The majestic ruins of Summerhall, once a symbol of splendor and beauty, now lie in the shadows of oblivion. Its high arches, built of gray stone, are riddled with cracks, like scars, telling of festivities past. Winds, like ghostly whispers, rush through the gaping windows, recalling the laughter and joy of music and festivities. The grounds, once lush gardens, are overgrown with weeds, and the flowers have turned into wildflowers, seeking light in the darkness.

The castle was destroyed by a fire caused by an attempt to magically breed dragons from seven eggs, which resulted in the deaths of the king, his family, and friends.

"I was told that I was born in grief," the Prince's voice was calm, but filled with sadness as he looked at this Castle, to which he had been terribly drawn all his life, "and this shadow will hang over me all my life."

His beloved harp, on which he often played and composed his songs, especially related to the Tragedy of Summerhall, was in his hands while he walked quickly through the rubble, as if he knew every stone and fragment lying right at his feet, as much a reminder of his greatness as a Dragon as it was a reminder that there was no more chance to bring back these creatures that had always connected his line with dragons. The labyrinths of the corridors, once guarded by loyal guards, are now inhabited only by the shadows of memories, and somewhere in the depths, behind locked doors, ancient artifacts and remnants of what used to be considered Dragon Treasures may still be hidden.

«This was Daeron II's bedroom, according to the stories.» — He points to the broken ceiling, where the Dornish Sun and the glare of the rays were depicted. «he loved Dorne, and he lived here for a long time.»