GOT: P Chapter 36

The sun hit Sunspear hard that day, light bouncing off every pale wall and sandstone street. The kind of heat that made even the wind feel tired.

Rhaenys's party rode in through the main gate under that glare, the clatter of hooves echoing between narrow alleys.

Just a few worn horses and faces too serious for travelers.

Velmir wasn’t with them. He stayed high in the air, far above the towers, a shadow sliding across the city every few minutes. Watching. Always watching.

At the gate, the Dornish guards stood stiff, eyes darting between the party and the sky. The bird’s shadow didn’t sit right with anyone. Then one of the older guards. sunburnt, grey in the beard stepped forward to check the lead rider. His eyes lingered on Rhaenys’s face longer than he should have.

The man’s mouth went dry. He whispered without thinking, “Princess?”

The younger guard beside him frowned. “What?”

But the old man wasn’t looking at him anymore. He was staring at Rhaenys like he’d seen a ghost he’d sworn he buried. 

Same face. Same jawline. Gods help him. but the eyes were not. Not warm brown like Elia's. These were violet, sharp and cold. 

Rhaenys looked at him once, no warmth, no recognition and the man stepped back, suddenly remembering his place. He bowed too low, mumbling apologies that didn’t fit the moment.

She said nothing. She didn’t have to.

--------------------------------

By the time her escort reached the palace steps, half the guards in the outer yard had already heard the whisper. Elia’s daughter. The words moved quick, faster than sense could stop them.

One young guard broke formation and sprinted through the corridors, barely dodging servants. He didn’t stop until he reached the chambers of Areo Hotah.

The old captain turned from the window, hand instinctively on the haft of his long axe.

“What is it?”

The guard bent double, gasping for air. “Princess........Princess Elia’s daughter, captain. She’s......she’s here. At the gates.”

Areo stared a heartbeat too long, as if waiting for the lad to take it back. “You saw her?”

“Yes, my lord. I swear it. Looks like.....looks like her,......Princess..Elia.”

Areo didn’t curse. Didn’t question. He just grabbed his cloak and moved.

------------------------------------

Outside the palace, Rhaenys waited under the awning shade with her men. No sign of impatience. Just that calm she wore.

Areo Hotah approached with a dozen guards. The men parted for him without a word. He stopped in front of her and took her in, the height, the set of her shoulders, the stillness. Then the face.

Gods, he thought. Elia.

But no. Not Elia. The mouth was firmer, the stare sharper. And those violet eyes. There is nothing can fool his eyes. He know.

He bowed low, voice deep and measured. “My lady..... I'm Areo Hotah, captain of Prince Doran’s guard.”

A pause, brief but deliberate.

“The Prince bids you enter, if you will.”

Rhaenys inclined her head once. “Captain.”

No smile. No false courtesy. Areo straightened and gave the smallest nod to his men. “No one follows unless summoned.”

As she passed, the guards stepped back. No one dared meet her eyes.

-----------------------------

Inside, the air cooled and the sound of the sea dulled to a low hum. The hall was half-shadow, half-sun, banners faded from heat. Doran Martell sat near the center, a carved cane by his knee, expression unreadable.

Oberyn stood off to the side, leaning on a pillar, a cup in his hand.

Areo stopped beside the door. “My prince.”

Oberyn’s head came up. The cup lowered, forgotten. Doran’s eyes widened before he caught himself.

“Leave us,” Doran said.

The guards and servants went. The doors closed behind them.

Rhaenys stood in the middle of the hall, not bowing, not speaking.

Doran looked at her a long time, old pain working its way into his face. When he finally spoke, the words came quiet. “You wear our sister’s face.”

Rhaenys met his eyes. 

Oberyn’s voice came from the side, rough. “And his eyes.”

Doran turned his head slightly toward him. “Oberyn.”

But Oberyn didn’t stop staring. He pushed off the pillar and crossed the floor slowly, as if afraid she’d vanish if he moved too fast. His steps echoed in the hall, steady and heavy with years.

He stopped a few paces from her. His voice lowered. “Little sun…”

Rhaenys blinked, not understanding at first. Then she saw it in his eyes, not the Prince of Dorne, not the Viper, but the uncle who once knelt to let a girl with a combed braid hug his leg and call him Uncle.

He swallowed, the edge in his face gone. “You barely reached my knee back then,” he said quietly, raising a hand to his knee. “You’d steal figs off your mother’s plate and swear it wasn’t you. When she came for you, you’d hide behind my leg like I could save you.”

Rhaenys’s throat tightened. She hadn’t thought anyone alive remembered that. “Uncle,” she said softly.

That was enough.

Oberyn’s eyes shone, and he reached for her without hesitation. Rhaenys didn’t pull back. When he wrapped his arms around her, it was tight, fierce, the kind of hold meant to make sure the world didn’t steal her away again.

She stayed still, then returned the embrace one arm around his shoulder, one hand gripping the back of his cloak.

For a heartbeat, the hall was quiet except for Doran’s uneven breath.

When Oberyn finally stepped back, his face was wet. He didn’t bother hiding it. “You’re home,” he said. “Rhaenys”

Doran’s lips curved faintly, the kind of smile that barely existed. His eyes glistened once before he blinked it away.

“Welcome home, niece,” he said.

Rhaenys turned toward him and gave a small nod, not courtly, just real. “It’s good to see you, Uncle.”

The old prince’s smile lingered just long enough to soften the room before the years settled back on his face.

Velmir’s shadow passed once more across the window, and for the first time in a long while, Sunspear felt warm for the right reason.