Dorne – Water Gardens
Half a year slipped by under the blazing Dornish sun, vanishing like sand through an hourglass.
Before anyone realized it, the time was gone. The Water Gardens were still lush and green, fountains bubbling as peacefully as ever.
But this time only Prince Doran and his brother Oberyn sat inside the pavilion. The once-lively gardens had been cleared into a private space.
Under Doran's rule the Water Gardens had taken on a whole new purpose. What used to be a nobleman's private retreat had become a dream paradise open to every child in Dorne.
In a way, it had shaped how those children saw the world, and when they grew up they would become House Martell's most loyal supporters.
Areo Hotah stood like an iron tower just outside the pavilion, making sure no one could get close enough to eavesdrop. The area had been cleared of everyone except a handful of trusted guards.
Doran sat in his "Cloud Walker" wheelchair. His color had improved noticeably over the past six months. The gout was still there, but the constant exhaustion in his eyes had been replaced by a new spark.
During his time in Dorne, Pierce had done what he could to ease the prince's condition. Truthfully, Doran's gout was incurable, but Pierce had at least managed to dull the worst of the pain.
The Martell maester had been treating him with milk of the poppy, which had left Doran quietly addicted. Since the man was going to die anyway, there wasn't much more Pierce could do. Medical knowledge in this world was already far ahead of medieval Earth in many ways.
Still, when it came to certain diseases there were limits. For gout the best they could offer was pain relief—which often led to exactly the kind of addiction Doran now suffered.
Even so, the prince many Dornish called weak had always put his family and people first.
Right now he held a parchment report covered in dense figures—recent production numbers from across the realm.
"The new sugarcane fields downstream on the Greenblood hit every target on their first harvest," Doran said quietly, though his fingers trembled slightly on the paper. "Using Pierce's refining method, our brown sugar is better than the honey-sugar we used to import from Lys. Just this one crop brought in nearly thirty thousand gold dragons in six months."
The sugarcane Pierce had introduced was a special variety. It wasn't as tough as the kind from his old world and could fall over in strong winds, but its growth cycle was only five months. Leave the roots in the ground and you could harvest for three straight years.
With greenhouses it could be shortened even further. While this world lacked plastic, Pierce had already found workable substitutes—glass and certain sea-derived gels. His workshops were researching it now. Soon enough, Crackclaw Point would have more and more greenhouses.
Dorne was a perfect place, and one of Pierce's key future investment targets. Once sugar production scaled, he could turn it into luxury goods and cheap everyday products.
The yields had been even better than expected—something Pierce had anticipated. To the Martell brothers, though, it was nothing short of miraculous.
Oberyn stood at the edge of the pavilion, gazing at the children playing in the distance, but his mind was clearly elsewhere. "It's not just sugarcane. Last month the first harvest of watermelons and honeydews from the Sulfur River valley was snapped up by merchants from Braavos and Pentos."
Dorne sat right next to three Valyrian Free Cities. The slave lords there were obsessed with the new fruits.
Their estates produced little, slave labor was inefficient, and Dothraki raids made everything worse.
Pierce had planned it all. Luxury sugar products for the nobles, cheap sweetened goods for the lowest slaves. Once production was high enough, he'd gradually lower prices. The profit margins were insane—and the health impact was devastating.
If he ever wanted to weaken a rival city or kingdom, he could flood it with sugar. Within a year he'd have an army of sugar-addicted fatties.
"The glass-bottled fruit preserves are now selling in King's Landing for twice the weight in silver stags," Oberyn continued. "And those windmills and water-powered mills Pierce designed have turned our coastline into the 'Golden Coast'—that's what the merchants are calling it now."
He turned around, eyes shining with complicated emotion. "Brother, all the wealth we accumulated over decades doesn't compare to what we've made in the last six months. Dorne isn't just self-sufficient in grain anymore—we're exporting high-value goods in massive quantities."
"Every major house's income has skyrocketed. Even the restless Yronwoods have quieted down. Their olive groves doubled production thanks to Pierce's improved irrigation."
Doran slowly set the report down, his gaze drifting into the depths of the garden. "Pierce Celtigar… he didn't just change Dorne's farming and trade. He changed Dorne's weight on the entire game board."
He paused, voice growing heavier. "I wish I could keep him in Dorne forever—not as an advisor, but as… family. If he married Arianne and helped her rule…"
Doran knew Pierce's terrifying talents had already caught the eye of many powerful players. They were behind, but giving up wasn't easy.
"But Stannis Baratheon got there first!" Oberyn's voice was thick with frustration. "That stiff, humorless lord of Dragonstone actually had the foresight to betroth his daughter to Pierce. Shireen Baratheon… I've met the girl. She had greyscale scars and was painfully shy. I still don't understand what Pierce sees in her."
Doran glanced at his brother. "You don't see it because you're only looking at the surface. Pierce's alliance with Stannis isn't just a marriage. It's Crackclaw Point joined with Dragonstone, Golden Port with the royal house, new power with old nobility. As for Shireen… I heard Pierce cured her face?"
Oberyn nodded, expression darkening further. "Completely. The girl is now so beautiful she doesn't even look like a Baratheon anymore. That's why I was thinking…"
His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper. "If Shireen Baratheon were to suffer an 'unfortunate accident,' the betrothal would end and Dorne could become Pierce's only choice. Our assassins could make it look like a real tragedy."
"Oberyn!" Doran's voice turned sharp. Though he didn't raise his volume, the authority of a man long accustomed to command filled the air. "Put that dangerous idea away. Do you really think we're the only ones watching Pierce? In the last six months we've caught more spies in Sunspear than in the previous five years combined."
Truthfully, the thought had crossed his mind, but after thorough investigation he knew it was impossible.
"Varys and Littlefinger in King's Landing, the Tyrells in Highgarden, Renly in Storm's End… even the Free Cities across the Narrow Sea. Everyone's eyes are on him."
He wheeled closer to his brother. "Renly Baratheon has fully aligned with the Reach. The Tyrells bound him tight with roses and a son. If Dorne moves against House Baratheon now, we'd be provoking the Iron Throne, the Stormlands, and the Reach at once. Our strength still isn't enough."
Oberyn clenched his fists until his knuckles turned white. "So we just sit back and watch him become someone else's tool? Brother, his value is too great. Those seawater-purification machines, those never-before-seen crops, those 'marketing' methods that multiply a product's value tenfold… if he ever turns against us in the future…"
"That's exactly why we must make sure he never wants to," Doran interrupted, voice calm again. "Dorne can offer him things no one else can: a stable source of high-value goods, a trade hub connecting Westeros, Essos, and the Summer Isles, and a flexible, powerful piece on the political chessboard of Westeros. We are his 'money bag.' He is our 'brain trust.' As long as the benefits keep flowing, the relationship will hold."
Oberyn finally exhaled and smiled. "I understand, brother. So at tonight's tasting gala, we don't just show the world Dornish wine. We show the unbreakable alliance between Dorne and Pierce Celtigar."
"Exactly." Doran wheeled forward, looking toward the distant towers of Sunspear. "Let everyone see that Dorne is no longer the forgotten desert in the south. We have new wealth, new technology, and new… allies."
The two brothers shared a knowing smile. Outside the pavilion, the fountains still bubbled and children's laughter floated on the breeze.
But beneath the peaceful surface, Dorne's place on the world's chessboard had quietly shifted forever.