40 Chapter 40

No one from the Dornish entourage gave any indication when they planned to leave. It wasn't demanded of them and if Prince Oberyn spoke to Lord Stark privately to say so, that wasn't shared with the castle librarian.

They weren't boorish guests, thankfully. To the relief of Catelyn Stark, they kept any Dornish impropriety to a minimum in the castle. Though that was perhaps due more to the climate than anything else. It's hard to be rowdy with one's teeth chattering. However, Mal told him that she heard from Ginn that she heard from Gord that he heard from an unnamed guard that the brothel was raking in record coin. Tiresias wasn't surprised. Outside of the castle, that was the only warm place for miles that the Dornish would frequent. They did not care for Northern ale and left the tavern to the Wintertown locals.

A side benefit of the Dornish aversion to the cold, even to the light summer chill, was that it tempered any jealousies felt by the Northern soldiers. The appearance of two hundred foreign warriors was quite the stir, adding some excitement to the life of the average Winterfell maid.

Not that anyone put it out in the open like that. However when Tiresias walked through the corridors and courtyards, carrying his books, he heard more scowls, giggles and excited chatter than he ever before heard in the castle. He avoided the training yard during the day, halting any progress he made towards being comfortable with a group of spectators. One evening, Gord informed him that the Dornish requested permission to train there and Lord Stark granted it.

To hear Gord speak of it, it sounded more or less amiable. The Dornish kept to themselves and the Northmen to their side. Though a few taunts flew back and forth, Jory and Ser Rodrik dispelled any notion of ruckus in the yard, punishing jeering Northerners with backbreaking drills.

The Dornish commander returned the favor and kept his men disciplined. He was the most reserved man under Prince Oberyn's command and he suffered no fools. He quickly became Ser Rodrik's favorite guest.

As for the Prince himself, Oberyn never exercised in the training yard. His daughters did. Nymeria and Obara Sand appeared during Ser Rodrik's tutelage for the children and ward of House Stark, challenging them to a spar. Robb and Jon were quickly forbidden to do so, but Theon citing his position as ward, took them up on the offer, a true smile on his face.

That smile lasted until Obara struck his side with the blunt end of her spear. The young Greyjoy sobered quickly and got a few licks in, but the duel was done. As predicted, Theon ended up with his ass in the dirt.

Jon told him the story at dinner afterwards in the Great Hall. Tiresias turned to the table where Theon sat. He still seemed quite peeved by the afternoon's events.

"After she won, he muttered 'bastard' while he was still in the mud," Jon said quietly.

Tiresias turned back to him.

"Ser Rodrik got up him immediately by the cuff of his neck and ordered him to apologize…but Obara didn't seem offended. Neither did Nymeria. She just said 'I may be a bastard and a girl…but you're the boy who lost to a bastard girl.' Then they left."

There was a slight shame to how he spoke. Tiresias gave him a moment before speaking himself.

"Just because they're not hurt by his words doesn't mean you're weak if you are."

"He hasn't called me that in…" Jon thought for a bit. "A year. Just about. It's just…I don't like hearing it. No matter what the Dornish say, I don't like it."

Tiresias let Jon have that opinion. Bastards carried a weight in this world that he would never understand. He knew the prejudice but not the rest of it.

"Are you a bastard?" Jon asked suddenly.

That jolted him slightly. He blinked at the lad.

"Am I a bastard?" he asked, unable to keep a laugh from his tone.

Jon swallowed and continued. "You just…you never said and I just…I was just wondering."

Tiresias pondered the question for a bit before settling on a nice lie.

"My mother was just my mother. My father was just my father. And they were together from the time I knew them until they died."

He shrugged. "Not sure if they were ever married. Definitely not under the Seven or the Old Gods over here. Didn't have a family name to pass on. I'm just Tiresias. So…probably. Aye. In the eyes of most Westerosi. Those that care about that sort of thing."

Jon nodded and returned to his food. Tiresias took a beat before following up.

"Does that make you feel better?"

The lad shrugged. Sighing, Tiresias tore off a section of bread before standing.

"I need to get going. See you later, aye?"

Jon nodded noncommittally. Tiresias leaned down.

"Hey!" he said, lowering his voice. Jon snapped up, the surprised look on his face causing the librarian to grin.

"What's bastard for? The word? What's it for?"

The lad remembered. He saw it in Jon's eyes but he still stared him down until he voiced it.

"A stupid word for stupid people when they got nothing left," Jon muttered.

His grin widened, Tiresias clapped Jon's shoulder and stood.

"Exactly. Now have a bright fucking day."

He turned to exit the Great Hall, but not before seeing the frown on Jon's face lessen slightly.

Tiresias suspected that Oberyn had traveled here on a whim. But he was not privy to the grand plans of Dornish royals, to the Martells' wants. He looked to the Prince whenever he saw him in the Great Hall, in the battlements, the yard. He wanted to gleam something of value from him, to ask him his plans…

He had a good guess that when Daenerys Targaryen came west with her dragons—

If she comes west. If she has her dragons. Remember, that future isn't set. Even with you allowing Jorah to flee Westeros.

If she came west with her dragons, Dornish banners would probably accompany her. After all, what would stop them from seeking vengeance against the Lannisters?

Tiresias remembered a young blonde girl, with a far better deposition than her mother.

Betrothing Myrcella Baratheon to Trystane Martell was a bold move from Tyrion. It essentially placed the Martell family in a bitter spot. If Myrcella and Trystane had managed to be wed, she would have linked them directly to the Lannisters.

I'm sure Oberyn was furious when she was shipped down in the second season. He may not have harmed little girls but her welcome would have been tense…

At the same time, Doran couldn't have refused the match without incurring suspicion from King's Landing. Dorne was far away but if they were to move against the Lannisters, they would had to have harmed Myrcella or at least held her hostage. And that would have been an enormous violation of guest right. Oberyn and Doran had some honor after all. Neither one was Walder Frey.

Or a grieving Ellaria Sand…

But Oberyn did threaten Myrcella's safety once…at the Purple Wedding. He reminded Cersei that her daughter was back in Dorne, in the hands of those loyal to him…was he bluffing?

Tiresias didn't believe so. The Prince made that threat in front of Tywin Lannister and that was not a man one threatened lightly. Tywin was willing to placate Dorne enough to give Oberyn a seat on the Small Council, to sentence his unloved son to his judgment…

Another commonality with his unloved son…both he and Tyrion knew the importance of bringing Dorne into the fold. They weren't ones to be snubbed or disrespected.

So what made him so reluctant to speak to Oberyn?

It wasn't just the worrisome future of House Martell. Oberyn was charming but he was also a member of a house prepared to align with an invading force. To instigate a conflict so his revenge could be had.

That was part of it. Once Tiresias reminded himself he was only a librarian and not a Warden, not the actual one to make alliances, he suspected that the Prince wouldn't respect him if he simply told the story openly, freely. And Oberyn seemed to be in no hurry as well. He felt those dark eyes watching him. Trying to pierce him. But ever since the welcoming feast, Oberyn didn't ask about his duel against the Mountain.

Tiresias avoided the training yard in case he was there, even though Oberyn still never seemed to train there. At least that was what Gord told him. He walked there a few times. But he seemed more interested in the castle during the day and the brothel during the night.

He entered the library a few times during the children's lessons. Maester Luwin greeted him amiably and calmly, the older man impervious to any jabs and insinuations directed toward Winterfell.

However, most of the time, Oberyn wasn't there to mock. He seemed to enjoy the interest the children took in him and even one morning took over a lesson in Lysian trade, Maester Luwin let him have the floor to speak of his own experience, which Tiresias suspected was highly sanitized, and to answer any questions that the children had.

It was an enjoyable lesson. Even Tiresias listened more closely as he kept his eye on his work. However, he didn't need to look up to know that Oberyn's gaze fell on him more than once. As he spoke of Lys and the other Free Cities, he felt that the Prince was gauging him for a reaction. To see if this Essosi librarian caught him in any lies.

He cursed himself silently for not reading up more on Essos beforehand. There was nothing to be done about it now though and so he merely focused on his work as Oberyn spoke to the children. His gaze still lowered as the children departed for the midday meal.

But Oberyn stayed. His perfume remained in the room.

Tiresias lowered his quill and massaged his hand as he looked up. The Prince was gazing at him, a grin spreading on his face.

He matched the grin halfheartedly. "That was quite a lecture, Prince Oberyn."

Oberyn shrugged. "I enjoy recounting my adventures to the young ears of Winterfell. They're much more hungry for my stories than Lord Eddard and his Tully wife."

He walked past the tables where the Stark children and Theon had sat. Coming to his table, he grabbed a nearby chair and spun it around.

"I do hope I hadn't made you homesick, my friend," he said, sitting down. He tilted the chair back and placed his feet up on the desk. "In fact, I feel rather foolish…"

Tiresias highly doubted that, but he said nothing.

"Here I am, vomiting all my adventures from Essos. And you're here. A true Essosi. Have you not already spoken to the children of Lys and Volantis and all the other wonderful places that I've blathered about?"

There was something about Oberyn's tone that unsettled him. He trusted it was apparent on his own face. No matter how neutral he wanted to appear. The Prince's peer was too piercing.

Still, there was only what he could prove. The rest didn't matter.

"Essos is not a place full of fond memories for me, Prince Oberyn," he found himself saying. "My family and I led a poor life on the outskirts of those wonderful places, beneath those more civilized. I didn't experience half of what you did across the Narrow Sea. You could speak to it better than me in most regards, believe me."

Approaching footsteps reached his ears and he turned to the library door without thinking. He cursed himself as Oberyn looked over his shoulder and back to him with a confused expression, having heard nothing.

"Someone's coming?"

Tiresias lowered his eyes and grabbed his quill. This visitor was not coming here for him. Her perfumed scent was now prevalent, even from the corridor.

"Thought I heard someone," he muttered. "Probably no one."

As if on cue, the footsteps came right to the library door. Ellaria entered, striding straight for the two of them. He nodded politely, before dipping his quill and proceeding from where he left off.

"My love," Ellaria said, coming behind Oberyn, bending down to kiss him. "My love, have you been here all morning?"

"Almost," he murmured. Though he was focused on her at the moment, Tiresias heard the suspicious tone in his voice. "The Stark children were quite keen on our adventures in Lys."

Ellaria grinned. "Did you tell them everything we did in Lys?"

"The lesson did not last that long," Oberyn responded, turning back to him. "Besides…if I had, our lovely hostess would not have been too pleased."

"That's awfully considerate of you, Prince Oberyn," Tiresias muttered.

"You're not from Lys, are you, Tiresias?" Ellaria asked.

Tiresias dipped his quill again, willing himself not to break his rhythm.

"No, I'm not," he said quietly over the scratching of his quill.

"I told you, love." A loud creak echoed in the library as Oberyn took his feet off the table and settled the chair back to the stone floor.

"He's not a man from Lys," the Prince murmured, pulling Ellaria onto his lap, enveloping her in a tight embrace. "Not with a tongue like that…"

A great desire rose in Tiresias to make light of that comment, of his tongue. Any immature, bawdy comment to throw Oberyn off the scent. He ransacked his brain. Trying to find something, anything before the Prince asked the anticipated question.

"Where are you from in Essos, Tiresias?" Oberyn inquired lightly.

He was too late. The question was asked friendly enough though. So ignoring the suspicious tone, Tiresias answered as he continued to write.

"Everywhere, Prince Oberyn," he said, hoping to match the Prince's lightness. "And nowhere as well."

"I wasn't aware of such places," Oberyn stated, his voice heavily sardonic.

Tiresias sighed. "Forgive me, my Prince. What I mean to say…"

Moving on from the sophomoric riddle quickly, he rehashed the story he told for Tywin Lannister. The nomadic people, hunting for furs, singing for coppers, the possible slave mother, the years alone in the wilderness, Lorath, Pentos and the crannogs.

Prince Oberyn may not have asked for his life story. But he received it silently, listening carefully. Both he and Ellaria did. Tiresias didn't look to their faces, kept his head down and continued to write. It wasn't just being shy though. His mouth stayed narrow for the story. It wouldn't do if Oberyn glimpsed his teeth at the moment. What child of a nomadic people had such aligned teeth? They weren't quite as straight as they were when he first woke up in Westeros. However, even after years without his retainer, his teeth were much nicer than anyone else he had come across.

Mal liked to run her tongue across them when they kissed…

Shelving the thought until a more appropriate time, Tiresias continued to write after he was done talking. Oberyn and Ellaria shared the silence. The scratching of his quill filled the library.

After a bit, he heard Oberyn get up, gently moving Ellaria to his chair as he strode into the shelves. A tremble came from her as she sat alone.

"Are you cold, Ellaria?" he asked, eyes still on his work.

"Oh yes," Ellaria said, curling her furs around her. "I'm not used to a cold like this. I know it's only your summer…but still, it chills me."

Tiresias lowered his quill and looked up, meeting her eyes as nonchalantly as he could. He tried not to see her as he last did. Gagged and chained in the black cells, her tear ridden face illuminated by torchlight…

He swallowed and nodded to the hearth. "I could light a fire for you and Prince Oberyn. Should you wish to stay here?"

Ellaria smiled appreciatively, unsuspecting of the horrors playing out in his head.

"That won't be necessary. I only came to fetch Oberyn."

She turned and called out to the shelves. "Love, are you coming?"

"Soon, Ellaria, soon," Oberyn called back. He emerged from the shelves, carrying an open tome with deft delicacy. Tiresias recognized it and carefully put his work away. He had a feeling what the Prince would ask.

Oberyn paused before him, still poring over the tome in his hand. His hand ran lightly over the page.

He peered at Tiresias. "I can't imagine you learned the Old Tongue in Essos."

Tiresias shook his head, folding his hands. "No, I learned it here in Winterfell. Do you know the Old Tongue?"

"I do not," the Prince murmured before holding the tome out. "Won't you mind reading it out loud? I don't believe I'd ever heard the Northern grunt before."

"As you wish," Tiresias responded as lightly as he could. He took the offered tome and placed it on the table, glancing up at Oberyn.

"It won't be a Northerner grunting it."

Oberyn shrugged. "I won't understand either way. I just want to hear the grunts."

Briefly, Tiresias wondered if it was advantageous to allow Oberyn to believe that he could insult the North and its people in front of him. In front of an Essosi. Probably. The more people felt comfortable around him, the better.

Besides, despite his ambivalence over the future of House Martell, he had pushed Oberyn's attitude at the welcoming feast. It would serve him well to balance it out. If only a little.

So, pushing aside the jab at his adopted home, he cleared his throat and began to read.

"A telling of Jon Stark, King of the North, and the building of the Wolf's Den. Where he imprisoned the sea warriors on the eastern shore…"

The words came easily to him and he read the first page shortly enough. He halted afterward and looked up. Oberyn met his gaze evenly, but said nothing. The direction was clear enough. Tiresias suppressed a sigh and continued to read, running his finger lightly along the runes.

He read a full three pages before standing. Without asking, he closed the tome gently at the end and picked it up.

"May I now return this, Prince Oberyn?"

The Red Viper didn't say otherwise. Taking that for an affirmative, he walked around the desk, crossing the Prince to the shelves. He heard him follow.

"A bit more than grunts, wouldn't you say?"

He swore he heard Oberyn shrug. "Perhaps, but not much more."

The Prince stood at the end of the aisle as Tiresias placed the tome back. "It must have been hard to learn that language. As a nomadic Essosi. As a busy servant of House Stark."

Tiresias exited the aisle. "I like languages. Besides, my evenings are mostly free and I've had time to learn. I'm not quite as busy as you."

"Do you not have a woman, Tiresias?" Ellaria asked from her chair. Her furs were still wrapped tight, but she seemed to have forgotten the cold. "Have you ever?"

He reached his desk and capped his inkwell. "At some points. But for a man in my position, an income is more important than a companion."

"Must you sacrifice one for the other?"

"Sometimes," Tiresias answered evenly, before shrugging. "Romance can be quite lovely, but I enjoy reading just as much. A good book makes for a stimulating evening."

"And the yard?" asked Oberyn, coming behind Ellaria, placing his hands on her shoulders. "Do you find the training yard stimulating as well?"

Tiresias nodded, as casually as he could. "On occasion."

Oberyn smirked. "You know, for one who killed such a man as Clegane, I had expected to see you in the training yard at least once during my stay. My daughters too. My men as well. But a week has come and gone…and you have yet to grace us with your presence."

Looking down at his desk, Tiresias cursed how organized it was. There was nothing to tidy. Nothing to take away the silence.

Then he cursed himself again for looking down for no reason. He met the Prince's eye.

"Lord Stark has been generous enough over my employ here to allow me to use the training yard, though I am no soldier. They have first priority and so I generally exercise when they have finished for the day and the yard is empty. With the addition of so many soldiers from your contingent, I thought it proper to avoid the yard entirely until your departure. There's only so much room. You are our guests. And my duty is here."

"That's quite considerate," Oberyn said softly. He came from out from behind Ellaria, stepping in front of him. "But I'm sure we could find room for you. In the training yard. Or our bed, if you prefer…"

Tiresias let the silence sit after that one. The grin from the Oberyn was teasing, but he sensed sincerity in the offer. He looked at Ellaria. She had a matching smile.

"Your idea?"

She laughed. "No, but I approve. In this cold, our bed can't be warm enough."

He turned back to Oberyn. "Is this your way of thanking me for killing the Mountain?"

"I wouldn't say that." The Prince looked him down and up. "But it would be a reprieve from the silent stimulating nights of reading. Away from the Northern grunting."

"Not all the grunting, I suppose."

Oberyn laughed. "Yes…yes, I suppose so."

His voice dropped on that and Tiresias saw it time to put a stop to this. He stepped away from the Prince, collecting a tome and parchment from the desk.

"I'm sure there are many who dream of being with a Prince. With a woman as beautiful as you." He nodded to Ellaria, before looking back to Oberyn. "But I'm afraid I'll have to decline your offer."

With more calm than he felt, he opened his satchel and placed the materials inside. It was more subconscious than it looked. Years of bringing material back to his room to study late into the night.

To our room now.

He banished the correction immediately, not wishing the thought to be read on his body by Oberyn or Ellaria. They remained quiet as he packed. But when he looked up, he didn't see any ire at his rejection. Actually they only looked more intrigued by him.

And that worried him more.

"Are you not attracted to beautiful women, Tiresias? To beautiful men?" Ellaria asked, her eyes laughing.

"I could admire beauty," he said evenly. "Doesn't mean I have to have it for myself."

He nodded and made to exit, cursing himself for the statement. It was perfectly fine but in no way, would it satisfy the pair before him.

Indeed, Oberyn laughed and halted him as he made to pass, his hand on his shoulder. Tiresias met his eye and waited. Finally the Prince spoke. Quite softly.

"You won't train with us. You won't sleep with us. You won't say how you beat the Mountain." He looked him up and down. "You frustrate me, my friend. You really do."

"That's not my concern," Tiresias stated. "Now please remove your hand. You may be a Prince. But I'm not yours to play with."

Oberyn didn't seem offended. His smirk returned, but he released his shoulder. Tiresias nodded to Ellaria.

"G'day, Ellaria. Prince Oberyn."

He left before they called him back. That encounter went places he wished to avoid. It wouldn't be the last time. Prince Oberyn wanted answers and he wasn't sure how much longer he could avoid giving them.

His hand grazed his throat as he returned to his quarters. At least the pressure didn't come then. He retained some control.

The next day, Tiresias went to speak with Lord Stark. He was not visited by the Prince again that day, but an itch in his mind refused to go away. Though he did not know the risk, he felt that he should still mitigate it somehow.

The renewed suspicion from the house guards had lessened with the excitement of the Dornish arrival. Upon his request, the soldier, Trevor, immediately announced him and he entered the Warden's solar.

Lord Stark lowered his quill and rubbed his brows.

"Tiresias," he greeted, gesturing to the chair before his desk. The librarian took the chair silently, waiting for Lord Stark to gather himself. A surprise visit from Dornish royals compounded his work. Playing host and continuing his normal duties as Warden, while also covertly preparing for a supernatural enemy that they only knew about.

At least, he was still getting sleep. Exhaustion made a man eager for it.

Finally, Lord Stark collected himself and peered at Tiresias.

"To what do I owe this visit?"

Tiresias reached into his pocket and withdrew a folded scrap of parchment, offering it to the Warden. He took it and read it. He was halfway through when he looked up for an explanation.

"My life story," Tiresias said. "This is the background on me. It's what I told Tywin Lannister when I was brought to Casterly Rock. I didn't relay it to you when I returned because the Westerlands are quite the distance from here. I didn't think it important. We had other matters to discuss."

He sighed, leaning back into his chair. "But Oberyn Martell is here and he had the same questions. So I gave him the same answers. May as well be consistent. I figured you should know what I told him to avoid any surprises or traps."

Lord Stark returned his focus to the parchment. Tiresias hoped it was legible. He had written late last night.

"A velvet merchant from Lorath…" Lord Stark muttered. "Dead parents…dead younger sister…"

"Dead younger sister was mentioned in passing," Tiresias amended, recalling the night in Lannisport, on the brothel rooftop. "I thought I should include it, just to be safe."

What else was said in passing? He tried to recollect the conversations, the quips, the late night chats. He was relatively confident with what he had written down. But there was always the possibility that he had forgotten something.

"Slave mother?" Ned's remark brought him back to the solar. He nodded at the Warden's look.

"Possible slave. She never told me."

He didn't elaborate and Lord Stark read through the rest. When he was done, he lowered the parchment and looked to Tiresias.

"Is any of this true?"

Tiresias shook his head. "Not really. One or two details, maybe. My family; my mother, father, younger sister…don't know if they're dead, but they might as well be. I'll certainly never see them again…"

He swallowed a lump in his throat, different from the pressure he felt during the welcoming feast. He didn't expect to get emotional when he entered the solar. It had been years since he had pictured Clark's family.

After a few seconds, he continued. "But the rest is horseshit. It's why I made it impossible to prove."

"Not entirely," Lord Stark remarked quietly. "There's the velvet merchant in Lorath…"

"The long-dead, fake velvet merchant…"

"For whom you worked as a bookkeeper," the Warden noted, checking the parchment. "That means there should be records in Lorath of this merchant. When someone arrives in that city looking for them, their absence will be noted."

"I didn't give a name," Tiresias said, trying not to sound worried. "Besides, who will go all the way to Lorath to investigate my claim, to hunt after a phantom merchant?"

"Tywin Lannister has the means to investigate," Lord Stark warned. "And Prince Oberyn made the effort to travel all the way here. Why not farther?"

Tiresias couldn't answer that. When telling his story to Tywin, he banked on the idea that he wasn't worthy of an investigation. Or even of being remembered. That he could he get out of the Westerlands before his story was discovered to be false. That even if the Old Lion bothered to look into his alleged past, no one would be expected to remember a bookkeeper for a dead nameless merchant. Or a dockhand in Pentos. Or a vagabond wandering the steppes in between the Free Cities.

He still had faith in that argument. Still, a healthy sliver of worry ran through it now.

That worry was shared by the Warden. He could tell. However, Lord Stark sighed and placed the parchment down on the desk.

"I'll read this a few more times before I burn it." He peered at Tiresias. "I assume that was your intent."

"Aye." Tiresias gazed over to the table, where the huge map of the North laid. It was besieged by documents and ledgers. There was some order to it. He knew that. But it was hard to tell by just looking at it.

He turned back to Ned. "How's our effort coming? Under the eyes of our Dornish friends?"

"As well as it can," Lord Stark said. "Our Dornish friends aren't interfering with our ravens. My correspondence to Castle Black is my own and our plans for the wildings continue to develop…as gently as they can."

Tiresias exhaled through his nose. That migraine was coming soon. And however much they caressed it, the Northern lords will not take the news well. Unfortunately they couldn't do much more until they met Mance and spoke openly with the King Beyond the Wall.

"As for the dragonglass," Lord Stark sighed. "I supposed it's fortunate Oberyn and his men prefer the brothels and the yard to the forge. But eventually their steel will need tempering if they stay and I can't refuse them services. Not for guests. I'm sure the sight of apprentices molding dragonglass will catch a few curious eyes. And I don't know how well our story of the hill tribe trade will hold under them."

"The Dornish know less about the Northern hill tribes than Stannis Baratheron," said Tiresias. "But if you're worried you can always suspend the forging of the dragonglass. Keep the raw material out of sight until they leave."

He could tell by the look Lord Stark gave him that he heard the question underneath.

"I don't know when they'll depart," he answered softly. "The first night I spoke to Prince Oberyn, I asked him his intentions in coming here."

"Please tell me it's not all about me," Tiresias said, half-joking.

"He openly said so," the Warden continued past his quip. "A whim. A quick sail. Without the sanction of his brother, Prince Doran. He was curious to see the slayer of Ser Gregor Clegane."

"The slayer…" A weight pressed on his skull and he suppressed the urge to groan. It didn't seem dignified in front of the Warden.

Lord Stark leaned back in his chair. "He spoke of seeing the North with his own eyes. A forgotten kingdom in the halls of Sunspear. Of his brother, Prince Doran, working for future prosperity. Even before the Rebellion, communication and trade between the North and Dorne were minimal. Afterwards…it's been silence."

"Well, you two are quite the distance from each other. Trade's quite impractical." He glanced to the door before lowering his voice. "And with what occurred with Lyanna and Rhaegar, whatever version of the story people hear, Elia Martell is a spurned woman."

The fire crackled softly. Lord Stark sat quietly and didn't disagree, so Tiresias had to ask.

"Did Prince Oberyn mentioned Lyanna at all?"

"He did," Ned responded lightly. "However I believe his anger is reserved for Rhaegar, Tywin Lannister…and Robert."

"You spoke against Tywin when he brought in the bodies of Aegon and Rhaenys. Asked him to be punished. You pushed back against Robert Baratheon. I'm sure Prince Oberyn knows that…"

"I believe that's the only reason he tolerates being a guest of mine." The Warden stood and went to the map. "But I still remain friends with Robert. And my protests all those years ago…they didn't amount to much."

He reached down and picked up a marker for the seasonal harvest down in Barrowton. A crop plight made a quarter of their yield useless. It was still a significant return and it could be corrected in the future. But under the light of the coming winter sun, that quarter lost was felt.

And the Dornish royals were still being entertained. Winterfell could afford their company. But with each night that two hundred and fifty extra mouths stayed in the castle as honored guests, the more their stores would need to catch up. The sooner they left, the better.

Tiresias cleared his throat. "So Prince Oberyn's efforts at diplomacy are insincere?"

"He wanted to see the person who killed his sister's murderer," Lord Stark stated plainly. He set the marker down. "I don't know his brother's view. But Prince Oberyn was practically laughing when I questioned him on it the first night."

"I'm sure Prince Doran was less than thrilled when he heard of his brother traveling to Winterfell. Especially on a whim." Tiresias gave a humorless laugh. "He truly traveled here just to see me?"

"So it appears," Lord Stark replied evenly. "He did ask me about you. Whether you're a former sellsword. A man of arms under my employ."

"I'm a man of letters."

"I told him that. He laughed, but as he turned away that night, he said he was quite curious…to see how a man of letters downed the Mountain."

"He already asked me that. I'd given him an answer," Tiresias responded. A bit more defensively than he wanted.

"Forgive me," he muttered. "I supposed it wasn't enough. Otherwise, he'd be gone."

He just noticed that the Warden had yet to return to the table. His face was downcast, his chest still. Preparing to unveil unpleasant news.

"Lord Stark, what is it?"

He leaned against the table. "Prince Oberyn approached Ser Rodrik with a proposal."

"What sort of proposal?"

"A tournament. A small one." The Warden's face was stone. "A series of spars. The Dornish soldiers he brought along are feeling quite restless."

Tiresias tapped his knee. "What do you think?"

"I've no objection to it. Soldiers need to fight. Our own fighters are not too comfortable with outside blades being worn so comfortably in Winterfell. I would rather they work through their aggression. Not let it boil over into bad blood."

The fire crackled in the hearth.

"So why do you sound undecided?" Tiresias asked.

Lord Stark met his eyes. "Because he wants to fight you."

Tiresias chewed the inside of his cheek for a few seconds, before he took a steadying breath.

"How did Ser Rodrik respond to that?"

"He didn't know about it. When he approached me to pass on the Prince's proposal, Prince Oberyn accompanied him. There were reassurances. No fights to the death. Contained to the training yard. One on one only. And no grand prize. Only gambling on each individual contest."

He picked up his goblet, sipping his water.

"It was only after I'd given my blessings, as the Prince strolled away. He turned and said that he hoped it wouldn't just be Winterfell soldiers in the yard. He asked if you'd stay hidden, in the protection of the library. Ser Rodrik wanted to have choice words with him about that, but I stopped him. Prince Oberyn left soon after."

Lord Stark placed the goblet back down. Tiresias pondered his hands while he waited for the Warden to continue.

"You are under my employ and not as a soldier," Lord Stark stated, his voice low and certain. "And you have my protection. Prince Oberyn may be a guest, but there are some things that he cannot force in this castle. If you do not wish to fight, you may abstain and no dishonor will fall on you or me. Particularly since Prince Oberyn didn't even challenge you directly."

"When are these spars?"

"Day after tomorrow."

Tiresias clapped his leg. "Well…I'm sure I can make myself very busy until then."

"You'll not fight?"

He shook his head. "I need that exhibition like I need a hole in the head. No need to make a mountain of it though."

Cringing inwardly at his choice of word, he stood. "Though I suppose my absence at the training yard that day will say enough."

"It'll say more than that," Lord Stark said, before sighing. "Our guest may complain, but you're not obligated to accept his challenge. I'll remind him of that, should he contest your decision."

"Thank you."