Chapter 169 — Oberyn's Speculation
"Your Grace, I am Oberyn Martell of Dorne. First, allow me to thank you for the warning you sent before my trial by combat."
Oberyn bowed slightly.
If not for that message—passed to him through Varys—he would have died at the hands of the Mountain.
Daenerys Targaryen, who had been smiling calmly, froze for the briefest moment.
A warning?
What warning?
She gave a polite nod, then discreetly glanced toward Tyrion Lannister.
Tyrion immediately caught on and shot her a subtle look—don't give anything away.
Perched on her shoulder, Drogon watched the silent exchange with complete indifference, his gaze drifting instead toward Oberyn, who—rarely—was speaking with unusual seriousness.
Daenerys quickly composed herself. Even if she didn't know, she certainly couldn't show it.
Oberyn, noticing only a faint flicker in her expression, thought nothing of it.
"Your Grace," he continued, "my brother, Doran Martell, is unable to travel due to his condition. He has sent me in his stead—to form an alliance and support your claim to the Iron Throne."
He wasted no time stating his purpose.
The council members present exchanged puzzled looks. None of them knew anything about this so-called "warning." Nor had Daenerys sent envoys to court Dorne.
Was it truly that single message that brought Dorne into alliance?
...
The terms were straightforward.
Dorne would commit fifteen thousand soldiers and one hundred and fifty warships to Daenerys's cause.
In return, should Dorne face an overwhelming assault from King's Landing, Daenerys would come to its aid.
And once she claimed the Iron Throne—
Dorne would submit to her rule.
...
The alliance was sealed.
Daenerys invited Oberyn, along with his paramour and his daughters—the Sand Snakes—to attend a banquet that evening.
...
After leaving the hall, Daenerys immediately sought out Tyrion.
"What warning was he talking about?"
Tyrion could only explain that Varys had acted in her name, passing along a warning to Oberyn before the duel.
When she learned the details, Daenerys was genuinely surprised. That single message had saved Oberyn's life—no wonder Dorne had come to ally with her.
It also reminded her—
Tyrion had mentioned this possibility long ago, even before becoming her Hand.
With Dorne's support, she had gained not only a powerful ally, but also weakened her enemies by removing one more potential opponent.
Her mood improved considerably.
...
At the banquet, Tyrion approached Oberyn with a cup in hand and raised a toast.
"Thank you—for fighting for me."
He was referring to the trial by combat.
After a drink, Tyrion asked, "How is my niece, Myrcella Baratheon, faring in Dorne?"
When he had served as Hand in King's Landing, Tyrion had sent Myrcella south to Dorne as part of a political arrangement—intending to betroth her to Doran's son.
Oberyn's expression hardened slightly.
"Do you take us for Lannisters?" he said coldly. "Would we harm a little girl?"
The bitterness over his sister and her children's deaths still lingered.
Tyrion rubbed his nose awkwardly and said nothing further.
Oberyn leaned back in his chair.
"As for your father, Tywin Lannister… I regret I didn't kill him myself. Your sister claims you did it."
His eyes locked onto Tyrion.
"I don't believe her."
Tyrion met his gaze calmly.
"It wasn't me."
Oberyn studied him for a moment, then pressed further—
"Then tell me… who do you think it was?"
Regarding the poisoning of Tywin Lannister, Tyrion Lannister had once discussed it in detail with his brother Jaime Lannister while still in the dungeons.
The conclusion had shocked him.
Jaime suspected their own sister—Cersei Lannister.
Tyrion himself had considered many possibilities after their father's death, but never once had he placed Cersei among the suspects.
Yet Jaime's words forced him to reconsider.
He had always believed he understood his sister—the woman who had despised him since childhood—but the idea that she might commit patricide…
It unsettled him.
"Was it Cersei?" Oberyn asked bluntly when Tyrion hesitated.
Tyrion stared at him in surprise.
He hadn't expected Oberyn to reach the same conclusion.
"Then I was right," Oberyn said, lifting his wine and taking a sip. "If not for Tommen Baratheon restraining her, she might already be ruling King's Landing as queen."
When news of Tywin's death had first reached him, even Oberyn had been stunned. Who could have imagined that the man who dominated the realm would be poisoned in his own chambers?
But based on his past dealings with Tyrion, he never believed Tyrion capable of killing his father out of resentment alone.
After quietly investigating the circumstances surrounding Tywin's death, Oberyn had gradually narrowed his suspicion to Cersei.
...
"Your niece, Myrcella, is well," Oberyn continued, his tone easing slightly. "She and my nephew are quite close. If nothing unexpected happens, she may one day become Princess of Dorne."
Despite his hatred for House Lannister, Oberyn held no personal animosity toward Tyrion.
Hearing this, Tyrion finally relaxed.
Myrcella had inherited Cersei's beauty—but none of her cruelty. She was kind, gentle, and brave. Tyrion had always feared she might suffer for the sins of her family.
Now, at least, she was safe.
...
After Tyrion departed, Oberyn approached Daario Naharis and clinked cups with him.
He had already sensed it—
They were alike in certain ways.
Sure enough, Daario confirmed he had once served in the Second Sons and had fought many times in the arenas of Meereen.
The two quickly found common ground.
They agreed to spar the next day.
...
At dawn, the training grounds of Dragonstone buzzed with anticipation.
Oberyn stood lightly armored, spear in hand.
Opposite him, Daario held his arakh.
Unlike trials by combat or arena fights, the atmosphere here was relaxed. The spectators watched with ease, enjoying the display of skill.
Both men favored agility.
One wielded a long weapon, the other a short one.
At close range, Daario held the advantage.
At distance, Oberyn dominated.
Back and forth they moved, each exchange fluid and precise, their techniques on full display.
Though lacking the brutality of a fight to the death—
It was no less captivating.
...
As Daenerys watched with interest, an Unsullied approached Grey Worm and whispered something to him.
Grey Worm stepped forward and reported:
"A small boat has arrived at the harbor. The man aboard claims to be Robb Stark… from the North."
...
Robb's arrival immediately brought another name to Daenerys's mind.
Oberyn.
Both had escaped certain death at the Red Wedding—
Thanks to the same unseen warning.
When the Vale army had relieved Riverrun, she had chosen not to meet Robb.
She wanted to see—
What choice he would make afterward.
And now—
He had come to her.
...
By then, Oberyn and Daario had already ended their spar.
Without lethal intent, it was difficult to determine a winner.
Daario was impressed.
He hadn't expected the Prince of Dorne to possess such skill—nor such stamina at his age.
Oberyn, in turn, held the young man in high regard.
No wonder he had risen to command the Second Sons—and now served among Daenerys's commanders.
The two shared a nod of mutual respect as the match concluded.