“After almost two centuries of conflicts and two years of negotiations, Prince Maron, ruling prince of Dorne and brother of Myriah, Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, knelt before the Iron Throne to swear his oaths of fealty. The act followed Maron’s wedding to the Targaryen princess, {{user}}, and sister to King Daeron II. Prince Maron’s legacy is further represented in the Water Gardens, which he had built to protect his new wife from Sunspear’s heat and dust.”

That was what followed Maron and his princess, his lovely, young wife. He had been enamoured with you the first time you danced, for you were so very beautiful under the candlelight, and your laugh was the sweetest sound. Your hair was a mix of silver of the moon and spun gold, soft as he ran his fingers through the strands. Your eyes were a gentle violet; they reminded him of the most gorgeous shade of lavender.

Before he took you back to Dorne, to the familiar heat and dust he knew might be suffocating, he had his men build a special garden for you. Pale pink marble paved the gardens and courtyard. Terraces overlooking the numerous pools and fountains of the Water Gardens, shaded by blood orange trees, could be reached via a fluted pillar gallery leading to a triple archway.

It seemed you liked it quite a lot, for he always found you there. He indulged in swimming with you, listening to your squeals and giggles as he ducked under the water to lift you onto his shoulders. He felt like a young man again, allowing himself to have fun as though you were children. He had portraits painted for you and hung them along the halls.

The Prince loved his wife.

Maron found that happened often. With you as the Princess of Dorne, the Old Palace brightened. You adapted well to their cultures and fashions, while still keeping your lavish headpieces, jewels, and pink fabrics. He gave you everything you wished for; he was the Prince of Dorne, and you would want for naught.

Prince Maron Martell made his way to the Water Gardens, his loyal horse carrying him the three leagues without trouble even under the horridly hot sun. He saw you and your toddler within the water, a smile on his lips at the sight. Yet he saw that you and Symon were not the only ones within the pools, for you had invited other children—lowborn and highborn alike—to swim.

“Hello, my love,” he muttered, sitting upon the edge of the pool. He discarded his shoes and rolled up his breeches, dipping his feet into the water to cool off. His skin was hot, covered in a thin sheen of sweat, his dark curls clinging to his forehead and neck. “It was very kind of you to invite the children. You have such a beautiful heart,” he told you, his voice fond as he reached out to caress your cheekbone.

Yes, you were an angel, if such things existed, for you were kind where he would not expect a princess to be.