Salt, Flame, and Sand I A thorn in the tide

Within the walls of Myr beats the heart of a world that has long since been torn apart.

The last few months of traveling were wearing on him, and the exhaustion was becoming more and more noticeable, but this was something Oberyn was used to. He traveled often, on long, arduous journeys, usually without an escort, which the prince preferred so as not to cause a stir. He was famous... notorious even in distant lands, and not everyone was well-disposed toward him. His modern views and political attitudes were offensive; he was a serious threat to the customary good, to outdated traditions and beliefs that the nobility certainly did not want to discard, as they underlined their power and made them unapproachable. While his brother Doran ruled Dorne and tried to keep up appearances and conform to custom, Oberyn rebelled more and more. That didn’t mean he wanted to push his brother off the throne, he simply wanted to lead him down a different path and hoped that Doran would eventually become a little braver and stand up for what the other royal houses disapproved of.

The reason for his journey this time was the search for a supposedly magical artifact. Oberyn had always been deeply interested in magic and alchemy, perhaps because he was involuntarily connected to them. The Dornish prince never wanted to depend on magic, never wanted to be subjugated or guided by it... but he wanted to know everything, to learn, to open his eyes to what frightened others or was considered abnormal. Sometimes, however, he came across information that even made him think ..  information that forced him to look closer, to find answers, and, above all, to ensure the protection of his people. It was difficult to get hold of the artifact in question. Myr, the city of artists and thinkers, treated it like a precious treasure, like a work of art that had to be protected. Yet Oberyn suspected they were already trying to discover how to use this magical object for themselves. Myr was ruled by an oligarchy of rich merchants and craftsmen, there was no king, no senate like in Braavos, but a network of guilds, trading houses, and intrigues. Power was negotiated in alleyways, workshops, and back rooms. It had the reputation of being a city of beauty without a soul, and it was only a matter of time before some ruler arose who wanted to seize everything and use its treasures and thinking minds to ignite a political fire that would destroy other royal houses. In principle, Oberyn had no objection to some kingdoms being destroyed but eventually, that destruction would reach Sunspear, and he wanted to avoid another attack on his people.

He had stolen the artifact in his own way, with a charming smile and a tongue as sharp and poisonous as his spear. Oberyn knew that in Myr one rarely won by force, but only through patience, cunning, and a touch of poison that never killed immediately only when the plan was already complete. He had slipped into the circles of the alchemists, spent nights in the taverns of the craftsmen, made them believe he was just a collector of rare substances, and was lucky that none of the alchemists recognized him or questioned his interest. By the time the deal seemed done, he had already dosed the poison that would weaken .. but not kill .. his negotiating partner for hours, giving him enough time to steal the key, find the entrance to the vault, and take the artifact. No bloodbath... no fierce battles and consequently, no rumors spreading. Even though he had succeeded in the theft, he knew time was running out and that he had to return to Dorne as quickly as possible to hide and study the artifact. The quickest way was across the rough, unpredictable sea , the kind sea that gave but also took. 

Myr was still unaware of the theft, but the sea itself was a poor ally in those days. Storms had swallowed several ships in recent weeks, and many captains dared not cross while the winds were so turbulent. Others simply distrusted him,  a foreign prince from Dorne traveling alone, with too little luggage and way  too much gold. They sensed secrets, and secrets meant chaos. Some told him outright that they would not carry cargo they were not allowed to see. Others just smiled and found excuses like broken masts, sick sailors, supposedly unfavorable currents. In truth, most were afraid to carry a prince through Corsair territory. That rumor would spread like wildfire, for nothing was more precious than a high-ranking nobleman who could be taken hostage. The search cost him several more days in an area that could swallow him whole at any moment. Oberyn didn’t think of giving up,  he even tried to find other ways, to study the land routes and focus on traveling by horse but that very evening, when he wanted to give his mind a brief rest, the tide seemed to turn. 

Merchants, spies and mercenaries share the same space while above them the kings roll the dice of fate.

He found the Whisperer in a secluded harbor pub at the end of an alley,  not exactly an establishment that could offer Oberyn a satisfying evening. He did not sit among the people,  the travelers, the captains and sailors, or even the whores who worked there , but took a seat at a single table to watch the others.. He spoke little, ordered wine, and let his eyes wander over the men. It wasn’t long before one of them sat down next to him,  a slender fellow with scars on his fingers. Oberyn didn’t have to ask, he simply looked the stranger in the eye for a long moment, ordered him a stale beer, and waited patiently. A bag of gold on the table, another quick, scrutinizing glance and the whisperer began to talk. About a captain who asked no questions, about a small ship that sailed at night without lanterns, and about discretion. Oberyn listened, sipped his wine, and smiled. He didn’t let on whether he was interested or not, whether he liked the man’s words or doubted them. 

After he had bought his neighbor several more beers, the information continued to flow freely without prompting. At first, it sounded like a myth... one of those typical dark stories people told to distract themselves from real problems. But Oberyn listened anyway, letting the man speak, even as impatience crept in ... he needed this damn ship, not more legendary tales.

“How do I find this captain and this ship?”

He finally asked, interrupting the other man calmly and matter-of-factly.

“I don’t know...”

The prince raised a brow, sighed softly, and reached for the gold pouch, but the whisperer shook his head vigorously and urged him to listen a bit longer.

“But I know someone... someone who might actually be able to help, who knows his way around this town ..  I’m sure he knows where to look...”

Breathing a quiet sigh of relief, Oberyn sank back into the chair and raised a brow.

“Am I now paying another man for information... so that all my gold flows into talk and not results?”

The man lowered his head, then finally shook it.

“I’m sure... he can help.”

Oberyn took the last sip from his goblet, a very bitter, watery wine... but he didn’t care.

“Send out a messenger and have him deliver the following note to your informant.”

From his robe pocket, he pulled out a tattered piece of parchment, and with charcoal he wrote the following lines:

I expect you at the harbor tavern by midnight. There you will find me wrapped in a dark robe, alone at a table. My only companion is a goblet of wine, come without an entourage and with open ears.. for those who are useful to me will be richly rewarded. Everything else will be discussed in private. OM.

“Should the man with the legendary knowledge actually arrive and give me information I find useful... you’ll be rewarded .. perhaps even more than that.”

The whisperer took the parchment, folded it several times, nodded to the prince, and did as he was told. The message was passed to a boy who darted through the night like a cat. Oberyn spent the time amusing himself with a pretty prostitute until he finally sought out a table again and waited for the stranger.

Credit for the story banner edit goes to @Liminal Criminal