AN: Greetings and salutations! What is this?! Another chapter of the hottest products of Team Scrimshaw? Can this be allowed? Are we out of your minds? No, this must be the work of a Witch!
AtW: I didn't sleep. Also, school sucks, boo. Anyways, as mentioned before our Subscribestar is up and running here. Give it a peek if you want, we are taking commissions. And now, on with the show!
CW: This chapter is brought to you by the Pyromancer's Guild. You name them, we burn them!
One Who is Many - Mr. Blue Sky
Ophelia
Ophelia was many things.
For starters, she was cranky, because she had to wake up early.
She was also hungry, because, instead of letting her eat breakfast, her sisters had spent the last two hours doing their very best to keep her from relaxing as they fretted and buzzed around her, carrying articles of clothing as if they were flower pollen.
Only to dump them on her and tell her to try them.
Dresses.
Skirts.
Robes.
Even the coats she wore when working at her lab!
They had each packed away enough of her own clothes to fill up a closet and wanted to make sure she would present herself at her best now that her court date had finally arrived. The problem being that she hadn't picked these at all. In fact, Ophelia had travelled light! Other than a number of hardy, practical garments that would resist damage she hadn't dragged any bits of useless flouncery along with her. But, this was going to be her court debut and her court debut.
'Heh. Court date at court, for a court.' She amused herself.
And of course, Elia and Tyene were having a field day dolling her up. Even Obara had chortled and suggested they give her one of those silken veils. To add up to her 'all knowing mystique' as the Dornish court liked to put it… when people wanted something from her.
Ophelia could see the appeal.
She might not have been all knowing, but just that very morning she'd seen at least three acts which could be construed as treason and even gotten her father arrested on the spot. As well as a very invigorating meeting between one of the maids working at the Red Keep and a certain stupid father who shall not be named.
'Really, father, you couldn't hold back?'
It wasn't anything new. The Viper was not one to skimp out on his… habits. But buggering an unmarried minor noble, that worked for the recently terrified queen, was likely illegal. For a moment, she considered sending a few ornery creepy crawlies into the room before just giving up. She had only even noticed that there were two people, meeting in close quarters, and had in fact withdrawn the rat she had been piloting as soon as she realized what she was seeing.
'I swear, he's worse than Alec ever was. Though I don't know if it's crazier that Father is actually charming.' Not that, that was even the first time she'd caught someone fucking. In fact, she'd actually had the extreme misfortune of witnessing the Grand Maester being… attended to by a pair of prostitutes.
"That one! Yeah, that's just right!"
"Wait, isn't that four layers of clothing?" Returning to her body, and leaving behind some extremely unpleasant memories, she looked down when Elia had cried out. "There's no way we can d-"
Tyene kissed her, practically shoving her tongue down Ophelia's throat for about fifteen seconds - Elia making the appropriate gagging noises. Pulling back, the shorter blonde kissed her sister's cheek and winked at her.
"Let me play dress up? Pretty please? You know you're my favorite… little… doll."
Ophelia swallowed.
"O-ok." She looked at the clothes. "I guess… that's not so bad."
"Good girl. Now, arms up!"
And just like that, she was stripped, very much not blushing, and found herself stuffed into layer after layer of linen and silk. Tyene's hand only strayed once or twice. Mostly. And the entire process went rather swiftly now that things were decided on. More to the point, the small storm of fabric and lace was actually cleared away and packed in three surprisingly compact trunks.
In the end, what they decided on was a combination of Dornish and Essosi fashion.
Essossi in the sense that it was - more or less - foreign. And Dornish in that it was mostly consisting of individually light garments that, when bundled together, weren't nearly as oppressive as thicker cotton or wool.
Her lowest layer down consisted of a two piece silk undergarment, actually something she'd made, that wrapped around her modest chest and ended part way down her stomach with the lower half sitting on her hips and thighs more like a pair of gym shorts than anything else. They were undyed, but treated with a few mixtures to strengthen them, and these served as the base points for the second layer. A loose, almost sheer black gown that hung from her shoulder to her ankles, which was attached by lace ties to her underclothes, to emphasize the shape of her body.
Over this, the two main garments were placed.
The first of which was a shorter green over long tunic. Ending about mid thigh, the rich, deep green garment was a native Dornish product - though allegedly made in the Lyseni style - and belted at her waist. Relying on a small leather thong, it sat higher on her stomach, just under her belly button, and created a sharp, angled drive to her design. One that was accentuated by a plunging neckline that revealed the black gown below that.
On top of that, they chose a deep blue silk cloak. Resting higher on her chest than the incredibly revealing green tunic it had a longer hem but shorter sleeves than the third layer. Slightly loose at the shoulders and hips, for ease of movement, it was still quite easy to move in and only restricted her movement in the least amount. But, being the finishing piece, it tied the ensemble together.
In this way, it revealed a flash of skin at her collarbone and the hollow of her throat, but cast the rest of her form into sharp, angled lines, emphasizing her height and just how whip thin she was. Even more, the richness and colors of the clothing displayed Martell wealth without her, a bastard, wearing house colors. Even better as the blue emphasized the Roynish in her ancestry with yellow and red embroidery, being of sunspears, along the edges of the garment.
To complete it, she put on a silver necklace sat with sunstones - an oblique reference to her father's house - and let Elia pick out a pair of similarly tasteful silver earrings to wear.
With the dressing up complete, it made her look… tall. Tall and not particularly femine. Even more, with a few touches of make up, she looked sharp and even a bit harsh.
'Fierce.'
Sarella handled strapping the small forearm sheathes on, making sure to work with the shape of the garment and ensure that the push dagger concealed within would be easily accessible and it was Obara that handed over a number of small rings.
One gold, one silver, and one electrum. Each bore a spear, a sun, or, in one case, the silhouette of sunspear itself.
By wearing such, she made it clear that she not only enjoyed House Martell's full backing, and that of their armies, but that was also not claiming to be a full member either.
Neither a bastard nor a usurper.
But also neither weak nor afraid.
In the end, the sisters were ready.
Tyene wearing a silk dress in the style of the Crownlands, complete with bows, Sarella in what almost looked like Maester's robes - though of a far finer cut and make - and both Elia and Obara were wearing tunics and trousers. Well dressed, obviously, but with yellows and reds, only sporting splashes of green and blue and black, to intentionally make her stand out.
Ophelia envied them.
All this garnish and posturing felt so… familiar.
After all, this wasn't the first time Ophelia dressed to impress others and strike fear into the hearts of her enemies. But that was a lifetime ago. A life she didn't often find reason to revisit.
'I suppose one time won't hurt.'
After all, whoever decided to bring her to King's Landing was worthy of her full attention.
She was on vacation. And they had fucked with her family. Maybe inflicting a little insectophobia would be cathartic. For her, not whatever dumb bastard thought it was a good idea to piss her off.
"What do you think?" Tyene smiled, looking over the witch appreciatively. Like a work of art to be graded.
"Like we are gonna go to war and then visit Lys and I'm not sure which comes first."
Sarella snorted back a chuckle.
"You do look… striking, Ophelia. It's one of your strong suits."
The witch shuffled awkwardly.
It really felt familiar.
And simultaneously not at all.
"Come on then, before Tyene jumps your bones."
Just like that, Obara growled, jerking her head and leading the pack of bastards out of the changing room and into the hallway. Waiting for them was Oberyn, looking completely perfect. Oddly enough, he just gave them a lopsided grin, his eyes crinkling in happiness.
"You all look amazing."
He unfastened his cloak, the banner of House Martell clearly woven into it.
"Come. Let's get this done and over with."
And wrapped it around Ophelia's shoulders, fastening it around her neck.
Another quick round of hugs from her sisters, and another kiss from Tyene once Ophelia used her swarm to confirm no one was around, purely for good luck, and they strolled into court.
Oberyn, a sword at his waist and in partial plate, strolled in first. His head was held high and his white teeth practically flashed as light streamed in through the glass windows. The early morning sun cast the whole room into an orange-red glow as the herald announced him. Gossip, taking the form of a dull roar, broke out as they walked in of course, the statement of her father's cloak around her shoulders an utter scandal - the act essentially stating that she was being claimed as a legitimate daughter by the man.
Blessedly, it was a small mercy that she didn't need to fear any of her sisters being envious about that fact. They had all been raised with as much affection as they had wanted and given as much space as they needed. None of them had ever doubted that their father would willingly carve out his own heart if it meant they took a single extra breath.
So when it came to showing up the idiotic, decadent northerners… they wholeheartedly approved.
Ophelia allowed her face to become a dull mask of uninterest. Surveying the room as one would a particularly husky frog she was about to desecrate for one of her experiments. She had eyes on every single person, from every single corner.
From the spider creeping along the ceiling to the fly sitting unknown amidst the mass of gossips and the small bird perched by the open window.
They thought they had her surrounded.
But in fact… she had them all in check from the start.
Now it was only a matter of proving it.
The thing that bothered her most of all, though, was that when she walked into the throne room, crowds of people on all sides, it was a single knight in full armor that got her attention. It was black and there was a stag pendant that fastened a cloak around the warrior's chest. Somehow, something about the way they looked at her made her feel deeply uneasy.
And then the herald called out, his lungs cutting through the noise like a hammer through someone's sweetmeats.
"All rise for His Grace, Robert I Baratheon, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm."
Ophelia could see a change wash over the room as the man she'd come to know as King Robert strode into court.
Perhaps they'd thought him a stupid oaf once upon a time.
A beast long bereft of fangs or claws.
But now? After Ophelia uncovered the wildfire inside the castle, it was like that green flame had roared to life inside the tired king. He seemed impatient, hands clenching involuntarily every now and again as he took his seat on the Iron Throne.
It was about time King's Landing received a harsh reminder of who their King was. And even now, the nobility which occupied this very room seemed tense, uncertain of how to act before the king whose decisive actions hadn't been seen since he took the Seven Kingdoms by storm over a decade before.
Ophelia, however, could see something else….
A painfully sober worker who had no time to rest since her arrival.
"Alright. Shut up. Every last one of you." They grumbled, complaining as they moved. "I said shut up!" And just like that he leapt to his feet, roaring. "Today will be a trial. One that annoys me to have to conduct." Robert was still red in his face. "So stay quiet and things will move quickly." Sitting back down, he rubbed at his forehead and muttered to himself. "I need a fucking drink."
Varys
His little birds from the south had told him many things.
Sang many songs.
Ballads of the Viper, whose fangs remained poised to strike at his enemies, ever present lust for revenge burning within his chest.
They sang lullabies of the Snakes.
Prodigious little dears who so adored their father.
Yet lately, the songs had taken a turn for the mysterious… little murmurs rising from the shadows as rumors spread through the ports of Dorne across the shifting sands. Rumors of a girl whose cleverness was unparalleled, and whose thirst for knowledge would render any Maester green with envy.
The Witch of Dorne.
Ophelia Sand.
Varys had gone through great many pains to learn as much as he could of the Viper's daughter.
How couldn't he when a single bastard girl rocked the boat so wildly?
At first he believed the songs to be exaggerated. Stories of mystery and magic always were and Varys was nothing if not cautious of those who professed themselves adepts of the occult. Most being illusionists or charlatans. If not simply moderately skilled liars.
But she… was a witch.
Phantom pains told him as such, memories of a voice in flames and of questions asked and bleeding aside, his gut told him that he should be careful of her. And that he had been right to take precautions. That she had - apparently - discovered wildfire in the castle the very day she had arrived simply proved it. Because, and he was quite sure of this, no one else but the Lannister knew of the wildlife plot and he'd long since ensured the king would never trust him.
"Sand, a bastard, a witch, both." He chuckled from his alcove, just out of the line of sight of court, waiting to be called. "I wonder if that makes her one of the king's hounds."
Obviously she was a threat. The kind that needed to be removed.
"But how to do it."
Speaking clearly, the herald called out the list of charges, announcing that this was the trial for the murder of the Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn.
Indirectly, of course. He wouldn't confront her directly. But, as much as he detested magic, he was also still somewhat averse to murdering a child. Perhaps a distraction then? A way to convince them to leave without realizing it?
The trial was as good a reason as any.
Varys doubted the girl had really done anything at all, never mind those… unfortunate rumors about Oberyn selling criminals to magic users.
His birds down south had grown fewer in the last few years so it was hard to distinguish hearsay from fact when he only had so many voices willing to share.
But what he did know did not raise much cause for concern. A simple bastard girl from a noble house with an affinity for academics and advanced sciences was not a threat. She was an opportunity which Doran Martell had latched into. No matter what powers she might have, she was no more than a hope that his reign might grow more productive.
That he would not be remembered as an unfortunate cripple wearing a crown.
So of course the greedy would try and seize that opportunity for themselves.
This was what the trial was for.
A sham. A farce. A smokescreen meant to draw out the girl and measure her worth.
"I do wonder… she's rather close with her sisters. If there's any worth in the girl to go with her finery, perhaps I should court her attentions? Keep your enemies close after all."
And Varys was very good at that.
"Let's just be done with this." The King started, blunt like a hammer. "Did you, Ophelia Sand, have any involvement in the death of Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King?"
Simple, to the point. The Master of Whispers appreciated it.
"No, your grace."
"Did you make the poison used to kill Jon Arryn."
"Yes."
There was tense murmuring as the gossips of the court went about their usual dance unable to keep themselves quiet at the admission.
"Yet you claim to not be involved?"
The girl was… strangely unaffected. Stoic in a way very few could claim to be, the tension of the room slid off her back much like water would a duck's.
"I am but a researcher and pharmacist, your Majesty. I do not claim responsibility for what my medical products do once sold."
"You say this poison is meant to heal? That seems patently absurd." A flicker of the man's temper began to shine through, but Varys watched as she simply smiled.
"Of course, your grace. It is a paralytic and numbing agent, derived from a species of wasp I have cultivated. Maestars, healers, and physicians have all used it for surgeries, for, in certain cases, the treatment of pain, and as a way to help overcome poppy addiction. It is unpleasant to the system, inducing a degree of nausea after consumption and a mild high when ingested. When rubbed on the skin it deadens the nerves and can make even removing a rotten tooth… mostly painless."
Varys blinked. That sounded… incredible. He knew pycelle had a bottle of the stuff, yellow tears it was called, for the fact that the fluid was slightly yellow and tended to form large teardrops when allowed to settle, but not that it was that revolutionary. He wouldn't begrudge her the flicker of pride he saw in her eyes.
"A non addictive painkiller… I wonder… yes. It's time I ensure that Dorne sings me a song."
It seemed he was getting lazy in his dotterage. And that was patently unacceptable. However, recriminations for believing stereotypes aside, the king continued to speak and so he listened.
"Whatever." The king waved his hand, somewhat rudely dismissing the explanation. "You made it, you sell it. I assume you can tell me who you've sold it to?" He was relaxing, almost giving up in preparation for what he knew was to come. Varys was truly surprised he wasn't shouting more.
"Yes sir. I have here, a receipt of all sales of this particular agent. On it you will find the Citadel for bulk purchases, to sales of similar size to merchants bound for Essos, and forty two smaller, personal sales. Including two to the Grand Maester himself."
The crowd gasped appropriately, even if the girl in question was being rather matter of fact. Their words quickly grew to a dull roar of whispers and gossip. Varys himself could only raise an eyebrow.
'Accusing Pycelle? Even implicitly. She's either sure she's safe to do so or that the old man can't strike back.' Thinking to himself, an inkling of an idea began to form. 'I wonder if she's in bed with the Lannisters? Stranger things have happened.'
"Y-your grace. I have n-no idea wha-"
Pycelle played the old doddering fool, Varys approved of the man's commitment if not his lack of imagination, and the herald failed to restore silence. Ophelia, the bastard witch, simply stood there, utterly impassive as the king leapt to his feet.
"SHUT UP! All of you!"
Red in the face again, he roared out, a voice that had dominated battlefields cutting through this one like a knife. Robert was, if nothing else, a most excellent warhammer.
"Pycelle, did you poison Jon Arryn?"
"Such a t-thought terrifies me your grace! To do s-s-such a thing-"
"Pycelle." Robert snapped. "Yes or no. One word."
Bowing, the old man seemed weak, almost to the point of collapsing.
"No, your grace."
And rallied just in time to deliver a final, slightly firmer rejection. His energy seemingly deserting him just after. Truly, Pycelle should have been a mummer.
"If you'd please present the three bottles I've sold you, I'd be more than happy to confirm the quantity used and that they are, in fact, my particular medicine."
'So that's her play.' Varys actually knew the answer to this little game. So, after Robert overrode the stuttering Maester again, the man's medicine cabinet was ordered to be searched. Pycelle produced the key, even after protesting that this was totally unneeded and he'd happily supply the bottles himself, Selmy departed.
And, just as expected, the kingsguard returned empty handed and whispered something in the king's ear. Strolling forward, slippers slightly scraping against the stone, he soon joined the veteran knight.
"Your grace." His words were low and, ignoring the flicker of distaste on the man's face, Varys bowed slightly. "I have conferred with my little birds and, unfortunately, must report that the Grand Maester seems to have, indeed, been burgled. Two unidentified young women were seen leaving his chambers with a satchel of some kind. I have descriptions, but no idea who they are or what they were doing."
That was a half lie, of course. One of them was a whore of Baelish's, coming to attend to Pycelle with their usual… toys the very previous night. Varys knew that explicitly. However, the other was actually an unknown. Perhaps one of Littlefinger's operatives or simply a whore skilled in stealing from clients. Either way, that, he suspected, was the source of their current courtly debate.
"What good is a Master of Whispers if you can't even whisper to me the names of my enemies?" Robert rubbed his face and called for the herald to silence the crowd again. Thankfully, this time, it worked. Varys stepped back and to the side and let the king climb to his feet. "All right. This trial is to decide the guilt of Ophelia Sand, daughter of Prince Oberyn Martell, not investigate the murder of the man who fostered me." Amusingly, the king was actually acting somewhat kingly for the first time in his life. "No evidence has been brought forward that she held ill will towards the man, nor that she wielded the weapon that ended his life, nor that she even had the ability or means to do so. Does anyone have any proof of anything? No? Then I declare her innocent and end this trial. Court is over for the day."
And that was that.
People were ushered out of the throne room, with only a handful remaining. Those included the Dornish contingent, the small council, such as they were, the kingsguard, and the king himself.
Pycelle, however, was doing his best to complain without seeming to actually complain.
"Your grace, this violation of my quarters is a most terrible breach of palace security. I must see what was taken at once!"
Selmy actually snorted at that.
"It's more that there wasn't anything not taken. I opened the secured drawers and the whole thing was, more or less, empty."
That got a rather dramatic reaction from the Grand Maester.
"Y-your grace… the contents of my private c-collection are invaluable. Even more, s-some are truly deadly!" He was truly laying it on thick. "A-a search must be started at once, I-I-I-I."
"Pycelle. Stop." Robert glared at the man, silencing, before standing up. "See a search had. Get the description from Varys. If they're caught, they're caught. I imagine we're running in circles, held by the nose. Ophelia, witch girl, is the cure for my bleeding hangover ready yet?"
That, on the other hand, was concerning.
Varys still held his doubts whether the girl was a true user of magic, at least in the sense of a full shadowbinder or warlock, but the idea that the king might be willingly taking her drugs would represent a far greater threat to the realms than the death of Jon Arryn could possibly be.
And if that turned out to be the case… well….
She wouldn't be the first of her family to perish within the walls of the Red Keep.
But the very first thing he'd need to do would be to relocate. Clearly the inside of the castle was compromised in total and not even his precautions would be enough to protect against the sheer number of spies and informants. Not if the southern kingdoms were already sending their envoys to court factions such as the Alchemist's Guild - blessedly the wisdoms were just as greedy as they had always been. And not if Dorne was already gaining sway over the king so swiftly.
Oberyn
Squeezing Obara's shoulder, the Prince of Dorne waited until his daughter fully relaxed.
"Peace my child, we have won."
She still glared at him.
"You heard what they called us. The daughters of whores and a whoremonger. Savages from the desert. They have neither respect nor fear of us."
He dipped his head.
"Perhaps. But they have not learned of us yet." His lips twisted into a wry smile. "Your sister has uncovered another crime, this one far more recent, already. It is a matter of time until you are knighted, Tyene is made queen, and Sarella Arch Maester." Chuckling, he stroked his small beard. "No, feel peace, my child. We will have our revenge by proving them wrong."
Still not completely ameliorated, she complied when he gave her a half hug, blushing slightly at the warmness of his embrace. And by the time they rejoined the rest of their party, the other girls teasing Ophelia, the eldest sister was stoic once again.
"But I had this whole clever plan! It was going to be so simple. All I needed was to get my hands on those tears and a few mosquitoes. Even this far along, I'd have been able to find some traces of the paralytic in his system and then-"
"Do something clever and make the rest of us look like pretty trophies." Sarella poked her pouting sister in the rips. "Relax little sister. We have two weeks until the king is ready to leave-" She glanced at him and Oberyn nodded. "So you can impress everyone by solving the terrible smell in the air and building the Mad King's marble city."
Ophelia colored.
"I'm not that bad."
Her sisters, however, smelled blood in the water and pounced on the first sign of weakness.
"Yes, of course. Because you did not oversee the creation of a silkworm plantation."
"Or established the herbal garden."
"Or opened that small farm just because you wanted to experiment with new food stuffs."
The Viper couldn't help but laugh as they ganged up on the most clever of them all. Eager to tease her for getting everything she wanted from him or Doran when it came to her marvelous inventions and experiments. He was pitifully weak when it came to the Witch's deadly puffed cheeks and tearful gaze.
Had been since she was a toddler.
"Peace, my loves. We are all looking forward to your sister matching wits against the court, but let us solve one problem at a time. The trial is over, Robert's word is law. But there is still more to do?"
"What comes next, Father? To find the culprit?" Tyene, of course was amongst those more eager to sink her fangs into their next prey.
A real chip off the old block.
"That will come later, my dear. Unfortunately I have a few errands to run today so we won't have the time to plot and scheme our way to the throne. Instead I want you to take this opportunity to mingle and explore. See the sites, find interesting things. We should not let our enemies dictate our moves for us."
Going unspoken, of course, was the fact that he didn't want them to produce any bodies that couldn't be hidden or do something silly like get caught leading fools around by the nose. His primary concern was that Tyene would end up starting some kind of suicide cult out of boredom. Because she had done that once. And he didn't care enough about the nobles of the court to try and stop her if she did it again.
"So! Plan. Ophelia, you're going with Ser Barristan and a few of the king's men to scour the city, yes?"
She nodded.
"Yes Father. I don't think it'll take too long, since there are a few obvious spots, and I won't need to actually help with the moving of things. But it should be most, if not all, of the day. Maybe some tomorrow too if we need it."
"Good. And walk. You need to toughen up."
Obara poked her sibling in the ribs, getting an annoyed giggle as she was tickled.
"Let me get a knife and two bugs and we'll see who the more skilled is!"
"Ah, that assumes I'm foolish enough to face you when you're actually being serious!"
And just like that, they were already practically sparring. In fact, if Ophelia wasn't already committed, he had a feeling his eldest would have had her running through spear and knife drills again. It was always wise to practice. Plus, in a place like this, not being able to protect yourself was tantamount to suicide.
'I miss you Elia.'
He had dreamed of her last night. Her screams, her children's screams. In fact, he almost attacked the Hound, Prince Joffery's sworn sword, with a bread knife when he realized who the man was. But that was that. And this was this.
"Father." Elia had taken his head. "Thinking about Aunt Elia?"
Oberyn squeezed his daughter's hand.
"I was thinking about how I would smash open the iron pup the princeling has following him around." She giggled and his work was done. "Now, who is doing what?"
"Well, I was thinking I could see the Arch Maester. He played the idiot old man to a hilt, but someone like him wouldn't have had that position for so long if he wasn't smart. I was going to see if I could get him to slip up."
Sarella smirked.
"Plus it would give me a chance to raid the castle library."
Nodding, the Red Viper chuckled.
"Make sure to bring a knife."
Reaching into her boot and into her pocket she pulled out two.
"That's my girl."
Tyene answered next.
"Well, there are so many pretty flowers here. I was thinking of… plucking a few."
'Crap.'
Tentatively, he nodded.
"So long as you don't get caught… please, daughter. I do not wish to start a war with this entire city while we're still inside of it."
She just giggled and gave him a smile so full of innocence he knew he was going to be in trouble.
"Elia is staying with Ophelia, mostly so she can ride some of the king's horses." The youngest simply shrugged. "And I guess I'll remain with you Father."
Turning to Obara, he tried for a charming smile.
"Not feeling up to looking after Tyene?"
It took ten seconds for her to stop laughing so hard she couldn't breathe. Eventually, after catching an awful hiccup, she managed to croak out one word.
"No."
'Well, I tried.'
Half an hour later he was on the docks, the butt of his spear, used as a walking stick, clacking against the stone flagons, searching for a particular banner he knew to search for amongst the various trade ships. Eventually, spotting the flag in question, that being a yellow spider on a blue field, he boarded with a cheery shout to his countrymen.
"Captain, might I come aboard, I was hoping for news of home?"
Bowing low over the side of his ship's gunwale, the Dornishman's long beard almost scraped across the wooden planks between them.
"Of course my prince. I know all too well how only a few weeks can be long enough to make a man homesick."
All too soon he was below decks with the old man and his truly, utterly spectacular beard, It was a magnificent thing that was longer than he was tall! But that was besides the point. Once they reached his quarters, the captain in question pulled out a thick stack of letters and handed them over to him.
"My prince, orders from your brother. The plan is afoot and you are to secure the final group of reinforcements. As to the news, my cousin, Ricasso, says that the Prince is rationing your daughter's medicine but mostly doing well. He is even able to walk a little."
That soothed him, almost as much as when Obara came down behind them, someone else's blood on her tunic. He asked the obvious questions with his eyes.
"A beggar that wasn't really a beggar. He talked before the end. Sold information to everyone that would buy, actually lived pretty well. There's a pouch of silver we'll want to find later."
"Good girl. Now, when do you sail?"
Having turned back to the captain, the three people stuffed into his cabin, he shrugged.
"After you do my lord. We're moving our cargo well enough but it will still be another two, perhaps three weeks before we've secured our return cargo. In the end, I do need to turn a profit, even with your family's generous donations."
Frowning, he checked the seals of the letters, running his finger along the envelopes to feel for tearing or deformations.
"And I assume a hefty pouch of silver would greatly aid in that endeavor."
Sparkling with greed, the merchant nodded.
"Aye my prince, it would indeed."
"Good. Then consider your loyalty bought for another day captain. I'll have letters and the coin for you soon enough. As to the stick to go with this particular carrot, well, I have little doubt a sailor as experienced as yourself has a wonderful imagination."
His eyes were dead. His voice was flat. There was nothing in his expression to show even a hint of humanity. The viper's eyes held neither pity nor remorse. And he was the Red Viper.
Swallowing, the captain nodded.
"Excellent!" And just like that, he was jovial again, smiling as he spoke. "All this unpleasantness is just a bore. As to your profit margins, I have little doubt that you'll forget this little bonus and ensure that my brother rewards you most suitably for your service."
Recovered, the man toasted Doran, Oberyn, and House Martell. However, he didn't think to pour Obara a drink as well until prompted and that, unfortunately, made up the prince's mind. Back out on the streets, letting the press and roar of the city cover his words, his voice reached only his daughter's ear.
"Remind me to warn Doran to kill that man. Greed has its uses, but one so greedy as him is a liability should he think he could make more coin elsewhere. Also, he was rude to you."
"Of course Father." Obara didn't breen, but she was gods damned close to it at that moment. "And I think the turn off should just be over here. Hopefully the idiot was speaking truthfully when he tried to ransom himself."
"Oh? Did you give your word to spare him for his coin?"
She smirked.
"Not at all father. He offered when I nicked him and it started going black."
"Hah! What did you use?'
Her smirk turned vicious.
"Ash dust. He was panicked and didn't pay attention. After all, why would I waste good poison on vermin?"
That got her an approving smile and a ruffle of her hair.
"I take it he's at the bottom of the harbor?"
"Snapped his neck and filled his clothes with rocks, aye."
"Well done indeed! Yes. I do think we'll need to celebrate your little victory if it goes so well again." Frowning slightly, he finished the thought. "But it's going too well. When is something going to go horrifically wrong and make us regret ever leaving our homeland."
"When it does, Father." Obara shrugged, tone matter of fact even as her grin was vicious. "We will simply need to be ready and do what we do best. Fuck every person who looks to harm us before they know we're there."
Chuckling, the man couldn't help but wonder how he'd gotten so many wise, wonderful daughters and decided that it was simply the Gods' will. Yes. He quite liked that thought.
Blessedly, acquiring the coin had been simple enough, a flash of castle steel and the crack of Obara's whip being enough to send their obstacles scattering. And, indeed, the pouch, a grimy linen sack that had been smeared with something truly awful, pungent even in the stink of the city, was opened with a stick. Inside was a mound of silver and copper coins with a few golden dragons as well. A fortune by the standards of the city and enough that Oberyn knew they'd be stepping on some toes by taking it.
'But money promised is money owed. Best to pay this debt now than let it fester.'
Soon enough, money in a clean sack, they were returning to the castle when they were approached by a small party of alchemists. Apprentices, one and all, and some of them very large men, approached as quickly and discretely as some of their number could. However, it was their leader, a young man with a particularly bad burn travelling across his mouth, that caught the Viper's eye. There was a look of hope and almost desperation in the lad's gaze.
"My prince." Their leader croaked. "The Wisdoms would beg your audience. And, if you'd have us, we're to be your guides while you and your daughters are in the city." He bowed his head. "If it pleases my lord."
Thinking for a second, and then deciding it would actually be hilarious if this was an assasination attempt, he jerked his head.
"My dear, take the rest of these strapping young lads back to the castle. Introduce them to the guards and your sisters, if you would?"
Nodding, she gave them a once over.
"Right away Father. Stay safe."
Her words meant far more than was said. Promising that, if he wasn't home by the next dawn, they would come and find him even if Ophelia had to scour the entire city again. He gave her a smile and turned to his particular guide, fingers tapping against the haft of the spear in a particular pattern, letting her know he was actually fully armed. Poisons included.
"Lead the way my boy. Let's see what the Alchemists have decided!"
Reaching the guildhouse in question was a rather quick affair. In fact, he found it moderately telling when the streets around it were actually clear. He actually felt a tingle of excitement when he noticed that a few of the apprentices were carrying weapons. Disappointingly, upon arriving in the Wisdom's meeting room, he wasn't facing a dozen crazed cultists throwing wildfire around like madmen.
Instead, it was a servant trying to scrub brain matter out of a table and four old men sitting at a table.
"My prince. It's good to see you." They looked tired, exhausted even, and Hallyne had an ugly gash on his shoulder currently being tended to. "We would rise, but must beg your pardon instead."
"I think I can guess at what happened, so I quite understand." He took an offered seat and, flicking a piece of skull off of the large, square table in front of him, turned to the other men. "Did you win?"
"Aye." One of the others there grinned, teeth glinting dully in the candle light. "The traitors and worms in our organization burned. Only those that truly seek the Truth will be allowed to call themselves Alchemist."
'Ah. A fanatic. How delightful.'
Seeing Oberyn's passivity, Hallyne took the lead.
"That is my teacher, Wisdom Pollitor. These are Wisdoms Muncifer and Malliard. I am now the elected Grand Master of our guild and this is my council. As you can surmise, we had… an altercation."
"So long as you won, I don't mind. A pity you didn't call me to join your little, ah, dance."
Almost growling, Malliard replied to his little joke.
"Those who took gold in exchange for our secrets are dead now. And we sit here, debating whether to sell ourselves to a prince for a promise. Are you the promised prince, my lord, will you be the one saving us?"
"Hardly." He waved his hand dismissively. "That's my brother's duty. As for saving you, no, we want to hire you." Pulling out a signet ring from a pouch attached to the front of his armor he partly reclined in the, thankfully very sturdy, chair. "He wants to hire you to found a chapter in Sunspear and burn his enemies for him. In exchange, he offers gold, protection, and all the learned men you can cajole into joining your cause." Grinning, he pushed the ring forward, soon joined by a slightly blood spattered letter. "A signet ring, a sealed letter, and a Lord Paramount's brother. All it requires is for you to tell me what happened before I arrived, no?"
Muncifer spoke up this time.
"My prince, I can actually explain that best. As with every organization in King's Landing, there were spies amongst us." He nodded his understanding. "We kept an eye on them and tolerated them so long as they didn't sell anything too important or tamper with the wildfire."
"I can imagine a pyromancer's response if they did."
Malliard gave a dark chuckle, but the speaking man simply smiled and continued.
"Indeed. Still, we thought it prudent to ensure that your letter would remain secret for a few days at least. When we moved to secure the most egregious of these individuals, they fought back. And then so did more. And more. And more. I think wholly a third of our number lies dead but, if nothing else, only the most even tempered of the remaining infiltrators remain."
"A man's worth is determined by the quality and quantity of his enemies, indeed." He inclined his head. "So we have, what, three days before everyone who is anyone suspects our little plan?"
Hallyne's next comment told him all he needed to know.
"Should we be so lucky, my prince."
