45

Chapter 45: Ch 36 The Red Viper

Chapter Text

Jon gently pressed his ear against the door, feeling its cool surface against his skin. Sam, not being able to contain his curiosity, mirrored his actions after a while, and also leaned against the wooden frame. The door, unlocked from the inside, almost swung open under the pressure of Jon's curiosity. He stopped it just in time, a rush of caution sweeping through him like a gust of wind.

"...You got your 6 links years ago, but you refuse to get the last one to become a full-fledged Maester at that time. So now that you're back, I hope you can work hard on getting the last link because you can't just treat the Citadel like your home where you can just come and go whenever you please," The Archmaester said with slight contempt, "It lowers the reputation of Citadel and I don't even need to talk about your lack of abstinence that a Maester candidate should apply to. Now I hope that you don't expect to be allowed to be this hedonistic when you become a—"

"Ah! I think that we have a misunderstanding here, Archmaester," The voice, that Jon had now identified as the younger prince of Dorne, said absentmindedly, "I didn't actually come here to complete my last chain and become a Maester,"

"Huh? You Didn't?" The old voice asked confused, "Then why did you?"

"To have fun, I was about to head towards Essos for a new adventure and I felt like partaking in a few of the books present here so I just came along for a short visit,"

"T-That's just—" the Archmaester was speechless for a few moments, "So you never intend to actually forge your last link and just want to treat this place like your backyard forever?"

"That seems about right,"

"Y-You can't do that! I won't tolerate the lack of respect you have for this sacred institution. I'll have you banned from the premises and you'll never be able to come back here—"

"Don't care about that... I am leaving tomorrow anyway," Oberyn said before they suddenly heard the sound of leather boots striking the floor as the prince walked toward the Archmaester, his carefree tone suddenly taking a dangerous turn, "But my dear Archmaester, you should really be careful who you offend, who knows what could happen in your old age," he said patting his shoulder with a smile on his face.

"A-Are you threatening me," Archmaester gulped as he unconsciously took a few steps backwards when he looked into the eyes of the man who was believed to be half mad and the most unpredictable noble from Dorne.

"Oh no no... I am not threatening you," Oberyn said, he had a smile on his face but his eyes were cold as ice, "I am just saying that you have plenty of acolytes working under and you haven't exactly been kind to them over the years... Who knows which one of them hates you for it and suddenly one day one of them decides to take drastic action and a drop of unknown liquid drops in your food or your drink... It would be quite unfortunate wouldn't it,"

The Archmaester shivered, realizing that Oberyn wasn't merely boasting and that he was perfectly capable of acting on his threats.

"I-I-I will—"

"That'll be all, Archmaester," Oberyn said abruptly as he turned his back on him and went back to his seat. He picked up the book about poison that he was reading and placed his feet on the table, "I am sure that you have a lot of work to do, so don't let me keep you."

There was pin-drop silence for a few moments before the door opposite them opened and closed as the Archmaester hurriedly left. Jon smiled as he moved away, thinking that he had acquired a good piece of gossip about the Viper of Dorne. 'Maybe he would be able to use it in the future if he ever meets him,' he mused.

Just as Sam was about to move away and join Jon, Oberyn's voice echoed from inside, startling them both. "You can come out now."

They exchanged alarmed glances, both of them thinking that they had been caught. Sam's hand twitched in his panic, inadvertently pushing the door open, "OH! NO!" "SHIT!"

Stumbling, they found themselves in a medium-sized room with a window on the right side and a large table in the middle. One of the chairs was occupied by Oberyn. Beside the door, a cupboard stood partially open, and on its threshold stood the other occupant of the room—the person Oberyn had likely instructed to come out. The same panic and fear reflected in his face mirrored the teens' emotions.

Oberyn's eyes widened in surprise as he looked up at the sound of the door opening, to find two teens in acolyte clothes and they were almost falling over each other as if they had just been pressed to the door.

"Well Well Well... Looks like we caught a bunch of little rats eavesdropping," Oberyn said in a calm tone, his hawk-like eyes sharply examining the two teens, the Fat one was sweating profusely and almost quivering in his place at the sight of him while the Tall handsome one swiftly stood up straight and regained his control over his expression remarkably quickly.

"There seems to be a misunderstanding, My Lord," Jon said calmly, bowing elegantly, "We weren't eavesdropping on you, we were just passing by and roughhousing with each other when I accidentally pushed my friend here too hard and he unintentionally opened the door, Right Sam?"

Sam quickly nodded his head and Jon continued while pushing Sam towards the exit and simultaneously backing away, "So I am sorry for the interruption and we'll get out of your hair and be just on our way,"

Oberyn looked at them with an amused expression on his face while putting the book in his hand on the table and taking his feet off the table, "You think that I'll believe that lame—"

"I'll take care of it, F—My Lord," The boy interrupted while slowly walking towards them with his hands hidden behind him. He was a comely boy their age with skin the colour of teak and a slender physique with curly black hair and big black eyes, "I am sure they are telling the truth and just made an honest mistake," he gave Oberyn a cute smile before turning to them, "Farewell then, I'll close the door behind you,"

"Thank you! Thank you!" Sam said while bowing, his body almost sagging with relief as he thought that they had been let go but just as he felt that he was very lucky today, he felt Jon put a restraining hand on his shoulder stopping him from leaving. When he puzzledly turned to Jon to ask him why, he saw him looking at the Dornish boy with a calm smile on his face.

"Why the pause?" the boy inquired, innocence radiating from his expression. "Didn't you just mention your intention to leave?"

Jon met the boy's gaze, his eyebrow arched inquisitively. His gaze shifted between Oberyn and the Dornish boy, his tone steady. "Leave, we will. But only if you promise not to strike us from behind with your hidden blade—"

The word "blade" hung in the air for a moment, pregnant with tension. Suddenly, the Dornish boy lunged at Sam, a hidden dagger poised to strike. His target was the weaker link, the fat one first.

"Allears No!" Oberyn's voice rang out urgently. He sprang from his seat, his initial calm demeanour shattered. From the beginning, Oberyn had sensed a calculated calmness in the tall boy's demeanour and the way his eyes roamed around the room, taking everything in. He knew that he wasn't some weak acolyte, instead, he was a wolf in sheep's clothing, but it was too late.

Just as the dagger was about to pierce into the fatty's gut, Alleras's hand was caught in a steel-like grip by the tall boy's hand that came out of nowhere like lightning. Alleras looked up into the Northern boy's eyes to find them not even a little bit surprised as if he was expecting it from the start. Alleras tried to pull the hand holding the dagger but the boy's hand was like hard rock as it didn't even budge a little bit instead he was pulled instead.

A swift, expert movement allowed Jon to disarm the boy, the dagger now poised at his own throat.

Oberyn sprang into motion, but his progress halted as Jon's words cut through the air. "Make no hasty moves, or you'll regret them," Jon's voice held a calm resolve. He held his ground, his gaze meeting Oberyn's chilling stare. At that moment, Jon understood that any sign of weakness could not be afforded in the presence of the Viper of Dorne.

"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."

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