wtfbengt
patreon
Chapter 136
🕑 Added 2025-01-28 22:29:23 +0000 UTCHuh… what just happened?
Aegor had just finalized two deals worth 2,000 gold dragons each and was beginning to think about how best to invest the 4,000 dragons he was about to receive. He relaxed for less than a minute—and in that brief moment, his beloved apprentice… had been stolen right before his eyes!
Margaery’s live demonstration of her ability to “turn strangers into friends” was absolutely jaw-dropping. The seamless transition from a sharp and relentless negotiator to a “Highgarden girl who loves swordsmanship but has never had the chance to learn” was nothing short of masterful. Aegor could only sit there in awe; if he’d had a keyboard, he would’ve spammed 666 in admiration.
If he hadn’t already known about Margaery’s true nature from his omniscient perspective, he likely wouldn’t have fared much better than Arya during their first meeting at the allied camp. A person with maxed-out charisma and emotional intelligence was truly terrifying.
She had been utterly unyielding during the negotiation, yet the moment Arya appeared, she suddenly became agreeable. Was it because she wanted to quickly brush him off so she could charm the Hand’s daughter?
Wait—did this mean that even if he had demanded 2,500 gold dragons earlier, she might have still agreed?
Hold on. Margaery was the only daughter of House Tyrell, sent to Robert Baratheon’s court to fulfill her family’s ambitions. How could she possibly have the time to come here every day to practice swordsmanship?
“Hey, hurry up and agree already!”
Arya’s impatient tugging snapped Aegor out of his thoughts. He sighed and reluctantly nodded. “Fine.”
(He’d have to tell Nina later to lock up all the documents in the office. One Jaqen was troublesome enough; he didn’t need another potential spy sneaking around.)
“Master, you’re the best!” Arya grinned, rubbing against his arm affectionately before yanking him out from behind the desk and dragging him toward the courtyard. “Come on, I want to challenge you and show Lady Margaery how much I’ve improved these past few months!”
“You’re challenging Aegor?” Margaery looked intrigued, then seemed to remember something. “Oh, I almost forgot to introduce you. This is Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne. And this is his paramour, Ellaria Sand.”
“Oh, hello, Prince Oberyn… and Lady Ellaria,” Arya said, politely greeting the Dornish pair as Aegor had taught her. Then her eyes widened. “Wait—Oberyn? Are you the ‘Red Viper’?”
“That’s probably me,” Oberyn replied with a charming smile. “It’s just a nickname my friends came up with.”
“Prince Oberyn is one of the most skilled warriors in the Seven Kingdoms,” Margaery added. “There are only a handful of people who can defeat him.”
She didn’t need to elaborate. Arya, like any Stark, had heard of the Red Viper’s fearsome reputation. She studied him curiously for a moment before the inevitable question popped into her head. “Master, who’s stronger—you or him?”
“Prince Oberyn, of course. Ten of me wouldn’t stand a chance.” Aegor’s answer was straightforward. If ten of him attacked at once, the outcome might be uncertain, but if they fought one-on-one, Oberyn would absolutely crush him. “We’ve sparred before. He went easy on me, and I wisely conceded.”
The Night’s Watch still talked about that sparring match. How easy had Oberyn gone on him? It was like a game of table tennis where Oberyn spotted him a ten-point lead, only for Aegor to lose 10-12. To the untrained eye, it might have seemed like a close contest, but Aegor knew better. If they had kept playing, the score could’ve easily been 10-100 or 10-1,000. Bowing out early had been the smartest decision he’d made.
“Lord Aegor is also quite formidable. That sparring session taught me a great deal,” Oberyn said graciously.
Dornishmen knew how to be polite? Well, perhaps he was referring to the experience of holding back so much. Aegor smirked inwardly but didn’t have time to react before Arya, now bursting with excitement, ran over to Oberyn. “Then I want to challenge you, Prince Oberyn!”
“Hmm?” Oberyn seemed momentarily caught off guard. “Why?”
“Do you need a reason to accept a challenge from one of your admirers?” Ellaria laughed, sliding off Oberyn’s lap and back into her chair. “Go on, indulge her.”
“Arya, don’t be ridiculous,” Aegor interrupted, frowning. “You’ve only been training for a few months. How can you expect to spar with someone who’s been practicing for years? I’ll spar with you this afternoon as much as you like. Isn’t that enough?”
The Red Viper’s deadly reputation wasn’t just a tale to scare children. Many who had dueled him ended up maimed or dead. When Aegor had been forced to spar with him in the army camp, he’d had no enmity with Oberyn, yet he still played it safe and humbled himself before stepping into the ring. Oberyn might not have any reason to harm Arya, but accidents could happen, and as her temporary guardian, Aegor couldn’t afford to take that risk.
“No! I just want to see what it’s like to spar with a true master. The better the opponent, the more exciting it is!” Arya ignored Aegor entirely, grabbed Oberyn’s arm, and began dragging him toward the courtyard. For a small girl, she was surprisingly strong, and the Red Viper let himself be pulled to his feet.
“All right, all right, little one. Don’t tug so hard; I can walk,” Oberyn said with a helpless chuckle, seemingly amused by her enthusiasm. “Find me a practice sword like hers, and I won’t go too hard on you.”
“Prince Oberyn!” Margaery’s voice carried a note of alarm. Her eldest brother, Willas Tyrell, had been crippled during a joust with Oberyn. It had been a fair match, but it still proved how dangerous the man could be. She’d only wanted to befriend Arya and glean some gossip about the queen and her brother. If this led to an accident, her already troublesome trip north would end in complete disaster. “Please—be careful!”
The Red Viper’s lips curled into a smile. “Don’t worry, I won’t use any dangerous tricks.”
…
The group followed Arya and Oberyn to the courtyard with varying levels of apprehension. Jaqen H’ghar was sitting on a bench, sipping water, and looked mildly surprised when so many people suddenly appeared. Upon hearing that Arya wanted to challenge Oberyn, he raised an eyebrow but said nothing, fetching a practice sword identical to Arya’s and tossing it to the prince.
The two stepped into the makeshift sparring ground and faced each other. Despite the disparity in size and experience, they prepared to begin.
“Come at me,” Oberyn said casually, not even bothering to adopt a proper stance. He twirled the wooden sword in his hand like a toy. “Show me your best move. But be quick—I have little patience for drawn-out games.”
