特典映像ドーン～毒蛇オベリンと愛人エラリアによる説明

Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken. The words of House Martell. A promise to our enemies and a challenge to our lovers.

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Thousands of years ago, the warrior queen Nymeria crossed into Dorne from Essos, fleeing the dragonlords of Valyria. After she landed, she burned her ships, all ten thousand of them, so no cowards could slink home. What a woman. Dornish in spirit before she ever was in flesh. She was lucky to land in Dorne, where powerful women are not locked away in septs and the beds of old men. My ancestor, Mors Martell, saw her and desired her, and proved that where armies fail, a tongue may succeed. Wedding his strength to hers, his spear to her sun, they subdued all of his rivals together. After the tradition of her people, House Martell then ruled Dorne as Princes, not kings, unless the eldest child was a daughter. For unlike the rest of Westeros, our loyalty is not commanded by a cock. We follow a Prince or a Princess Martell just the same, and we always have.

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Some people forget that Aegon Targaryen crowned himself lord of six kingdoms, not seven. When his sister marched on Dorne, she found no mighty hosts drawn up against her for her dragon to burn and her soldiers to slaughter. The sands swirled, men died, and her dragon saw nothing. The sun shone, men died, and her dragon bowed to our greater fire. The Targaryens retreated with their tails tucked between their legs. Of course, in later years, his descendants would try again. Daeron the First succeeded at great cost and reigned in Dorne for a few glorious months. One night, his steward pulled down a sash by his bed to summon his consorts. Instead, the canopy split open, and a hundred red scorpions fell on him. He was a Tyrell. You would think he would be used to getting stung. Within a fortnight, House Martell again ruled a free Dorne. Eventually, after centuries of courtship, House Martell got into bed with the Targaryens. We took King Daeron II and his sister for our own before they could take each other, and six kingdoms became seven.

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Even now, I do not blame my ancestors. One look at those long silver locks. It is not every day a man gets to ride a dragon. But they soon learned that you can’t leap off a dragon at will.

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My sister, Elia. She married Prince Rhaegar Targaryen and became the Princess she already was. In Dorne, she walked among vipers, and none would bite her. In King’s Landing, she found herself surrounded by lions. When Robert Baratheon rebelled against his rightful king, his future father-in-law, Tywin Lannister, ordered his beast Gregor Clegane to rape and murder my sister along with her helpless children. And men call the Lannisters heroes.

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Now, Lannisters sit on the Iron Throne, surrounded by the blasted swords of Aegon’s broken foes. I wonder if they remember, as I do, that none of those swords are ours. I wonder if they see, as I do, my sister’s red blood soaking into the stones of their precious Red Keep. Maybe they need reminding. The lion may be a mighty beast, but pride always lifts his gaze to the horizon, never seeing, in the grass, the viper.

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Before the Seven Kingdoms, before the Iron Throne, there was Dorne. Twelve thousand years ago, the First Men crossed the land bridge from Essos to here. Of course, they were men, so they soon broke it. Then, while their cousins to the North built kingdoms, the Dornish squabbled over land, water, and wives for centuries. Until Nymeria, a warrior princess in Essos.

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She led a fleet of ten thousand ships across the Narrow Sea to Dorne. Almost all of the petty lords made it clear that she wasn’t welcome. All but one. Mors of House Martell. He saw in her a strength to match any man, including his rivals. After she accepted his marriage offer, she set fire to her ships. For fifty leagues, the coast was bright as day, and in the burning light, Princess Nymeria named Mors Martell the Prince of Dorne, in the style of her people. Dorne would be her home or her grave.

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For many years, Nymeria and Mors waged war against all rivals. The Jordaynes, Blackmonts, Qorgyles, and even the mighty House Yronwood. They sent no fewer than six self styled kings to the Wall in golden chains. After Mors fell in battle, Nymeria took command of his armies and united Dorne in two years. She ruled for twenty seven more, and though she married again, those husbands were little more than councilors and consorts. Dorne was Nymeria, and Nymeria was Dorne. She survived a dozen attempts on her life, put down two rebellions, and threw back two invasions. And when at last, she died, her eldest child succeeded her, her daughter, not her son, and Dorne followed her because Nymeria had proven that women were equal to men, if not better.

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Centuries later, Aegon Targaryen sought to unite Westeros, as Nymeria had Dorne. The other six kingdoms fell quickly before his dragons and ambition. When his sister wife, Rhaenys, flew her dragon south and demanded Dorne’s surrender as well, Princess Meria Martell warned, I will not fight you, nor will I kneel to you. Dorne has no king. Tell your brother that. Rhaenys threatened that the next time the Targaryens would come with fire and blood. Meria replied, You may burn us, my lady, but you will not bend us, break us or make us bow. This is Dorne, you are not wanted here. Return at your peril. Rhaenys did, and she died. Her dragon died. All her soldiers died. Eventually, her brother, the Conqueror, conceded that what Nymeria had done, he could not undo. Generations later, another foolish Targaryen invaded Dorne. He died as well. Eventually, we did join the Seven Kingdoms, but when we wanted and on our terms.

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If dragons could not conquer us, why should we fear lions? “Unbowed, unbent, unbroken.” The words of House Martell. The words of Dorne. Men may forget, but women always remember. When we were divided, Nymeria united us. When we were invaded, Meria defended us. Now Dorne has been humiliated, its prince murdered. Who will rise to avenge us?

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