Tyrion
By the time they reached Rhaenys' Hill, the sky was purple to the west and black to the east, and the stars were coming out.
Even this far to the south he could feel the bite of the late autumn air in the dusk. He had been trussed up like a goose wrapped in a large fur cloak to keep away the cold.
King's Landing closed its gates at dark in times of the war, and the guardsmen on its northern gate were grumbling impatiently at the stragglers. They joined the queue behind a wagon laden with limes and oranges. The guards motioned the wagon through with their torches but took a look at Prince Oberyn Martell on his warhorse and Tyrion and allowed them to leave without any questioning.
The guards waved them on. They were moving again, through the gate and beneath the city's massive walls. "Can I ask you where we are going, or are you determined to lead me astray to my head?"
Prince Oberyn chuckled. "If I wanted you dead, dwarf, I could kill you right in the throne room. No one in King's Landing is like to miss you, little that you are, least of all the King. It would in fact please him to know it that you are shortened by your ugly head so that he could rid your father's heir."
"That was harsh." Tyrion said looking at the Martell prince. "It was just what I wanted to hear right now. I suppose proper interaction with people is not really your strong suit, is it, Prince?"
"Just with you, imp," Prince Oberyn laughed. "You are caught in a ring of fire, Tyrion and there is no easy escape out if it. It makes for a funny dance."
"Oh, it does," Tyrion said. "Maybe I should join a mummer's troupe and entertain people on how to climb out of the flames."
"It shall be funny to see if you managed to make it out of it alive."
"I have managed to get out of dire situations many times before, Prince Oberyn," Tyrion said.
"None of those would have had your father on one side and Rhaegar Targaryen on the other."
That was true however, Tyrion could see that plainly. For now Rhaegar Targaryen had largely ignored him despite his father's presence in the rebellion. Tyrion did not know for how long though.
"I see you plain enough for where you are, Imp." Something dark had crept into the prince's tone. "I have never had any lack for trouble... but to be here whe your father is in league with Andrew Stark? Did he send you to die here?"
No, he sent me to attend a marriage. A marriage that could never happen anymore. Word of Prince Aegon's death spread around King's Landing like wildfire. For the past week the bells of Sept of Baelor rang all night in lamentations for the fallen prince. Tyrion was largely grateful that Aegon Targaryen had not lost his life in the hands of a Westerman under his father's command. No doubt King Rhaegar would have sought to pay back in kind by ridding Tyrion of his head and to no end. Lord Tywin would rather be more relieved than anything should that happen. He might even thank Rhaegar for it.
They rode past guildhalls, markets, and bathhouses as people were lighting lanterns and torches to hold the dark at bay.
As their horses plodded further down along the road, the shops grew smaller and meaner. And then there was the smell at Fleabottom. It hung in the cold, evening air, rich, rank, pervasive. There's salt in it, and flowers, and some piss as well. Something sweet and something earthy and something dead and rotten.
"The city smells worse now than it did earlier," Tyrion announced.
"You can thank these slavers for that," Prince Oberyn said as they passed a group of unsullied spearmen marching with their shields and spears and their spiked pointy hats.
"You would know more of that than I do," Tyrion said. "They are your allies after all."
"Are they, imp? Do you want me to tell Rhaegar that you are not one of us and you are working against us.
Isn't that the truth? Tyrion had done a lot which would have him branded as a traitor should they be revealed. He had even sent Bronn into the grandmaester's chambers to steal a raven and send a letter to Riverun announcing the impending threat that was sailing their way from King's Landing. He wondered if they had gotten the bird or if it had been lost.
Tyrion scowled. He should give his tongue a rest. Someday it's going to lead him to his ruin. "That was not a fine jape, Prince Oberyn," he said.
"It was fine for me," Prince Oberyn said.
Tyrion swallowed the retort that almost came to his mouth. Despite spending time with the Martell prince Tyrion still couldn't figure out what he was up to. There was a certain sense of wickedness in his black eyes that Tyrion disliked. He did not want to push around and play with the viper hoping that it wouldn't strike. That much he'd learned on his time with Oberyn Martell. In the southern part of Fleabottom, some of the slavers and their armies had made their camps. Most of the buildings around them were abandoned and Tyrion saw less of the people of King's Landing. The slavers had chased the poor fellows and naked and dirty children away, he thought then. But he still had to admit the wise and great masters had made good of Fleabottom for their camp. There was no stench here and they had their slaves cleaning everything so that Tyrion felt like he was not in Fleabottom anymore. A few of the inns were still open as they passed through the camp, where the freeriders and mercenaries of the merchant princes of the Free cities filled up most of the benches, men from Tyrosh who had their beards and hairs dyed in several colors, flamboyantly dressed Lysene sailors, olive skinned Myrmen and tattooed Volantenes all drinking tankards of ale and wine. Lanterns swung from iron stanchions along the street, swaying when the wind blew. The streets grew broader, as the camp widened around them. The slave masters' tents were marked by the colorful canvas and the slaves surrounding them. Some of the city's people were gathered beneath great dome of colored glass where some septons giving out bread and a bowl of stew. In the gathering dusk, with fires lit beneath them, the dome of the Sept of Baelor glowed blue and red and green and violet in the distance.
Even so, there was something in the air that made Tyrion uneasy. Being around these Essosi unnerved him and rightfully so. He was a Lannister in the den of the dragon surrounded by enemies and Lannisters were fighting for the rebels. The wharves teemed with sailors, soldiers, slaves, and traders, and the wineshops, inns, and brothels all catered to them. He felt like a stranger here and no doubt that he was not wanted here, the dwarf realized.
The first time they passed an elephant, Tyrion could not help but stare. The great grey beasts had finally come down from Lys and other ports in great cogs and whalers. There had been an elephant in the menagerie at Lannisport when he had been a boy, but she had died when he was seven ... and this great grey behemoths of war looked to be twice her size. Some of them were grazing on the grasses the slaves had brought them and others had wooden castles strapped to their huge backs.
By then their ride had slowed to a crawl. The street which ran through the camp was thick with traffic. Tyrion followed Prince Oberyn close, not wanting to stray farther away from the one man who might be his protector here. Most of the slavers had brought their own slaves along with them and here around their tents Tyrion could see a lot of them, some wearing different tattoos, some with collars and chains made of gold. So many slaves, Tyrion thought, wondering if Westeros would turn like this as well. The thought sent a chill down his spine.
"We are near, dwarf," Prince Oberyn said as they moved further.
They stopped at three blocks later as the street opened up before them into a square with a big inn at the centre. The square before them was packed almost solid. "Make way," Prince Oberyn growled as he pushed through the crowd.
"Who are you going to see here?" Tyrion asked as they made their way towards the inn.
"A friend," Oberyn said as he climbed up the stairs.
They came upon the door. Prince Oberyn hammered on the door until a boy opened the door. The prince slipped a silver coin and went past his inside. The boy eyed Tyrion curiously as Tyrion waddled past him.
The rest of the way they went by foot, Tyrion struggled to keep up with the Martell prince's long, fast strides. The oldest, richest part of the Fleabottom was to the east where the merchants had their inn and taverns and winesinks which were always crowded with sellswords, barbarians, and other uncouth outlanders.
Their destination proved to be the biggest and oldest looking inn of them all, a four-story monstrosity that squatted amongst the warehouses, brothels, and taverns of the waterside. Its common room was larger than most inns around it, a dim-lit place with a dozen long tables, whose blackened beams and cracked ceilings echoed to the din of sailors, traders, captains, sellswords, shippers, and slavers, lying, cursing, and cheating each other in half a hundred different tongues.
This was the biggest inn availabile for the Essosi, for them to do a lot of businesses in the cavernous vault of a common room. He just didn't know what business Prince Oberyn had with them and why he brought him alone here.
The rooms upstairs proved rather less than grand, however, particularly the cheap ones up on the fourth floor. Wedged into a corner of the building beneath a sloping roof, the bedchamber Prince Oberyn had engaged featured a low ceiling, a sagging feather bed with an unpleasant odor, and a slanting wood-plank floor and a couple of wooden chairs. At least the room has some walls. It had windows too; those were its chief amenity. Prince Oberyn lightened a tallow candle before turning to Tyrion.
"Wait here?" Oberyn said.
"You want me to wait here all alone?" the dwarf protested, lifting his hands and showing the immense folly of such an action. "You might as well throw me out the window instead of doing that?"
"Don't tempt me, imp," Prince Oberyn said. "You have no lack for enemies in King's Landing. But no one here cares about your ugly head enough to waste time ridding your shoulders off it. Now listen to me and stay here."
"That's just what I wanted to hear. I'll wait here."
"I know you will." Yet when Oberyn Martell left, he locked the door behind. Once he left Tyrion looked around why he was even here. He had only come out with Oberyn Martell because the Red Keep seemed so unfriendly, but if had known they were going to stroll here he would have risked staying back at King's Landing.
The room was stifling, so Tyrion opened the shutters to let in a cross breeze. Cramped into a corner of the building under the eaves, the chamber was fortunate in having two windows. One of the windoww opened on the square below. Tyrion stood on the tips of his toes and leaned over the sill to see out the window by leaning sideways. From here a fall would kill a person like a ripe melon would burst upon crashing down.
Even as the moon and stars came out the square was crowded, with sailors roistering, sellswords brawling, whores prowling for custom, and merchants going about their business. Tyrion could hear a woman singing. The words were the common tongue of Westeros, the tune was soft and sad. If I knew what she was singing, I might cry.
Prince Oberyn returned shortly, carrying two tankards and a roasted duck. Behind him came a man shrouded in a cowl, with dark hair and black eyes and shiny olive skin like that of Prince Oberyn. The stranger closed the door shut behind him and removed his hood and looked at Tyrion doubting.
"Don't worry about the dwarf," Oberyn said. "He is half deaf and half mute. Aren't you, imp?"
Until he knew who this man was and what he was doing it was safe to play just that. Tyrion nodded. Prince Oberyn cut the duck into equal portions and gave one of them to Tyrion. Tyrion snatched it from the air and tore into it happily with his teeth. When Tyrion reached for the tankard of ale Prince Oberyn took it away from him.
"I would rather have us keep off the drink for now," He said keeping the tankard aside.
Prince Oberyn claimed a chair in the corner of the room whilst the stranger sat down on the one beside the door. The man looked at Tyrion as he ate the duck like a man half-starved disapprovingly before turning to Oberyn Martell. "I hope for your sake the dwarf is what you say he is, Prince Oberyn," the man said in the thick Myrish accent.
Tyrion looked at him alarmed. Myr had declared for Rhaegar Targaryen when the King had sent his Hand to them. That had not come as a surprise for Tyrion. He had not forgotten the bloodbath that had ensued in the Free City after the death of Eddard Stark. The influence of the King in the North had extended beyond the narrow sea to the free cities after he won independence from the Iron Throne. In the years that followed King Rhaegar contended with his brother by law to the control of the cities and kingdoms in the east. Amongst those which came to form good relations with the North were the Free Cities of Braavos and Myr, the most advanced of all the Free Cities.
The influence of the King in the North and his Queen ran so deep in Myr that magister Jachos Baqq, a close ally of Ashara Dayne, ruled Myr as the head of the conclave of magisters with Eddard Stark's support. When the Volanteens along with the slaver cities declared war on Myr, Magister Baqq sent word to the North and King Eddard personally led a force of ten thousand warriors with his childhood friend Robert Baratheon when and defeated them in the shores of the Sea of Myrth. Baqq had ruled Myr wisely so long as King Eddard had kept him safe in his seat. When the King in the North died at Starfall, Myr was the first to feel Rhaegar Targaryen's retribution. The entire conclave under magister Jachos was put to death infront of their families and all the citizens of Myr. Their heads were impaled on spikes and planted in the beaches where King Eddard had once defeated the eastern alliance which threatened Myr. Poor magister Jachos was caught by the slaves and supporters of Liomund Trombo and was torn to pieces after being named as a traitor to Myr. That very day Trombo and his conclave supported by the Dragon sat in the administration of Myr.
This one must have come with Trombo as well. What business he might have with prince Oberyn Tyrion did not know.
Tyrion glanced at the man warily: tall and stooped, with a pointed beard. A gust of sound through the window from outside; the cries of gulls, a woman's laughter, the voices of the fishmongers. Prince Oberyn stood up and shut the windows close and returned back to his seat.
Tyrion shrugged. "You didn't have to worry about the wind blowing anyone in. At least not one this far high."
"Keep quiet, imp," he said. "Listen if you want but don't dare open your mouth." Oberyn Martell looked like he wanted to backhand Tyrion across his mouth so the dwarf kept his mouth shut. He was intrigued to know what was the matter of this private meeting was.
"Last night the talk here was all of war," the Myrman told Prince Oberyn. "Some are emboldened by the death of Prince Aegon and his dragon. Others are just as feared as the others are emboldened. Without a skilled leader like the Prince of Dragonstone, the fate of Westeros has now fallen more on the shoulders of the men from the east. Half the captains in the port are willing to sail men up to the Riverlands or to the mouth of Oldtown ready to join the fight and find some lands for them in the end."
Tyrion swallowed another bite of the duck and he almost choked on it. Is he mocking me? Was Rhaegar planning to settle these cutthroats and sellswords here when he was done? Tyrion could hardly think of Westeros in any manner that might resemble something like that.
Unless ... These are all falso hopes he's feeding his allies. It would not be the first time he'd be going against his words. No doubt the Lords of Westeros wouldn't be so eager as to have such scum as their neighbours. And those Lords were fighting under the dragon banner even now, though not as numerous as these essosi.
Tyrion reached for his tankard while Prince Oberyn was not looking and took a slow swallow, to help conceal whatever might be showing on his face. It had to be a stratagem, designed to take out the best part of his enemies. Get these men fight in his war with this false pretext of promises and oaths. If they won they would have defeated Rhaegar's foe for a cruel price and the King of the Seven Kingdoms can dictate the loot of the bloodied and battered forces. If they lose he could continue his war on Andrew Stark without worrying to settle his debts for the essosi. Was that Rhaegar's plan? It might work.
"And how many ships do you speak of?" Oberyn Martell said. "I didn't see much of them on my way here. At least not as much as I saw the last time I came here."
That prompted Tyrion Lannister to think about the ride down here again. He had not paid attention to the docks and the ships mooring in the port but now that he thought about it the camps outside the walls of the city was considerably smaller and one of them had been abandoned by half.
"Haven't you heard?" the Myrman said in disbelief. "Admiral Rycolio's fleet took Youzan's army of unsullied to the sea with all their weapons and provisions a fortnight ago."
That was something new for Tyrion. He had not heard that from anyone. Even Bronn had not brought word of that one.
"I didn't know another army set sail from King's Landing once again." From the way Prince Oberyn said it it was clear that he had not known that as well.
"I thought you might have heard about it, my prince," the Myrman said. "I would have come to you with that word sooner if I had known that. There are too many eyes following my steps now. Even in my conclave and my past friends there are only a few men that I trust. Any doubt of suspicion and I will lose my head for being an associate of magister Baqq in the past."
Magister Baqq? An associate of Baqq, he says. But weren't all of Baqq's supporters murdered in the coup? And here he is selling the secrets of the army's movements to Prince Oberyn who was the brother of the King's first wife, a news that even Oberyn Martell was not privy to. He's giving away the secrets he is not supposed to sell. That's why there is need for the secrecy. That's why he fears they will hack his head off. Yet Prince Oberyn and his dornish has been serving Rhaegar from the start.
Oh, it was all too much. Plots within plots. Somewhere above the gods must surely be laughing at these games men play for what they were worth.
It must have been too much for Prince Oberyn as well. He took the empty tankards and filled them with ale. Dust motes floated in the air as he took the tankards and handed one to the stranger and then took one for himself. He looked at Tyrion for a moment then allowed him to have his share as well. Tyrion's throat was dry from the duck, and so he took a healthy gulp. He rolled the ale round his mouth and swallowed happily. "All the greedy bastards are sailing somewhere, or so I have heard. And all those captains are falling over one another to take them there and leach a little gold from where they can get. Where are these new ones sailing after? Riverun? Winterfell? Storm's End?"
The Myrman gave a queer look. "Neither Winterfell nor Riverrun. Not to Storm's End for the matter as well." He paused for a moment. "They are sailing south, further south than Storm's End."
Farther south than Storm's End. There was nothing south of Storm's End that is worth taking in this war against Andrew Stark. Unless Rhaegar sent another fleet for the Hightowers to make mince meat of.
"What's there in the south that Rhaegar would want so badly that he sent a whole army after it?"
The Myrman looked at their faces for a moment before saying, "Starfall."
One word. Tyrion Lannister's world turned upside down.
One word. Starfall. Or had he misheard? They are going to Starfall. The place where it all started. If what this man says is true then it was a certain doom for the Daynes of Starfall. Andrew Stark would be forced to see the rest of his family killed before his eyes as well. And when Starfall falls once again half the rebels will lose their will to fight when the fires in their hearts burn out like it had guttered out ten years ago.
"How many men?" Tyrion asked when no one dared to say anything.
"Ten thousand, maybe. The noble triarchs have pledged a dozen warships to the cause, to see the fleet safely as far as the port. Even the slavers are accompanying their slave soldiers. Such a glorious adventure, they were heard to say in their tongue."
Prince Oberyn pressed his fingers to his temple, thinking hardly. "A fortnight ago," he said. "They must have gotten near the Torrentine by now if the winds were as good as it was today." He stood up and the Myrish informer after him. They embraced each other tightly. "Thank you, my friend," Prince Oberyn said when they moved away. "For all that you have done. Stay safe. I will come upon you once it's safe to do so again."
"You too," the Myrman said.
"Come on, imp," Prince Oberyn called Tyrion.
They were the first ones to leave the room. The common room of the inn was crowded a lot more now than it had been when they arrived. Servant girls scurried through light and shadow, bearing flagons of ale and wine and some iced beer. Every single table was occupied at this hour of the night.
When they exited through the front door from where they had entered Tyrion was the first one to speak. "So are you going to give him up to Rhaegar?" he asked Oberyn.
Prince Oberyn guffawed at that before turning his dark eyes at Tyrion. "Did you really think that I was going to betray Horatio for Rhaegar? I thought you were wiser than that, Lannister. I have my own businesses to take care of."
"And what business is that, I wonder? Not your friendship with the Myrman, not any gold as well."
Oberyn Martell's mouth hardened. "It's not just the Lannisters who always pays their debts, imp," he said. "I know what you are upto as well. I know your man stole a raven from the rookery and where you sent it."
Tyrion's heartbeat quickened. Bronn had said he had been careful when he sneaked in to maester's chambers and had swore on the gold that Tyrion had provided him that no man had seen him make out with the bird.
"How?... " Tyrion asked. He had a dozen questions that he wanted to ask but could voice none. "If you knew I was spying on the King why did you bring me here?"
"I never brought you here, remember," Prince Oberyn said, grinning. "And you heard nothing."
Aye, I heard nothing...