"What's stopping me from throwing you overboard? Or from returning to Myr to hand you over to the city's rulers?"
"Nothing, my lord," Tony said, his head bowed.
"Come now, boy," Oberyn added, an amused smile on his face.
"If you're smart enough to plan your escape and land on my ship, give me a solid pitch. Your life is on the line."
Despite everything he had been through in his past life, Tony couldn't help but feel ashamed, haggling for his life with a nobleman who couldn't care less. Being proud right now would do him no good.
"As you wish, my lord. First of all, the people of Westeros hate slavery. Since you are not a pirate ship, you won't deliver me to a slaver city."
"Not bad," said Oberyn's mistress with a chuckle.
"I gathered from the conversations that you are a Dornish prince. I doubt you would return to Myr to hand me over; the coin from it would be of no use to you, and it could tarnish your reputation."
"True enough! Handing over a man who won his own freedom would make me a de facto slaver," Oberyn replied.
"Finally, my lord. I am as Westerosi as you are. It has been nearly four years since a pirate ship took me from our shores to sell me in the slaver cities."
Despite all the confidence he showed, Tony could see that Oberyn Martell was not truly convinced by his story. And he understood why; his story was too quaint for the intelligence he glimpsed in the prince's eyes.
"Alright, how about you tell me how you really escaped. Not the nonsense you told the captain. I'm bored. Try to be truthful, maybe it will entertain me."
Oberyn's smile was anything but warm.
*******************************
"My master was, let's say... a detestable man, unbearably cruel. He took a wicked pleasure in tormenting us. He was a skilled cloth artisan, but a poor businessman. Unable to satisfy his boundless greed, he constantly blamed us. Which, in the long run, led us to plot his assassination."
"However, he was paranoid, so he was always under guard; we couldn't act openly. We spread our revenge out over years."
"The first year was observation. Learning the house's routines, the structure's weak points, the materials. His house was magnificent, all carved wood and imported stone. It was a masterpiece of Myrish architecture, according to his friends. I worked in maintenance; I was the one in charge of the sabotage. Because of my age, my actions were either ignored or taken for a child's eccentricity."
"We started with the salt," Tony said, his gaze distant. "Under the pretext of cleaning some damp foundations, I introduced tiny amounts of rock salt into the mortar joints, into the cracks of the stone pillars on the lower levels. Slowly, the salt crystallized, expanded, and fractured the rock from the inside. Imperceptible at first, but destructive in the long term."
He paused, his eyes shining with a mischievous glint. "The second year, the timber frames. Ah, the wood! We introduced colonies of deathwatch and longhorn beetles into the least visible areas of the main beams, in the floors of the upper stories. Small pockets of vermin, left to breed and devour the structure from within. To mask the noise, we used ambient sounds, the wind... And the smell? Easy to conceal with the strong spices the master loved."
"I even 'forgot' to treat certain planks with the usual repellent oils, creating highways for the vermin. They carved out galleries, turning solid wood into virtual sieves."
"And the third year," Tony leaned forward, his tone growing graver, "was the coup de grâce. The accumulation of flammables. Under the pretext of storing cleaning rags, furniture oils, and wax for the floors, we created caches. Discreet, isolated caches, filled with highly combustible materials. In hollow walls, under service stairs, behind thick tapestries. Makeshift wicks, soaked in vegetable oils, hidden in the vermin-infested beams. Devices that needed only a spark to ignite."
"I had even rigged a primitive system, based on rope tension and pressure, so that a simple movement of furniture, or a slave walking on a weakened floorboard, could release a spark, cause enough friction. The master's security systems? His guards? They weren't looking at the foundations or the beams. They were watching the men. And that's where they made their mistake."
Tony shrugged, an almost disillusioned look on his face. "The night before I left, everything was ready. A simple slip-up from a lamp-lighter, a small bump against a chandelier near a wall... and the trap would spring. The salt had weakened the foundations, the vermin had devoured the timber frames, and the flammables were waiting. We just gave it the final push."
"It wasn't an act of brute force, my lord. It was an act of calculated patience. The master's house was going to collapse on itself, not from an assault, but undermined from within. And no one would ever know it was the work of us, mere slaves."
"Finally, my lord," Tony concluded, looking up at Oberyn, "while our master was dead drunk in the flames, we took advantage of the chaos to make our escape. Everyone will think we perished in the fire."
************************
"And why are you all alone?" Oberyn asked, dumbfounded, not knowing how to take the story.
At this question, Tony's tone became darker, almost a hiss of rage.
"Our leader betrayed us. He killed the others, arguing that a secret is only a secret when one person knows it. I only saved my own life by sneaking onto your ship."
"Either he's one hell of an actor, or his accomplices were damned intelligent," Oberyn thought, sizing up the kid.
Whatever the case may be, there's no doubt he's very smart for his age, and downright dangerous if he could participate in a plot of this magnitude for years.
"You know what. I'll let you know my decision later. All this has made me hungry," Oberyn said while signaling one of his men to escort the kid away.
***************************
The late afternoon sun filtered through the portholes of Oberyn's private cabin, casting golden streaks of light on the floor. The air, heavy with heat and the intermingled scent of bath oils and moist skin, was peaceful. Oberyn lay on his back, one arm thrown carelessly over his forehead, staring at the ceiling. Beside him, Ellaria Sand sat up, draping a fine silk cloth over her body, and poured herself a glass of Dornish wine.
"You look darker than the Shadow Vines, my love," she said, her voice low and melodious. She handed him the glass, which he accepted.
"That kid," Oberyn replied, taking a long sip. "Tony. He looks like a frightened fawn, but he speaks like a warlord."
Ellaria nodded, her eyes half-closed. "He's too... sharp. His vocabulary, the way he articulates every argument. Slaves, not even stewards, don't speak like that. And that escape story... the patience over three years. The salt, the insects, the flammables. It's the work of a deranged mind or a genius."
"I'd lean toward genius," Oberyn murmured. "He sold us his story with the confidence of a Myrish merchant before a cargo of rare spices. But the lie about his escape, then the pivot to a tale of revenge... He played me, Ellaria."
"And that's what bothers you the most, isn't it? That a mere boy tried to manipulate the Red Viper," she smiled, tracing his chest with her fingertips. "He's dangerous, Oberyn. Not for his physical strength, but for his mind. A kid capable of taking part in such a plot, of burning a man's house to the ground and disappearing... You don't keep a secret like that lightly."
Oberyn propped himself up on his elbows, the smile gone from his face. "You're right. And the end of his story... the 'leader' who kills the others. Either it's a clever turn to justify being alone, or he really did escape a second murder. Whatever the truth, he is a brilliant liar, and a formidable survivor."
"So, the question remains, my Prince: what are we going to do with your little prodigy?" Ellaria asked, leaning in to meet his gaze.
"I can't throw him overboard, Ellaria. I can't. Even if I dislike his story, he broke his own chains. I'm not a child-butcher like those damn Lannisters and Baratheons. Killing him is a crime against the gods."
He sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. "But I can't keep him either. We're returning to Dorne. A Dornish ship coming back from the Free Cities with an Essosi kid... it would scream of plots and sedition, regardless of his hair color. Robert has only been on the Throne for a year, and the Lannisters are watching us. I won't give them an opportunity like that."
"So, we're stuck," Ellaria stated, pursing her lips.
"No," Oberyn said, his eyes lighting up with a new mischief. "Not stuck. Unburdened."
He turned to her, his Viper's smile returning to his face. "If he's as smart, as Westerosi as he claims, he'll know how to manage. Our route takes us to King's Landing. We have to dock to resupply before heading down the coast to Dorne."
"You're going to... drop him in the middle of the lions' den?" Ellaria asked, incredulous.
"I'm going to give him a chance. A real chance. He'll be free, in the largest city in Westeros. It's the home he's asking for, the anonymity he deserves after his masterstroke in Myr. And most importantly, it's far from me and my affairs," Oberyn explained. "He's too dangerous to keep on my ship, but not enough to deserve death. King's Landing will put him to the test. If he's truly the genius he thinks he is, he'll survive. If not..." He shrugged.
"Hunger, the slums, the City Watch... that kid is prime prey, Oberyn," Ellaria said, her tone more serious.
"He survived Myr, Ellaria. If he can burn a manor to the ground at his age, he can navigate the capital's alleys. And if he fails, it won't be on my conscience."
He leaned over and kissed her. "A free man in a free city. That's all I can offer him without hanging myself. Now, come here. I haven't had enough of you."