Thankfully, we didn't experience any looters in the aftermath of Renly's assault.
The rafters' morale was crushed with the crown's sortie. After that, Renly wasn't able to regroup his men and sounded the retreat.
The assault on the King's Gate continued until the rafters joined them for retreat, and only then, did they turn back.
The victorious defenders came in droves to the Street of Silk to celebrate, so we did have some work to do. It wasn't too bad, mostly because Chataya's caters to a wealthy clientele. Even then, we still stayed in the main lounge until about the hour of the ghosts.
So when dawn came and after cold bath, I decided to return to my morning exercise routine, this time with spears.
It was all I could do to rid myself of stress and frustration caused by how every tunnel my rodents found was blocked in one way or another. The mouse I sent to the opulent stable found a tunnel opening, but my elation was cut short when the little guy found big iron bars decorated with dragons blocking the entrance.
It was still a breakthrough, since I sent my little helper to find if it connected to the Red Keep. It may not have been the great leap forward I was looking for, but it was a workable first step. That was until my mouse got to explore the tunnels.
It was a fucking labyrinth.
Every intersection connected to at least three other passages who then, in turn, went up, down or a light slope tricking you to believe you were going up, but then it went downwards. It was a right mess.
I was a wee little boy when I asked Maester Luwin of Maegor's fabled paranoia. After a bit of back and forth, we both concluded The Conciliator overstated his uncle's faults. After seeing the tunnels, I have to correct my assessment, at least on the paranoia side.
With a thrust, I finished my first set of exercises. I had no time to ponder as to why I felt a little more winded up than usual because I heard clapping from behind me.
"Pretty good for a Nor-, I mean, Riverlander," Oberyn said with a knowing smirk.
I swallowed a sigh. "Good morning to you as well, Prince Oberyn."
"Oh?" he said while strolling closer with a spear in hand. "I though we were on a first name basis after you stole Alayaya from me?"
As always, the Dornish prince chose to say something totally unpredictable.
I sent a quick order to my rodents. They would all be going to the stable and navigating the tunnels until I had a good enough map of the passages.
"Pray tell, how did I steal Alayaya from you when she spent the night in your bed?"
The prince chuckled while twirling the spear in his hands. "Temporarily stole, then. Which reminds me…" He stopped a few yards in front of me. "How is Marei? With you here so early in the morning, I'm worried for the girl. Did she release all her pent up… unrest?"
That was one way to put it. "She is calm, otherwise I wouldn't be here."
The young blond had been jittery from the moment the bells tolled. I offered her a few honest words of comfort and reassuring smiles, it wasn't enough. In the end, Dacey worked her magic and got Marei to regain her composure. Last time I saw them, they were headed to Dacey's room.
"That's good then," Oberyn said oddly subdued by my answer, and put his spear on guard. "Are you ready, Jaren? I'm going to teach you how to properly use that spear of yours."
I let out a deep sigh. "Do you always have to talk like that?"
"I don't know what you could possibly mean." He smirked.
Of course you don't.
I readied myself and put my spear on guard too. "So, how should we go about it?"
"As I said, you're pretty good for not being Dornish…" he said.
"But?"
"But you are not used to handle a spear right?" Obery asked. "Your drill is focused on heavy blows and slashes. Which is fine, but you are neglecting precise thrusts. You aim to overwhelm your opponent with strength, but what if your opponent is someone who can't be overcome with mere strength?"
I doubted there was anyone capable of receiving a heavy blow from my fullmetal halberd with no consequences. But his point stood. Just as recent events demonstrated, I would not always have access to my halberd.
"Very well. I'll be under your guidance," I said.
"After this, I can offer you other kind of guidance as well," he replied.
Yep, I was half regretting my decision already.
###
There was little to do in a city under siege while you were trying to go unnoticed. Which explained why Oberyn was nailing and getting nailed enough to make the Greek gods proud. And at the same time, failed to explain the mystery that was Oberyn Martell.
The first time we met he openly stated his purpose in King's Landing. "Elia Martell," was all he said for an explanation. And, to be fair, it explained a lot.
Or at least I thought it did. The Dornish prince arrived about a week before us, somehow getting inside the walls without anyone noticing, and has been a guest at Chataya's ever since. If he was so hellbent on revenge, then why was he so calm?
Oberyn spent his mornings walking around King's Landing. Perwyn joined him on the last of his little jaunts and he found the prince did little more than complaining about the state of the city, just as another resident would. Then he spent his afternoons with Chataya's girls.
To add to the mystery, the prince didn't ask about the purpose of my little party here in King's Landing. He was so nonchalant about it that I couldn't hold myself from asking. "Chataya trusts you, and you wouldn't be here if you were a Lannister ally," Oberyn replied with a shrug.
As a side note, I've all but confirmed the prince knows Dacey and I are Northerners. Which in turn, could mean he knows Dacey is a noble. And yet, he didn't say nothing, and keeps shamelessly flirting with Dacey and me, sometimes at the same time.
Given all I know of the prince, I can somewhat guess his revenge plan is straightforward. Wait for Tywin Lannister to show himself in the walls, find his way to the Lannister patriarch, and kill him. Otherwise, I couldn't find or deduce a hidden plot or clever strategy from Oberyn's actions.
I turned to my companion for our daily Fishmonger's Square runs, and said, "Oberyn was asking about you." By way of Marei, I didn't specify.
Dacey almost tripped. "What?"
I shrugged. "He wanted to know about Marei really. She was trembling last night."
She gave me a little tap that almost sent me tumbling to the wall. Coming from her, it was a measured response.
"All he wanted to know is if the girl is ready for his fun," Dacey said.
I could see someone ending up with that idea. From the outside Oberyn is a lustful man eager to satiate his appetites. When you get to know him a little better… you realize he is a lustful man eager to satiate his appetites, but, and this is very important, he has lines he'd die before crossing.
"Not really, he was just trying to get a rise of me."
Besides, I really had the feeling that Oberyn cared for Marei's distress. Mostly because he didn't insist with the double meanings when he asked of her.
"I wouldn't put it past him," Dacey said dismissively.
She really didn't like the Dornish prince. I had a few guesses as to why. Something about Melissa, I bet. Either way, it was quite alright, sometimes people simply don't need to get along.
Dacey pulled me to an alley and pressed me against the wall, her fingers closing my mouth shut. After a set of my incredulous blinks, she pointed to the side.
The City Watch was in one of its recruitment patrols.
In an instant, I went to the closest of my pigeons and scouted for an evasion route. The streets were half deserted this early in the morning, perhaps a little more due to yesterday's failed assault. Renly pulled back his forces to the White Ford, while the part of his army that had already crossed were setting up a proper camp at the King's and Lion's gates. So the city had at the very least a day before resisting a full assault.
My pigeon found a route free of gold cloaks. I signaled Dacey and we both went further into the alley. We turned left and ran a block in into Flea Bottom, before I relaxed.
Two patrols were running parallel picking up anyone with a little muscle in their arms. They wouldn't dare to 'recruit' us while on the Street of Silk, but close to the Muddy Way? It was free rein.
"Good catch," I said. "I'll be more attentive with my little helpers from now on."
She grimaced but hid it behind a smile. "Aye, that'd be helpful."
My pigeon guided us out of Flea Bottom. Once we were out of danger from knives in the dark or from becoming part of Tywin's army, I turned to Dacey.
"Say, do you have an issue with me skinchanging?"
She gave me a surprised look. "What? Why are you asking?"
Various reasons. The way she was uncomfortable when I mentioned controlling my rodents and pigeons. The way she paused mid sentence from time to time.
And of course, just now. "Well, you looked away when I mentioned skinchanging."
"Wha-" She stopped herself for a heartbeat. "That's not what happened. It's just… when you keep doing it, you end up… I've never seen you as bad before. You keep saying you're just tired, but Jon, you wind up looking half dead."
I haven't seen myself, but to look even worse than my times practicing at Maidenpool? That's not possible, at least I don't think it should be.
"Are—"
"See, you're going to deny it," Dacey said. "Listen, I understand why you're like this, I'd go crazy if it was any of my sisters too. Just…" She sighed and patted my shoulder. "I don't know…"
Well, shit. I've been pushing limits, yes. And I wouldn't stop just now for little things like health and stuff, not when we are so close to Sansa.
And yet, I couldn't just dismiss Dacey's worries.
We kept our walk. This time in silence and with a more cautious pace.
"How about a bet?" I said.
Dacey stopped cold and turned to me, angry as all hell. "Are you serious?"
I winced. "I admit, it was not the best way to put it." I gave a last look from my pigeon's eyes, the road was clear. "I meant, a deal. I'll keep my usual rhythm for two days and on the third I'll rest until midday. All I ask of you, is to spar with me so that I don't attempt to keep skinchanging on the hours I'm not supposed to."
We crossed the street, the Fishmonger's Square was a block away. The people here were more agitated than normal.
"No," Dacey said.
"No?"
"No. Keep skinchanging, find us a way you-know-where, I'll bonk you when I see you've gone too far."
If I was honest with myself, I'd probably try to keep a connection with my rodents in the middle of a spar. I guess this was a better deal.
Except for one little thing. "How are you going to know I've gone too far?"
Dacey shrugged with and gave me a smile promising pain.
"Uhm, Dacey. How are you going to know?"
She slapped my back and turned her eyes to the road, smiling all the way. "Don't worry about it. I'll know."
Well, shit.
###
When Sansa heard of Renly's army arriving at King's Landing's gates, she felt vindicated. She wanted to see the gates fall and Renly's banner march into the Red Keep to pull Joffrey from the throne. And perhaps… put his head on a spike.
When the assault started, she was in the Queen's Ballroom in Maegor's Holdfast together with the ladies of the court and Myrcella and Tommen. The queen entered last.
The time she spent there was tense, largely due to Queen Cersei's mood. She kept telling them about what she would do to Renly once she had him on his knees, about how Jaime would have gutted Renly if he was in the Red Keep with her. In the midst of it all, she'd look at Sansa out of the corner of her eye, never directly.
The ladies with them, offered nods and words of cheer for Lord Tywin and King Joffrey. Sansa wasn't paying attention, but the queen must've heard something she didn't like, because from one moment to the next, she left.
Without the queen in sight, the ballroom became a little less oppressive. There were hushed conversations and some even started to sing. By her side, Myrcella started praying.
Her friend was one of the only reasons Sansa was fearful of Renly. The man had crowned himself king, no matter how generous or forgiving he was, Joffrey, Tommen and Myrcella were in great danger.
It was in times like these she felt her tongue tied. She didn't know what comforting words to say to her friend, she couldn't tell her she hoped for Lord Tywin's victory, she couldn't tell her everything would be fine. She couldn't lie, not to her friend.
And so, her dress was a little ruffled and a little damp on her shoulder by the time night fell and Renly's assault stopped. The princess was hugging her from the side, and in turn, the prince was hugging his sister too.
The day after, the queen forbid Myrcella and Tommen out of Maegor's Holdfast. And just like last time, Sansa found herself in the godswood.
She didn't know what happened in yesterday's assault, neither did her maids. News were hard to come by. She hadn't heard anything about her brothers since the siege of Duskendale and it was bothering her a great deal.
Perhaps that was why she didn't immediately turn around when she noticed Lord Varys near the fountain.
She stopped in an instant. There was the side of her demanding her to ask him about her brothers, about Duskendale, about Jon and her uncle Edmure. And there was the other side, counseling her to caution, repeating over and over not to trust no one in King's Landing.
With a shake of her head, she decided to try and find about Duskendale, all the while sharpening her mind to stop herself from saying anything dangerous. However, there was one little issue. Sansa didn't know how to ask him.
She had been witness of how the queen conducted herself. Cersei would never ask something directly, she'd first start a conversation and never ask exactly what she wanted. It was a game of misdirection, a duel of minds rather than arms.
Sansa knew for a fact, she wouldn't be able to trade words that way, at least not yet. So, she took another approach.
"Greetings, Lord Varys," Sansa said as she got closer to the Master of Whispers.
"Lady Sansa, it's good to see Lord Renly's assault didn't smother your spirits."
"You look lively as well, my lord."
Lord Varys giggled behind the sleeve of his tunic. "I assure you, my lady, I only look lively. The happenings in the realm are giving me long sleepless nights."
Here, the people in court would've keep the conversation going, asking for nothing of real import until finally, when their target didn't suspect a thing, ask what they really wanted to know. All the while hiding themselves behind the curtain of politeness and veiled intentions.
Sansa didn't know how to go about it, and a little part of her didn't want to do it that way. There was a time and place for court games. But in front of her was Lord Varys, the man who served the Mad King and was able to keep his head and position under King Robert, she was outmatched in every way that mattered.
"I was wondering, do you know of the siege of Duskendale?" She chose to be direct, it wasn't supposed to be a dangerous topic, much less so with Renly battering the gates.
Lord Varys turned sideways to her, his eyes full with mirth. "I would be a bad Master of Whispers if I didn't."
That was to be expected, very few things happened without the Spider knowing. Sansa waited for a few breaths for Lord Varys to continue.
The seconds came and went before she realized the phrasing of her first. "Could you tell me?"
"For the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms? Of course," he said with a shallow bow. "Lord Tully chose diplomacy and didn't storm Duskendale's walls. He doesn't want to spill blood unnecessarily. A most wise approach in my opinion, given how Renly's army is south of him."
She felt a hole in the pit of her stomach. They hadn't made progress, she'd have to stay in the Red Keep still.
"And what about," my brother, "Jon Stark?"
"Hhm, it is said, he was enraged when Lord Tully refused to storm the walls. Being rash is a young man's way…"
This second pause was far clearer for Sansa. "But?"
"But some are suspicious. Lord Tully took Harrenhal in a single attack and Jon Stark took Maidenpool three days after setting camp. Such famed warriors choosing to quietly camp outside of Duskendale rises some eyebrows."
"You believe they have a plan?"
Lord Varys chuckled. "Everyone has a plan, my lady. What really matters, is if your plan brings you victory."
Sansa saw the truth in his words. If King Robert hadn't triumphed on his rebellion, then he'd be little more than a name lost to history. If Robb hadn't won his battles, no one would've cared for the Northern army.
And yet, there was a little something whispering in the back of her mind. Reminding her of someone who mattered a lot, and had failed in his plans…
"I see you do not agree with the last of what I said." Lord Varys turned from the fountain to face her completely. "While I don't share your opinion on the matter, I appreciate disagreement."
Sansa felt she was treading somewhere unknown. The Master of Whispers wore a giddy smile on him, he looked a shade more honest in her eyes.
"How so?"
"I've grown bored of men and women with narrow minds. People who say 'yes' to everything I say are incredibly dull and unfortunately abundant these days."
"I see…" Sansa said. She had heard Jon say something similar, warning Robb of the dangers of the 'yes-man'.
"Hence, I like our little talks," Varys said with a giggle. "You are sharper than most lords and ladies at court, and with a genuine kindness almost no noble in the realm possesses."
Sansa sharpened her gaze in an instant. Lord Varys was about to ask something of her, she was certain—
"See?" the Master of Whispers said chuckling. "Most lords and ladies at court wouldn't have recognized flattery this quick. Forgive me, my lady. I'm a mere servant looking for the favor of the future queen of the Seven Kingdoms."
She had to focus on not getting stiff at the reminder. She would never be Joffrey's wife, her brothers would never allow it.
"Most lords and ladies only see what they want to see," Sansa said, still focusing on not clenching her hands.
"Indeed," Varys said. "I've seen you embroider quite the complicated figures." He changed the subject abruptly. "Is that what sharp young ladies are fond of these days?"
It was familiar, it reminded her of home. "Yes," reading Jon's stories too. "What about you, my lord?"
"I'm fond of little riddles myself, Lady Sansa. May I tell you one?" Lord Varys didn't wait for an answer. "In a room sit three great men, a king, a priest, and a rich man with his gold. Between them stands a sellsword, a little man of common birth and no great mind. Each of the great ones bids him slay the other two. 'Do it,' says the king, 'for I am your lawful ruler.' 'Do it,' says the priest, 'for I command you in the names of the gods.' 'Do it,' says the rich man, 'and all this gold shall be yours.' So tell me, who lives and who dies?
'The king' was the obvious answer. Joffrey would punish anyone who dared to say otherwise. But it wasn't Sansa's answer, not if she was honest.
Lord Varys was an agent of the crown, so the answer should please him. Except… with every passing moment, Sansa saw the mirth in his eyes fade. Besides, the fact that no one in court other than her received news of the Vale's division made her believe the Master of Whispers wasn't Joffrey's man, or at least not completely.
"It depends on the sellsword," she said before Lord Varys' smile became brittle.
"Does it?" he said, the mirth returning to his eyes. "He's but a simple man, he doesn't have a crown, gold or the favor of the gods on his side."
"I stand corrected then. It depends on the sellsword and on the outside of the room."
"My lady?"
He looked curious, as if wanting to keep playing this little game. "I never met a sellsword in my life, but I know the servants at the Red Keep would answer 'the king'. Just as I know septons in the Starry Sept would answer 'the priest'. In Braavos, most would answer 'the rich man'. Each one of them imagines the room in your riddle as somewhere close they know." Just as I used to do. "So, it depends on where the room is. The sellsword may be a simple man, but he should know of the dangers outside the room."
"That's quite the answer, Lady Sansa." Lord Varys nodded deeply. "But fundamentally, is it the sellsword the one who has the power?"
The riddle was clear on that. "Yes," she said.
"But if it's a swordsman who rule, why do we pretend kings hold all the power?" he asked in response.
It was a dangerous thing to ask. She didn't want to imagine what Joffrey would do if someone said that in his presence. Asking that question, the Master of Whispers confirmed something she already suspected. His loyalty wasn't for Joffrey or the crown.
"Because a swordsman can't raise an army like kings do," she settled.
"Hhmm, it is indeed so. You've given me much to think about," Lord Varys said, his smile genuine. "I will leave you with a final question, my lady. Why do armies answer to kings?"
With a final bow, the Master of Whispers left the godswood, not without leaving a piece of paper in her hands.
A tired Sansa sat next to the fountain, and took off her slippers to feel the pleasant prickle of the grass. If she hid the piece of paper in them before standing up and ask for lunch, only her and the godswood knew.
Another set of questions filled her mind. The piece of paper Lord Varys had given her… she hadn't seen him write it. That meant, he had it on him beforehand.
It was similar to how her first meeting ended. Only this time, it was her the one who approached.
Lord Vayrs knew I wanted to ask him about Duskendale.
Back in her rooms, Annara cheerfully shared some news. Lord Tywin was being stricter with Lord Baelish. Apparently, the Master of Coin had done something to displease the Lord Hand and had two red cloaks tailing his every move.
Annara made it sounded serious, but it shouldn't be something too extreme. Otherwise, Joffrey or Cersei would've taken action.
Since Sansa didn't ask for a bath, her maid left soon after sharing a light meal. It was only then she took the piece of paper from her slipper to read it.
It was one sentence, but that sentence alone did a lot to improve her mood. She bit her tongue to stop the relief she felt course through her. It was Varys who gave her that piece of paper, she couldn't blindly trust his words.
She took the paper, and, before the seed of relief could grow, she threw it into the hearth.
That night, she couldn't sleep. The words in the paper were seared in her eyelids. "Lady Catelyn Stark in in Renly's camp."
###
A/N: So, now we know Oberyn is direct about what his objectives are. And I wanted to ask, should I made that explicit last chapter? I kinda think that, since we kept with Jon's PoV here, it wasn't necessary. Let me know.
Also, what do you guys think is Oberyn's strategy? Is it what Jon thinks? Or did you perhaps spot something?
You can read two chapters ahead: p.a.t.r.e.o.n.c.o.m / yorud
Anyways, give me your comments ໒( ⊡ _ ⊡ )७