"I've stood atop the Wall." Tyrion said, swishing the goat piss Urucho's pirates so generously called 'ale' in his dented mug. Urucho tipped his own tankard back, one Tyrion noticed contained not ale but something fine and purple, judging by the way it stained the pirate captain's lips and cheeks. Tyrion shared the small round table with the Red Viper, Urucho himself, and a man Tyrion judged to be his first mate, all limp greasy black hair and hooded, glazed-over eyes. At least Urucho doesn't look like he just crawled out of a corpse pit. With a belch that shook the ship's small windows, the aptly-named pirate set down his tankard.
"Liar."
"I tell it true. I visited Castle Black before making my way south to return to King's Landing, and during that time I not only stood atop the Wall, I got a good look at what lay on the other side."
"And what lay on the other side, my lord?" Prince Oberyn asked.
"Snow and trees. In particular, lots of snow and lots of trees, running north beyond man's sight. Or at least, my sight. With such dull prospects come winter, it's no wonder northmen are a brooding grudge-bearing lot. They have precious little else to do once the snows fall."
"On the other side of the Narrow Sea, there are no such things as northmen or westermen. The Sunset Kingdoms are full of men who think a fierce beast on one's teat is enough to make one's way in the world. Or that a second name behind a first turns one's shit precious as silver." The first mate said, unawed by Tyrion's tale.
"I beg to differ. Everyone in Westeros knows a westerman will have his way with anything of woman borne, and it so happens my friend is one such creature." Prince Oberyn opined, smirking.
"Bah. The Westerosi on the Narrow Sea are half-mad, it stands to reason those who live on the Sunset Sea are mad again by half." the pirate replied. "Your turn, Dornishman." The viper thought a moment.
"I've shared a bed with a woman from each of the Seven Kingdoms and the riverlands all at once." The claim was so outrageous Tyrion felt it had to be true…and given the claimant was the Red Viper, it stood a good chance of even being true. Urucho and his first mate were looking to Tyrion. He was about to let the boast pass unchallenged when he remembered Bronn's ploy on the voyage to Dorne. Tyrion downed the ale in a gulp, retched, belched.
"Liar." he said. It may well have been eight women, but not in the array he claims. The pirates played an interesting variation of the drinking game Tyrion enjoyed- rather than the liar being made to drink, one indulged only when they were challenging the veracity of a claim. Instead of the liar's stomach for drink being tested, it was the accusant's. One's tongue for speaking lies not as important as one's ears for catching them. Oberyn shrugged.
"The dwarf has me. They were all Dornishwomen-" Tyrion drained another cup.
"Liar." This time, the Red Viper laughed aloud, as did the pirates.
"Oh, very well, two of them were Summer Islanders." This time Tyrion let his cup lay. I wonder if Prince Oberyn intends we play this game concerning other matters.
"The talking turd can hold his ale, I am thinking. Better than a deal of whole men." Urucho mused.
"The landed slab of rotting whale blubber can speak the Common Tongue, I am thinking. Better than a deal of men who claim it as their mother tongue." Tyrion replied. Urucho chortled, pallid body rippling beneath his vest.
"Even a dwarf tires of drinking your crew under the table and learning the names of their wives when they think he isn't paying attention. How long until we reach Lys? I've already got a number of houses to visit and bless with a bit of dwarfish magic and I'm not one to let work pile up." Tyrion said. Urucho only belched loudly in reply, his first mate's long nose twitching as if he longed to give it a good pick. They have no inkling of the snake's plans. Tyrion knew it for a certainty. Pirates are not the sort to enjoy the confidence of princes. The coin, perhaps, but they have only that in mind. No doubt when we leave their company, they'll count themselves lucky to have gotten out of it so easily. There was always the possibility that they might tell someone they'd smuggled the Red Viper and his pet dwarf across the Narrow Sea, but who to tell? The Lysene proper would string them up for piracy and they would get no better treatment from the gold cloaks at the docks. This Urucho seemed to Tyrion smarter than that. Even if he could shatter a mirror I might but crack. When no one was forthcoming with a tidbit sordid enough to titillate him, Tyrion pushed his cup forward. It's glad I am that even drinking, I'm able to stop before I become insensate. Then again, maybe it's the taste of this wretched grog. "I think I'll retire for the evening. A half-dozen pillow girls to help me bathe, the same to help me dress."
"Of course, your lordery. Only the finest for our guest dwarf." Urucho replied. Tyrion slid from his seat to find his so-called cabin, a cramped hold that smelled as though it were washed with vinegar. Had I some parchment I might jam it up my nose. Then he remembered all that had befallen him. Murmuring darkly, he shook some dust out of a torn bit of sail, little more than a rag, and pulled it over himself. How is it just to take a man's nose and leave him vulnerable still to all the wretched smells of the world?
A crisp rapping on his door saw Tyrion sitting upright under the sail, blubbering incoherently.
"My lord, are you quite decent?"
"Some might say I'm incapable of such a state what with the ruin Ser Mandon made of my face."
"And no doubt you were a thing of beauty before his ministrations." Tyrion shuffled over to the door, pulling himself free of his "blanket" before he managed to work the door open. Prince Oberyn looked to have woken some time before, with nary a bleary eye to be seen. Tyrion heard the crew's morning lot well underway on the deck, surprised he'd slept so late.
"Is there any reason in particular I'm being plagued by your exuberance so soon out of bed?"
"My lord, it is midday. What if you should miss something?"
"Then I should miss it and never know it, sound asleep as I might be."
"Even so, there are more important things to get up to than sleep. Even travelling unnamed and in the company of pirates."
"Like drink and tell lies? Let me get a little closer to sunset and perhaps consider jumping overboard before I'm faced down by another mug of bile-called-ale."
"The pirates' brew is wretched enough, I'll grant you. I wonder if ever a prince tasted worse bilge. But enough talk of bitter brews of the past, let us ponder the countless sweet vintages awaiting us in the future." That had Tyrion rubbing the sleep from his eyes. It is not wine he means to tease me with. Wordlessly he closed the door behind the Dornishman as he entered, for all his grace and elegance unable to fluidly move about Tyrion's cramped accommodations. "You might say something to our fair captain when next you see him. You are a lord, not a barrel of pickled fish."
"I might be tossed overboard when I cease to be a sound investment or amusing enough to bother keeping around."
"You will never get the chance. We near Lys, and with it my nephew." Whom Trystane managed to beat to a betrothal. Tyrion wondered what to make of that.
"What if we find him with some fetching purple-eyed creature? A wife of high birth? The blood of Valyria courses strong through Lys."
"Have no fear on that count, my lord. Quentyn is not the sort to turn a girl's head, like the pirates and the rogue knights in the stories. He is dutiful, not daring." Dull. "Unpretentious." Unexceptional.
"He sounds like his father's son." Tyrion said carefully, never certain what might offend his princely patron.
"Almost to a fault. Once we recover him, we will be on our way with only the seagulls to spread word that we were ever in Lys." On our way, Tyrion thought. He couldn't help but notice the prince had omitted the words 'back to Sunspear'. On our way where, then?
Though he would have been pleased to wait on deck with the rest of the crew to watch Lys slip into view, the Lady's Favor docking in what was widely purported to be the loveliest city in all the world, Oberyn bid him remain belowdecks.
"So that none may spot a noseless dwarf where he oughtn't be." There was only logic to the snake's request and yet still it rankled Tyrion to have to hide like some fugitive. And I am hardly that. Cersei can send as many knives as she likes, but I am no more guilty of killing Joffrey than she is innocent of killing Robert. He could not see through the ship's hull, but he could hear sailors boarding ships, disembarking, shouting to each other or sweet-voiced members of the fairer sex calling back in reply. Tyrion had read about the tongues of the Free Cities as a boy, of course, but a word at a time on a voiceless piece of paper and the living tongue were vastly different prospects. I could never pose for an Essosi, he mused. Except perhaps for a Mantari. He brushed that thought aside. The gods saw fit to make me a dwarf, I will not stoop to answering to 'monster' as well. Only when the voices died down somewhat did Oberyn come for him, grinning ear to ear. "Night has fallen, my lord. Were you to be seen by unfriendly eyes you'd be mistaken for a child and forgotten in the next moment. We will seek my nephew where last my brother had news of him."
"Lead on then, my prince." Where in Seven Hells else am I going to bloody go?
As Tyrion came topside, he squinted out the lights of countless held torches, sconces and braziers as he looked over Lys. He saw exotic white marble looming out at him, half-hidden by the darkness. It was nothing like either Lannisport or King's Landing, cities far removed from the influences of the east. Of Valyria in particular, Tyrion thought in wonder. I am looking back in time, before the Conquest. Before the Doom. Seeing it in person had Tyrion transfixed. The Valyrian Freehold had power enough to plant cities like smallfolk plant beans. To crush the Old Empire of Ghis as though it were a cockroach. Their dragons had given them the world…only for the Doom to snatch it away.
"Though Lys by night is no doubt quite the sight, we'd best get on." Oberyn called. Tyrion followed him onto the dock, glad to put Lady's Favor behind him.
"No doubt we'll find your nephew in worthy company."
"Perhaps, but a child should not have a man's voice, and the Common Tongue may draw curious ears. Best be seen and not heard just now." Tyrion cursed himself. Do little birds infest even Lys? It occurred to him that Varys was hardly the only spymaster in the world, and that such creatures likely hoarded and spent information as banks did coin. He followed Oberyn as well as he could manage, the viper careful not to let him fall too far behind. Had I been born whole, I might have seen Lys and the other Free Cities besides in the light of day, free to enjoy all they have to offer. Stopping outside one of the few buildings that seemed to be neither a tavern nor brothel, Oberyn eased open the door. Tyrion caught a glimpse of bolts of cloth and a prized white tiger skin. A merchant's storehouse. "Come." He got no 'my lord' from Prince Oberyn then. Boys in Lys are seldom styled so, and talk of such would like draw ears. Though Tyrion hardly suspected trouble, the Red Viper did not share his ease. He had a dagger in each hand seemingly from thin air, Tyrion's eyes rolling behind him. Snakes. They never go anywhere without their fangs. Crouched and creeping, the prince gave the storehouse's two floors a go-over.
"Have we missed them?" Tyrion asked.
"It is after dark in Lys, maybe Prince Quentyn is out."
"My nephew is not the sort to carouse with whores or courtesans. He had a party with him as well, they ought be here." Well, they aren't. Now what? Tyrion peered out the second story window. People were beginning to fill Lys' alleys, to say nothing of the streets. Dawn was some time off, but time was not their friend.
Oberyn's gods-may-care mask slipped for a rare moment as he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"He'll have gone on. No doubt he wants to impress his father, or else Drinkwater and the Yronwoods took spurring him on in turns. I can hear Archibald now, 'no prince should need a nanny'."
"Is it Lady's Favor for us, then?" Tyrion asked, keen to be part of the prince's line of thinking without seeming intrusive.
"I'd not inflict such company on either of us. Besides, we're not looking for a ship whose home waters lie west of Lys." Volantis, then. It was the only city that lay due east before one hit the fabled borders of ruined Valyria. But what's in Volantis? Or was Volantis but the next steppingstone in turn?
"Must we chase your nephew all the way through the Jade Gates?" Tyrion asked.
"He would not make it half so far. He and his companions are young men-" Tyrion groaned.
"The first death among their number will shatter them and drive them to ground. It might well be such ill fortune has already found them and they're lingering purposelessly far from home without the first notion of what to do next. Perhaps it's not so bad you took the initiative on bringing him home." He looked around. "Tiger skins are not so common, even here in the east. Bolts of exquisite purple cloth, either. Perhaps we ought inquire among the captains if any of them recall taking on men escorting such goods?"
"Such inquiries will be remembered, and no doubt repeated." "No doubt, but by then we'll be gone and small good such information will do those who seek it then. We cannot linger overlong for fear of dropping some breadcrumb. If we're to reach Prince Quentyn sooner rather than later we'll need to get off our asses." A loose board creaked under Tyrion, then sunk, taking his ankle with it as he cursed while Oberyn smirked.
"Aha. It seems your nose for secrets has escaped Ser Mandon's blade, my lord." he said, pointing to the hollow the board was hiding. Tyrion was too busy working his foot free to get a peek at whatever the prince was easing from under the boards. When finally he managed it, falling onto his behind, he looked up to see Oberyn reading the parchment he held as carefully as if it were a sordid picture of his paramour he sought to commit to memory. Joining countless others he already has, no doubt.
"I don't relish the prospect of going all the way to Volantis only to find that he's not there, either. We could always go straight to wherever the prince has been tasked with going and greet him when he turns up."
"Dwarfs don't do well in wars, and Volantis will be next regardless." Wars? We've left Westeros behind. The viper did not seem tempted by whatever journey lay before them. "Come. We'll profit nothing by lingering here." he said, stuffing the purple cloth in a sack before handing it to Tyrion, taking the bigger bundle a tiger skin made for himself. And what will we profit wandering all over Essos looking for a needle in a haystack?
Tyrion wrapped a rag around his face, the better to adopt the appearance of a gutter snipe walking in the prince's wake. He wasted no time chatting up the merchantmen on Lys' docks, heading past the grander ships. No chasing purple cloth and tiger skins for us. The ship that caught Oberyn's eye was no comfort barge nor a proper merchant vessel, though in Tyrion's limited experience smugglers (good ones, anyway) did not opt for such on ships they used to ply their trade. I suppose I'll be praying for the vinegary confines of Lady's Favor before long. After a short exchange between Oberyn and the captain, the viper waved him over.
"You have a knack for making friends in low places."
"I would have thought that much obvious to you of anyone. Or did you think the piss puddle I fished you out of was a great lake of Arbor gold?" That made the smugglers nearby snigger and snort, running the Common Tongue through a handful of other tongues for their fellows who had none. Tyrion followed Oberyn onto the ship, letting one of the deckhands relieve him of his bundle. His accommodations were no bigger than on Lady's Favor, and instead of vinegar lingering in the close space, Tyrion suspected the space he'd just appropriated had of late been someone's privy.
"Well, I suppose it's good I'm not the biggest man."
"Nor I, but likely we'll be cramped regardless." Tyrion groaned.
"For how long?"
"A hale week, and then you will see the First Daughter in all her glory with your own eyes." I'd sooner see my wife again. As it stood, Oberyn could have told him anything. Tyrion was kept belowdecks as before and more than one storm had the smugglers pressing Oberyn into helping them stay afloat. A hidden mercy, as the two of them together would have scarce given Tyrion room to scratch his arse. The latest storm had the water coming up through the wood to tickle Tyrion's ankles at one point, salt stains on the walls a giveaway it was not the first time. Usually the viper was bringing him food, other times some salt or other with a bit of charred fish. Tyrion could not quite mark the days but he could listen for the groans of shift changes on the deck, though he soon lost count of those as well. When finally, mercifully the time came for him to leave his cramped quarters, Tyrion found the smugglers' reek a welcome reprieve.
"That may have been worse than watching you fight the Mountain." he murmured most grumpily as he worked the cramps from his calves. Looking around, he saw aught but blue to his right and a rolling coastline to his left. "Where are we?"
"A scant few hours from Volantis. Your notion to beat my nephew to his destination was not without merit, but I find he'll have a deal of trouble getting any further without our help."
"Well, that's just fine." Tyrion said, as another cramp turned his leg to stone and needles. "If it's yet another smuggler's privy I have to stuff myself down to leave Volantis unseen, I'll spare myself the anguish and have you toss me overboard."