Chapter 43: Chapter 43
As the lesson ended, Tiresias gave the children a nod as they traipsed out to the midday meal. He waited until the library door shut after them before placing his quill down and gently massaging his hand. A low sigh escaped him.
He had gone to bed far too late, the confrontation with Oberyn still fresh in his mind. The cool-down on the battlements didn't quite help. At least there was no hangover to be suffered. The Prince failed in getting him drunk last night. But his mind was not far from clear. He walked to this library this morning with a slightly cautious step. For the first time, he didn't feel completely safe in Winterfell. Not that he felt in danger. Still he kept an eye out until he settled at his desk.
Plus he was still recovering from the aftermath of the duel. The Prince had a hard face. The punch he landed wasn't worth the breaks he had to take in between translating and writing queries. As for the bruise on his back…he would have to sleep on his left side for another few nights at least.
His stomach rumbled and he ascertained his remaining workload. He could finish this page shortly. Leave the rest for this afternoon.
He dripped his quill and wrote, working out the translation on parchment scraps before coming to a final decision on the matter. As he wrote the decided words, his ears perked up at the sound of approaching footsteps.
Not willing to mess up his work, he kept his eyes down and finished the sentence before looking up to the library entrance, where the footsteps approached. Footsteps he recognized very well…
Why was Lord Stark visiting him here? At this hour? With Dornish eyes in Winterfell?
Lord Stark closed the door immediately after he entered. Tiresias saw a roll of parchment in his hand as he walked towards him. He stood and inclined his head.
"Lord Stark," he said as the Warden halted before him.
He nodded back, his eyes as serious as Tiresias had ever seen them.
"What's going on?"
"Lord Stannis has suspended the shipments of dragonglass," Lord Stark stated brusquely.
The silence was graced, per usual, by the crackle in the hearth as the fire sank into embers. Tiresias placed his hands upon the table, bowing his head.
"Shit," he hissed softly.
Lord Stark exhaled through his nose before continuing to speak.
"He sent a letter along the shipment that arrived this morning. Which will be the last one upon further inquiry and explanation of such shipments from you."
True silence settled around Tiresias. He looked up to Lord Stark, the hairs on his neck rising. He must have misheard him…
"What do you mean from me?"
His eyes went to the letter that Lord Stark had in his hand. Without asking, the Warden brought up the parchment and handed it to the librarian. Tiresias took it, willing his hand not to tremble.
He read the notice, blinking and realizing he barely took in the previous sentence. Remembering to breathe, he tried again. It was polite, formal, but still…
"Lord Stannis names you as the one who brought the dragonglass to my attention in the first place," Lord Stark said, speaking out the words that Tiresias read. "The one who told me to reach out to Dragonstone for the trade all those years ago. As such…he invites you to come south and answer the further inquiries he has."
Tiresias' mind was numb as he looked back up. The word impossible wanted to escape from his lips. But after being in Westeros for years and by the way he arrived in this world…as far as he was concerned, determining something impossible was irresponsible and lazy at best. Incredibly dangerous at worst.
It didn't stop him from asking how, though. He read the letter again. Stannis was not accusatory, but fear crept into his veins as he saw his name written neatly on the parchment.
"It's not a summons."
Lord Stark shook his head. "No. You're under my protection as Warden of the North and you're far away. It's only an invitation. To discuss a private, nonessential trade between kingdoms."
Tiresias nodded numbly. "I'd like to sit down, if you don't mind."
"I'll join you."
Lord Stark grabbed a chair and sat as Tiresias sank into his own. He placed the parchment on the table before him.
The south…again so soon? I couldn't have been home for half a year yet…
His mouth thinned as he looked back to the Warden.
"How many dragonglass weapons do we have all together, including what we could forge from the shipment that arrived today?"
"Eighty-one thousand arrowheads, thirty-three thousand dagger blades, sixty-two thousand spearheads, six thousand axeheads," Lord Stark responded immediately. He must have calculated the amount before coming to the library.
In spite of everything, Tiresias fought a small grin as he locked eyes with the Warden.
"Is that enough?"
Tiresias shrugged. "It's a lot."
"I'm not asking you if it's a lot. I'm asking if it's enough."
He wished for the abilities of the Three-Eyed Raven. To see through the eyes of a bird and soar above the Land of Always Winter. How big was the Army of the Dead now? Were the Free Folk coming down south fast enough? Were they falling and rising again with blue eyes? How many? Would the dragonglass they collected be enough?
Blinking again to find himself in the library, Tiresias shook his head.
"I don't think so. It's more than what the North had last time…but I can't be sure."
Lord Stark accepted the answer, though he didn't like it. That was easy to tell.
"You seem to be pulled from both sides of Westeros," he said. He reached over and took Stannis' letter back. "You do remember that Mance Rayder wishes to see us both when he comes to the Wall?"
"I do," Tiresias muttered. "That's months away though. More than half a year. If I can…"
The words failed him as soon as they left his mouth. Last time he left Winterfell, determined to be back within half a year, he couldn't keep that time table.
Still, I suppose Stannis Baratheon is much more pragmatic with his time than I am…probably sail down for a half hour meeting and be dismissed soon after…
He sincerely doubted the notion. The more pragmatic solution to this was a written explanation for the dragonglass. Sent by raven. Yet, Stannis wanted him to travel down to Dragonstone, to meet him in person…why?
"Have you met Lord Stannis before?"
Tiresias shook his head. "Not in the flesh."
An unamused scoff escaped the Warden. "Your vision."
"Aye, my vision."
"You didn't meet the man in King's Landing? Before you came to Winterfell?"
"No," said Tiresias softly. "And I assume you and Maester Luwin never mentioned me in your correspondence to Dragonstone? Never told him that I suggested the trade?"
"We did not."
Tiresias sighed. "Aye, I didn't think so."
He glanced to the library doors. No sounds from the corridors reached his ears and it was safe to say that they were alone. Still, he checked before coming back to the Warden.
"Then how does he know?" Lord Stark asked, his voice calm. "Spies in the North?"
Tiresias shook his head absentmindedly.
"Then how?"
His eyes dropping to the desk. He recalled his first viewing of Stannis Baratheon, revealed under the burning pyres of the Seven, holding aloft a flaming sword…
"I have some idea," Tiresias muttered. He leaned back and sighed.
"How then?"
"I don't want to say just now. Not before I'm sure. Not before I sail to Dragonstone."
The Warden took a deep breath before speaking.
"Are you sure?"
Tiresias was unable to hold in a soft laugh. "No, but we need more dragonglass. And there's nowhere else in the world where we can get. Not that I know of. We need the trade. So I need to go."
"And what will you say to Lord Stannis? To revive our dragonglass trade?"
"It's not my first time speaking to an intimidating Lord of Westeros. I managed to leave the Westerlands whole bodied."
Lord Stark gazed at him. "Can Lord Tywin peer into the walls of Winterfell as Lord Stannis is seemingly able to? Read your name between the lines in my ravens?"
Humbled, Tiresias stared down at his hands, his intertwined fingers.
Pride…it'll get you killed, man. Watch it…
"Lord Stannis knows things he shouldn't," he began, speaking softly. Thinking out loud. "My name, my push for the dragonglass trade…but he doesn't know everything. However he gets his information, it's incomplete. He doesn't mention the Free Folk, the White Walkers, the Night King, the Army of the Dead…"
Anything east of Westeros either…three dragons bearing another Targaryen conqueror…
"Perhaps he does know," Lord Stark said, looking at the letter. "Not everything could be in this letter…once you're on his island, he could reveal the full breath of his knowledge. Every detail of our plan. And you'd be trapped."
"If it were anyone else but Lord Stannis…" Tiresias muttered. "My Lord, you met him a number of times. Is the man capable of such subterfuge?"
Lord Stark's mouth thinned as he considered it. A moment passed before he spoke.
"I would say no. Not from my experience. But you're the one who has seen the future. A future," he amended as Tiresias raised his eyebrows. "One that is no longer completely reliable to look towards. Nevertheless, you saw it. You saw him. Is he capable?"
Tiresias took his turn for a moment of silent consideration. The Warden watched him patiently.
"Lord Stannis is bad at lying." He suppressed a grim smile. "He's worse at it than you. And he's a stickler for rules, laws, justice. Brittle iron."
"Brittle iron?"
"Never mind. Forgive me." He leaned forward, placing his hands on the table. "You and I…we haven't broken any rules. Made any illegal trades. The dragonglass was paid for. Paid to the agreed amount on every transaction. Sure, we hoarded most of it, forged them into weapons and our trades were with the Free Folk, not the hill tribes…
"But the contract didn't stipulate our purpose for the dragonglass. Once payment was accepted and it entered Winterfell, Lord Stannis didn't have any say in what we did with it."
He laughed softly, in spite of himself. "Actually, we never even traded to the Free Folk. We sent the dragonglass to the Night's Watch. A renegade black brother passes it on north. Not us."
"Well said," Lord Stark replied evenly, a hint of a smile on his face. "Would you care to repeat that in front of Lord Stannis? Because that defense will not start our trade back up."
"No," said Tiresias, shaking his head. "Just saying that this summons…I don't see it as an accusation. He's not asking for my imprisonment. Only an explanation."
"And what explanation are you going to give him?" Lord Stark leaned forward as well. "If he's not fooled by the hill tribes story, if he knows that we have been less than forthcoming with our request, it will take something else than Sorcha's word to convince him to let the mining continue. We'll need something more."
Something more…Tiresias toiled the idea in his head, but only briefly. He had the idea in his head ever since he read the letter. It only just came to the surface of his mind, clear as day.
"We tell him the truth."
Whatever Lord Stark was expecting, it wasn't that.
"The truth?"
"Aye. Aye, the truth."
As Lord Stark continued to peer at him, Tiresias amended his statement.
"Some version of the truth, my Lord. Obviously not the whole truth. Not everything I said to you…but there has to be another way to present it. Something that Lord Stannis will accept. Maybe not believe entirely, but accept why we weren't so forthcoming previously."
The Warden leaned back into his chair, sighing. "I assume you have an idea."
Tiresias nodded. "I do. Are you all right working through the midday meal?"
Surprise lit up in Stark's eyes. He supposed the man hadn't even considered food at the moment, but he nodded.
"What do you have in mind?"
Tiresias sat on the courtyard bench, waiting for the Prince to return. Oberyn was out riding with his daughters. His soldiers who informed him of such didn't guarantee his timely return that evening. He thanked them nonetheless and proceeded to the courtyard, ignoring the sneering looks shot his way. The Dornish soldiers were considerably less wary of him ever since the spar with Oberyn.
And so he had sat for over an hour. He received some looks and a few inquiries from the passersby. Why he sat out in the cold for the Prince's return as opposed to inside…
He couldn't help but think back to the first time he came to Winterfell. This was the same spot where he waited for Lord Stark. Of course, things were different. He had a place in this castle now. He was welcome inside.
It was probably superstition, but the last time he waited outside in this spot to speak to someone, it yielded good results. He knew it was silly, but a part of him wanted to chance that it will happen again.
Not that he knew all this when he sat down in the first place. There was plenty of time to figure it out though. The afternoon was beginning to turn into evening.
Tiresias lifted his head and sniffed. It had chilled. The rain yesterday would turn into a light snowfall soon. Tonight or perhaps the next day. He wondered how the Dornish would react to it.
The sounds of approaching horses reached his ears, trotting quickly toward the western gate. He stood as the castle guards yelled for the courtyard occupants to clear. Tiresias relaxed his jaw and walked forward calmly as the Prince came through.
Here we go. Oh, fuck me.
Oberyn saw him immediately, regarding him coolly as he guided his steed to the stables. When Obara and Nymeria, along with all the guards that had come to a standstill, Tiresias proceeded to the Prince, stepping between the horses.
If there were any harsh feelings about the previous evening, Oberyn didn't let it show. Not too much at least. The Prince stroked his horse's neck as Tiresias came to a stop before him.
"Prince Oberyn."
"Tiresias Mountainfall," Oberyn responded, before snorting. "Forgive me, I forget you do not care for the name. Though I try and say it with some fondness, I assure you."
"S'all right." Tiresias took a deep breath. "You may call me that if you wish. You may ask me why I have that name."
"I know why you have that name," Oberyn said shortly.
"You may ask me anything about that duel," he continued on, undeterred. "How I won, why I volunteered, how much he suffered, how he screamed. Everything you'd would like to know, I'll answer as honestly and as fully as I can."
He spoke softly, as so only the Prince could hear. From his left, he heard Obara and Nymeria approach. He didn't look to them, but he knew they saw his father's face as he did, cool and calculating as he pondered the librarian.
"Father, what is it?" Nymeria asked.
"Go to your mother," Oberyn answered quickly, his eyes still on Tiresias. "I'll be along soon. Now."
Tiresias felt the curious and warning stares from them as they departed. But they were still in the vicinity of the Dornish guards. Oberyn nodded off to the side and Tiresias followed him as they walked off for privacy.
"Everything I ask, you'll answer?" he asked.
"To you only," Tiresias clarified. "No public announcements. No musicians. Not even your family. Just you and me."
Oberyn considered it. "What changed your mind?"
"I need something from you."
"Oh? And what would that be?"
"When you leave Winterfell, I wish to leave with you. When you set sail from White Harbor, you'll head directly to Dragonstone and drop me off."
Whatever Oberyn expected, it wasn't that. He actually started laughing. Tiresias waited patiently for him to stop before continuing.
"Lord Stark and I have business with Lord Stannis. I'm not asking you to meet the man. I just need to arrive at his island."
"And why do you want to stay with us the whole way? You could travel to White Harbor yourself. Pay cheap enough passage to Dragonstone."
"I need a guard down to White Harbor. The North isn't entirely safe for someone like me."
That caught the Prince's interest like nothing else before. Once he saw that Tiresias wasn't joking, his eyes narrowed.
"Why is the North not safe for the heroic librarian of Winterfell?" Oberyn had the decency to lower his voice for that question.
"I have my own scruples, Prince Oberyn. That's all I say on it."
"I thought you promised full and honest answers."
"Those scruples have nothing to do with Gregor Clegane."
Oberyn narrowed his dark eyes, peering to him.
"So why can't you simply request Lord Stark to provide you with a guard? They cheered quite loudly for you when you entered the ring. I'm sure they'd be glad to defend you."
Tiresias exhaled through his nose. "Because I have to seem that I'm not in danger. Pretend I feel safe. Prince Oberyn getting bored with Winterfell and leaving for more exciting adventures and you inviting me to tag along is a lot more believable with me traveling to White Harbor with a hundred Winterfell soldiers for no reason."
A freezing wind swept through the yard. Oberyn took a deep breath against it.
"And all this? All this and you'll finally speak to me of the Mountain's death?"
"Aye, that's right," Tiresias said immediately. The pressure tickled at his throat and he breathed deep, willing it away.
Not now…please not now.
Thankfully, it was brief. He swallowed as the pressure subsided and pressed on, well aware the Prince noticed.
"When we're aboard your ship, the first night at sea, Dragonstone bound…I'll speak of it. Weave you the full truth, a grand fucking tale."
A wagon of horseshit rolled past them out of the castle. He wrinkled his nose as did the Prince, but Oberyn's eyes remained steadily on him and after a long silence, a true smile formed on his face.
Seeing the agreement, Tiresias nodded. "When can we leave?"
"Tomorrow, if you can."
He stared at the Prince. "Tomorrow?"
"Yes, tomorrow," Oberyn shrugged. "I wish to hear the story I travelled so far to hear. So…is tomorrow too soon?"
Gritting his teeth, Tiresias shook his head. "I warned you, Prince Oberyn and I'll warn you again. You won't be satisfied. The truth often leaves people disappointed."
"You're a librarian. A man of letters, stories." Oberyn patted his shoulder. "I'm sure you'll tell it well."
With that, Oberyn walked off, headed for the warmth of the castle. Tiresias stayed out for a few more breaths of fresh chilled air, trying to plan his evening to the fullest effect. Whenever the South called, it seemed to draw him down in a hurry.
His coming departure from Winterfell was overshadowed by the sudden burst of activity from the Dornish. Their stewards bustled about. The soldiers dropped their usual lethargy as they prepared to ride the next morning. Oberyn truly didn't waste any time. He probably gave orders to leave as soon as he entered the castle.
The mood across Winterfell varied, but relief was present throughout. Even those who found the Dornish intriguing were eager to have their castle back. Tiresias felt the relief as he sought out Lord Stark. He wished he felt the same.
Given that he had cleared the possibility of leaving Winterfell with the Dornish beforehand, the Warden's only surprise was the swiftness of the event. Usually royals need a few days to depart. After confirming Tiresias' decision to leave, the Warden gave his blessing and wished him luck on the road to Dragonstone. And back as well.
Though he appreciated the luck, Tiresias felt a need to prepare himself for anything on the journey. He visited the smithy. Mikken barely looked at him before jerking his thumb to the back. Stepping between hurrying blacksmiths, he found Gendry sweeping the back. The lad paused, looking to him and then to his side, where his dagger rested.
Tiresias nodded and unsheathed it. "You guessed correctly."
Gendry remained quiet as he took the blade and ran it over the whetstone. Tiresias waited off to the side. It wasn't until the second pass that Gendry spoke.
"I've decided."
He looked to the boy. "Decided what?"
Pausing his work, he turned to the librarian. "I want to learn. How to read. And write. Fight too if I could."
In all the madness of the Dornish coming to Winterfell, Tiresias had forgotten about his offer to Gendry. The boy may have taken his time, but he would still honor it.
He nodded. "All right then."
Gendry stared at him. "That's it? All right then?"
"For now." Tiresias walked forward and leaned against the table, sighing. "I can't instruct you while I'm away, Gendry. You picked a nice time to say yes."
The boy looked down to the dagger, running it over the whetstone.
"But I'll honor my word," said Tiresias. "When I come back, I'll teach you how to read and write."
"Where're you going?"
Suddenly realizing the coincidence, he couldn't help a humorless smile.
"Dragonstone."
The connection wasn't lost on Gendry, who paused the knife. He eyed Tiresias for a second, before mirroring his humorless smile and returning to the whetstone.
"Off to see my uncle?"
He sighed. "Aye, though I wouldn't try and claim the relation. Man's got no soft spot for bastards. Or hardly anyone else in his family."
Gendry didn't say another word until he was done. With the dagger's sharpness returned, he handed it back to Tiresias, looking him in the eye.
"Not planning on fighting another giant when you're away?"
Tiresias shook his head. "Nah," he said before shrugging. "Perhaps a witch?"
That got a snort out of Gendry, before he stuck his hand out. Tiresias shook it.
"I'll be as safe as I can, Gendry," he said. "And when I come back, I'll give you the words."
The haste of the Dornish meant they didn't have time to feast. So dinner was quite casual that evening. He didn't dine with the Starks, but Lord Stark must have told his family of his departure. Tiresias was halfway through his mash when Jon came over.
"Hello Jon," he said, through a mouthful of potato.
"Father says you're leaving with the Dornish."
He looked to the lad. The concern in his voice colored his face as well. Tiresias swallowed before speaking.
"Aye, it was a hasty decision. But I have business in Dragonstone. And Prince Oberyn was headed that way and kind enough to offer me a sail."
"What business?"
Tiresias sipped his ale. "That's between your father and Lord Stannis. In the meantime, I expect you to keep up with your swordsmanship and your studies."
He glanced up to the head table before lowering his voice.
"You can tell Arya the same thing, aye?"
Jon didn't smile, still forlorn.
Tiresias sighed. "What is it, Jon? I leave Winterfell all the time and I often have very little warning when I do. You know this. You know what the highborn are like."
"You nearly died in the south," Jon muttered, before meeting his eye. Tiresias let the silence sit.
I nearly died in the North as well, Jon. And beyond it. Winterfell is the only safe place for me now. And soon…soon that won't be true.
"I nearly did," he admitted softly. "But I didn't."
He leaned forward. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't plan to duel any Cleganes when I travel down here. Just a quick sail down to Dragonstone and back. I'll be riding home from White Harbor in no time."
Clapping Jon on the shoulder, he finally got a reluctant smile from the lad. He finished his ale.
"So keep busy. I'll be back before you know it."
"Barring any tragedy?" Jon asked, half smiling.
Smirking, Tiresias nodded. "Aye, barring any tragedy. You just keep training. Give Robb and Theon a run for their money."
Jon's eyebrows furrowed. "A run for their wot?"
"Never mind. Just practice with them so I can have a proper challenge when I return. Which I guarantee will not be another ten months."
The lad shrugged. "Robb, sure…Theon…"
Tiresias glanced to him. "What about Theon?"
A blush colored Jon's face. He checked about before lowering his voice.
"Not too much time for us anymore…he's got a girl."
Tiresias tore up a piece of bread. "Been visiting the brothel more, aye?"
Jon shook his head. "Nah, she works in the castle."
As much as Tiresias tried to alter events in Westeros, as to benefit those he cared for, trying to curb Theon's promiscuity was not on his list of priorities. He tried to get the young Greyjoy from taking advantage of the Winterfell serving girls. Indirectly, of course. But ultimately, he knew Theon would probably break a few hearts in the North. Especially as he got older.
"Is he being careful?"
"About what?"
Tiresias raised his eyebrows. "Not being a father so soon after his own balls just dropped?"
The blush deepened. "I don't know. Didn't ask him." He took a piece of the bread for himself. More to have something to do than anything else. "Only been going on for a fortnight or so."
Sounds about right. I bet he would have moved on by the time I return from Dragonstone. I wonder if Lady Stark will have the girl sent away.
Tiresias washed down the bread. "Well, I'm sure Arya will always find time to spar in his stead. Speaking of whom..."
Arya had found her way down to them. She questioned him on his upcoming departure and was more annoyed than Jon when he refused to answer more about his doings on Dragonstone. Ultimately though, she wished him luck and told him to slay another giant. Laughing at the horror on Jon's face, he made no guarantees but promised to keep an eye out for them.
After saying goodbye to the rest of the children, he made his way through Winterfell back to his quarters. All the while sidestepping hurried and stressed servants and stewards. Both Northern and Dornish. Thankfully, by the time he reached his quarters, the outside corridor was quiet.
No fire was lit as he entered the room. Mal wasn't there yet. Knowing she'd want one, he raised a small flame. As he waited, he packed his rucksack. Having done it often enough, it was almost automatic. It was an easier departure than he was used to in most cases. He didn't have to concern himself for provisions or transport.
However, in other regards, this was a difficult parting. It was more obvious when Mal entered the room quietly, carrying her evening's work. They looked at each other briefly before she crossed to her trunk and organized her effects. As she placed her thimble away, she broke the silence.
"Well, you said you wanted to be wed before you left Winterfell again." Her voice was quiet. Not hurt. Almost amused. "You got your wish. I did too, I suppose."
"I didn't think it would be so soon," Tiresias muttered. "You said you needed a warning to deal with it...this isn't the warning I had in mind."
"How long are you going to be away?"
He calculated it quickly. "Ride to White Harbor, sail to Dragonstone, business there and back…three months, I'd say."
"Best be safe and add two months to that."
Tiresias went to the hearth, reaching for the logs. "All right, then. Five months."
"Does your business involve any duels?"
"No."
"Any other dangers?"
Tiresias hesitated, his eyes on the small fire. Finally he placed the log in gently.
"Maybe," he murmured as the fire came to a blaze. "There are some dangerous people I'm going to see. I'll have guest right, but…"
He sighed. "I'm confident that I'll make it back to Winterfell."
"But you won't guarantee it?"
Tiresias turned and faced her. She came to him, her brown eyes full of steel.
"No."
She nodded. "Good. That means you'll be careful."
The fire crackled as it consumed the new log. She came closer to him and he wrapped her in his arms, holding her. Her heart was quite easy.
"Three months is a long time," she murmured into his chest.
"Five months."
"I'm being optimistic." She looked up and pressed her mouth to his. They kissed before the fire. Her tongue running over his teeth.
Finally, she opened her eyes and pulled away, leading him to the bed.
"I want to smell you on this bed when you're gone," she said, unstrapping her boots as she sat down, dropping her shawl. "Feel your weight on me so I remember it when you come back. Aye?"
Tiresias pulled off his boots and settled on top of her. "Aye," he sighed before pressing into her.
They didn't talk anymore that evening. Which was fine. They had their understanding. He would leave Winterfell the next morning knowing that.
The ship creaked in the silence between them. Tiresias had no idea what time it was. They began their conversation after dinner. He came to the Prince's cabin. Oberyn was alone. Ellaria, Obara and Nymeria were elsewhere. There was no harpist. The wine flowed slowly. Tiresias ebbed back and forward with the waves as he spoke.
Now he was done. Throughout the evening, the Prince frequently interrupted his story and peppered him with questions, outside of the night duel in Deep Den. About his training in the Winterfell, his hunts in the Wolfswood, his journey from King's Landing to the Westerlands. Sometimes the tangents lasted for several minutes, but he kept talking until Oberyn seemed satisfied before moving back to the main story.
The pressure didn't come thankfully. His throat remained relaxed. In fact, he found it easier than he thought to recount the duel. All the details, every step. He didn't believe he would. The fight still left a bad taste in his mouth, but perhaps his brain just wouldn't let him forget. Maybe he would have had to justify it to himself one day; why he came out of that duel alive. Against Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, the Great Dog.
He still didn't like it, but he spoke. The answers escaped him in a dulled voice. He opened himself to the Prince. That was their agreement. As the conversation wore on, the Prince withdrew into himself. The questions didn't cease and his penchant for details didn't waver, but he sat more and more still as Tiresias droned on.
And now that he was done, the Prince sat on his bed, elbows on his knees, staring into a cup of wine that he hadn't drunk from for a while now. Tiresias leaned into the silence and waited. Leaning back and forth with the waves.
Finally, Oberyn brought the wine up and drank. He sighed after.
"You killed him far too quickly."
"Maybe for you," Tiresias countered softly. "I could have used one less broken arm over the following two months."
Oberyn sat up and swung his legs around, laying back upon the bed. He stared up at the cabin ceiling. Tiresias breathed a little easier. He had been keeping an eye on the Prince's movements the whole night. He seemed relaxed enough, but ever since that little stunt in Winterfell, he didn't trust Oberyn not to test his reflexes again.
For now though, the Prince seemed more interested in the rafters. Tiresias sipped his wine gingerly and sighed.
"I won that duel because I wasn't trying to make him suffer. I was just trying to win. Once he had me broken and by the throat…I only had a limited amount of time. So I took my opening."
"I almost wish you had been killed instead," Oberyn said softly.
"I'm sure you do," said Tiresias, matching his tone. Funny enough, he was not offended in the least. "So I leave him for you? With a crippled knee and a marred foot? For you to viciously poison in the future?"
"He deserved that death far more than the one you gave him."
Tiresias shrugged. "Don't know about that. The most fearsome knight in Westeros downed by a mere librarian? A twig of a man? His reputation's forever tarnished. He'll be a laughingstock in two generations."
"But you're not a mere librarian." Oberyn smiled. "You're now a mysterious warrior, one of the best in Westeros…"
"Not quite. You beat me."
The Prince smirked. "Yes, in front of hundreds of witnesses, I beat you… but you threw that mere librarian disguise out in the Westerlands. There were eyes there too…and now you can't hide anymore."
"I am a librarian first, Prince Oberyn. Is it hiding if I simply don't care about fighting for sport? If I keep my martial training private?"
He willed his pulse to slow. To sell the lie. When he spoke tonight of his agenda for travelling to the Westerlands, he told an elaborated version of what he told Tywin Lannister. Before he left Winterfell, he had even built up a list of subjects he would have inquired for at the Citadel.
Writing his elaborate story onto parchment, he committed it to memory before burning it. Mal watched him with knowing eyes as he tossed it into the hearth.
It took him a second to forget Mal's brown eyes and come back to the ship. Prince Oberyn was looking at him, trying to see him. Tiresias met his gaze as patiently as he could. He still had a long voyage ahead of him. It was better to play along.
"You annoyed me greatly that night in Winterfell," Oberyn murmured.
"You annoyed me." Tiresias took a sip. "Attacked me as well."
The Prince ignored that. "You resisted telling me for so long. Risked my anger…and you told me anyway. All for an escort and a cheap voyage. Why?"
Because during the feast when you tried to goad me into telling it, I felt his phantom hands on my throat? Because I was so scared during that duel, it hurts to think about it? Because I saw Layna after she was raped when her eyes looked like dulled glass and I never want her suffering to be a story of glory for myself?
He shrugged. "Because I didn't want to speak of it. Because I didn't need anything from you before. A raven came and I needed a speedy sail. Guarded passage out of the North. So I told it."
Silence reigned in the cabin. Oberyn held out his empty cup. Seeing the silent ask or command, Tiresias picked up the pitcher and poured.
"What are you seeking on Dragonstone, Tiresias?" Oberyn asked quietly.
His hand didn't twitch and he finished pouring evenly. "Business that I've stirred up with my activities in the south…and tomes, Prince Oberyn. I'm still a librarian after all."
A scoff escaped him as he leaned back. "I know. Not a mere librarian anymore, unfortunately. But me being quick with a dagger doesn't change everything. Still have a duty to House Stark."
"There are tomes of the Old Tongue on Dragonstone?" Oberyn asked, disbelievingly. "The Western Freehold of Valyria? What's in these tomes?"
Tiresias shrugged. "Don't know. Nobody on Dragonstone reads the Old Tongue. They couldn't tell me. Course if you want, you're more than welcome to come ashore with me to the castle. I'm sure Lord Stannis would be overjoyed to host you."
Oberyn snorted as he sat up, settling again with his elbows propped on his knees.
"You travel all the way down to Dragonstone? For tomes? Of unknown content?"
"You traveled all the way up to Winterfell to see me. To hear a disappointing story." Tiresias took another sip and dove in. "To hear the loss of any opportunity to avenge your sister and her children."
The light drained from the Prince's eyes. Tiresias didn't tense though. He wasn't going to attack. He saw it in his knees.
Besides he knew his last statement was a lie. Gregor Clegane wasn't the only one the Martells had their eyes set on.
And sure enough, Oberyn didn't spring to the bait. The light returned to his eyes as he smirked.
"We'll see," he murmured before drinking. He lowered his cup with a sigh. "We'll see…"
His eyes turned to the candle before them. Without blinking, without steeling himself, he brought his hand to the flame, running his fingers through the fire.
Tiresias watched his eyes. They didn't flinch, but he still smelled a slight searing of flesh as Oberyn brought his fingers back. The Prince felt it, but he only shook his fingers lightly.
"That's a neat trick."
"It's no trick," Oberyn muttered, his eyes still on the flame.
"Sure it is," he said, a story coming back to him, almost forgotten. A man finding a home in the desert. "The trick is not minding that it hurts."
That gained a smile from the Prince as he turned to him. "Do you mind?"
His eyes flickered between Oberyn's gaze and the candle. "I don't go seeking pain."
"You exposed yourself to the Northern cold in the yard and I followed your example. Now follow mine."
"Is that an order, Prince Oberyn?"
"Something far worse. A dare."
The following staring contest lasted a full half minute. But in the end, Tiresias turned to the candle and brought his hand up.
"Don't just fling it through," Oberyn ordered softly.
He wasn't going to. He was far too curious…
His finger barely touched the edge of the flame before he brought it back hissing. Placing his finger in his mouth, he sucked it as Prince Oberyn looked on.
Finally, he extracted his finger, curling up his fist. "It appears I'm more built for the cold than the heat."
"I suppose so," the Prince muttered before shrugging. "I was going to offer you to come to Dorne. To even stay permanently. I'm sure Sunspear would have benefitted from such a scholar as you…but you seem to belong in the North. With those pale, cold people. You would not be at home in Dorne…though I hope you still come and visit us one day."
Tiresias stood. "I'll consider it. Do you wish to know anything more, Prince Oberyn? Or may I retire?"
Oberyn let him stand for a few seconds, before waving him away. "I'm sure I'll have more questions for you…but not tonight."
Nodding quickly, Tiresias exited the cabin before Oberyn changed his mind. He walked briskly to his cabin, propping himself through the corridor with both hands as the sea rocked the ship back and forth.
Entering his cabin, he sat down on the bed, his heart racing. The whole evening was stressful, but the last bit with the candle…
He opened his right hand and looked to his finger. It was unmarred. He came too close not to have felt any pain either. Any discomfort. He pulled away before it was too late. He didn't quite touch the flame…but he still should have felt something…
Pushing the idea out of his mind, he pulled off his boots and laid on his bed. That experiment…should he ever try it…was far more dangerous than walking shirtless under an evening snow. It was for a more desperate time.
And right now, he was not that desperate. Not yet.
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