Chapter 39: Chapter 39
Jon ate sparingly. Supper tonight was a light, informal affair, as there was to be a welcoming feast tomorrow when Prince Oberyn arrived. He thanked the gods that this unexpected visit had preoccupied Lady Stark for the past week. She was absent this evening, overseeing the final accommodations. As was his father.
So he, Robb, Theon and Arya ate together, down from the high table among many hurried servants, trying to stay out of their way. It inspired little change in their banter. Most of the conversations they'd held over the past week concerned the approaching Dornishmen. Not much else was on their minds.
Theon ran a hand over his face, glancing to Robb. "I can't believe your mother is making us shave tomorrow."
Robb sipped his water. "You can't believe you were asked to get rid of that light moss above your lip?"
"He's angry 'cause it took him two months to grow that," Arya piped up, dipping her bread in gravy.
"Shut up," Theon scowled, as Jon and Robb fell into snickers. The Ironborn looked to him. "What, you're all right with it?"
Jon shrugged. "I don't mind," he muttered.
Truthfully, he was just glad that Lady Stark didn't insist that he trim his hair. The locks were finally coming in as he wanted them.
"Why are you whingeing so much anyway?" asked Robb. "We always clean up when we receive highborn visitors."
"S'not what you said when the Manderlys came to visit," said Arya, her eyes twinkling. "You begged Mother to let you keep your whiskers then…"
"Shut up, you," growled Robb, though he couldn't help a smile as Theon and Jon turned the laughter on him. It lasted for a bit until Theon remembered his complaint.
"But it's not your betrothed that's coming…"
"She's not my betrothed yet," Robb muttered quickly. He glanced around before coming back to Theon. "Could we not blather that before it's officially announced?"
"It's the Dornish, not the bloody royal family!"
"The Martells are royalty, Theon," Jon said quietly. He met the Ironborn's eyes easily. "It's Prince Oberyn. Not Lord Oberyn, remember?"
Theon shrugged. "Won't matter much here. He'll be a long way from home, aye?"
"Which is why we'll make nice and shave without complaint," said Robb decisively. "My mother's stressed enough already, preparing for a royal welcome in a week."
He lowered his voice. "And considering our history with the Martells, Father is counting on all of us to make a good impression. Not give them any reason to take grievance."
"Aye," Theon murmured, his eyes going off to the corner of the Great Hall. "'Cept we all know it's not us Prince Oberyn's coming to see, is it?"
Jon, Arya and Robb followed his eyes to the corner, where Tiresias sat, eating his own light supper. Their librarian seemed even more quiet ever since news had reached Winterfell of the approaching Dornish party.
Their father had no need to explain it to them. After stories of the Mountain's death reached Winterfell, Jon and the other children heard other tales that followed Clegane, including the murder of Princess Elia Martell and her two children. Not that he hadn't been aware of the sack of King's Landing before. But he never known the actual man who had butchered Aegon and Rhaenys Targaryen, the half giant mad dog of the Lannisters, the Mountain That Rides...
Their librarian killed him. Tiresias was taller than he was certainly, but he was no giant. Just a librarian and he killed him…
Tiresias told him it was luck, but from what he and the others saw in the training yard, it was more than that. He had known for years that the man could handle himself, but this…this was completely different. Nothing he had seen from Tiresias, the practice spars, the old memory of him beating the Glover knight, had prepared him for the news that came from the south.
Once news of the approaching Dornishmen reached Winterfell, it took the castle very little time to spread the suspected reason for his visit. Lady Stark tried to keep it from them. At least the most sensational details, but it reached their ears nevertheless.
He had heard of Prince Oberyn before, vaguely. Maester Luwin mentioned the younger brother of Prince Doran Martell when they had learned the ruling families of each of the Seven Kingdoms. But they learned quite a bit more from the whispers before their lord father finally summoned Robb, Theon, Jon, Sansa, Arya and Bran to his solar and explained the delicate situation that would be present in the castle shortly. He didn't expect Prince Oberyn to start trouble, but he did tell them to be wary. That the Dornish may try to get an answer out of them. About their resident librarian. Or anything else. And if they should be made uncomfortable for any reason, to remain silent and come to him. He would deal with Prince Oberyn himself.
"You think he'll challenge him?" asked Theon, snapping Jon out of his musing.
Robb stared at him. "Why? For killing the man who killed his sister?"
"Well, if he beats Tiresias, then he can be sure that he could have beaten the Mountain." Theon shrugged at Robb's stare. "Next best thing, now that he can't avenge her."
"Father would never allow Prince Oberyn to kill a man under his protection."
"I'm not saying kill. I'm only saying beat. It'd be a spar, not a duel."
Theon glanced at Tiresias again, before meeting their eyes.
"Oh come on now! You're not saying you don't want to see that?"
"We've seen him fight before," Jon muttered.
"Training in the courtyard doesn't count," Theon countered. "For gods' sake, the bloody blacksmith boy saw him fight and we haven't…"
"Gendry didn't see him fight," Arya broke in. They all stared at her.
"Tiresias sent him out before the duel," she continued. "Didn't want him to see. He helped set the arm though."
"How'd you know this?" Robb asked, light concern coming into his voice.
Arya shrugged. "I asked him. He told me."
"There's not going to be a duel," Jon cut in, seeing Robb had more questions for Arya about the blacksmith apprentice. "Father wouldn't allow it…and I don't think that's what Prince Oberyn is travelling here for anyway. Not for blood."
"What do you mean?" Theon asked.
Jon chewed his bread slowly. "I think Prince Oberyn just wants what we all want."
Arya looked to him. "What's that?"
He swallowed. "To learn just how in the Seven Hells a librarian defeated the Mountain."
Making sure that Bran and Arya didn't break their necks racing down from the battlements to the courtyard almost took his mind off the approaching entourage. They stood there for an hour until they could see the mass of orange breaking over the meadows.
It was moving quickly. By the time Jon escorted Bran and Arya to the courtyard, the rest of the family was assembled. He pushed the two towards the rest of the Starks and took his place at the back. It wasn't worth it today. When Arya greeted their father, he knelt down, speaking to her. She pointed to him. Father turned, but Jon avoided his eye, glancing to the rest of the courtyard.
It was more organized and cleaner than it had been the whole year prior. The entire household wasn't in attendance and the work continued around them. Stablehands and pages stood ready to receive the Dornish.
Father and Lady Catelyn stood in front, with their children to their side. Ser Rodrik, Vanyon Poole and Maester Luwin were stationed behind them. Theon Greyjoy was among them, exchanging whispers with Robb. The young Greyjoy was more excited for the oncoming arrivals than anyone else.
His own heartrate was accelerating as the sounds of the arriving entourage echoed from Wintertown. There was some excitement to be sure, but he was also anxious. He truly didn't believe it would come down to blood, but all the same…it was something he couldn't explain properly.
He looked around again. It was no surprise, but Tiresias was absent from the courtyard. The man evidently decided to stay in the library for this reception. In all fairness, it wasn't required for the entire household to be here. Oberyn was a Prince, but Father had instructed them that they weren't to bow. He was not the King of Westeros. He didn't require a full welcome from Winterfell.
Nevertheless, the absence of their librarian…he knew he wasn't the only one who made note of it.
Shouts from the gate reached their ears.
"The Dornish are coming! Prince Oberyn approaches!"
The guards at the gate hurried to the side. Jon took a breath and held it, fortifying himself as the first Dornish soldiers entered the courtyard. The cold wind that graced his freshly shaven cheeks seemed to bite more.
Hold on one, two, three, four and release on one, two, three, four…
At least the wind was familiar to him. The faces of the soldiers entering the courtyard; they were stoic and fierce, but Jon could tell they were uncomfortable. Their furs looked new and untested. And some of them were completely inadequate. Thin and decorative, instead of a solid shield against the cold.
They lined up in the courtyard, in front of the Winterfell guard, creating space for the arriving carriage. As it rolled to a stop before him, a man emerged from behind riding alone, his destrier handsome and his clothing rich. Upon passing the gate, the man lowered his hood and revealed a tanned face with black hair and a goatee.
Jon had a good guess that this was Prince Oberyn, the man causing the servants hectic nights preparing for his arrival. Father confirmed this. At the sight of the Prince, he stepped forward and placed himself in front of Lady Stark and the others. He waited patiently as Prince Oberyn brought his horse to a halt. Waving away the page who hurried to his side with a step stool, he swung his leg over and dismounted, jumping lightly to the ground. Robb turned back with a glance, which Jon met with a shrug. The man had good grace.
Prince Oberyn handed the reins to the page, his eyes traveling over the stones of the castle. He stood easy, taking it in. And ignoring Father, who stood before him, waiting patiently. He was one of the few who did. Jon noted Ser Rodrik in front of him, clenching his fists tightly as the silence grew and grew.
Finally, Prince Oberyn turned to Father, a smile on his face. Jon didn't trust his smile…
The Dornishman strode forth and inclined his head. "Lord Stark, good afternoon."
Father returned the nod, extending his hand. "Good afternoon, Prince Oberyn. Welcome to Winterfell."
Oberyn took his hand, shaking it slowly. He laughed lightly. "Welcome to Winterfell…three words I never thought I'd hear strung together…"
"Your arrival is a surprise to us as well, Prince Oberyn," Father replied, his voice even. "I only wish we had more time to prepare for you and your people."
"Nonsense." The Prince still shook his father's hand. "I've slept in worse places. My party numbers only two hundred and fifty. As long as Winterfell is as warm as they say, we shall be comfortable."
At that, Prince Oberyn finally released his father's hand.
"Besides," he added. "We brought our own wine. We've also set aside barrels to be enjoyed by you and your household long after we depart."
"That's very generous of you, Prince Oberyn." Father gestured to Lady Catelyn. "Allow me to introduce my wife, Lady Catelyn. And our children…"
Father introduced them all to the Prince, from Robb down to Cara. He shook Robb and Bran's hand and kissed Sansa's offered one. He nodded to Arya, who gave a stubborn curtsey. Jon held in a laugh at that.
Prince Oberyn came back to Father.
"These are all your children then, yes?" he asked.
And just like that, his contained laughter died. He saw the tension in Lady Catelyn's neck. It was as though she was glaring at him from the back.
Father hid his discomfort far better, but Jon still saw it.
"These are all of our children, Prince Oberyn," he stated quietly.
That was his Lord's voice. It stopped the inquiry, but it didn't stop the Prince's smile from growing wider.
"Well, I didn't bring all of my children, Lord Stark." He turned to the carriage, to the lady and the youths who exited. "Only two."
The woman kept a brave face as she approached, though she couldn't help shivering. She was wrapped under a thick fur of an animal Jon didn't recognize. Two young women accompanied her, about as old as Theon. Their eyes weren't nearly as jovial as their father's.
"My paramour," Oberyn stated, taking the woman into his arms. "Ellaria, meet Lord and Lady Stark, our generous hosts. Lord and Lady Stark, meet Ellaria. And my two eldest daughters, Obara Sand and Nymeria Sand."
The tension Jon felt directed at him by Lady Catelyn was diverted to the front again as Ellaria held out her hand to his lord father, smiling against the cold.
Father took her hand and kissed it briefly. "Lady Ellaria, welcome to Winterfell."
"Thank you, Lord Stark, but I am no lady. I am a bastard. As are the young ones here."
Jon felt the urge to laugh again, wishing he could see Lady Stark's face. He suppressed it, focusing on the ground below.
"Nevertheless, you are my guests," he heard his father say. "And as such, I offer you bread and salt and extend to you and your party guest rights."
He raised his head to see Ginn the serving maid come forward with a tray. Oberyn took the bread and chewed it quickly, offering the torn pieces to the others. Lady Stark recovered enough to speak.
"You all must be very tired and cold. May I introduce Vayon Poole? The steward of Winterfell." The balding man stepped forward with a bow. "He'll show you to your quarters and have your luggage brought up."
Ellaria Sand smiled at Lady Stark, grasping her hands. "That would be most welcome. Thank you, my Lady."
Lady Stark jerked her head in a nod and instructed Hullen to see to the horses. The courtyard began to move quickly, with servants carrying trunks, unloading barrels from the wagons and directing two hundred Dornishmen to their quarters.
Jon saw the two daughters of Oberyn approach Robb and began to speak to him. Theon joined their conversation soon. Arya ran off with Bran to the Great Keep. As though rooted to the spot, Jon didn't move. He observed Prince Oberyn lean in close to Father, muttering to him. Father stood still, listening.
Finally the Lord of Winterfell turned to the Great Keep and nodded. Oberyn followed his gaze, the same smile on his face as he turned and strode forth.
"Prince Oberyn," his father called after him. "I'll have the maester show you the way if you're inclined."
The Prince waved off the offer. "I've made my way around the world, Lord Stark. I'm certain I can find a tower."
With that, Prince Oberyn disappeared into the Great Keep, a sea of stares following him. Jon was one of them, until Robb came and tapped him on the shoulder.
"Come on! Mother wants us to help bring the luggage in."
"All right," Jon muttered, still staring at the Great Keep. He turned and joined the others; quite certain he knew where the prince was headed.
Tiresias placed the tomes back along the western wall. He had just finished removing the materials, section by section, dusting the bare shelves and placing them back, dusting off the tomes as he did so. This shelf made for the last one. It was a tedious task which he stretched over the past week. It was a good excuse to not be in the courtyard to greet the Martells. He heard them plainly enough. Hard to miss hundreds of horses cantering into the castle.
So far, it seemed fine. No screams from the courtyard, no one running through the corridors. A peaceful arrival of two hundred Dornish soldiers and one of the most volatile men in the Seven Kingdoms…
Relax, mate. If Oberyn could hold his temper in the Red Keep, under the hospitality of the Lannisters, then he can certainly keep the peace here…
Once he shook out the dust cloth, he picked up the broom and began to sweep. The movement calmed him, his heartrate settling…
Breathe in on one, two, three and hold…
The library door creaked as it opened and he froze. All but his fingers, which trembled as he gripped the broom. Out of apprehension or excitement, he couldn't tell. Probably a bit of both.
Far off in the corner, he heard a pair of footsteps falling confidently upon the stone floor. This wasn't the spacious library in Casterly Rock. In this smaller room, the intruder's perfumed scent was prominent. He didn't recognize it from anyone in Winterfell…
Shaking out his trembling hands, Tiresias regripped his broom and continued to sweep. He had a good guess for the identity of his visitor. Sure enough, the scent came around the corner and he looked up to see the Red Viper poised at the end of the row.
Wasted no time, did you?
He halted his sweeping and nodded. "Prince Oberyn."
Oberyn narrowed his eyes. "No need to introduce myself, I see."
Tiresias shrugged. "I've been in Winterfell a long time. Tend to know visitors when I see them. And not many wear Dornish colors."
The Prince barely smiled. "You don't snort and rumble like the others here. That voice…you're the foreign librarian. Tiresias, no?"
"At your service. May I help you find something?"
Oberyn didn't respond. His small smile didn't reach his narrowed eyes as he took in Tiresias. He did his best to meet the Viper's eye. It didn't seem like the best idea not to acknowledge the real reason this man had trekked all the way from Dorne.
Just as he deciding on a way to end the silence, Oberyn did it himself. He stepped forward, his eyes dropping to the broom, then back to him.
"My word..." he murmured. "You're truly a librarian, aren't you?"
Tiresias shrugged. "It's what I'm paid for, Prince Oberyn."
That earned him a small smirk as Oberyn turned to the shelves. He caressed his hand along the tomes.
"I've heard of your work here. Only a little though. Faint whispers."
He pulled out a tome gently, observing it. Tiresias didn't relax. He could tell the Prince's focus still lingered on him.
Oberyn opened the tome. "Old Tongue…hm."
He turned back to Tiresias, gesturing to the shelves. "You've collected quite a few of these, haven't you?"
Tiresias resisted the urge to shrug again. "I do what I can. Though I can only imagine how small this place seems. And incomplete, compared to the collections you've seen. The Citadel, the archives in Essos…"
"No, no," said Oberyn, placing the tome back. "It's charming. Quite charming. One of the only charming places in this frozen wasteland."
"If you're cold," he offered, gesturing to the hearth. "I can light the fire for you while you read. This is quite a different climate from the one you know in Dorne, Prince Oberyn."
"I'm not here to read, Tiresias."
A few seconds passed before Tiresias realized he was holding his breath. He released it as casually as he could.
"Well then," he said. "In that case, if you're only here to stare, I'll continue to sweep if you don't mind."
He dropped his eyes to his broom, careful not to be too aggressive with his movements. Coming to where the Prince was standing, he met his eyes again.
"Pardon me," he said. There was only a second of hesitation before Oberyn moved out of his way, keeping his eyes on him all the while. Tiresias nodded as he swept past.
"Thank you."
"How did you kill Gregor Clegane?"
Tiresias kept sweeping, feeling the Red Viper's eyes burning into his back.
"I put a dagger up in his eye. It entered his brain."
He brought the dustpile to the main one he had been collecting from all sections of the library. Setting the broom against the table, Tiresias fetched the dustbin, pausing as he met the Prince's eyes again. Oberyn was still peering at him, his expression impassive.
"You've travelled quite a ways just to hear that, Prince Oberyn. You could have just written."
Oberyn smirked. "And deprive myself of Northern hospitality?"
He came forward.
"I know better than to come between a man and his work." Pausing, he leaned in, his face only a foot away from Tiresias'. "We will speak later, under more enjoyable circumstances. I'll see you at the feast tonight, yes?"
"Didn't have any other plans."
"Good," Oberyn muttered, before smiling. "My daughters are very interested in meeting you. Until tonight, Tiresias."
He patted the librarian on the shoulder before exiting. Tiresias forced himself to move before Oberyn left the room, not wanting to be seen stilled by the Red Viper. He swept the dust into the bin as the door shut gently.
Standing up, he sniffed. Oberyn's perfume still lingered in the air. He had good taste.
The Great Hall never seemed so crowded. Tiresias had avoided it when Lord Stark hosted the lords of the North after the Greyjoy Rebellion, determined not to be seen. That was not an option tonight. For the first time, he had to squeeze through to get a seat. Through Northerners, Dornishmen, servants and trays of food going by.
He eyed the food with some trepidation. How much was going to be wasted tonight, during the Prince's whole visit, that would be so valuable the following winter?
Ultimately though, it couldn't be helped. Besides he trusted Lord Stark to keep a cap on excessive waste. Indeed when he sat down and actually tucked in, he felt that the food wasn't nearly as opulent as it could have been. Certainly not the level of culinary gluttony he saw and smelled in the capital.
He wondered if Oberyn noticed. If any of the Dornishmen would be offended.
Sparing a look toward the high table, he didn't see any offended looks from the visiting Prince. Oberyn sat next to Ned, but his attentions were on Bran and Arya, who seemed to be questioning him incessantly about whatever came to their minds. A genuine smile, albeit one full of mischief, colored his face and he didn't seem to touch a bite. Ned kept an eye on the conversation, but seemed content to let his children occupy his guest's attention. He was probably relieved. Tiresias didn't imagine that the Red Viper and the Quiet Wolf shared enough similarities to make easy conversation.
Lady Stark, on the other hand, seemed quite withdrawn and tense. Ellaria sat on her side and he could only imagine the battle waging in Catelyn's head. Gracious host versus a devout woman of the Seven. The former appeared to be winning at the moment, as she maintained a polite tone, however icy. Ellaria, like her lover, was content to ignore her frigid host and focus on the children. She and Sansa conversed and though the girl was quite shy, she opened up as the feast continued.
Tiresias was surprised this was tolerated, but he supposed it helped that Ellaria was still chilled by the North and was dressed quite modestly. She did not wear any of the sheer silks so popular in the capital.
It wasn't enough for some people. He glanced to the side and saw Septa Mordane sitting with Maester Luwin. The Septa kept her eyes on her meal, her mouth thin in between bites. A strict barrier existed for her and she would not be affected by the lax morality these Dornish brought to Winterfell.
Don't be too judgmental, mate. Tiresias had to remind himself. After all, that's a woman who tried to buy Sansa time to escape in King's Landing, at the cost of her own life. Have you ever shown that courage?
Nodding to her a brief apology she was completely unaware of, Tiresias returned his gaze to the table. Obara and Nymeria were at the corner with Robb and Theon. Unlike Robb, the young Greyjoy didn't hide his annoyance. The two Sand Snakes questioned the boys and based on body language alone, the topic was combat. Tiresias suspected to find Theon Greyjoy flat on his back in the training yard in the near future.
Laughing lightly at the thought, Tiresias turned back to his meal.
"What is it?"" asked Jon, sitting next to him.
He waited until he swallowed before answering. Some habits never died.
"A certain Ironborn is setting himself up to be ass-first in the mud tomorrow."
Jon Snow was his dinner companion tonight. Barth was busy handling the barrels for the feast. He hoped it wasn't a wasted effort, but it seemed likely. Oberyn was not a man who took to Northern ale. He opened a barrel of Dornish red for the feast tonight. Nothing but the best for a Prince.
Though he may have had a point. Tiresias caught a whiff as he walked past a servant bearing a jug. It smelled heavenly.
As for now, he was content with the ale. He lifted his horn as Jon focused on the high table. A surly look came into his eyes.
Tiresias set down his horn. "You know that your brother…"
"Aye, aye, I know. My brother loves me. My father too," Jon responded, his voice testy. He met the librarian's eyes. Tiresias kept his gaze steady. Finally Jon dipped his head, back to his meal.
"Sorry," he muttered. He sliced off a bite of honeyed chicken. "Just figured one more bastard wouldn't matter tonight."
"Don't know about that," Tiresias muttered, glancing to the high table then back to Jon. "Lady Stark looks about ready to scream."
Jon glanced at him, mouth full. Without saying another word, they began to chortle. After a few seconds, Jon managed to swallow.
"She won't," he said, glancing again at the high table. "She's too high for that."
"Oh, I don't know," Tiresias said, shrugging. "I think we all need to scream some times. High born and low alike."
"Well, that's the best part, isn't it? Being down here." Jon set his knife and fork down. "I can be angry. I can leave when I please to do so. I'd have to stay if I sat up there. Robb and Sansa are allowed only one cup of wine tonight. Whereas I…"
He reached for the pitcher.
"How many have you had tonight, Jon?" Tiresias asked lightly.
"Only two." Jon grabbed his cup. "Plan on a few more."
Tiresias placed a staying hand on the pitcher as Jon was about to pour. The lad fixed him with a betrayed look.
"Why don't you have some water for now?"
"You're not my father," Jon muttered.
"No. I'm just an adult, tending to an angry young man." Tiresias pulled the pitcher out of Jon's hand and grabbed a water jug.
"Jon, trust me," he said gently, as he filled Jon's cup. "It's not good to get drunk like this. Aye? Not when you're angry. Not when we have visitors. Not during the largest feast in a year. You know this."
It's hard to release anger when one is young. Especially something as intoxicating as righteous anger. But Tiresias maintained eye contact with the lad and began to breathe. Jon spent enough time with him to recognize what he was doing and he saw the lad's anger give way to the exercise.
They inhaled, held and released slowly, forgetting the feast for a moment. As they came back to, the sounds of the hall returned. The chattering, the scrapping of utensils along the plates and something that wasn't there a moment before. The Dornish musicians came forward and began to play.
It certainly calmed him. It seemed to calm Jon too. The boy took a sip of water and returned to his meal. They ate for a moment, before Jon spoke again.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, eyes on his plate.
Tiresias shook his head. "It's all right," he said. "Truthfully, I thought you might be up there tonight as well."
Jon smiled. "And leave you alone?"
"Oh what? You think I couldn't find company if it weren't for you?"
The lad shrugged. "Well, Barth is busy…and you and your wife pretend you don't know each other."
Tiresias continued to eat calmly, as his heartrate skipped a couple beats. He swallowed before meeting Jon's eyes. To his credit, Jon spoke the last part softly, just for his ears.
"Is that supposed to be a secret?" Jon asked, lowering his voice even more.
Considering it for a few seconds, Tiresias raised his horn and sipped. "I suppose not…but it's not something we wish to be proclaimed throughout the halls."
"Why not?"
He exhaled through his nose. "More people are interested in me than I would like at the moment. I'd prefer that interest not pass onto her."
Jon nodded solemnly. "I won't tell."
"Cheers, Jon," muttered Tiresias.
A whiff of perfume came his way. He recognized it from the library from earlier. Another strain of perfume joined it. Together they tickled his nostrils.
Speaking of those interested in me…
Resisting the urge to turn and meet the Prince's eyes, challenging him, he kept his focus on his meal until he heard the Red Viper speak. The chatter around them quieted as Oberyn approached.
"Enjoying the feast, Tiresias?"
Tiresias set his fork down, swallowing as he turned to see Oberyn standing over him, Ellaria at his side. He nodded as he stood.
"Aye, Prince Oberyn," he said. "Aren't you?"
Oberyn smirked, glancing back at the high table.
"Well, the company almost makes up for the food. Lord Stark is quite courteous. His wife however…"
Tiresias followed his gaze. Lady Stark was speaking to Bran and Arya, but Lord Stark was looking his way. His eyes were calm. He certainly wasn't going to give Oberyn anything to go off of. However, Tiresias could still see the worry in them and a warning. Which Tiresias took quite seriously.
Oberyn turned back to the librarian, still smiling, his arm wrapped around Ellaria.
"I believed my family should meet the more exciting inhabitants of this castle. Tiresias, meet Ellaria, my paramour. Ellaria, meet Tiresias, the warrior-librarian of Winterfell."
Swallowing the refutation of such a title, Tiresias stuck his hand out. "Hello, Ellaria. Pleased to meet you."
There was laughter in Ellaria's eye as she took his hand and shook it. Her hand was as light as a wafer.
"And I am pleased to meet you, Tiresias. Warrior-Librarian of Winterfell."
Allowing himself a small smile, Tiresias relinquished his hand. "Just Tiresias will do."
"If you insist." Her eyes traveled to Jon. "And who is this handsome boy?"
Tiresias' smile turned genuine as the lad squirmed and blushed. However Jon mustered his courage and looked her in the eye.
"Jon Snow. Pleased to meet you, my lady."
His face turned redder as Ellaria laughed.
"I am no lady, Jon Snow. I am a Sand. A bastard, like you. Ellaria will do just fine."
Jon grew still as he tried to process a polite response. Trying to give the lad an out, Tiresias leaned in.
"Come on, Jon," he muttered. "It's all right. You've been calling me by my first name ever since I came to this castle. Granted I'm not as beautiful as her, but we're both only human."
The bench creaked next to him and he turned to see Oberyn sitting, back to the table, Ellaria on his lap.
"And when was that? How long have you been in Winterfell?"
Tiresias shrugged as he sat back down. "Almost six years."
"Really? That long? Hmm…" Oberyn murmured, his eyebrows furrowing. "You'd think I would have heard of you in that time. Such a talented fighter."
Grabbing his horn, Tiresias drank before responding. "I don't see why you would. Fighters gain glory through wars and tourneys. I haven't fought in either."
"And why's that? You certainly would earn more in campaigns than in a castle library. Though I'm sure Lord Stark has been very generous over the years."
"He has been." Tiresias set his horn down and clapped Jon on the shoulders. "The Starks make it very easy to call this castle home. Besides, I prefer the library to a battlefield. I'm content to leave my martial leanings in the training yard."
"Until recently," Ellaria purred. She leaned over Oberyn and plucked an apple from the tray in the center. "I had never seen this ogre, this Mountain. But my love tells me he was quite the monster. Tall, strong as if carved from stone…"
Her teasing took a pause as she bit into the fruit. She swallowed about half before speaking through a mouthful of apple.
"You picked quite the opponent for your first trial-by-combat."
There was sincerity to it, but Tiresias saw the trap beneath the demure tone and kept his tone light, noncommittal.
"Aye. Aye, that was unfortunate."
He turned away from the Prince and took another sip of ale, his eyes sweeping the room. The chatter in their immediate vicinity now had completely halted. Soldiers, both of Winterfell and Dorne, watched their conversation closely.
Prince Oberyn was quite aware of this, but he didn't look around to know so. Perhaps he was just used to people stopping to hear his words. He leaned into Tiresias, his voice now a murmur.
"But is that true? Quite sensational, to be sure. But was that truly your first trial-by-combat, my friend?"
"Am I your friend, Prince Oberyn?"
The words came out of him before he could stop them. He felt Jon tense up beside him, but he continued to breathe. Turning to Oberyn, he expected hardened eyes but the Prince was simply regarding him, peering lightly. Without breaking eye contact, he held out his goblet and turned it over, spilling a half-full cup of Dornish red onto the floor.
Tiresias' eyes flitted to the discarded wine.
That's a month's wages for Ginn you just spilled.
He came back to Oberyn, who had placed his goblet back on the table and picked up the pitcher of ale.
"Your horn," he said, holding the pitcher ready. It wasn't a request.
Not in the mood to play games, Tiresias moved his horn forward and allowed the Red Viper to fill it to the brim. He brought it back, foam spilling over the side.
Oberyn filled his own goblet and Tiresias sniffed. He couldn't help but notice how the ale was tinged with Dornish red. It made for an interesting scent.
Still holding the pitcher aloft, Oberyn glanced past him to Jon.
"Boy, is your cup empty?"
Jon started, but he nodded and the Prince gestured for his cup. The murmurs began again as Oberyn poured. A Dornish Prince playing cupbearer to a Northern bastard?
Tiresias resisted the urge to glance at the high table. He could only imagine the look on Catelyn's face if she saw that. He hoped Jon wouldn't catch any blame from it.
Coming back to his own table, Oberyn just filled Ellaria's goblet, finishing off the pitcher. He set it down and grabbed his goblet, raising it high. Understanding him completely, Tiresias picked up his horn. Oberyn's eyes traveled to Jon, who quickly raised his.
"When we place our cups on the table, Warrior-Librarian," he said, coming back to Tiresias. "They will be empty and we'll be friends, no?"
Tiresias nodded. "As you wish, your Grace. Prost."
The word escaped from him before he knew it, but it didn't matter. He tipped the horn back and drank, allowing the ale to fall swiftly down his throat. He thought he drank the quickest, but as he swallowed his last gulp, he heard the Prince slam his goblet down on the table. It was another second before he did the same. Ellaria followed suit and a couple more seconds passed before Jon lowered his, coughing a bit on the last mouthful of ale.
Oberyn took another second to collect himself, his tongue out as he retched. Only slightly.
"Blegh," he stated before shrugging. "It burns, but dulls as well. I suppose it's what the Northmen need for surviving the snows here. What do you think, my love?"
Ellaria returned to her smile, with only a little difficulty. "I've swallowed worse."
She kissed him. As they made out, Tiresias turned to Jon, who looked like he was going to be sick. That was a lot of ale in a short amount of time.
"You all right?" he asked lowly. The lad nodded and Tiresias sighed. "Just breathe. It'll pass."
"So, Tiresias," Oberyn said. He turned back to the Prince. "Now that we're friends…was that your first trial by combat?"
"Aye," he said shortly.
"But it wasn't your trial, was it?" Oberyn ran his fingers around his goblet's rim slowly. "Not truly? The Mountain…he attacked a miller, yes?"
This time, the Red Viper didn't bother lowering his voice. And once again, the audience was there. Tiresias felt their eyes upon him as he looked to the Prince. He exhaled silently through his nose before answering.
"It was an innkeeper," he said quietly. "Clegane and his band killed his son. Attacked his daughter."
"I see," Oberyn matched his tone. He sighed himself. "Poor girl. Poor boy."
He sounded sincere. Tiresias detected no falsities in the man. The heartrate was calm and his hands were relaxed.
"Still," said the Prince. "You were there. You fought. You avenged them."
"Hardly," Tiresias responded lightly. "I fought to save the innkeeper's life the following day. The girl was still raped. Her brother still dead."
Reaching for the water jug, he kept his eyes focused on his horn as he filled it.
"How long were you in Essos, Prince Oberyn?"
The Red Viper smiled. "If you're trying to change the subject, you're going about it rather bluntly. You must have more finesse than that, Tiresias."
"I'm not making love to you, Prince Oberyn." The words escaped him before he knew it. It was a small miracle they came out as calmly as they did. He placed the water down and picked up his full horn, turning to the Prince.
"I don't have to finesse you," he said with a covering sip.
Jon tensed up behind him, along with a few other soldiers both Northern and Dornish alike. Oberyn, however, didn't look offended. A smile grew on his face, as on Ellaria's, as they both started to laugh. The laughter spread to the other occupants of the table.
"Too true," Oberyn stated, turning to his paramour. "Too true…what do you think, my love?"
"Such a pity," she said, not bothering to keep her voice down. "A very handsome man. Such lovely eyes."
The laughter only grew. Tiresias felt a drunken hand slapping his back. He took it silently, trying to retain some dignity.
"Yes, I quite agree," said Oberyn, turning back to Tiresias. He didn't bother to speak softly either and the Northmen's laughter turned rather stilted as they stared at this foreign prince, not quite sure what they had just heard.
Tiresias fought a small grin. Bisexual's a word I don't believe any man in this hall has ever heard before…oh Oberyn, the fun you could have had in my old world…
He didn't feel sorry for the man though. And his amusement at the Northerners' bewilderment gave way to his annoyance. He had enough attention on him already before the Red Viper arrived at Winterfell. It took all his self-control not to stand up and leave the Great Hall.
It must have been easy to read. Oberyn's eyes flitted down his body, pausing at his waist. Tiresias suppressed a groan.
Why the fuck did I bring this with me?
"Is that the dagger you used to end the Mountain's life?" Oberyn asked, gazing softly at the sheathed weapon.
Tiresias looked down at his horn and cursed silently. It was too soon for another covering sip. He turned back to the Prince, meeting his gaze without a word. It didn't matter though. Oberyn saw the answer in his eyes.
"May I see it?"
"It's steel like any other," he replied, trying to find gentleness when he felt none. "It's just a dagger."
"If you'd lost what I lost, Tiresias," the Prince said, his voice turned quiet. "You would not say such a thing. Now…let me see it."
With his hatred for staring contests as strong as ever, Tiresias turned his gaze to the Prince's hip.
"Only if you allow me to hold yours," he said, unable to keep the challenge from his voice.
Prince Oberyn's smirk remained on his face, his eyes still locked on Tiresias as he reached for his dagger. It was not the quick draw he demonstrated in the brothel in King's Landing but it was still pulled deftly from his hip. He held the dragger lightly, his eyebrows raised expectantly.
Gord told him to never look away from a man with a knife out. Not that he needed telling on that, it was common sense. In any case, he kept his eyes on the Prince as he reached down and unsheathed his own dagger. He placed it on the table, keeping his hand on it. Now it was his turn to raised his eyebrows expectantly.
Fortunately, Oberyn could intuit well enough. The Red Viper placed his dagger next to his and withdrew his hand. Tiresias picked up the Dornish dagger, leaving his own to the Prince.
Tiresias may have taken his collateral quickly, but Oberyn was in no hurry. He stared at the dagger for a second or two before reaching out and gripping it by the handle. Ellaria was still in his lap, but she kept silent as her lover brought the dagger close, turning it over and running his finger along the blade slowly and gently.
"Who forged this?" he asked, his eyes still on the steel. "Whose mark is this?"
"Mikken, Winterfell's blacksmith," Tiresias said shortly. "He makes good steel. Strong. Reliable."
"Ugly," Oberyn added softly.
The annoyance returned and he had to swallow a retort, just in time for Oberyn to amend his judgment.
"Though I suppose it only fits," he murmured. "An ugly, strong weapon to end an ugly, strong man…"
"You see, my love," he said, lifting the weapon to Ellaria. "This blade entered the eye of Gregor Clegane. Our friend here pointed it upwards, driving it into his maddened mind."
She ran her hands along the steel, her forefinger coming to a halt at the end. Lifting it from the steel, Ellaria held her finger aloft. A small drop of blood appeared on her fingertip.
"Quite sharp," she remarked, looking to Tiresias. "No poison on your steel, Tiresias?"
"No."
She smirked. "Good," she said before sucking her finger free of blood.
A fresh wave of murmurs was coming their way. Tiresias looked down the row to see Nymeria and Obara Sand approaching them. He turned and lifted his horn. He was due for another covering sip.
His horn was on the table again by the time the Sands had reached them. Oberyn turned and greeted them.
"Girls!" he exclaimed as they came to a halt. "Are you enjoying the hospitality of Winterfell as we are?"
"How are you two enjoying the hospitality of Winterfell?" Nymeria asked sardonically. Obara didn't even respond, her eyes already on Tiresias. He gave a polite nod which she didn't return.
Not such a surprising response…
Oberyn shrugged. "It has its charms. One of which is the librarian we heard so much about."
Nymeria turned to him. Tiresias met her stare quietly.
"This is Tiresias?" Nymeria asked, her disbelieving gaze going back to her father.
"Indeed," he responded briskly. "Ah! Where are my manners? Tiresias, meet my two eldest daughters, my Sands. Nymeria and Obara, the quiet one."
With politeness as his shield, Tiresias nodded to each.
"Nymeria. Obara. Good evening. I hope you enjoy your stay at Winterfell."
"Why are you holding our father's dagger?" Obara asked, her eyes on the table where Tiresias' hand rested on Oberyn's weapon.
"Obara," Oberyn warned with a low voice. "Tiresias and I exchanged daggers for the moment. I was so curious to see the blade that fell the Mountain. Look…"
He held up the dagger. Obara turned her eyes towards it,
"It did enter his eye, yes? Up into his brain?" Oberyn asked, lifting his eyes from the steel to him.
Tiresias declined to respond, keeping a relaxed grip on the Red Viper's dagger handle. He didn't play with the steel though. He couldn't detect any poison on the blade, but he didn't wish to take the chance. One miniscule cut could end him in a most painful fashion.
However, Oberyn didn't let a silent participant kill the subject. He turned to his daughters.
"It's what the man said when we met this afternoon. The Mountain wore the thickest and heaviest armor in the Seven Kingdoms. The only opening…"
He brought the dagger to his face, resting it just below his right eye. The surrounding Northerners tensed, but the Dornish were quite relaxed. Ellaria even rested her head against Oberyn's as he brought the blade up.
"Here," the Prince said, twisting the dagger slowly. "It was here our friend, Tiresias, found his mark."
Popping the blade from his face quickly, he brought the dagger down. Tiresias exhaled, not realizing that he had been holding his breath. He drank again, willing himself to do so slowly.
"A dagger in his eye. Went into his brain." He felt the Prince's eyes on him as he drank. "I've heard many times the story of how a librarian fell the Mad Dog Clegane, the Mountain. Here I meet the actual librarian, the hero of the story…and your retelling is the shortest I'd ever heard."
Tiresias set his horn down. More than half his water was gone. He turned to the Red Viper and shrugged.
"Stories tend to become more embellished with time and distance…and the amount of times the story gets passed on."
"I traveled quite a long way, Tiresias," Oberyn said quietly. "To cut down the time and distance that story traveled…to hear it free of embellishment."
His smile was still there, but in his eyes burned a low ember. The hairs on Tiresias' neck stood up and he adjusted his grip on Oberyn's dagger as casually as he could.
"I told you all you needed to know, Prince Oberyn," he responded calmly. "I told you how Gregor Clegane died."
"So you simply walked over to him? Reached up and placed a dagger politely in his eye?"
"Perhaps I did."
"Perhaps you did…but there are many details missing." Oberyn raised his eyebrows as he gestured with the dagger. "Did you pace around him? Did you jump about? You must have had some other weapon other than this…"
"He had a spear!" some Northern soldier volunteered. The Red Viper snapped his head to him.
"I'm speaking to your librarian. Not you, boy!" he exclaimed. "Drink your Northern piss and shut the fuck up!"
The Northern soldier's face reddened and he looked ready to yell back. Luckily, Otis was behind him and pulled him away, before some lowly Northern grunt insulted a Prince of Dorne, a guest of Winterfell. The Dornish glared at the soldier as he was led off. Oberyn's glare turned quickly into laughter as he turned back to Tiresias.
"I already heard that you fought with a spear," he said, taking a bite of the apple that Ellaria offered. "Good choice. I'd've chosen the same."
That's no surprise.
"Have you eaten in this hall since your return?" Oberyn asked.
Tiresias looked for the hidden question, but couldn't find it.
"Aye," he said cautiously.
"Well, then…you must have had many idiots like that one come up to you, begging you to speak and sing of your duel in the Westerlands." He spat on the stone floor before continuing. "What's one more recitation of your victory?"
Oberyn turned to the spectators. "What of it?" he called. "Would you all, as I would, like to hear again how Tiresias, the Winterfell librarian, fell the Mountain Who Rides?"
Cheers and murmurs of assent surround him. And it wasn't just the Dornish riding along with their favorite Prince. Several Northmen joined the chorus, though they more murmured their interest than cheered it.
Tiresias felt very warm. He wanted to get up and leave. But his body turned numb. It could only be silent and still against this tide. There was only pressure on his throat. Something pressing where a giant hand had once been. He tried to breathe and only a little air came through...
"He doesn't recite."
He blinked and turned to his right. Jon looked as pale as he felt, but the lad was looking past him, straight at the Red Viper.
The pressure waned and he breathed through his nose. With his eyes on Jon, he didn't see Oberyn's response. He only heard the slight pause before he spoke again.
"He doesn't recite?" Oberyn repeated slowly.
Jon swallowed, but he continued. "Tiresias doesn't go on about his victory over the Mountain. Not to the soldiers. Not to me or anyone eager to hear of bloodshed. He doesn't brag."
Tiresias swallowed and turned back to the Red Viper. Oberyn peered at Jon. He hoped the boy returned the stare well. For a solid ten seconds, the only sounds were that of the Great Hall, of music, chatter and drink. It all seemed from a great distance though.
He eyed his dagger, which Oberyn still held. The Prince grasped it with a lightness that did not extend to his eyes.
Remember, mate. You hate staring contests.
"It's not for your entertainment, Prince Oberyn," he stated. As diplomatically as he could.
The Red Viper didn't drop his stare. "Is that so?"
"Aye," Tiresias said. "That's so."
The embers drop from the Prince's eyes as he shrugged. Behind him, Tiresias saw Lord Stark approaching their spot.
"Well then," Oberyn said, cheerful again. "I shall have to learn the truth another way."
He wondered if the Prince sensed the Warden approaching as well. He came to a halt before them.
"Prince Oberyn," he stated, nodding to the Red Viper. He was calm, but Tiresias could see the storm behind him. The Quiet Wolf in full. "I trust you are comfortable?"
"Quite comfortable, Lord Stark." Oberyn gazed up at Lord Stark with absolutely no discomposure, his easy smile ever present. "My family and I were becoming acquainted with the other inhabitants of Winterfell. Your men, your librarian, your bastard."
Tiresias lifted his horn again, not trusting himself to make eye contact with Lord Stark over the last comment. In another life, the Red Viper would have found himself a stepnephew in Jon Snow. Although based on Oberyn's volatility, he probably would not have cared to play uncle to a boy mothered by Prince Rhaegar's second wife.
Nevertheless, the connection was still there. He sensed Lord Stark saw it plainly as well. And as he had done for several years, he gave no hint to it.
"I would speak with you further, Prince Oberyn, before you retire for the evening," he stated calmly.
"That's very kind of you, Lord Stark, but you underestimate me." Oberyn held out his empty cup and a Dornish page appeared to fill it. He brought the red wine to his lips. "I don't plan to retire for several hours yet."
"All right, I'll speak frankly then. Before my wife and I retire for the evening, I would speak to you in my solar. Now."
Oberyn didn't lose his smirk, but his eyes darkened as they focused on the Warden. Lord Stark stood firm and patient, waiting for his guest to obey. Tiresias watched them with a calmness he did not feel.
Come on, Oberyn, just go…it's not worth it.
The Red Viper came to the same conclusion shortly. The staring contest ended after a few seconds as Oberyn shrugged and lifted his goblet, draining a full cup of fresh Dornish red before extracting himself from the bench, pinching Ellaria as he stood.
"How could one refuse such an invitation?" He kissed Ellaria, whispering to her. "Make sure the girls are settled. Wait for me."
Tiresias nodded farewell to Nymeria and Obara as Ellaria led them away, back to the high table. They did not return his nods. As was expected.
From their unsmiling faces, he turned to Oberyn's smirk, which was fixed on him. Away from Lord Stark, waiting to escort him.
"I shall have to hear the story another time, Tiresias," he said, not bothering to lower his tone. The man had to have witnesses after all.
"So you think," Tiresias responded blithely. He placed Oberyn's dagger back on the table. "I'd like my dagger back now."
Oberyn only gave it another twirl before setting it down on the table as well. He took back his own dagger and sheathed it nonchalantly.
Such a swashbuckler you are, Oberyn…
"I do think so, Tiresias," the Prince said. "I do. You really should learn to just tell the stories as people demand them. As I demand. You can only disappoint an audience so many times."
Tiresias sheathed his dagger.
"Any audience so thirsty for blood deserves to be disappointed." He bowed slightly. "Good night, Prince Oberyn."
Once again, the Red Viper didn't lose his smirk. It stayed there etched as Oberyn considered Tiresias and his words for a brief second. Finally, with a natural grace aided by drink and charm, the Prince turned on his heel, joining Lord Stark as they made their way back to the high table. Tiresias saw quite a few occupants there, eyeing them with some trepidation.
Perhaps in the future, it wouldn't be so important to you to land the final word now, would it? Fucking idiot. This isn't some fatass at the Twins, squeezing a few extra silvers out of a traveler. This is a Prince! A dangerous one at that…
He felt the adrenaline rushing through him and he needed to leave. Turning, he started for the exit, pausing to pat Jon on the shoulder.
"Thanks for the defending words, Jon," he said, stooping low to mutter. "Don't drink too much more, aye?"
"Aye," Jon muttered back. "G'night."
Tiresias exited the Great Hall, feeling an abundant amount of eyes on his back as he did. it was the addition of the Dornish soldiers along with any Winterfell guards who saw him chatting with Oberyn.
Two corridors away from the Great Hall, when no one was around, he leaned against the stone wall and sighed, shuddering as the adrenaline worked itself out of his body.
Is that all he's here for? To hear my version about what happened in Deep Den? Would he really come all the way here? Just for that?
Apparently so. Being a rich royal had some perks after all. If Oberyn wished to travel to what he considered a desolate country to speak to some librarian, he could damn well afford the privilege.
So why not just tell him? Why are you so hesitant? And what the hell happened back there?
He rubbed his throat where the pressure mounted. After a moment, his breath returned to normal. His pulse echoing in his head, he considered the questions...
Him being here is an opportunity I won't waste. An opportunity for what, I'm not sure yet…but if he only wants one thing, I'd be a fool to give it to him for free…
Was that the whole truth?
…No…no. I genuinely don't like speaking about it. I can't connect to a man who takes pleasure in winning that way. To relish the dagger entering your opponent. Their blood running over your hands…
He hoped that was the whole truth. After a heavy sigh, he walked back to his quarters. For years now, he was used to entering a darkened room, having no need for the warmth of a fire. Tonight, as with many nights in the past month, he opened the door to a medium blaze in the hearth. It lighted Mal as she sat in a chair with her needle.
She stayed silent until he closed the door, locking it.
"No one saw you come in?" he asked quietly.
She shook her head, her eyes back on her thread. "That's the good part about not serving anymore. Much easier to disappear from a feast as a seamstress."
Over the past fortnight, whenever she came to his room, she brought her clothes and other belongings, item by item. Until the dresser became gradually more full. The trunk he brought from Casterly Rock became her trunk for linens. She even sewed pockets in the top and along the sides for needles, threads. measuring ropes and other sewing tools. To the general inhabitants of the castle, she still roomed with Maygen. To those more savvy, a new husband and wife resided in Winterfell.
The ceremony was brief and all for five people. During the hour of the wolf, Lord Stark, who was asked only in the preceding afternoon, presided over probably the quickest wedding ever performed in the godswood. Gord and Ginn were their witnesses. Mal and he both wore a winter rose.
And it was done. They entered the godswood, exiting it as man and wife, blessed by the old gods. Unnoticed by all. Mal and he signed a marriage record, upon which Lord Stark stamped his seal and gave to them without ceremony. They snuck back to Tiresias' quarters, now theirs. Ginn and Gord placed a small bottle of a winter spirit there for them, along with cheese, bread, meat and dried fruit.
There were no such treats tonight. Though he did pour himself some water from the pitcher. He glanced to her lap as he brought it down.
"What are you working on?"
Mal held up the worn fabric, a dull blue.
"It's Ginn's. Figured I'd fix this for her so it doesn't just hang haphazard when her belly swells." She brought the dress back down, putting her needle back to work. "How was the feast?"
"Delicious as usual." He sighed as he sat before the fire.
"And the Dornish?"
He drank the water, pondering as he watched the flames.
"They were fine. Prince Oberyn and I spoke for a while. He came over to where I was sitting," he added, sensing her follow-up question.
"What was he like?"
Tiresias shrugged. "He's certainly a character. Tall, intense, likes sex and violence. Judging by the look in his eye, he either wants to kill me or kiss me."
Mal's needle stopped. Turning to her, they stared at each other in silence before she lowered her head and continued to sew.
"Well," she said, her voice quite sensible. "If he does either, he'll have to answer to me."
Tiresias chuckled, looking back to the fire. He rubbed his throat.
"I'd pay good coin to see that."
"Is something wrong with your throat?"
He turned back to Mal, her needle paused once again, brown eyes on him. Lowering his hand, he shook his head.
"No. No, I'm fine."
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