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Ch 36 The Red Viper Part 2
🕑 Added 2023-08-29 13:58:26 +0000 UTC"Sam, Close the door."
"Huh?"
"Now!" he hissed, urgency in his tone. Sam reacted swiftly, shutting the door promptly. Jon's quick decision was motivated by the desire to avoid any wandering Maesters stumbling upon the tense situation unfolding before them. It would be quite the ordeal to explain.
"You do know who I am, boy?" Oberyn's voice carried his distinctive Dornish drawl. A dagger, similar to the one held by Alleras, had materialized in his hands at some point. His gaze locked onto Jon's face, assessing his chances of taking him out with a throw.
As if sensing Oberyn's intentions, Jon preemptively cautioned, "Don't even think about it." In an instant, Jon manoeuvred his body and his hostage, concealing himself behind her. "I know you're Oberyn Martell, the prince of Dorne, the Red Viper—please don't!" Jon directed his words at Alleras, who squirmed in his grasp and tried to free his hands, both of which were behind him in Jon's right hand, his single hand big enough to hold both of his, "We're both aware that the dagger is poisoned. I don't want to cause any irreversible harm, so try not to struggle." he said and the Dornish boy immediately stopped as he felt the dagger a hair's breadth away from his throat.
"You know who I am, and yet you take such a reckless action," Oberyn's eyes narrowed, his gaze penetrating. "You're either incredibly foolish or remarkably brave."
"I'll choose Brave if it's all the same," Jon replied with a hint of forced amusement. His mind raced, seeking the ideal resolution that wouldn't involve offending a powerful leader like Oberyn. "I have no intention of harming anyone. I only wish to leave here with my friend, without losing our lives in the process,"
"Why not release the boy? I promise not to harm you," Oberyn's words carried an attempt at a trusting expression, though it was a difficult feat for him. "You have the word of a prince."
Jon's smile remained faintly amused as he declined the offer. "A good effort, my prince. But no." Jon's tone remained firm. "I'm sorry to say this, but your reputation for honour isn't exactly impeccable." Even Alleras snorted at that while Oberyn just had a dumbfounded look on his face, knowing that his reputation was this bad among the masses, "I need you to place the dagger in your hands on the table and take back your seat,"
"You're audacious," Oberyn scowled, clearly unaccustomed to a teenager giving him orders. His tone turned threatening, low and dangerous. "You must realize that I only need to call out once... and any chance of your leaving this Citadel alive would vanish."
"You're correct. You could indeed do that," Jon shrugged indifferently. "However, you'd also need to explain to them why a boy, that I am holding captive, was found in your room."
"What does—"
"My apologies! Did I say 'boy'? I meant 'girl'!" Jon corrected himself, a cheeky grin lighting up his face. The effect on Oberyn was remarkable—he went from a smug expression to complete astonishment. The girl in Jon's grasp, who had been masquerading as a boy, froze at the sudden revelation. "If I had to hazard a guess, the hostage in my hands is one of your illegitimate daughters. She likely desired to study at the Citadel, and you're here to facilitate that. Something along those lines. Am I correct?"
Silence hung in the air briefly before Oberyn's wide smile broke through. "Impressive. You've seen through me," he admitted, his swagger returning as he moved back to the table. Placing the dagger upon it, he resumed his seat. "I would be worried about you giving me out, But... you two aren't exactly normal acolytes, Are you?" he asked with a smug grin
"I don't know what you're talking about," Jon maintained a straight face, while Sam shifted uncomfortably, avoiding eye contact.
"The moment you both entered the room, I sensed something amiss," Oberyn began, his feet once again finding their place on the table as he made himself comfortable. "Your robes don't fit quite right. Neither of you bears the ink-stained hands common to acolytes. And you," he pointed at Jon, "you're too physically fit, too calloused for a regular acolyte. So, if I were to speculate wildly, I'd say... you're both nobles impersonating acolytes—perhaps for pranks, theft, or some other dubious endeavour. Isn't that right? So I think If we were to call for any nearby Maesters, you would still be in deeper waters still... After all, I AM The Prince of Dorne,"
Jon's eyes twitched at the satisfaction lacing Oberyn's words. "Let's assume, just for a moment, that your wild theory is true, which it isn't," Jon responded, his raised eyebrow underscoring his scepticism. "How did you conclude that we're nobles?"
"Well... It's because even after learning my identity, you continued speaking so comfortably," Oberyn shrugged.
"He's right," Alleras suddenly intervened with a smile, slightly turning her head towards Jon, "Not many dare to talk back to him, especially commoners,"
The tension that had gripped her before seemed to have dissipated now that she believed the danger had passed.
"Well... perhaps you're not as fearsome as you believe," Jon murmured to himself, his voice barely audible. He continued louder, unfazed by Oberyn's presence. "Ahem... Anyway, since we both have something on each other and don't want to involve the Citadel, it seems we're at an impasse." Jon turned his attention to Sam. "So, we'll take our leave. Sam, open the door."
Sam wasted no time, promptly complying with Jon's request. As the door opened, Jon directed his attention back to Sam. "You go ahead. I'll follow up shortly. Oh, and take that book on poisons with you." Jon gestured towards the book on the table near Oberyn. "It might prove useful in the future." Sam gulped, hesitating for a moment before mustering his courage. He retrieved the book, casting a final look towards Oberyn, then hurriedly exited.
"You don't mind if I borrow that book, do you?" Jon's voice held a casual tone as he began to edge toward the door, still keeping his gaze fixed on Oberyn. Without waiting for a response, he added, "I heard you're heading to Essos. I have some plans to venture there as well in the future. I'll make sure to return it to you should our paths cross again. Farewell until then." With that, Jon gently pushed Alleras towards Oberyn and swiftly left the room, closing the door behind him.
Alleras appeared poised to follow, but Oberyn's raised hand stopped her. A mysterious smile played on his lips. "Let it be," he advised, his eyes fixed on the closed door. "I have a feeling this won't be the last time I encounter that Northerner."
....
"...Our ships have been vanishing for weeks," Alyn Orkwood's voice resonated with an underlying intensity as he recounted the troubling events. His scowl etched deep lines on his weathered face. "Once or twice might have been a coincidence, but the frequency is too uncanny. Both of these men can vouch," he gestured toward Goodbrother and Tawney, both confirming his words with solemn nods. "We've uncovered the responsible party."
Balon Greyjoy, leaning back in his chair, appeared to be grappling with boredom as he listened. The atmosphere was thick with nonchalance in his solar at Pyke.
"And who, pray tell, is this sinister culprit?" Balon's tone dripped with indifference, a stark contrast to the gravity of the matter at hand.
"It's the Northerners," Alyn spat, "The fuckers Mormonts to be exact,"
Balon's reaction was far from what Alyn had anticipated. The Lord of Pyke erupted into raucous laughter, the sound filling the room. "The Mormonts, you say? Hah! Bear fuckers, stealing our ships?" He took a hearty swig of ale as if the notion was utterly preposterous.
"I know, it's hard to believe those tree-loving Greenlanders are capable of such," Alyn asserted resolutely, unmoved by Baleon's mirth. "One of my captains swears he saw our distinct ships at what's become of the port on Bear Island—"
"A port?" Balon interjected, incredulity painting his features. "You dare call that shack on Bear Island a port?"
"They've managed to construct one in recent years."
Balon shook his head in disbelief. "Beggars and thieves, that lot. Do they even have enough coin for that?"
"Yes. It appears they've garnered enough resources," Alyn confirmed, his tone unyielding. "My proposal is that we muster a fleet and sack this budding port before it grows further—"
Balon's rebuttal was swift, his demeanour sombre. "We can't," he asserted, rising from his seat with a heavy sigh. "The time isn't ripe. We're too weak at the moment, Besides... they've my son."
"Your son isn't in the North," Alyn argued, his determination unwavering. "If we strike under the cloak of night, with our banners veiled, none shall be the wiser—"
"Absolutely not!" Balon's retort held finality. He stood resolute, his resolve unshaken. "Not yet. We must wait, and bide our time. The moment shall come when we make them all pay the Iron Price," his words were almost a murmur as he departed the chamber.
Goodbrother broke the silence, the question on everyone's minds voiced. "Are we going to just let it go then?"
Alyn's response was fierce, his resolve unwavering. "No, we won't. Our fleet alone will be enough to show them their place. We'll make those bastards rue the day they dared to underestimate us."
