation could never truly become 'Warden of the East.' The bond between Robert and Jon Arryn still remained. In essence, that matter was merely a warning and a jest."

"And with Eddard Stark of the North also agreeing to it, they were certain the Vale would not turn against them over such a thing. It also happened to fall within an acceptable range for such a warning."

Oberyn's words caused the entire cabin to fall silent. All eyes rested upon Oberyn as he spoke with ease.

"Jon Arryn raised Robert Baratheon, and he also raised his son Kal Baratheon. The truth of his death was even subtly exposed by Kal. Not only did he preserve the dignity of the Vale on the surface, but in private he even cured their frail young lord."

"For people like them, who rigidly follow the 'knightly code,' there is no reason for them to betray Kal…"

"And from that point onward, with the Crownlands at the center, the entire northern half of the Seven Kingdoms became Kal's rear base—his most loyal allies."

"As for the Riverlands, after being directly crushed in that war, the influence of House Tully simply vanished into nothing."

"House Lannister of the Westerlands also withdrew completely from the game of power because of this, and the entire Westerlands became the spoils of Kal Baratheon."

"And then to the present—he split the Reach in two with extremely deft methods: striking down one group while drawing another to his side."

"House Tyrell's rule over the Reach was never truly firm to begin with. After a single war erased them from history, no one even spoke for them."

"And yet toward the most ancient house, with the deepest foundations—House Hightower—Kal Baratheon adopted an entirely different method."

"Coercion and inducement, manipulation and entanglement. Under the threat of a dragon and the temptation of such a sweet share of the prize, House Hightower simply had no choice."

"Yet under Kal Baratheon's methods they must obediently comply, while still being unable to advance further. In fact, in secret they are even more suppressed than they were during Robert Baratheon's rule."

"Then returning to the present: after Balon Greyjoy made the same foolish choice, the Iron Islands have now returned to the embrace of their so-called Drowned God. For at least a hundred years, the Iron Islands will have no influence upon the Seven Kingdoms and will be of no importance."

"And now the Stormlands, where we currently are—once Renly Baratheon is dead, and with Stannis's defeat already foreseeable…"

"Then what choice do these Stormlands lords still have? So long as they do not wish to die, when the time comes they will become the force most loyal to Kal Baratheon—the sort that would bite a man to death if he dared compete with them in loyalty."

"So, do you still think Dorne has a choice in this matter?"

After saying so much in one breath, even Oberyn could not help but show a bitter smile.

In the strangely silent atmosphere, he simply sat up, then took the cup of summerwine Ellaria had poured and drained it in a single swallow.

"Kal Baratheon is far more terrifying than anyone imagines… his mind, his methods, his strength, even his wit and his charisma…"

"One year—only one year. In that single year, this once insignificant bastard rose upon this continent and became the now undisputed king. And Stannis still dares dream of contending with him? Heh…"

"Aegon the Conqueror was not fit even to carry his boots before him!"

"Looking back now, every step he took was precise beyond measure, as though he could foresee the future. Even Dorne itself—he bought our friendship with the head of Gregor Clegane."

"And what you may not even have noticed is that the Faith of the Seven, before him, has also been quietly drawn step by step into this shifting, treacherous game of chess."

"Perhaps you might imagine what would happen now if the Faith of the Seven dared openly oppose him."

"The Eighth God, the King?!"

"It is as though he truly is the incarnation of a god—the miracle wrought by the Seven in the mortal world."

"And after him, who then—what house—could ever become king? Who would dare become king?"

"He has united royal power and divine power in one. He has already become the supreme existence upon this continent."

With a bang, Oberyn slapped the wine cup down upon the low table beside him, his gaze grave beyond measure.

Within the cabin, which had been rocking upon the sea and carrying faint traces of heat, it suddenly seemed as though a bitter chill of endless night had fallen.

No one could help but fall silent, unable to speak a single word.

For once Oberyn had laid it out this way, it was simply too terrifying.

"Prince, all this you have said… does Prince Doran know?"

After a long while, Ellaria raised her head to look at Oberyn, her tone heavy.

Hearing her words, Oberyn rose and walked to the cabin window. He looked out upon the Dornish fleet beyond, and the sea wind carried back his answer.

"Otherwise, why do you think he allowed me to lead the Dornish army here in the name of House Martell? He even took the initiative to help me contact the lords of Dorne."

Oberyn gazed deeply at the sea before him and at the castle rising high upon the rocky cliffs.

There was only one thing he had not said: since they already understood the current situation, they would naturally not simply watch everything unfold without making preparations.

No one wished to have an immovable, unshiftable, heavy stone pressing upon them generation after generation.

Doran thought so. Oberyn thought so as well.

And they believed there must certainly be many others who thought the same.

Doran was right—they had to prepare two plans.

However, the time had not yet come.

Drawing a deep breath of the salty sea wind to calm his mind, Oberyn turned around.

"Summon the fleet. Prepare to assault the castle."

If Kal Baratheon truly was a god, then Dorne would not mind breaking another "Arm of Dorne."

…

Traveling south from Castle Black, the climate grew warmer and warmer.

Kal rode upon Robert's back, holding the dark elf witch Erevi in his arms. The two brushed cheek to cheek from time to time, speaking intimately.

Poor Robert kept his head down and flew tirelessly, while the golden-furred big dog JJ had been driven to the other side, placed inside a basket tied to one of Robert's claws.

"What do you think of the Wall? Did you sense anything unusual about it—or the magic used there?"

Looking at the clouds beneath them, and the land that occasionally appeared through gaps in the mist, Kal leaned closer to Erevi and suddenly asked.

As they traveled farther south, the clouds below gradually thinned.

Hearing his question, Erevi—who had been leaning in Kal's arms, her face faintly flushed—straightened her dress slightly. Recalling the sensations she had felt earlier, she spoke slowly: "The magic of that ice wall is very unusual."

"Rather than calling it a kind of defensive magic, a more accurate description of the Wall's existence would be a 'fishing net' meant for isolation and filtering."

"Not defensive magic?" Kal had not expected that answer at all.

"Of course." Erevi nodded. "The Wall's very nature—its ice—is meant to filter and isolate those strange creatures we saw beyond the Wall."

"In a certain sense, they are the same kind of thing."

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