Auraborne: The Sun of Dorne

The Water Gardens of Dorne were built for peace, but peace had never felt more frustrating.

Mors stood at the edge of one of the shallow pools, barefoot, the water cool against his skin. Children laughed in the background, splashing and shrieking, their joy echoing off the sandstone columns. Servants moved like whispers in the breeze, bringing fruit and cushions to shaded alcoves. A perfect place for reflection—if only his thoughts weren't so loud.

He exhaled slowly, watching the ripple his toes made in the water.

'It's like I'm living in the eye of the storm. Everything looks calm… but the edges are moving. Fast.'

His hand flexed at his side, willing that hum beneath his skin to respond. There was no shimmer. No glowing light. No dramatic surge of magic. Just the steady beat of his heart and the feeling of fullness? Wholeness might be a better word. It pulsed through him, stronger by the day. But it remained vague. Undefined but always on.

'If I heal so quickly, I should be able to build muscle faster, right?'

Footsteps approached—familiar, measured. Doran.

"You've been quiet today," Doran said, his voice warm and observant.

Mors didn't turn, still lightly moving his feet in the shallow pool. "You know me, I'm always quiet."

"You're always watching. That's different." Doran stopped beside him and folded his hands behind his back. "Are you still feeling pain from the fall?"

'More like rebirth than pain.'

"No. I feel... fine," Mors said. "Stronger than I should."

Doran raised a brow. "Stronger how?"

"I recover faster. I react quicker. And when I spar, I move like I've trained longer than I have." He glanced sideways at his brother. "It's not normal, is it?"

Doran studied him for a long moment. "No. But then again, neither is surviving that type of fall from a galloping horse."

"Maybe it's the mixing Targaryen blood with the Ryonar bloodline." Doran murmured, barely a whisper. But Mors heard it clearly.

They stood in silence for a moment, broken only by distant laughter and the splash of a fountain.

"I want to return to Sunspear," Mors said suddenly.

Doran blinked. "Already?"

"We've been here months. It's peaceful, yes. But too peaceful. I need to be closer to the court. Closer to the world."

Doran turned to face him fully. "You're ten."

"I won't be ten forever."

A smile tugged at Doran's lips, amusement clear in his eyes. "No, you won't. But there's time for the games of politics later." Doran said as he placed a hand on Mors shoulder.

'Time isn't on our side. You just don't know it yet.'

Mors didn't respond, just stared at the rippling surface of the water.

Doran shifted gears. "Then tell me—why do you want to be back in Sunspear?"

"To learn. I want to be involved. I want to help mother, and begin being useful for you, oh future Prince of Dorne." Mors replied with a sarcastic, playful tone.

The both chuckled at that.

Then Mors turned serious. "And to know what's being decided while I'm left playing in the water."

"Ah," Doran said softly. "So this is about Elia."

Mors stiffened. "What have you heard?"

Doran gave him a careful look. "Nothing certain. There are whispers, as there always are. But nothing has been confirmed. Why are you concerned?"

'Because I've seen the future, brother. And none of us survive it.'

"Because I want her safe," Mors said aloud. "She's too important to be used as a pawn. You know what a royal match could mean."

Doran sighed. "I know. Believe me, I've argued more than once that she should have a say in it."

"Do you?" Mors turned, eyes sharp. "Have a say, I mean. When it comes to her marriage."

Doran's gaze hardened. "Not as much as I'd like. Mother still rules. And the Lords of the Council are eager to see Dorne rise through a strong alliance. They see Elia as our best piece on the board."

'Of course they do. Because they've already picked the game.'

"And what of you?" Mors asked, shifting. "Do they have someone lined up for you as well?"

Doran chuckled, a dry sound. "Several someones. I've politely declined. I doubt I can put them off forever."

"And me?"

"You?" Doran looked amused now. "You're too young."

"I won't be for long. The moment I turn twelve, they'll start eyeing Tyrell daughters or Volantene cousins."

Doran's smile faded. "You're not wrong."

They fell into silence again. Mors reached down, scooping a handful of water and letting it fall through his fingers.

"I want to join the Spears," he said.

Doran actually laughed. "You? The Spears of the Sun?"

"I'm serious."

"Once again, in case you have forgotten. You are ten."

"And I'll be eleven soon. You joined court duties at that age. Elia was writing speeches. Oberyn was already fighting better than most guards. I need to do more."

Doran gave him a long, thoughtful look. "Lewyn is their commander now. He's strict. Harsh even. Are you sure?"

'He's the best fighter in our family not named Oberyn. If I'm going to survive what's coming, I need real training.'

"Yes. Let me start. Even just physical training. Let me prove I'm not wasting time here."

Doran studied him for a moment longer before speaking.

"I'll speak with Lewyn," he said at last. "If he agrees to assess you, you'll begin drills. No promises beyond that."

"That's all I need. A chance."

"You'll have to wait though, the Spears are in the Prince's Pass, mediating renewed tensions between House Yronwood, and House Fowler."

"Oh, them again. This rivalry is never going away, is it?" Mors, sighed and said.

'Always Yronwood and Fowler. Proud banners, old grudges, and no end in sight.'

Doran chuckled, but turned serious. "With enough interest, or power, anything can happen."

They were silent for another moment, looking out at the playing children.

Doran looked at Mors one last time. "You really have changed since your fall."

'I've changed since my death.'

"I know."

He turned to go, then paused. "One more thing," Mors called.

Doran turned.

"When we return to Sunspear… I want to sit in on council meetings. Even if I just listen."

Doran's brows rose. "Mors—"

"Please."

His older brother hesitated, then gave a small nod. "I'll consider it."

As Doran disappeared down the corridor, Mors let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

The sun glinted off the water, blinding him for a second. He looked down again at his reflection. Same silver hair. Same violet eyes.

And something else behind them now.

Purpose.

'This is the start. At least Doran was willing to accommodate my request.'

He stepped back from the water, drying his feet on a cloth laid beside the pool. The wind smelled of salt and citrus. The Water Gardens murmured behind him—the sound of children laughing and water splashing.

But Mors Martell had stopped listening.

He had begun planning. Preparing, and though it began with a small pebble—Doran—it was still action.

And now he would continue to take action as he walked away from the pools.

"I wonder if Oberyn and Manfrey are up for some additional sparring."