"Speak! Was it him? You wouldn't spare even a nursing infant. What are you so afraid of? The return of the true dragon to exact its vengeance? Your reckoning is at hand. Don't delude yourselves that Dorn will turn its ballistas against the dragon again!"
Oberyn pointed furiously at Tywin, his voice hoarse with rage, as if unleashing years of pent-up fury.
Varys, watching the still-living Mountain lying on the ground, felt even more worried than Tyrion. He now truly understood the meaning of the mysterious man's letter.
Varys wanted to warn Oberyn to be careful, but the prince was too enraged to even glance in his direction. His urgency was futile.
*Thud!*
Just as Oberyn approached the Mountain, the giant suddenly reached out and tripped him, sending him sprawling to the ground. He then grabbed Oberyn's tunic and began to lift him.
Stunned by the fall, Oberyn suddenly remembered Varys's warning. He swiftly drew a dagger from his thigh and violently stabbed it toward the Mountain's face.
The Mountain's arm had just begun to rise when a sharp pain shot through his face. Before he could react, the dagger plunged deep into his eye, freezing his raised arm in mid-air.
Feeling the Mountain's immense strength and the searing pain in his crushed hand, Oberyn abandoned his torture. He stabbed wildly with his dagger, over and over, until the Mountain finally released his grip. Only then did he stop his frenzied assault.
Sensing the Mountain's complete stillness beside him, Oberyn sat up from the ground. He stared at the Mountain's face, now riddled with gaping wounds. The man was beyond dead.
Having narrowly escaped death, Oberyn instinctively unbuckled his light chest armor. A large chunk of flesh had been torn from his palm, now shriveled into a grotesque ball. The Mountain's grip had been so powerful; had he been even a moment slower, a single blow would have been fatal.
He glanced at Varys, standing with the other nobles. Without Varys's warning, he wouldn't have had two daggers at his side, nor would he have reacted so quickly to stab the Mountain. He would have died like his sister Elia, and revenge would have been impossible.
As Tyrion stepped down from the arena to thank Oberyn for the fallen Mountain, someone rushed past and threw himself into Oberyn's arms in a tight embrace.
Ellaria had been terrified by the earlier scene, fearing she would witness Oberyn's gruesome death.
Ellaria knew that no one who fought The Mountain ever fared well. The Mountain's greatest pleasure was to torture and slaughter his opponents, so she never expected Oberyn to turn the tide after being knocked down.
Seeing Oberyn's narrow victory, Jaime smiled and walked over to Tyrion, patting him on the shoulder.
"Hmph!" Cersei glared at Tyrion and Oberyn as she stared at The Mountain lying motionless on the ground. She lifted the hem of her skirt and swept out of the arena.
Tywin slowly rose from his seat, declared Oberyn the winner, and Tyrion innocent. He then cast a cold glance at Oberyn, who was with his mistress, before leaving the arena.
The noble families were astonished that The Mountain, the greatest warrior in King's Landing, had been defeated. They cast wary glances at Tyrion and hurried away, never imagining he had a chance to recover.
As the crowd gradually dispersed, Tyrion approached Oberyn to offer his formal thanks.
"Did you see? I was almost killed too!" Oberyn said, still shaken as he glanced at the long trail of blood left by The Mountain's dragged body. "If they had dragged me away, that would have been the end of me."
Given The Mountain's penchant for brutalizing his opponents, Oberyn couldn't fathom what his own death might have entailed.
Ellaria, who had just parted from Oberyn, noticed the expression returning to his face. She embraced him and kissed his cheek in comfort.
At that moment, Tyrion approached and said solemnly, "I will remember this kindness today." He then bowed deeply.
"You should thank Varys, not me. I must thank him too," Oberyn replied. Though he had indeed saved Tyrion, he didn't want to take credit.
"Varys?" Tyrion was surprised to learn Varys was involved. The same man who had accused him of being close to the Starks at the trial.
Ellaria, nestled against Oberyn, also turned to him in astonishment. She had never heard him mention Varys helping him.
"Varys stopped me on my way to the dungeons to find you. He warned me to keep my distance from The Mountain during the trial by combat, or I would die through carelessness!" Oberyn still felt immense relief recalling the previous night.
"So that's why you had daggers hidden in both your thighs?" Ellaria asked, finally understanding Oberyn's peculiar behavior that morning.
"I know the consequences of letting The Mountain get close. That's why I made extra preparations, though I never thought they'd actually be needed. If I'd been even a moment slower, the ground would be soaked in my blood and *gore*, not The Mountain's." Oberyn glanced warily at the still-wet bloodstains on the ground as he spoke.
"How could Varys have guessed the details of your fight with The Mountain?" Tyrion asked, puzzled.
"I don't understand it myself. I didn't see this coming, even after he warned me beforehand. But last night, when he advised me, he said he was merely relaying someone else's counsel. He claimed he didn't foresee my potential death."
As Oberyn finished speaking, Tyrion fell into deep thought. He couldn't fathom who could have predicted his choice of trial by combat—a decision he'd only made at the last moment.
Moreover, this person had also foreseen Oberyn's potential carelessness and death.
*Could it be her?* Tyrion suddenly remembered Varys had urged him to leave King's Landing and pledge allegiance to the Mother of Dragons, Daenerys.
Last night, Varys had also claimed to be delivering someone else's warning to Oberyn. Since Varys had encouraged Tyrion to serve Daenerys, he must be secretly working for her. It had to be her, Tyrion thought with certainty.
"It seems you know who hired Varys?" Oberyn asked, noticing Tyrion's peculiar expression.
"I'm only guessing, not certain. I'd have to ask him directly to be sure," Tyrion replied truthfully. He saw no reason to hide anything from Oberyn on this matter.
"Don't forget to tell me when you're sure!" Oberyn, who valued clear distinctions between friend and foe, wouldn't rest until he could personally thank the person who had warned him.
"I will."
After bidding Oberyn farewell, Tyrion returned to his residence. The vast courtyard stood empty and silent. Sansa had fled King's Landing, Shae's whereabouts were unknown, and the servants had long since scattered, leaving him utterly alone.
He retrieved a bottle of red wine from the cabinet and poured himself a glass. He took a sip, surprised he could still savor the taste of red wine.
After two glasses, he stopped drinking. There would be plenty of opportunities to enjoy wine in the future; he still had matters to attend to.
He stepped outside and circled the nearby alleys, ensuring he wasn't being followed, before heading straight toward the eastern district.
After passing through two squalid streets, he paused before a small courtyard framed by several large trees.
He knocked twice in a rhythmic pattern. Soon, he heard the sound of a door opening inside. The courtyard gate creaked open just enough for Varys's bald head to emerge.
-----------------------
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