Chapter 61 — The Unexpected
"Varys?" Oberyn had not expected to encounter him here.
"Are you planning to fight in Tyrion's stead?" Varys asked calmly, turning his face slightly away from the torchlight.
Oberyn stared at him for a long moment before replying bluntly, "Has that whore Cersei decided she gets to meddle in my affairs too?"
"I was not sent by the Queen Regent," Varys said evenly. "I came only to deliver a word of warning—on behalf of someone else."
"A warning?" Oberyn ignored the first half of the statement, his voice low and sharp.
"Do not press the Mountain too closely," Varys said, repeating Drogon's words verbatim. "Carelessness will get you killed."
Oberyn had assumed Varys was here to dissuade him from serving as Tyrion's champion. Instead, he found himself being warned—to be careful.
"Who sent you?" Oberyn demanded. "Does Tyrion already know I've returned? Or was it Jaime?"
Varys's answer surprised him.
"Neither Tyrion nor Jaime. Someone else entirely."
That gave Oberyn pause.
From what he had observed during the trial, aside from Jaime, no one seemed to care whether Tyrion lived or died—Varys included. Though Varys had offered no testimony that directly condemned Tyrion, his words had still done him no favors.
"I appreciate the concern," Oberyn said at last. "I will be careful."
Seeing that Varys had no intention of revealing the identity of his benefactor, Oberyn did not press the matter.
The message delivered, Varys said nothing more. He turned and slowly vanished into the shadows at the end of the alley.
Oberyn watched him go, deep in thought.
He knew the Mountain well—not because he was about to face him in combat, but because Gregor Clegane had raped and murdered his sister Elia, then smashed her children against the walls of King's Landing.
Oberyn had adored Elia since childhood, trailing after her like a shadow. He would never forget the agony of learning that King's Landing had fallen—and with it, his sister.
He hated the Mountain.
But even more, he hated the man who had given the order: Tywin Lannister.
Bound by the interests of Dorne, he had been unable to seek vengeance—until now.
This was his chance.
And yet, someone had foreseen his intent, arrived here ahead of him, and even taken the trouble to warn him.
The Mountain was a terrifying opponent—immensely strong, surprisingly fast, and monstrously resilient. Oberyn knew this better than anyone.
But no danger could deter him.
---
Tyrion had imagined many people might come to see him before his death.
Bronn, perhaps, to bid a mercenary farewell.
Cersei, to gloat over his helplessness.
He had not expected Prince Oberyn of Dorne.
Looking at Tyrion now, Oberyn was reminded of their first meeting—when Tyrion had been a newborn.
Before traveling to King's Landing, Oberyn and Elia had heard rumors that House Lannister had produced a monstrous child. Curious, he had gone to see for himself—only to be disappointed.
Aside from a slightly oversized head, the infant had appeared perfectly normal.
It was only later that Oberyn learned Tyrion had stopped growing after the age of ten.
When Oberyn explained the purpose of his visit, Tyrion was even more shocked than he had been upon seeing him enter the cell.
After all, when Tyrion had welcomed Oberyn to King's Landing, the Dornish prince had made no effort to hide his loathing for House Lannister.
Oberyn should have been content to watch the three Lannisters tear each other apart.
Yet here he was—standing up for Tyrion, preparing to face the Mountain, the deadliest warrior in King's Landing.
Tyrion understood the depth of Oberyn's hatred—toward House Lannister, and toward Gregor Clegane most of all.
The only explanation he could find was that Oberyn's desire to kill the Mountain outweighed his hatred of the Lannisters.
Perhaps he could not yet exact revenge on Tywin Lannister himself.
So he would settle—first—for the man who had carried out the crime.
No matter the reason, this was extraordinary news for Tyrion.
Dornish spearwork was unrivaled in the Seven Kingdoms, and Prince Oberyn was its greatest master.
With Oberyn fighting for him, Tyrion's chances of survival had increased dramatically.
After Oberyn departed, hope finally returned to Tyrion's heart.
He lay back on the straw and, for the first time in days, drifted into sleep.
---
The next day, by the sea, the trial by combat was held.
Oberyn donned light armor and drank with his lover, Ellaria Sand.
From afar, Tyrion watched anxiously—Oberyn was already on his third cup of wine.
He worried the alcohol might dull the prince's edge.
On the viewing stand, Tywin Lannister sat at the center, with Cersei beside him and the second judge, Mace Tyrell, nearby.
Jaime stood below, eyes fixed on Oberyn as he prepared to enter the arena.
When the time came, Oberyn drained his final cup, kissed Ellaria deeply, accepted a spear from his attendants, and stepped onto the sands.
The Mountain followed—encased in heavy armor, face hidden behind his helm, a massive greatsword gripped in his hands.
Tywin declared the trial begun.
The two clashed at once.
Oberyn moved lightly, his spear darting and twisting, striking from unpredictable angles.
The Mountain relied on brute strength, yet his movements were far from slow.
They traded blows through several exchanges, neither gaining a decisive advantage.
Knowing better than to meet raw strength head-on, Oberyn circled constantly, striking and retreating.
Over time, the Mountain suffered several shallow wounds.
Unable to land a solid hit, Gregor grew enraged.
With a thunderous roar, he unleashed a furious barrage of blows, forcing Oberyn to retreat again and again.
Tyrion's heart clenched.
They were bound together now—if Oberyn fell, Tyrion would follow him to the grave.
Under the Mountain's onslaught, Oberyn rolled and leapt to evade the blows, but his spear was eventually hacked in half.
Yet Oberyn showed no fear.
He dodged back, took a fresh spear from his attendants—and returned to the fight.
The Mountain's reckless assault had drained his strength.
Oberyn pressed the advantage, launching a relentless counterattack.
Gregor failed to dodge in time.
A spear thrust pierced his arm, nearly knocking his greatsword from his grip.
Oberyn spun behind him and struck again, driving the spear deep into the back of the Mountain's leg.
Gregor collapsed.
Now firmly in control, Oberyn circled his fallen foe and shouted:
"Do you remember Elia of House Martell?
The woman you raped—whose children you smashed against the walls like dogs!"
"Speak!" Oberyn roared. "Who gave you the order?
Say his name, and I will grant you a quick death!"
His voice shook with fury as his gaze flicked toward Tywin Lannister.
"Was it him?"
Oberyn pointed his spear directly at the stands—at Tywin.
"I said, speak!"
When the Mountain gave no answer, Oberyn leapt forward, drove the spear into Gregor's chest, and wrenched it free, blood spraying into the air.
Jaime could not suppress a smile.
The Mountain was finished.
But Tyrion remained tense, his eyes locked on the fallen giant.
Until Gregor was truly dead, he dared not relax.
"Say his name!" Oberyn shouted again.
"Who ordered you to murder my sister?
Who ordered you to murder her children?!"
Tywin had been pointed at again and again.
His face darkened, murder gleaming in his eyes.
Cersei shot a venomous glance toward Tyrion at the edge of the stands, then turned back to Oberyn, grinding her teeth in fury.