"Varys!" Oberyn was surprised to see Varys here.
"My Lord, are you here to fight for Tyrion?" Varys asked calmly, avoiding the torchlight.
Oberyn glared at Varys. "Does that bitch Cersei think she can control even me?"
"I am not sent by the Queen Regent. I am merely here to deliver a warning for someone."
"What warning?" Oberyn ignored the first part of Varys's statement and asked in a low voice.
"Stay away from The Mountain. Be careful, or you might be killed!" Varys relayed Drogon's exact words to Oberyn.
Oberyn had expected Varys to try and stop him from fighting for Tyrion, not to warn him about The Mountain.
"Who sent you? Does Tyrion already know I'm back? Or Jaime?" Oberyn couldn't think of anyone else who would care about Tyrion's life enough to send someone to warn him.
"Not Tyrion, nor Jaime. Someone else."
Varys's answer surprised Oberyn. From his observations at the trial, it seemed no one cared about Tyrion's fate—not even Varys himself.
Although Varys didn't offer any testimony that would condemn Tyrion to death, his words were still highly damaging to the dwarf.
"Thank you for your concern. I'll be careful," Oberyn said, seeing that Varys was unwilling to reveal the identity of the mastermind. He didn't press further.
His message delivered, Varys said no more. He turned and slowly faded into the shadows at the end of the alley.
Watching Varys's retreating figure, Oberyn fell into deep thought. He knew The Mountain all too well—not just because he was about to face him in combat, but because The Mountain had murdered his sister, Elia, and dashed her child's brains against the castle walls.
He had been especially close to Elia since childhood, often trailing after her like a shadow. He would never forget the agony of learning of Robert's conquest of King's Landing and receiving the news of his sister's death. He hated The Mountain, but he hated Tywin even more—the man who had given the order.
Bound by family interests, he had been unable to seek revenge. Now that this chance had finally presented itself, how could he let it slip away?
What he hadn't anticipated was that Varys and his shadowy master had guessed his intentions, arriving here in advance to offer him a "kind" warning.
Tyrion knew the Mountain's formidable power well. He was not only immensely strong but also surprisingly swift, making him a formidable opponent. Even so, nothing could deter his resolve for vengeance.
Tyrion had expected Bronn to come say goodbye, or his sister Cersei to mock his helplessness as he awaited death. What he hadn't anticipated was Prince Oberyn of Dorne.
Looking at Tyrion, Oberyn recalled their first meeting when he was just a newborn.
Before coming to King's Landing with his sister, they had heard rumors of the Lannisters having a "freak" child. Oberyn, who had come out of curiosity, was deeply disappointed upon seeing Tyrion.
Apart from a slightly larger head than average, Tyrion seemed perfectly normal. Later, he learned that the boy had stopped growing after the age of ten.
When Tyrion heard Oberyn's purpose, he was even more astonished than when he first saw him. As he welcomed Oberyn into King's Landing, the Prince made no secret of his loathing for the Lannisters.
Oberyn should have been watching the three Lannister siblings tear each other apart. Instead, he was here to help Tyrion face the Mountain, King's Landing's greatest warrior.
He was well aware of Oberyn's feud with the Lannisters and The Mountain. He could only attribute Oberyn's willingness to help to his burning desire to kill The Mountain, which outweighed his hatred for the Lannister family.
Perhaps he couldn't take revenge on his father Tywin, so he had to settle for the next best thing: killing The Mountain first.
Regardless, this was tremendous news for Tyrion. Dorne's spear-fighting skills were unmatched, and Prince Oberyn was the preeminent master of the art. With him fighting, Tyrion's chances of survival would increase dramatically.
After seeing Oberyn off, Tyrion felt a surge of hope. He lay down in the tall grass and slowly drifted off to sleep.
The next day, at a seaside arena, Oberyn, clad in light armor, was drinking with his mistress Ellaria. Tyrion watched from a distance, his heart filled with anxiety. This was Oberyn's third cup of wine, and he worried that too much drink would impair his performance in the trial by combat.
On the viewing platform sat Tywin, with Cersei and another judge, Duke Mace of Highgarden, beside him. Jaime stood below, watching Oberyn prepare to enter the arena.
When the time came, Oberyn drained his final cup, kissed Ellaria, and accepted his long spear from a subordinate before descending into the arena.
The Mountain, clad in heavy armor with a helmet and carrying a greatsword, strode into the arena.
Tywin declared the match to be underway, and the two combatants quickly clashed. Oberyn, agile and swift, wielded his spear with dazzling skill, striking from unexpected angles. The Mountain, though powerful, was not slow to react.
They exchanged blows for several rounds, neither gaining a significant advantage.
Knowing The Mountain's reliance on brute force, Oberyn avoided direct confrontation, circling his opponent and seizing opportunities to strike. Over time, The Mountain sustained several minor wounds.
Frustrated by his inability to land a blow on Oberyn, The Mountain roared and unleashed a series of wild swings with his greatsword, forcing Oberyn into a hasty retreat.
The Imp, Tyrion, watched with bated breath. The two were in the same boat; if Oberyn died, Tyrion's own survival would be in jeopardy.
The Mountain's fury proved difficult to evade. Oberyn rolled and dodged in succession to avoid the relentless onslaught, but his spear was ultimately cleaved in two.
Undeterred, Oberyn dodged the final blow, received a new spear from his men, and continued the fight.
The Mountain, exhausted from his furious attack, was caught off guard. As Oberyn pressed his advantage with the fresh spear, The Mountain was impaled in the arm and nearly dropped his greatsword. Seizing the moment, Oberyn darted behind him and thrust the spear into The Mountain's calf, bringing him crashing to his knees.
Oberyn gradually gained the upper hand, circling the Mountain and shouting, "Do you remember Elia Martell? That poor woman you *murdered, and whose child you dashed against the city walls!"
"Speak! Who ordered you to do this? Tell me, and I'll give you a quick death." Oberyn, his voice hoarse with rage, glared at Tywin and demanded answers from the Mountain.
"Tell me! Who ordered you to do this? Was it *him*?" Oberyn's spear tip now pointed directly at Tywin in the stands.
"I'll make you speak!" Seeing the Mountain lying motionless on the ground, Oberyn leaped forward and plunged his spear into his chest. He yanked it out with a violent motion, sending a spray of blood into the air.
Jaime couldn't help but smile at the sight. The Mountain was as good as dead.
Tyrion, however, remained tense, his eyes fixed on the Mountain's body. He wouldn't relax until the Mountain was truly dead.
"Name him! Who ordered you to *murder my sister? To dash her child to death!*"
Tywin, repeatedly targeted by the spear, grew increasingly grim, his eyes glinting with murderous intent.
Cersei shot a venomous glance at Tyrion, who stood near the stands, before turning her gaze to Oberyn's furious roars in the arena. She clenched her teeth.
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(End of Chapter)