Prince Oberyn Martell could not have been half the Mountain's weight, not with Clegane clad in plate, yet as the Red Viper leaned forward, driving his spear deeper into Ser Gregor's colossal chest, it looked to Tyrion as though someone had dropped a marble block on his sister's champion. A bloody big one, thank the gods. The huge, heavy limbs twitched for a moment, then it was just the hands and feet. Suddenly one massive arm came up, quicker than Tyrion could have believed- yet not half quick enough to catch the snake's head as he pulled back. Then the arm fell back to the ground with a clank and a thud, Clegane gave a last grunt, and he was still. Tyrion could think of nothing better to do than simply pour a cup of wine, made rather tricky by the irons on his wrists. He stared into the cup's red depths, at his own ugly face, and found it absent of any hint of how he felt. Abruptly he pushed the cup into Ellaria Sand's hands, clutched the tankard with his own, and drank until he was dizzy. By then Prince Oberyn was making his way back toward the pavilion.
"You were saying something about a helmet, my lord?" he said, before Ellaria threw herself at him.
"I was," Tyrion said, the words coming before he could stop them, "I have it here." Then he put the tankard on his own head and stood there for all of King's Landing to see, wondering just what in the name of all the gods he was doing. Bugger the lot of them, he decided. Every last one of them, from the stableboys to my lord father, him most of all.
"You may have an imp's body, but you have a giant's thirst." The prince observed once his lover had finished trying to kiss the breath out of him.
"That's fitting, I suppose. You heard my whore, my prince. I'm the Giant of Lannister." That made Oberyn laugh aloud, and not the sort he gave when he was playing at being amused.
"The voyage back to Sunspear will be most amusing, it seems."
"Am I to accompany you, then?" Tyrion asked, recalling the prince's invitation, as it were. One given just before a trial by combat, one that might as well never have been given if indeed Prince Oberyn lost. He may be four-fifths mad, but he is a true son of Dorne. Oberyn shrugged, as if they were choosing a course at the feast table.
"Unless you'd prefer to remain." And die, Tyrion well knew. As does this prince. I will not live to see Tommen wed Margaery if I stay in King's Landing. Ser Gregor Clegane's dying grunt might have absolved him, but Cersei had her purse and her cunt to put to use in bringing about Tyrion's demise. Someone will happily take her gold, a drunk or a madman or a desperate creature from the dregs of Flea Bottom.
"I've done plenty of reading about Dorne, most of it written by maesters who were never closer to your country than the nearest glass of Dornish red. It would do me good to see it for myself, perhaps pen an account of my own."
"Oooh, the Giant of Lannister promises to write of us, does he? You must accompany me now, a giant hasn't set foot in Dorne in thousands of years. Now's as ripe a time as any, wouldn't you agree, Lord Giant?"
"I would at that, my prince. I am your giant, now and always." Then the two of them left the circle of death, Tyrion's laughter echoing off the inside of the tankard so loudly he was sure it reached the royal stands, rivalled by the prince's own. And how you've always hated laughter, Father.
Once back in the tunnel, Oberyn pulled the tankard off Tyrion's head.
"It would be best if you kept close, my lord. Until we're safely away at sea, if not all the way to Dorne's shores." Does he think me so imperiled? Then he remembered who his sister was. Fool dwarf, one life is enough to owe the Red Viper. Even Cersei would not try to have Tyrion killed in the Dornish prince's presence, though. It wasn't Sunspear whose wroth she feared, of course, but Lord Tywin's. She will have her hands full trying to turn Father's mind away from marrying her off again. I may yet live to look upon Prince Oberyn's homeland after all. Not that Cersei would at all appreciate having him near Myrcella, but her opinion scarce mattered. Tyrion wondered whatever infinitesimally small part of his father's mind that preferred having his well-read dwarf son in the world to his witless dog (if indeed it existed to begin with) would much object to Myrcella being watched over by a Lannister. He knows I did not poison Joffrey. Nor would I bring harm to Myrcella to be revenged upon him. Prince Oberyn was content to leave him to his musings as the gaoler freed Tyrion from his irons but when they passed his cell, something seemed to come to mind. "You had other visitors before myself."
"A wonder, truly, but yes."
"Might they be persuaded to reenter your service?"
"How do you mean, my prince? I was proven innocent in the eyes of gods and men. I am no less than Tyrion of House Lannister, heir to Casterly Rock and all the west." Another snort from the prince.
"Just so. Will that stop the hired swords coming after them once we are away, I wonder?" That possibility had not occurred to Tyrion.
"A certain roguish knight who rose high in my service wed the lackwit heiress to Stokeworth. He might come, but to do so would surely lose him his bride and castle." Oberyn gave another snort, this time colored with contempt.
"Stokeworth is a pimple on the sagging buttocks that are the crownlands. There are castles in Dorne…and even a few heiresses."
"Bronn is about as nobly born as the average alley rat."
"Perhaps, but roguish knights are just the sort Dorne goes mad for." Wait until you meet Ser Bronn, my prince. "I seem to recall a squire, as well. The one who saved all of you save your nose on the Blackwater."
"That might pose a bit of a problem as well, my prince."
"Oh?"
"Podrick is of House Payne, nobly born."
"So are you." Oberyn replied, his tone not especially overawed.
"House Payne is sworn to my father-"
"-and yet none raised a brow at this pea pod being given to you. I think, perhaps, that whatever you care, it's more than his own blood does. Forget what he may know, he saved your life. That is reason enough for Cersei to waste a few stags at the very least, if not a dragon, to make sure he follows you to the grave." Tyrion could not find fault in the prince's logic.
"Stories of Dornish wenches fill every boy's head from here to the Neck. Pod ought accompany me, he's my bloody squire after all."
"So they do, but in Dorne we wonder more about the wenches boys north of the Neck much dream of."
"Wildling ones, I suppose. The sort with long lustrous red hair and striking blue eyes, who wield spears and fight naked." Prince Oberyn looked as though Tyrion had provided him rather an interesting prospect. Of course I bloody have, he thought. He's Dornish.
Either nobody had expected him to return to his chambers or else someone seemed to expect Tyrion was intent on a long departure. All he owned was tossed haphazardly into three trunks, sitting by the door. For the burning, no doubt. Well, my luck's rubbed off on my garb, it seems.
"Resplendent." Oberyn said, grinning.
"Better naked, bleeding and covered with sores but alive than dead and buried, finery and all."
"Just so."
"Aren't we making your paramour worry?"
"Ellaria is in loyal hands. My squire is not about to let a few hired knives in red cloaks harm her." Daemon, he called him. Another name to remember.
"We'll need to send word for Ser Bronn and Pod."
"So we will. I'm an easygoing man by nature, but even I don't relish the prospect of wandering the Red Keep looking for your men." They purposed a passing serving maid with the task before Tyrion took a seat on the largest of his trunks. His feet dangling, another outcome reared its head.
"Of course, there is the possibility some Dornish knife spells an end to me. As I recall, Lannisters are not well thought of in Dorne, giants or no."
"You are not wrong, my lord, but we Martells are loved more than you are hated. You will be mocked, undoubtedly. The prince's pet, they'll call you, and that's if they're kind." Tyrion held his hands up, smiling his imp's smile.
"But for a certain Dornishman, I might stand condemned right now instead of sitting innocent of all blame in the monstrous slaying of our fair king. Should your countrymen shower me with piss and feed me aught but shit, it will still be a kinder hand than mine own father has taken." Oberyn's face was a sphinx's mask, a blend of wryness, intensity and intrigue.
"Doran finds it hard enough to stand unassisted, much less piss on someone other than himself. Even an imp."
"I told you, I am a giant." Tyrion jested humorlessly.
"A sphinx is as much lion as man, as much eagle as ox." Tyrion blinked. Are you a mind reader, dear prince?
"Is that a riddle?"
"Something one of my daughters told me. Sarella, the cleverest of them."
"Of course. I've heard it told you have a daughter in every town from the Red Mountains to the Stepstones." Oberyn laughed, an honest one this time.
"Do I look much like Robert? To the best of my knowledge, I've but eight."
"Only eight? And you say I don't measure up to the tales, my prince." More laughter, this time tinged with a hint of Dornish pride.
"You will learn the names and faces in Dorne, my lord. With rather little difficulty as well. Everyone will want to gaze upon Lord Tywin's Bane."
"As it happens, I've wanted that myself from time to time. Whenever I chance to peer into a looking glass though, I only see an ugly dwarf. That's when it doesn't crack, of course." Again, Oberyn showed Tyrion a sphinx's face. As he wore before he told me he would champion me. Tyrion wondered if perhaps, Oberyn's notion of a trip to Dorne for him was more than a lark. It always is, he mused. It is the way the game is played.
"Wake, giant. There are villagers for you to chase." Someone prodded him on the shoulder. Tyrion started awake, looking around bewilderedly. His hand came up to his face. Through his fingers he espied Oberyn watching him from the corner of his eye as Bronn stepped into the room.
"I fell asleep?" Tyrion asked incredulously.
"I was as amazed as you sound. Truly, it was nearly funnier than the farce of a trial you had to endure. When you dream, have you a nose still?" Tyrion tried to remember. There had been no itching, which he supposed meant his nose remained him, but the cold…
"Getting his nose back won't make him any prettier." Bronn said, looking at him with that damned insolent smirk. Pod squeezed out from behind him, looking both relieved and exhausted.
"You're off to Dorne, are you?" Bronn asked Tyrion. Prince Oberyn might as well not have been there.
"I've had my fill of the capital and my family both."
"That's putting it mildly, dwarf. Not a face in that crowd didn't want you to choke to death on your own tongue." Tyrion huffed.
"They're not used to hearing anything but empty courtesies. It was about time someone told them what bootlicking toadies they were."
"Is that what you'll get up to in Dorne? Plying that tongue of yours?"
"Who can say? I scarce know what I'll do from one moment to the next, the gods alone know how I'll fare at Sunspear. Better than here, though, and I mean to go."
"With us in tow?"
"How else to travel? Without my steadfast knight and loyal squire?"
"I hope you have more to offer than your humor, dwarf. I've a castle waiting for me a day's ride away, if that."
"Stokeworth, yes. How long will you hold it when my father decides a sellsword wed to a lackwit isn't the sort of hand he wants tending the castle and its lands?" Bronn cracked his jaw.
"Your father was quick enough to give it to me in the first place. My knighthood as well."
"That was before, when Joffrey yet sat the Iron Throne and Lord Tywin had no easy way of ridding himself of me. Now Tommen is king and I am a base regicide and kinslayer in Cersei's bitch eyes. The knives will never stop for me…nor you, Ser Bronn of the Blackwater. Nor you, Pod."
"I'd go with you anyway, my lord. I didn't stay up all night learning all those Dornish houses for nothing." Pod said.
"That and the prospect of lusty red wenches. We were all your age once, lad." Bronn said, rolling his eyes.
I suppose there's no call to offer anyone a goodbye, Tyrion mused.
"Shall we?"
"Nobody to bid a tearful farewell, my lord?" The Red Viper smirked at him.
"Call them tears of laughter, and they'll fall just as soon as we're underway."
"I could not agree more. The city reeks of open sewers and bodies left to rot, I will be overjoyed when the sea's salty air takes their place." I'm leaving for who knows how long, perhaps forever, and I've got not a soul to say goodbye to. Despite Tyrion's elation at having survived fate's latest attempt on his life, he could not help but feel a little deflated. Though the prince had his entourage of Dornish lords to polish his ego and trade witticisms with, Tyrion had only Bronn and Pod. Better than nobody at all, I suppose. At least Bronn can be counted on to keep me alive as well as he's able. He waddled as quickly as he could to the yard, Prince Oberyn keeping up without a second thought. Tyrion noticed his hand never long left his side, as if something were hidden on his person he wanted well within reach.
"I hope you have sense enough not to poison the blades you hide in your bloody belt."
"Poison is no more a danger than wildfire. It only becomes dangerous when poorly handled." Tyrion had his doubts about that, particularly having watched wildfire wreak untold destruction on the Blackwater. As it seemed his hide was for all intents and purposes Oberyn Martell's property, he kept his mouth shut. No one looked at them twice, much less tried to stop them, but that did not dissuade Oberyn's masked vigilance. He's not concerned for himself, it's dwarf hunters he's wary of. Ser Daemon Sand dutifully brought forth the prince's black stallion when he appeared, Oberyn mounting with a single hand as gracefully as if he were hopping astride a pony. "I hope you're not expecting a littler." he said, while Daemon smirked.
"Not at all. I can ride, if unremarkably." Tyrion said as Pod duly brought him his own horse, by far a less impressive animal. Well, at least it fits. I'm by far a less impressive man. Tyrion had to use a stepping stool to mount up but he got in the saddle without much trouble. A quick trot to the docks and off we'll be. He looked up at the Red Keep, wondering if anyone was looking out a window into the yard below.
"Come, my lord. Looking will not make the leaving easier."
"I suppose not. Had I enough time to do so, I might have left something to remember me by in my father's chamber pot. Or perhaps my sister's." While Oberyn snorted, Tyrion shrugged.
"Perhaps it's best the chance did not come. I would have squandered it trying to make a decision, holding my buttocks all the while." The prince's laughter was their companion out the gate and down the Hook to the harbor.
