42 Chapter 42

Tiresias entered his quarters, carrying his satchel on his left side, away from the massive bruise he earned yesterday. It ran along his whole right back. The soak in the springs helped, but it still hurt quite a bit.

And that was a hit you braced for.

The memory of the Mountain breaking his arm was still fresh. That injury put this bruise into perspective and Tiresias didn't hiss as he placed his satchel down on the desk. He moved slowly though, settling into the chair gingerly. He leaned back and sighed.

The arrival of Oberyn Martell and his entourage dampened the whispers that followed him ever since he returned from the south. And despite the Prince's incessant curiosity, it was almost worth it to have his visit distracting everyone. Now with his lost, he heard the whispers renewed.

Though unasked of him, the questions were still clear. Wondering how he could have lost to Prince Oberyn, having beat Ser Gregor? Did he truly beat the Mountain? Did he just get lucky?

Tiresias could have answered in the affirmative to those last two questions. As for the first…Oberyn was fast. The Mountain was not. Simple. It wasn't like he allowed himself to lose or anything…

At least, that's what he told everyone. And himself to some extent. The last two hits that downed him…he saw them coming. Why didn't he evade them? The instinct in his body that brought his body out of harm's way, from fist or blade, didn't speak to him in the last moment of that spar. And he lost for it.

Opening the drawers, he pulled out a match and ignited it, lighting the candles on his desk.

But was that your instinct abandoning you? You losing your gift…or was that you deciding to let the Prince win?

He didn't lose anything. The smells and sounds of Winterfell still came to him easily. He could even tell approximately where the logs for his fire were felled in the Wolfswood. He just…he just knew that Prince Oberyn needed to win that spar. For the heralds to spread. For his soldiers so he wouldn't lose face.

And for himself for obvious reasons. Tiresias just hoped the Red Viper didn't notice anything.

He closed his eyes. The giant bruise on his back made him crave a comfortable snooze. He went to bed early last night, barely registering Mal as she slipped beneath the sheets, curling in front of him. She knew not to touch his side, letting him curl sleepily around her.

Her naked back smelled of smoke and rain. Positioning himself behind her, she moved on him. Slowly at first. Ever gently. But faster as the minutes dragged on. Until he was…

Behind him, a sharp knocking cut through his illicit musings.

He started and turned, staring at the door. It wasn't Mal. She would have just come in. It was their only time together. Besides the lunch yesterday, they haven't so much as looked at each other in the past few days.

Odd behavior for a man and his wife...

Another round of knocking put Mal out of his head. Whoever was outside his door was getting rather impatient. He got up from his desk and made to greet his visitor when his eyes fell on the dagger on his dresser.

Tiresias' eyes darted between the door and the dagger, debating quickly. It was unlikely this visitor meant harm. But just in case…

He picked up his dagger and stalked quietly to the door, a third round of knocking covering his footsteps. Hiding the dagger in his right hand behind the doorframe, he opened the door with his left, careful not to be too slow about it.

A pair of Dornish guards stood before him, fully armored with humorless eyes. He recognized Selidor, but not the other. This soldier was older, with very calm eyes.

Tiresias nodded. "Gentlemen. What can I do for you this evening?"

"Prince Oberyn summons you for an audience," Selidor stately brusquely. "We're to escort you."

A brief staring contest followed. Tiresias weighed his options quickly, thanking the gods that he was alone when these two knocked. He cleared his throat.

"Very well. Let me put out my candles."

He made to close the door, but found it blocked. Looking down, he saw the bottom half of a spear propping the door open. It belonged to the older guard with the calm eyes, which he met. Calmly as well, so he hoped.

"Bring your dagger along," the old guard said, before promptly removing his spear end. Declining to either nod or shake his head, Tiresias tried not to close the door too quickly.

Once he blew out the candles, his room was plunged into darkness. Not to his eyes though. He still moved easily about, placing the dagger in its sheath, running the belt through it. Once armed, he stood in silence as long as he dared before picking up the key and moving to the door. No excuses for a delay came to him tonight.

Opening the door, he saw the younger guard's mounting impatience. His senior didn't seem perturbed at all. Giving them his back, he locked the door. They started walking as the key turned. He extracted it and set off after them, determined not to be hurried.

Pocketing his key, Tiresias fell behind the two Dornishmen as they marched down the corridor. His eyes fell on Selidor.

"Were you the one who knocked on my door?"

The man glanced back. "Yes. Why?"

Not even bothering to shrug, Tiresias brought his eyes forward again. "No reason."

Brash. Young. Definitely the more impatient of the two. Also pissed at me for denying him his spar.

Once Selidor was focused on his front again, Tiresias looked to the elder Dornishman, the one with the calm eyes. He registered the even step, his light but firm grip on his weapon.

This one's the better fighter for sure.

He supposed good fighters were common enough in this castle. Especially at the moment. All the same, Tiresias logged the information away just in case.

It wasn't terribly late and the rain fell lightly. As they walked through the castle, Tiresias felt many curious eyes on them. As they crossed the courtyard to the guest quarters, he glanced off and saw Arya's grey eyes on him, questions shining brightly in them.

He nodded to her, tried to answer them, placate her as best he could without words, without fear. And it was true. He didn't fear for his life. Oberyn wouldn't try and harm him in Winterfell. Especially after winning the spar publicly. Would he?

A little less confident, he turned his eyes forward again as he and the Dornish entered the quest quarters.

They walked all the way to the single largest room Winterfell provided for its visitors. Tiresias had only seen it once. During the tour Lord Stark gave him when he first arrived at the castle. As they approached the door and Selidor knocked, he tried to summon his memory. To see if he would recognize the place.

He barely did. The shape and furnishings were familiar enough, but it was cool and lifeless then, its size only embellishing such qualities. Tonight however, the door opened on laughter, music and heat. His eyes swept the room, taking in the occupants. A musician with a harp sat alone in the corner. His eyes downward and focused as he filled the air with a soft song.

Three young women lounged about, soft and pale, in various stages of undress. Ellaria laid entwined with one of them in the corner of a divan against the bed. They balanced their wine expertly as they drank. Plates of dates, cheese, plums and dried apricots laid before them.

A fire roared in the hearth. It crackled with the strings of the harp and sent warm light across a glistening torso with a purple bruise across it. Oberyn laid across the divan in front, his head resting in a naked redhead's lap, far paler than him. Tiresias recognized Ros the next instant. Another young woman sat on the rug, rubbing his feet.

The Prince perked as he entered and stood once he saw who had entered his den. His cheek was still discolored, but it didn't seem to faze him.

"Tiresias!" he exclaimed. "You accepted my invitation! Come in."

He gestured to the guards. "Leave us now."

The two escorts bowed and exited, without another glance to Tiresias. The librarian eyed their backs as they left and shut the door behind them.

Trying not to appear too tense, he settled his face before turning back and nodding to Ellaria and the others.

"Ladies." He then focused on the Prince. "Prince Oberyn…I must be confused. Those guards told me I was summoned. Not invited."

Oberyn shrugged as he picked up a short robe from the floor. "Who am I to summon anyone in this place? I simply said to my guards to find and bring the talented librarian so that he may join us. I meant it as an invite. They heard it as an summon."

Tying the robe off, he spread his arms wide. Tiresias didn't miss the small wince as he did.

"But you're here, no?"

Taking his silence as an affirmative, Oberyn picked up a goblet and pitcher.

"So why don't you stay?" he asked as he poured a burgundy wine. He held out the full cup. "Come now. We already fought. Now we can be friendly. Sit down. Drink."

He gestured to the divan where Ellaria sat. As Tiresias met her eyes, the woman smiled and pulled up her legs, making room for him. He didn't sit right away though and his hesitation caused her to laugh.

"We leave our strikes in the yard, Tiresias. I promise not to hurt you. Not unless you want me to."

Ellaria's eyes pierced him deeply and he noted their color; dark brown. Not for the first time, Tiresias was thankful for his age. Years before, such a face and teasing voice would have sent him stammering incoherently. Not that he wasn't affected at present. But now he was able to remain collected and sit down calmly.

Once he was seated, Oberyn held out the wine cup for Tiresias to take. He hadn't lied about its quality. Even before he entered, Tiresias could smell the richness from the door. It was even more prominent as the goblet hovered before him. It cut through the fire, the food, even the sex.

It didn't lower his guard though. He met the Prince's eye.

"Why don't you have a sip of this first?"

Oberyn's eyebrows rose. "You believe I mean to poison you?"

"I believe you aren't called the Red Viper for nothing."

In his periphery, he saw Ellaria sit up a little straighter. Her smile still in place, Tiresias heard her pulse increase slightly. She wasn't the only one. All three of the Northern women seemed to be holding their breath. He didn't look to check, keeping his eyes on the silent Prince, waiting…

If he was expecting Oberyn to be offended, he was in for a surprise. The man started to laugh. A low, amused chuckle.

"Believe me, Tiresias. If I were to kill you, it would not be poison. I'd be too curious not to draw steel. No wooden sticks. We'd have a real fight..."

His eyes gleamed as he brought the cup close.

"However, as I am a guest…" He tipped the goblet up and drank, smiling as he swallowed and offering the goblet again to Tiresias.

Not totally placated, Tiresias nevertheless took the goblet and sat back. As he leaned against the bed, Ellaria's feet stretched out and rested upon his lap. He looked to her as a delighted smirk came over her face

"Come now," she said. "You're Essosi, no? Surely you're less of a prude than your Northern masters."

She smiled as she turned to the woman she leaned against.

"Well, not these Northerners. Have you only mingled with the stone-faced women that prowl these halls, Tiresias? With their veins of ice?"

Tiresias took a sip of wine, declining to answer. He already had a woman with brown eyes. Oberyn refilled his own cup and sat back down. Ros returned to his arms.

"Perhaps he has. Girl." Though he spoke to Ros, his eyes remained on Tiresias. "Has this man ever entered your establishment? Your bed?"

"Wouldn't be much of a whore if I said one way or the other, my Prince," Ros murmured, tracing her fingers along his chest.

Oberyn looked amused. "Is a whore's honor so prized in the North?"

"Not honor," said Ros, shrugging. "Merely discretion."

"A concept I don't believe you're very familiar with, Prince Oberyn," Tiresias said quietly.

The Prince started laughing. "No, but then why should I be discreet?"

Tiresias shrugged. "No reason, I suppose. You could afford not to be. If a normal person lived as you, said what you've said, acted as you've acted; he would have been drawn and quartered before he reached manhood."

Oberyn returned his shrug. "Perhaps. But one should live the fullest life one can, no? If we have it, we should use it. I have two working legs. As you do. Should we not walk because of all the crippled people in the world who can't?"

That argument didn't sit entirely well with Tiresias but he wasn't interested in debating it further. More to distract himself than anything else, he glanced to the corner, to the musician with his harp. The man's face was stone but his fingers strummed soulfully. It was a slow tune, like a gentle stream flowing over stones. Rather melancholic as he continued to listen.

"Do you enjoy music, Tiresias?" Ellaria asked, cutting through his daze.

He turned to her, to the sight of her being softly necked. He averted his eyes and nodded uncommittedly.

"Aye," he said blithely. "No more than most, I suppose."

"Oh, now I don't believe that," she murmured. Her feet twisted in his lap. "You sing, no?"

Tiresias drank. "Where'd you hear that?"

"Just one of your many talents we heard of since we've arrived at this dreary place." Ellaria shot a grin to Oberyn. He returned it, but something about his gaze bothered Tiresias. He didn't like the question…

"Wasn't aware that I had so many talents." He tried to smile. To play it off. He kept a staying hand on her feet.

"No?" she asked, laughter lighting in her eyes. "The hunters say you're a skillful tracker. The children say you're a good teacher. The castle maids say you're a romantic singer."

A small laugh escaped him. Part of it felt genuine.

"Romantic…not a word I'd use to describe myself."

"Sing a song for us."

Tiresias turned to the Prince. Oberyn didn't even bother to frame his demand as a request, murmured though it was. He looked quite content, with Ros nuzzled against him naked, but his eyes shone clear.

It was an effort to meet his eyes. To keep an even pulse…

"Why should I?" he asked softly.

Oberyn leaned forward slowly, sobriety leaking into his eyes. Tiresias readied himself for a low anger. However, when the Prince spoke, his voice was still gentle.

"Because you're here. And we're friends. You're enjoying our comforts. Drinking our wine."

He raised his goblet. "And because I want you to."

The Prince's eyes went to his goblet, but Tiresias kept it lowered.

"We don't always get all we want. Not even Princes."

Oberyn's eyes flickered back to him. "I do."

Continuing to blink against Oberyn's stare, Tiresias found himself raising his goblet and taking a light sip. The Prince drank as well and leaned back into Ros' arms. Tiresias looked into his goblet, thinking of a song to sing before he even consented to.

Resisting the urge to clench his jaw, he took another cleansing sip of wine and cleared his throat.

So I'm a performing monkey now…better than a dueling one I suppose…

Oberyn waved to the musician and the harp strings immediately ceased. Tiresias sat up. He couldn't sing well while slouched back. Ellaria took her feet off him. He only settled on the song seconds before he opened his mouth.

"Do casadh cailín deas orm in uaigneas na dtrá,

Ar lúb na coille glaise uair bheag roim lá.

Sin an fhreagar' ó a thug sí liom go ciúin agus go tláth:

"Tá an saol 'na gcodladh, 's bogaimís an súisín bán."

He placed his focus on the candles between them, away from the gazes of Oberyn, Ellaria, Ros and the others. It didn't stop him from noting their confusion. They didn't protest though. Not to the strange words. So he continued.

"'S má bhíonn tú liom bí liom, a stóirín mo chroí,

'S má bhíonn tú liom bí liom os comhair a' tí,

Má bhíonn tú liom, 's gur liom gach órlach de do chroí,

'Sé mo mhíle chnoc nach liom Dé Domhnaigh tú mar mhnaoi.

Ó do bhíos-sa sheal im' bhuachaill éadrom mhear ghroí,

'S do bhíos-sa sheal agus d'imireoinn cárta le mnaoi

Ó do bhíosa seal agus d'imireoinn cúig le nó thrí-

Chun gur dhein a bhean seo leongó liúngó dhom chroí.

'S má bhíonn tú liom bí liom, a stóirín mo chroí,

'S má bhíonn tú liom bí liom os comhair a' tí,

Má bhíonn tú liom, 's gur liom gach órlach de do chroí,

'Sé mo mhíle chnoc nach liom Dé Domhnaigh tú mar mhnaoi."

In his earliest months at Winterfell, this was one of the first songs he put to parchment. That he committed to memory. He didn't speak Gaelic. It was only through a choral arraignment in which Clark participated that he was able to recall this.

But it wasn't just the language aspect of it. There was something deeply melancholic about the song which he craved during his first few months here. When he was settled. When the utter absurdity of his situation was no longer enough to distract him.

Sitting here in this absurd situation brought that feeling back easily enough. Even with Oberyn's gaze upon him, he leaned into the melancholy. As he stared in the candle's flame, he felt like he was alone again. And there was a comfort in that.

There he finished the song.

"'S a Dhia na bhFeart, cad do chas i ndúthaigh seo mé?

Fé chlócaíbh dearga i bhfad ó mo cháirdibh gael?

Ó do chuas isteach mar a raibh mo shearc agus dian-ghrá mo chléibh,

'S chuir an t-seanbhean amach ag casadh an tsúgáinín mé.

'S má bhíonn tú liom bí liom, a stóirín mo chroí,

'S má bhíonn tú liom bí liom os comhair a' tí,

Má bhíonn tú liom, 's gur liom gach órlach de do chroí,

'Sé mo mhíle chnoc nach liom Dé Domhnaigh tú mar mhnaoi."

His voice faded as softly as the candlelight and he blinked, breaking the melancholy. He glanced up to his drinking companions, who seemed rather plussed by his song.

After a brief nod, he leaned back and lifted his goblet. In the middle of his drink, light applause broke out and he lowered his cup to find reactions ranging from bored politeness to deeply moved to quite intrigued.

Oberyn was quite intrigued. "Is that a song of the Old Tongue?"

Tiresias declined to answer him. It wasn't necessary. Plus, the Prince's inability to place the song pleased him slightly. It was immature, but it did.

"No," murmured Oberyn, answering his own question. "No, not the Old Tongue I heard from you…Similar, yes, but not quite…"

"You have quite the ear, Prince Oberyn," Tiresias said, hoping he was ever polite.

"I do…" Oberyn murmured. His glance went to Ellaria, who immediately spoke.

"My love," she said. "Why not return the favor?"

"An excellent idea!" The Prince sat straight up with a renewed energy that Tiresias deemed suspicious. Oberyn gestured to the corner where the harp player sat patiently, ever expressionless. Without a word, the man joined their circle, sat down and propped his instrument upon his knee.

"Are you going to be singing for us, Prince Oberyn?" Tiresias asked, unable to keep some wariness from his voice. The feeling crept through his chest, constricting him…

"No, no!" Oberyn laughed before stopping at once. "No, I'm just the one who pays for the songs to be sung."

He reached for the pitcher and refilled his cup. "Tell me, my friend. Have you heard the song, The Mountain's Fall?"

The feeling in Tiresias' chest traveled to his stomach and he prayed it would keep away from his throat. He kept a straight face though, declining to respond.

It didn't matter. Oberyn saw the answer clear enough.

"I didn't think so," he said softly. "I don't imagine songs travel very well in the snow. The North is so far away from the other kingdoms…"

Tiresias eyed the musician who sat ready to play. To sing his song, the Mountain's Fall…

"If this song is about what I think it's about, Prince Oberyn," he said carefully. "I'm really not in the mood to hear it."

"It will reach your ears at one time or another, Tiresias," the Prince spoke well past him. "You might as well as hear it first from a talented Dornish singer. No minstrel from any other kingdom in Westeros will sing it with such feeling…"

So close to placing his cup down and leaving, Tiresias found himself unable to stand, to relinquish his grip on his wine. It wasn't just being polite. It wasn't just trying to placate a powerful Prince. As he lowered his eyes to the candle, the flames coming into a soft focus, he found it was curiosity which kept him seated. A reluctant curiosity, but it was strong enough.

The sight of this flame got you through one song. It'll get you through another.

The harp springs started up again. This was no gentle strum, but the beginning of an engrossing tale. Tiresias kept his eyes forward, his eyes still on the candle's flame. He heard the musician breathe and begin.

"Far off in the west, a peak stood tall

Where a Mountain towered over all.

A growl in the dark, with teeth bared white

The Great Dog, Clegane, born and bred to fight

"Any and all who tried to climb this peak,

Bitter winds howled and turned them weak.

Their steel met hard stone; all met the same plight.

They fell before Clegane, broke before his might.

"And none could make the Mountain fall.

And none could make the Mountain fall.

Before Clegane, no man stood tall.

No one could make the Mountain fall.

"No one could make the Mountain fall…

"A dog is ever hungry, and no one did forbade

Clegane to take his prize, a pretty young maid.

His jackals howled. Her screams grew slurred

Til naught but a whimper by the Goldroad was heard.

"But out of the shadows, a foreign wolf appeared

A man, robed in letters, his eyes free of fear.

He challenged Clegane, in the mountain fort, Deep Den

For a common maid's honor, he'd fight until the end.

"And none could make the Mountain fall.

And none could make the Mountain fall.

Before Clegane, no man stood tall.

No one could make the Mountain fall.

"No one could make the Mountain fall…"

Through the second chorus, Tiresias glanced up to the Prince across from him. Oberyn sat still, his eyes narrowed and unblinking. His fingers tapped slightly on Ros' thigh as he followed the plucks on the harp, on the story unfurling.

Looking at the musician for the first time, he refocused and listened for the new verse.

"The Great Dog agreed, but he did not recall

That dens belong to wolves, not just any dog could brawl

In a deep hall of flames, the two fighters clashed

Armed with dagger and spear, the wolf jumped and lashed.

"Outside of the hall, all the guards wondered when

The man, like the others, would end his end.

But when one limped from the den, the Dog laid slain,

For the wolf, the man of letters, killed Ser Clegane.

"And so he made the Mountain fall.

And so he made the Mountain fall.

O'er the Great Dog, he stood tall

The night he made the Mountain fall.

"And so he made the Mountain fall.

And so he made the Mountain fall.

O'er Ser Gregor Clegane, Tiresias stood tall

The night he made the Mountain fall.

"The night he made the Mountain fall..."

The musician lowered his harp, his voice fading into the flames. Oberyn started to clap, Ellaria and the other women joining him. Tiresias didn't move. He wanted to sink into the floor.

The musician took a short bow and the applause died, except for Oberyn. He continued to clap his hands. Harder and harder as the others stopped. Until he was the only one. Tiresias glanced to Ellaria. The woman seemed reserved for once.

"My love…" she started to say.

Oberyn stopped immediately.

"I'm all right. I'm all right," he murmured. He exhaled and waved the minstrel away, who retreated back to the corner, to resume his gentle strumming.

Once the Prince refilled his goblet, he sat back down on the divan. His eyes burned as he focused on Tiresias.

"Tiresias Mountainfall…" He said the name slowly, savoring it. "Mountainfall…that's what they're calling you. Did you know that? Have you heard that name come your way in Winterfell?"

"Can't say I have," Tiresias responded dully. "I prefer Tiresias. Nothing added to it."

"Nothing added…" Oberyn sipped his wine. "Well then, Tiresias…did you care for the song?"

Tiresias shook his head. "To be honest, not really. No offense to you…" He nodded to the musician. "You sing very well…but I don't care to be sung about."

"I understand," Oberyn murmured, though he didn't look understanding. "It seems that your victory over the Mountain…your slaughter…"

He smirked. "I can't imagine it was how my minstrel sang. I've seen battle. I've seen blood escape a man. It's never how it is in the songs. Always differences…what were the differences, Tiresias? To what you just heard?"

The question came too quickly. Tiresias shrugged, scrambling for an answer.

"I wasn't robed in letters."

For a brief second, Oberyn stared at him before nodding, smirking softly. His head tucked into his chest as he settled. Tiresias waited for him.

The Prince reached for a date. "You asked me, twice before, about my time aboard…"

"You mean your exile?"

Oberyn laughed, his eyes peering deep into his.

"Yes…yes, my exile."

"How long until the wrath of House Yronwood subsides?"

"Oh, that will not subside," said Oberyn, his smile growing. The thought of a powerful Dornish family wanting his head seemed to amuse him greatly. "But my brother guaranteed my absence for five years."

Tiresias reached for a dried apricot, chewing it slowly.

"That's a long time," he said through the fruit.

"Not to me," Oberyn said, almost wistfully. "I was sixteen and Dorne was beginning to suffocate me."

"Don't know many men who would feel suffocated in a palace…"

"I am not like most men," Oberyn murmured. "If a bird has wings but is not permitted to fly, it will die. I have riches and my wings could take me to the edge of the world."

"Funny you ended up in the Citadel then," Tiresias remarked. "Suffocating in Sunspear so you enter a towering pile of tomes and studies…"

Oberyn shrugged. "I was not there for long. I learned what I wanted and I sailed soon after to Essos. A far more exciting place."

"How many links did you earn?"

The Prince drank. "Six. Think I traded them off. Maybe I sent them home to Doran. I'm not sure."

"You studied poison there, didn't you? At the Citadel?"

The smile returned to Oberyn's face. "You seem more interested in my poisons than I am, Mountainfall."

"It's your moniker, Viper."

The strumming of the harps continued under their mutual stares. Both men gazed steadily though Tiresias remembered to blink. Oberyn did not blink and in the candlelight, his eyes resembled pools of black.

After an excruciating half minute, the Prince's smile turned into a light laughter. One of the whores attempted to accompany Oberyn with her own laughter. The girl swiftly shut up after a quick glare from Ros.

Well done there, Ros. You certainly know how to read a room.

The rest of them let Prince Oberyn have his soft laughter.

"Oh, you are amusing. That's right," Oberyn said, nodding into his cup. "The Red Viper…though I earned that name before I studied poisons in the Citadel. Give me your cup."

Tiresias had tried to finish his wine covertly, but Oberyn had an unnatural sense for these things. He handed over his cup. Ros made to pour, but the Prince waved her hand away and lifted the pitcher himself.

Dornish red gleamed in the candlelight as it was poured into Tiresias' cup.

"I am curious, Mountainfall," Oberyn said, his eyes on the falling wine. "If I may see your dagger once more?"

He placed the pitcher down, but did not offer the cup back to him. He held it steady, staring the librarian down.

Tiresias didn't reach for it. "It hasn't changed since you held it at the welcoming feast. What do you hope to see this time?"

"A beautiful woman…a beautiful man…they're not surprises to me, Tiresias. But I am still pleased to see them unveiled and naked before me." Oberyn's eyes drifted to his side where the dagger was sheathed. "I merely wish to see something beautiful."

"I thought my steel was ugly," Tiresias said softly. "An ugly weapon to end an ugly man, no?"

"It gained its beauty through that deed, Tiresias," Oberyn murmured, matching his tone. "Let me see it."

The muted voice didn't match his heartrate, which pulsed quicker under the plucks of the harp.

Is it just excitement, my Prince? You're in no condition to try anything. Unless you're far more sober than you appear…

Blinking to find he hadn't moved, Tiresias unsheathed the dagger. Flipping it about, he passed it hilt first to the Prince.

Oberyn relinquished his cup of wine absentmindedly. His eyes stayed down, as he ran his fingers across the simple Northern steel. Tiresias sipped his wine.

"Had I only one wish, my friend," Oberyn muttered. "I'd wished that you had not cleaned this blade and let the Mountain's blood stain this steel. I'd given you a thousand daggers to replace the ruined blade. If only to see…"

Tiresias lowered his cup. "Perhaps you would have had me not wash my hands either. They were coated with his blood as well."

It was a derisive comment. But Oberyn didn't seem to reject the idea entirely. He nodded vaguely before flipping the dagger himself and offering it back. Tiresias reached out for it.

His eyes saw it before his brain registered it. The instinct, so long ingrained into his consciousness, flashed and screamed to him. The twitch in Oberyn's shoulder, the breath of preparation as he reached for the dagger, the gleam in the Prince's eye…

His right hand shot forward, gripping Oberyn's wrist before the Prince could grab his. His left hand went up and caught Oberyn's other hand, midway through bringing the knife down.

There were screams in the room but they seemed to be at a distance. He was up. In another second, the Prince would be on his feet as well. He couldn't let that happen.

As his left leg planted into the ground, his right foot found Oberyn's chest. Still holding the Prince's hands, he swung him onto the floor. By some miracle, he missed the candles, but the Red Viper upended and messed up two plates of dates and dried apricots. He brought his knee down on Oberyn's chest immediately, hearing the forced exhalation.

Blood pounded in his ears as he stared at the Prince. Over the pulse he heard the screams being hushed. He blinked and glanced over to Ellaria. She didn't seem alarmed over the altercation. Concern colored her eyes but not surprise. Tiresias met her gaze for a split second before realizing that the harpist had not paused his playing. The strings played over his countermove.

And his hands over the Prince's wrist…they felt the pulse as it slowed.

He looked down to see Oberyn's grin widen. The Prince started laughing, his breath strained from his knee.

"Quicker than a viper's strike," he muttered in between gasps.

Tiresias stepped off quickly, taking his dagger with him. Leaving enough space, he watched the Prince get himself off the floor, dates and apricots falling off his back. A part of him wanted to bolt from the room after that nonsense.

But it wasn't the part that drove him to react to the attack. A rather lackluster attack. And a planned one if the reactions of Ellaria and the musician were anything to go by.

Oberyn looked about him and picked up a cup, looking to Tiresias. It took an effort not to glare back at him.

"I made you spill your wine," he said, quite cheerfully. He placed a cloth on the ground, covering the mess. "Come. I'll pour you another."

"I'm not thirsty," Tiresias spat. He shoved the dagger back in the sheath. "I was invited here. What the fuck was that?"

"Just a quick break between the luxuries," Oberyn quipped, losing none of his luster. "Come now. We fought more viciously than that yesterday and still drank together. We can do it again."

Curiosity was more powerful than his urge to preserve himself, it seemed. Tiresias stood stock still for twenty seconds for no reason. He knew he would sit again. Maybe he just needed to come to terms with it.

When he did, another full cup of Dornish red graced his hand. He didn't raise it with Oberyn before sipping it. His eyes narrowed on the Prince. He didn't look to Ellaria. And she had the good sense not to rest her feet in his lap again.

"Why did you call me here, Prince Oberyn?" he asked, without any humor.

"Because I wish for you to answer my questions, Tiresias." The Red Viper leaned forward; Ros forgotten to his side. "How did you kill Gregor Clegane? How did you become the Mountainfall?"

"I believe I answered this question before, Prince Oberyn. Twice. Once in the library. Once in the yard. Don't tell me you forgot already."

"Yes, yes," the Prince remarked blithely. "A dagger in the eye."

He leaned back, curling his arm around Ros again. "But that was such a short answer. I hoped for a sufficient one in the yard…but you denied me that as well."

"Denied you what?" Tiresias took a short drink. "I gave you a spar. You won."

"Yes, that's what people saw. What my men, what my daughters saw. They saw me beat you down…"

He lowered his eyes to the candles between them.

"I didn't just spend my years in Essos in the archives and libraries, in apothecaries." He drank the wine. Nostalgia tempered his tone. "I enlisted in the Second Sons. I fought with them and earned a small fortune. Earned enough to start my own sellsword company. And we were fierce. It took me to the Far East. To Slaver's Bay. Have you ever been to Yunkai, Tiresias?"

"I've never traveled to the slave cities."

"It is dangerous, but I had a company behind me. It was only when I entered the fighting pits was I ever alone. And then I saw how desperate men fought. Always to the death. Never willing to surrender.

"Except sometimes…sometimes, a man would enter, ready to die. Perhaps his master commanded him, on threat of his child's life. However so, there was a few who did. I could see it in their strikes. I could see it in their eyes…"

"What's your point, Prince Oberyn?" Tiresias interrupted, not as gently as he would have liked. He regretted taking another cup of wine.

Oberyn raised his eyes from the candles, nostalgia gone.

"I have keen eyes, Tiresias Mountainfall. My point is that I can see when a man throws a fight. You lost your agility rather suddenly in the yard yesterday."

Any hesitation to answer was not acceptable now. The second Tiresias took to breathe and steady himself was a great risk.

"I couldn't go on dodging your staff indefinitely, Prince Oberyn. You caught me and I lost. You won. Congratulations."

"No…" Oberyn shook his head. "No, you lie. You lied in the library. You lied in the yard. You're not giving me the answers I seek. The answers only you can give."

"What other answer can I possibly give you? I told you what happened. I gave you a demonstration…"

"You call that brawl in the mud a demonstration?" Oberyn scoffed. "No. No, I beat you far too easily."

"That bruise on your chest and face say different."

"Yes, I felt your power but it disappeared quickly. As for the rest…" The Prince snorted. "If you fought like that in Deep Den, the Mountain would have killed you quickly."

"You're quicker than him," Tiresias snapped. "I couldn't dance around you the way I did him."

"You danced with him?" Oberyn's tone shifted, becoming light again. "See that…that I didn't know."

Tiresias knew everyone else in the room was gazing warily at the two of them, with the exception of the harpist. Ros and the other two girls had slinked away. Ellaria was sitting straight up.

Oberyn leaned forward. "You see Tiresias, I've heard…" he murmured. "I've heard many accounts of the vengeance that was robbed from me. From the heralds in our court, from our ears at the border, our eyes in Westeros, the ravens from the capital…"

He paused to spit before continuing.

"And in the taverns, the brothels, the shipyards, from Sunspear all the way to here, I've heard the Mountain's fall from many mouths but they weren't there. I wasn't there. Only you were…

"So tell me; how did you defeat him? Tell me every blow you struck, every drop you spilled, how it smelled as you fought on and on. What was on your mind when you volunteered? Whose face did you see when you placed a blade in the Mountain's eye? Tell what happened before, the nights on the Goldroad. Go back further and tell me of the training you suffered that made your victory possible. Go back even further and explain that voice of yours. Where in Essos does your voice come forth? What happened that compelled you to this land? What gave you the right to kill the man that raped my sister and killed her children?"

Oberyn breathed, nodding to the wine Tiresias held in his hand.

"Tell me all. Drink as much as you wish…and tell me all."

"No."

Tiresias didn't hesitate to say so and it left the room in silence. Oberyn became still as he regarded him, his eyes smoldering. He wished the man would breathe and not just him. The only one in this room not holding their breath was the minstrel in the corner, plucking his harp against the racing hearts of Ellaria and the Northern women.

Ever the professional.

Finally, Oberyn exhaled. It caused the hairs on his neck to stand up. But the man didn't seem to prepare to strike him again. His knees and shoulders weren't readying themselves. Instead when the Prince spoke, it was quite soft, but no less tense.

"And why not?"

"Because what you want, you'll never have. All the details I can give. All the blood you can spill. It can never be enough."

"You seem quite sure of that."

"I am." He took a quick sip. "I can't know how you feel, Prince Oberyn. But I can truly say I don't have a desire to fixate on the past. To answer questions. To tell one story after another of how it came to be. Until it becomes so big, it ends me. I killed a man. It's done. I'm happy to return to the cold and my books."

Tiresias placed his goblet of wine down and stood. He didn't turn to leave though.

"I'll answer one of the questions burning in your skull, Prince Oberyn," he said quietly, looking down at the Red Viper. "If you ever fought Gregor Clegane, you would have died. Even if you managed to knock him off his feet, poison him and send him to a fate worse than death, he would have killed you. Because you wouldn't have been able to help yourself. You would've had to heard the confession. Heard who gave the actual order for your sister and her children to be slaughtered. You would have left him alive too long to hear it."

The next part of the story…he hesitated to voice it. The image was a vivid one that he held on silently for years, not being able to say it aloud. One of thousands he supposed…

But Oberyn sat waiting patiently and won out. Tiresias didn't bother raising his voice. He knew he was heard.

"The Mountain would have reached out and pulled you in. Your entire head fitting in his hands. He would have pressed as he did your nephew's skull, gouging your eyes. Your brains, your blood…would have resembled the wine you spilled on the floor tonight."

At that colorful description, Oberyn's eyes traced the red-stained blanket where the wine spilled during their tussle. Keeping the man in his periphery, Tiresias glanced to Ellaria. She didn't seem to appreciate that image. Her eyes soured as they met his.

Going back to the Prince, Oberyn returned his gaze. The harp's song colored the fire crackling in the hearth.

Finally, Oberyn nodded to the door. "Get out."

Tiresias didn't need telling twice. He strode towards the door, feeling the disgusted eyes on his back. He didn't care. This room was sweltering and he needed fresh air.

Out in the corridor, Selidor and the other guard were still on duty. They eyed him as he passed. He didn't bother nodding to them. Increasing his stride, he didn't stop until he reached the battlements, removing his jacket.

He sat down right below the merlons and leaned his head back against the stone, closing his eyes. While his immunity to the cold remained intact, he could still sense and be soothed by cooled objects. Though he supposed this stone was freezing to normal individuals. Even Northerners.

A pair of footsteps interrupted his musing. He opened his eyes to see a pair of house guards pausing at the sight of him. A slight confusion colored their faces. After a few seconds, Tiresias broke the silence.

"Gentlemen," he nodded. He didn't know their names. The nightwatch belonged to the newest recruits.

The youngest one nodded back. "Oi," he said, clearing his throat before adding. "What are you doing here?"

Tiresias decided for honesty. "I have a headache and I'm letting the coldness of this stone penetrate my skull."

With that, he leaned back and closed his eyes again. He sensed the youngest making to speak again, but his partner silenced him. They traipsed past him and it was only when they were gone that Tiresias opened his eyes.

When was the last time you gazed up at the stars? When did you last seek the Crone's Lantern to give you a sense of balance?

The last hunt, probably…before he came back to discover they would be hosting a Dornish prince.

Tiresias stayed on the battlements well past the hour of the Wolf. He saw stars shine and fade. The cold that would drive a man back to his hearth, his bed and his wife meant nothing to him.