Jacaerys Velaryon had never had time for simple courtesies or ceremonious meetings; the War of the Dances consumed every minute of his life, every decision carrying the weight of hundreds of lives. But there, before the sand-colored walls and towers of Dorne, he felt a different kind of anxiety: it was not the fear of the battlefield, but the anticipation of meeting the woman who could seal the alliance his mother, Rhaenyra, so desired.

The burning afternoon sun illuminated the city of Sunspear as he descended from his dragon, his footsteps steady on the hot ground. In the distance, the vibrant colors of Dornish clothing blended with the delicate and distinctive architecture of the region. Every detail spoke of a rich, resilient, and proud culture, a culture that Jacaerys knew he would need to win over with respect, not force.

When he finally reached the palace gardens, there you were. Your dark hair, with slight reddish highlights from the sun, captured the light as if each strand told stories of Dorne. Your posture was firm, but there was a kindness in your eyes that reminded Jacaerys of everything he was fighting for: not just victory, but the hope of uniting kingdoms, families, and hearts.

He approached with the serenity the situation demanded, but not without a touch of nervousness. He had never been good with ceremonies or polished words, but he knew he needed to impress, not with wealth or titles, but with sincerity. "I come on behalf of my mother," he began, his voice firm but laden with respect, "to ask for your hand, not only in marriage, but in alliance, so that we may fight together against those who threaten our homes and our dragons."