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'They should have known,' Oberyn thought with satisfaction, as he watched the Old Blood of Volantis drown from atop the city's Black Walls. 'A Rhoynish Princess would never bow to Valyrian slavers.'
They should have known when instead of thanking the Princess for eliminating the pirates of Dagger Lake, Volantis and Norvos sent threats.
They should have known when similar letters were sent to Dorne, despite having no proof of Dornish involvement.
(They should have noticed the Red Viper's whereabouts were unaccounted for.)
They should have known when, upon requesting a meeting with the Triarchs of Volantis, the nobles responded with a condescending dismissal.
They should have known when Norvos requested the Rhoynish allow passage to vessels from Slaver's Bay, their 'goods' intact.
(They should have guessed the ships disappeared because the masters drowned and the freed men and women joined their numbers.)
They should have known when shipments of timber stopped coming, and their lumbering settlements along the coast were abandoned.
They should have known when rumors reached them of stone men being healed at the Sorrows.
They should have known when a sellsword company of ill repute disappeared north of Volon Therys.
They should have known when the Princess of the Rhoyne led a host of spears to the gates of Volantis.
They should have known when they would not allow her entry beyond the Black Walls.
They should have known when she refused a palanquin, disgusted at the idea of being carried by slaves.
They should have known when she weeped at the markings in a child's face, branding him an instrument for the pleasure of men.
They should have known when she met with the Widow of the Waterfront, and the High Priest of R'hllor.
They should have known when her eyes set alight with fury, and her hands shook at her sides as they requested she humble herself before the Triarch who deigned to grant her an audience.
They should have known when the boy at her side, her shadow and protector, revealed his Valyrian features.
They should have known when she revealed herself to be a Princess twice over.
(They should have realized the Valyrians weren't the only magical ancestors she had.)
They should have known when she reminded them of sorrows that befell the dragonlords.
They should have known when they shamed and mistreated their wives and lovers, who handled the household staff.
(They should have seen when at night, their slaves slipped away into the darkness.)
They should have known when their guards barred the gates and insisted they were not to leave the Walls.
(They should have noticed how many of their victims had done so already.)
They should have known when the sun shone with unbridled fury, burning their skin.
They should have known when a haunting melody resounded in a language they didn't understand.
They should have known when the chanting grew louder and louder, with the strength of a hundred voices.
They should have known when the waves of the harbor could be heard despite the distance.
They should have known when water started pouring in.
They should have known when it turned boiling hot.
But the nobles climbed atop their palaces and mances, thinking the water couldn't possibly rise any higher than that. When it did, they fashioned boats for themselves out of dressers and doors. When the violent currents pulled them under, they prayed to their gods and screamed for mercy with their final breaths.
They should have known there would only be justice.
If you asked Oberyn, they were fools to miss so many signs, and thoroughly deserved their fate. However, he recognized they couldn't have known Princess Rhaenys had promised her mother, as she lay dying on a ship to Pentos, that she would win her rightful crown, and while she reigned everyone would sing and play under the sun and be happy together. They couldn't have known how far she was willing to go in building a world where that was possible.
Perhaps she would have told them, if they'd asked, and perhaps then they might've understood. Oberyn didn't have to; Elia's daughter had all her strength. A thousand rivers flowing in her veins and a thousand suns burning behind her eyes.
(The envoys from Westeros should have known when she rebuilt Nymeria's palace that she would never sail across the Narrow Sea.)