Chapter 2: Spark of Exile

(274 A.L.)

"If I didn't know better, Ser Gilas, I would say you're rather enjoying this." Oberyn said as he rubbed the side of his arm where the wooden broomtail had hit him. Another blow came his way but this time he deflected the strike and stepped out of the way of another quickly coming in succession. Ser Gilas Dalt was a burly man, eight and thirty, a salty Dornishman with olive skin and dark hair always clad in steel armor with a domed forehead and full lips that he had yet to turn into anything resembling a proper facial expression. Only a few hints of a frown or a grimace at times. The man struck at him again, Oberyn blocked but another followed too close and it hit him straight onto his shoulder. The second son of Dorne grunted in pain and he took a step back to speak before he was bludgeoned on again. "Is that a smile I see?" The man hadn't smiled since they left Oldtown and he wasn't doing it now either. Oberyn had the impression that the muscles in his face were simply paralyzed. Perhaps they could be fixed once they reached Lys.

The journey was in its last few days. That was good news as their supplies were growing meager and routine never settled well with him. He had a tendency of quickly growing bored and the constant rocking of the ship with little but the vast waters of the Summer Sea on either side. Even now, they were practicing sword fight on top of the deck with two tails of broken old brooms as they had no such thing as blunt blades on board. The crew of the Feathered Kiss sometimes stopped to look, but even they had grown tired of watching after a while. Ser Gilas, however, was very intent on their training and would not let a day pass where the young Martell wouldn't practice. The large Dornishman swung toward Oberyn's head, but he ducked and succeeded a hit on Ser Gilas' forearm to stop a second attack. "You're quick, I'll give you that." said the older man.

"Speed defeats strength." Oberyn replied, attempting another blow at his opponent's side. It landed, but Gilas countered it quickly with another hit.

"Rats are quick too, that does not make them dangerous opponets."

"But vipers do." his answer came in quickly with a smug smirk. If the reputation was already starting to build, he might as well milk it for all it was worth. The clash of wooden sticks sounded hard even throughout the chatter of sailors and sounds of the waves crashing against the ship's hull. Oberyn made another quick strike toward Gilas' thigh but he was caught on the wrong side and saw a swift blow aiming for his head. He changed his grip on the broomtail to block and then stabbed the dull wooden end into the knight's stomach. The older man grunted and took a step back.

"You would've cut off your fingers by now were it a sword. You're holding the blade like an old man's staff." the man scolded as he rubbed at the forming soreness on his stomach.

"Like a spear." Any more replies stopped as a shout from the crow's nest had all of them looking east to an approaching ship. The crew stopped, tensing at the sight, waiting for its sails to come into their view. There were dangers lurking about among the vast seas, pirates, slavers, pillagers and even daring ships of the Iron Islands travelling this far in their thirst for plunder.

"The Black Betha! Prepare the gangplank!" Ila shouted from above at the helm. The men sat at ease upon her words and went about their business instead of reaching for weapons as he had expected. Oberyn looked over the edge but could not recognize the sails of the approaching ship. He tossed the broomtail to Gilas, ending their training for the day and waiting until the two galleys approached each other. When they did, a connecting plank was set down and a man stepped across it to meet Ila on the other end. His eyes and hair were brown alike, neither particularly strong of build nor comely of face, but he had an amicable look as he stepped toward the Summer Islander like an old friend. For a while, Oberyn could not hear what they were speaking, but eventually strode forward with quiet indignance in his step.

"… silks and Dornish wine. Lys can never have too much of either." Ila was saying to the man. "Tell me news of the Free Cities."

"The Dothraki pillage inland. Ships from Slaver's Bay stalk the waters more oft now than I have ever seen." said the ship's captain with a frown forming in between his brows. "Best to keep out of their range. Where are you headed?"

"Lys."

A frown showed over his features. "War is still being fought over the Disputed Lands."

"I should think so. Otherwise they would've been very poorly named." Oberyn interjected as his steps carried him across the wooden deck toward the two captains. Ila looked at him over her shoulder as if she wished he had not spoken, but she didn't dare voice out her protest to his interfering remark. No matter what happened between the sheets of her quarters, he was still a prince and she was merely a galley's captain. With bruises and dirty clothes, Oberyn looked very little the part of a lord, but a flicker of recognition sparked in the other man's eyes.

"My lord." he said respectfully and bowed his head little.

"You recognize me?"

"I do, my lord. I was in Sunspear on your brother's twenty-third nameday. He's a cautious man, your brother. Wise and careful. He will make a good lord over Dorne one day. I saw you and your sister Elia as well."

"A better sight, I'm sure."

Ila saw the hint of humility on the smuggler's face so she took up the reply for him. "Lord Oberyn, this is Davos Seaworth, captain of the Black Betha." A trading galley captain was the title most took for themselves so they could remain inside the King's law, but he knew a smuggler when he saw one and the sight of his ship.

The Dornish man nodded, but Davos spoke next. "I heard of your exile, my lord. If I may warn, Lys is dangerous place to start. Men disappear and most oft are not found but dead in the gutters of brothels or tossed into the sea. Pentos might be safer."

"I can handle pleasure houses and perfumed merchants. I have had my share of both."

"With all respect, my lord, these are not the Westerosi whores you might've known nor the honor bound men to the realm. They can be vicious and cutthroat faster than a man can imagine."

"So are the Dornish." Since the Rhoynish set roots in Dorne, they were set apart from the rest of Westeros, their culture, traditions and people all different from the sun in their skin and the warmth in their veins. Their tempers were hotter and their lusts burned brighter.

The gangplank was retracted and the Black Betha sailed toward Oldtwon while the Feathered Kiss travelled its last days to the rocky cliffs of Lys. There were the last few training sessions with Gilas in the morning, lessons in High Valyrian with Maester Lutor during midday, an old Pentosi man who had been sent with him for the sake of teaching the young prince the dialects of the Free Cities, and nights within the captain's quarters. He ended the day full of bruises and then Ila left him more pleasurably sore come morning.

The sun was up when they reached Lys, its port by far smaller than Oldtown's but equally full of ships trading wine and fabrics and goods from the Western lands. He could see the colored beards and hair of the Free Cities, red and purple, green and blue, jewels on their fingers or pierced through their faces, long cooling silk robes and weapons embed with gold. The Lyseni were easy to distinguish with their bright blue eyes, smooth fair skin and pale blond hair that most of them kept curled. Oberyn stood in stark contrast to them all with his dark complexion, black eyes and short dark hair.

He stepped off the Feathered Kiss with Ser Gilas, Maester Lutor, Ila and a few of her crew already scattering about the docks and markets in search to trade their goods. There were stands everywhere, colored bottles of various liquids, odd types of fishes that he could not name, live snakes and lizards for sell to eat or to use in mummers play, spices of all colors and tastes, perfumes that could make a man's eyes water or set fire to his senses, wine and tapestries and many others. Behind them all stood solid buildings painted in orange, yellow, blue or, most of them, red. Their roofs were either slanted or curved to stave off the rain when it fell, the windows tall and narrow so the sun could slip in, full of small balconies with one or more scantily clad women gesturing or calling out to eager men on the streets below.

"Careful with your coin here." Ila said. "Once you run out of gold, there are other things that are free you can get without wishing for them. Tears of Lys slipped into your drink will lead to a short, painful passing when there's nothing else you offer."

"Losing his coin won't be a problem as much as giving it away." Gilas replied and looked at the brothels.

"Careful with your words, Ser Gilas. I may be exiled but I'm still your lord. If you insist on being dull and reproachful, you must be courteous about it. It might challenge your wit at least a little." The Red Viper set his eyes on a few choice bottles displayed on one of the stands, the man standing behind it speaking in Valyrian and likely praising their content. He watched the swirling red liquid inside before he heard a commotion in the crowd.

"We guard the way!" A man charged him with a shout, no time for reply before he pushed the Dornishman into a stand of crates, falling into a mess of wooden edges and heavy weights falling on him. He could feel some of them hitting already made bruises on his body as his back flattened against the ground and heard shouting around him.

"Get these things off me!" A mess of wooden crates piled up on him and he pushed them off himself with an angry force, looking for his attacker. "I'll carve his fucking eyes out!"

"My lord, don't move!"

Oberyn looked up from his place on the ground and saw a pair of yellow, unmoving eyes staring at him. Dark, quiet sternness in the black slits within its orbs and testing quick in every flicker of its forked tongue. The snake stared at him, coiled and waiting. He saw its head move and every muscle in its long body tense, curled and ready. The sun shone bright on its red scales, burning like scalding iron bright with flame. His hand moved slowly toward the dagger at his hilt but it didn't go unnoticed. The snake shifted and Oberyn paused, both looking for a movement that would end either of their lives.

Gilas kicked up dirt and moved abruptly, drawing the snake's attention away, sword ready to move should it decide to attack. A split of a moment was all that was needed, one of them turning their eyes away. The dagger buried through the snakes head and into the ground below, its tail coiling, flicking and snapping in its last moments of life as it realized it had lost its fight. Oberyn twisted the knife and got another quiet hiss before his attacker fell dead. The Red Viper stood up menacingly with the snake hanging on the tip of his dagger. "Where is he?!"

"He escaped, my lord. We will find him, I assure you."

When he looked toward Gilas, he saw he was no longer standing but kneeling on the dirty ground, his arm cradling the head of an unmoving body. Ila laid on the ground, eyes absent and gasping for breath. "The bottle you held, my lord. After you were attacked, it dropped next to her and released red smoke. She fell within seconds."

Oberyn looked at the alchemist staring wide-eyed from his stand, grabbing the man by the collar and pointing the dead snake to his face, a bloodied tip of a dagger an inch from his face. "Maester Lutor, ask this man what was in that bottle and how do we cure it." The old maester did as he was bid and the alchemist replied in panic, waving his hands.

"He says it's Red Taint and most men use it for rituals to paralyze their slaves. He doesn't know how to cure it." The man was speaking frantically.

Oberyn frowned and shoved the tip of his dagger into the man's neck just enough to draw blood. "Ask him again and make sure to mention I will shove the dead snake down his throat and the blade that comes with it." It was did as bid and he could see the alchemist struggling in sheer panic.

"He says he does not know. He only sells the poison to warlocks."

"Fine. It seems we have a warlock to find." The Red Viper shoved the man to the ground and tossed the dead snake to him, placing his dagger back in its hilt. "Get her back to her ship. We won't be sailing anytime soon." The crowd around them was ignored as Gilas hoisted the Summer Islander captain in his arms and carried her down the docks back to the Feathered Kiss.

"It seems your enemies are ahead. Have you heard his shout, my lord?" Maester Lutor asked and Oberyn nodded quietly, still tense with rage. "We guard the way."

"Yronwood words."