On the second day of the tournament, sunlight scorched Harrenhal's ancient stone walls.
On the jousting field, knights fought in pairs.
The crash of metal, the neighing of horses, and the cheers of the spectators mingled into a sea of noise.
Leon sat in the Lannister stands, but his gaze was not on the field.
He was watching someone.
The Dornish stands were on the far right, across the entire nobles' section.
But that man was not in the stands. He leaned against the railing like a lazy snake basking in the sun, while his gaze roamed through the crowd like venomous fangs.
Oberyn Martell.
The Prince of Dorne's youngest brother, known as the "Red Viper."
Leon's [Eye of Insight] caught the colors in his chest:
Deep red intertwined with gold, its edges sharp as blades, with a cluster of undying, dark red flames at its center.
That was hatred. Hatred steeped in poison.
Tyrion followed his gaze and clicked his tongue. "You noticed him? I heard he was still traveling through Lys and Volantis last year, and now he's rushed back.
"Probably here to enjoy the spectacle! The Dornish love watching the nobles of the Seven Kingdoms tear into one another."
"He isn't here for the spectacle," Leon said.
Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"
"He's looking for someone."
The words had barely left his mouth when Oberyn moved.
He pushed away from the railing, passed through the crowd, and walked slowly toward the Lannister stands.
There was something distinctive about his gait. Every step was like a dance, graceful and unhurried, yet carrying a certain deadly rhythm.
People moved aside all along his path.
Not out of reverence, but because of that indescribable air of danger.
He stopped in front of Leon.
"Oberyn Martell," he introduced himself, without a bow or an honorific, his black eyes fixed on Leon's face. "You're that 'purple-eyed elf'?"
Leon stood.
The difference in height forced him to look up, but his back was straight as a sword.
"Leon Lannister," he said. "I've long heard of the Red Viper's great reputation."
Oberyn smiled.
There was no warmth in that smile, only amusement.
"Have you? What have you heard about me?"
"That in Lys, you poisoned three assassins sent to kill you in a single night, then used their poisons to concoct a new bottle."
Leon's voice was calm. "And that in Volantis, you won everything an archon owned, then generously returned half of it. Because you thought 'letting a man who's lost everything live is more interesting than letting him die.'"
Oberyn's eyes lit up for an instant.
"You have a good intelligence network," he said. "Better than most important men."
"You have a fine reputation," Leon said. "Louder than most unimportant men."
Oberyn froze for a second, then burst out laughing.
His laughter was loud enough to draw looks from everyone nearby.
"Interesting!" He bent down, bringing his face so close to Leon's that Leon could smell the spices and poison mingling on him. "An eight-year-old dwarf who dares speak to me like that. Do you know I could make you never speak again in the time it takes to say a sentence?"
Leon's [Eye of Insight] worked at full strength.
He saw the dark red flames dancing in Oberyn's chest, but a very thin, pale green halo edged them.
That was curiosity. Genuine curiosity, without a trace of malice.
"You won't," Leon said. "Because you came here to investigate something."
Oberyn's smile faded for an instant.
"Oh? What?"
"You want to investigate," Leon looked straight into his eyes, "eye color."
The atmosphere froze for several seconds.
Oberyn slowly straightened and studied the small figure before him anew.
The amusement vanished from those black eyes, replaced by a deeper, appraising focus.
"Does your father know you speak this way?" he asked.
"My father wants me to see everyone clearly," Leon said. "And you're right in front of me."
Oberyn raised an eyebrow, chuckled, then abruptly turned to Tyrion beside them.
"And you? Imp?" His voice held an unmistakable challenge. "I hear your tongue is sharper than a sword. Why so quiet now?"
Tyrion stood and grinned.
It was that familiar sort of grin that made people want to slap him.
"I'm enjoying the view."
He said, "Enjoying a conversation between a viper and a lion cub. A King's Landing troupe could perform this for a year without earning a single gold dragon. Utterly dull."
"A lion cub?" Oberyn glanced at Leon, then at Tyrion. "Are both of you lion cubs? Or is one actually..."
He did not finish. But the pause was laden with meaning.
Tyrion's smile did not change, but Leon noticed his fingers tighten slightly inside his sleeve.
He turned to glance at Tyrion, just as sunlight spilled through a gap in the canopy and fell across his brother's face.
In the light, Tyrion's black eye actually showed the faintest hint of purple.
Like Shiera Seastar's other eye.
Leon looked away, his heartbeat quickening half a beat.
Oberyn had noticed too.
His gaze lingered on Tyrion's face for an instant, and the curve of his lips deepened.
"Interesting," he said softly. "Two lion cubs, yet their colors aren't quite the same."
Tyrion frowned. "What do you mean by that?"
Oberyn did not answer.
He merely watched Leon, something elusive flickering in his black eyes.
"Tonight, after sunset, at the old stables on the west side of the castle." He lowered his voice so only the three of them could hear. "Come alone. There are things you should know."
He turned and left, disappearing into the crowd.
Leon stood where he was, unmoving for a long time.
Tyrion came to his side and said quietly, "You can't go alone."
"I have to."
"Then I'll go with you."
"He said alone."
Tyrion fell silent for several seconds, then said, "Then I'll follow you. I won't let him see me."
Leon turned to look at him.
There was no fear in Tyrion's mismatched eyes, only resolve.
"We're brothers," Tyrion said. "Have you forgotten?"
Leon did not answer. He merely nodded gently.
The old stables on Harrenhal's west side had been abandoned for years.
As the setting sun sank into the Gods Eye, Leon crossed the deserted courtyard and pushed open the creaking wooden door.
Thea stood guard outside, while Tyrion hid in the shadows farther away.
The stables smelled of hay and mold.
Oberyn was already there, leaning against a post and toying with a small knife.
"You came," he said. "I thought you wouldn't."
"I need answers," Leon said.
Oberyn watched him in silence for several seconds, then took a sheet of parchment from inside his clothes and handed it to him.
"Take a look."
Leon took it.
It was a portrait, very old, its edges already yellowed.
The woman in it was astonishingly beautiful, her delicate features like a sculpture. Her eyes...
One purple, one green.
"Shiera Seastar," Oberyn said. "My people copied this in Volantis and brought it back. The original is kept in House Maegyr's secret chamber."
Leon's fingers brushed lightly over the portrait.
"House Maegyr?" he asked.
"One of the archon families of Volantis," Oberyn said. "The Tiger Party's leader, Malaquo Maegyr. He claims to be Shiera's direct descendant."
Leon raised his head and looked at Oberyn.
"Why are you showing me this?"
Oberyn stepped closer and looked straight into his eyes.
"Because your eyes are exactly like Shiera's in the portrait," he said. "Not deep purple like Rhaegar's, but pale purple, cold and transparent. They say eyes like these can dream of dragons and see things ordinary people cannot."
Leon remained silent.
"Malaquo is looking for two things."
Oberyn continued, "Dragon eggs, and... a purple-eyed bloodline. He hired men from the Kingswood Brotherhood to come to Westeros precisely to find Shiera's descendants. I hear you were ambushed on the road earlier? That was no coincidence."
Leon's fingers tightened slightly.
"And you?" he asked. "Why are you telling me all this?"
Oberyn watched him for a long time.
"Because my sister Elia married Rhaegar Targaryen."
His voice suddenly grew very soft. "Because Dorne has a grudge against the Lannisters. Of course, you were still a baby then.
"But more than that, because I don't like seeing someone manipulating everything from the shadows while those involved know nothing."
He paused.
"And," he suddenly smiled, a hint of mischievous pleasure in that smile, "the thought of having Tywin Lannister's son owe me a favor is quite entertaining."
Leon did not smile.
"How do you know Tyrion and I are Shiera's descendants?"
Oberyn raised an eyebrow.
"My guess is your mother, Joanna Lannister," he said. "Her grandmother was born of a marriage between a descendant of Shiera Seastar and a cadet branch of Casterly Rock. That bloodline lay dormant in House Lannister for generations, but it may have awakened in you."
He glanced at Leon, then looked toward a spot outside the stables, where Tyrion was hiding.
"That black eye of your brother's turns purple in the light," he said. "Of you two brothers, one inherited two pale purple eyes, and the other inherited mismatched eyes-but that black eye is actually the deepest purple."
Leon's heart skipped a beat.
That confirmed it.
The dark gleam that had appeared in that black eye countless times by candlelight. So it had not been a trick of the light.
"So both of us are..." he said softly.
"You both are." Oberyn nodded. "It simply manifests differently. That's how bloodlines work. They can sleep for centuries, then suddenly awaken in someone. And in your case, they awakened in two at once."
He put away the portrait and turned to leave.
"Lord Oberyn," Leon called after him.
Oberyn looked back.
"Why are you helping me?"
Oberyn watched him for a long time.
Then he smiled.
It was the most complicated smile Leon had ever seen, a mixture of hatred, pity, and something almost like admiration.
"Because I hate your father," he said. "Back then, he not only refused the marriage alliance, but actually proposed that your dwarf brother marry my sister.
"I hate seeing children used as pawns even more. Especially children like you."
He turned and disappeared into the dusk.
Leon stood where he was, the copy of that portrait in his mind...
When Leon left the stables, Tyrion emerged from the shadows.
"Finished talking?"
"Finished."
"What did he say?"
Leon looked at him.
In the dusk, Tyrion's face was half lit and half dark, that black eye like a deep well.
Suddenly, he reached into his clothes, took out the gold dragon coin, and held it before Tyrion's eyes.
Candlelight spilled from the stables onto the coin, then reflected onto Tyrion's face.
In that golden light, the black eye showed an extremely faint, almost imperceptible purple.
"What's this?" Tyrion frowned.
Leon withdrew the coin and tucked it back against his chest.
"Nothing," he said. "Let's go."
Tyrion caught up and seized his arm.
"Leon." His voice was very serious. "What are you hiding from me?"
Leon fell silent for a few seconds.
"Tyrion," he said softly, "if one day you found out we were more than just Lannisters, what would you do?"
Tyrion froze.
He looked into Leon's eyes, those pale purple eyes, as cold as light deep within a glacier.
"We are Lannisters," he said. "That will never change."
Leon did not answer.
They walked back to the east wing side by side.
Behind them, Harrenhal's five towers cast long shadows in the moonlight.
Those ancient whispers remained, but at that moment, they were no longer the only voices.
There were also the whispers of their bloodline.
Whispers that had slumbered for centuries and had finally awakened within them.
Leon pushed open his room's door and froze.
Varys sat in a chair by the window, holding a cup of wine.
His bald head gleamed softly in the candlelight, and his round face wore that same unchanging, inscrutable smile.
"Good evening, young master Leon." His voice was smooth as silk. "A lovely night for a walk."
Leon's [Eye of Insight] activated instinctively.
The mass of light in Varys's chest was unchanged: countless fine threads extended in every direction, their colors constantly shifting, with no core, only a web.
"How did you get in?"
"The door was open." Varys blinked. "Or rather, I had it opened."
Leon walked over to the table and sat down.
He did not call for Thea. Since Varys had managed to enter, he had probably already sent her away.
"What are you here for?"
Varys took a sip of wine and said unhurriedly, "I hear you met Oberyn Martell tonight. The Red Viper is an interesting man, but you should only believe half of what he says."
Leon did not answer.
"Malaquo Maegyr is indeed looking for you."
Varys continued, "But Oberyn did not mention that you encountered more than one group. The Kingswood Brotherhood's task was to take you alive. The other group, those mysterious people, had a task of... reminding you."
Leon's fingers tightened slightly.
Varys looked at him. "The people who tested you on your way to King's Landing were mine."
Leon's heart skipped a beat.
"Your people?"
"His Grace ordered me to keep an eye on everything."
Varys smiled. "Malaquo's movements in Volantis cannot escape my little birds. He wants Dragon Eggs, he wants the purple-eyed bloodline, and he wants to place a piece on the board of Westeros. And you, young master Leon, are that piece."
He stood and walked over to Leon.
"But a piece can also choose not to follow its assigned path," he said softly. "So long as it knows who is playing."
He turned toward the door, then stopped.
"Oh, one more thing." He looked back, a trace of sincerity entering his smile. "Keep that eye of your brother's well hidden. The people of Volantis are very sensitive to 'bloodlines.' Whether it is two eyes or one."
He opened the door and left, his silk robes gliding silently behind him.
Leon remained seated, unmoving for a long time.
Outside the window, Harrenhal's five towers cast long shadows in the moonlight.
He remembered Shiera's portrait: one green eye, one purple.
He remembered Tyrion's eyes: one green, one black... with purple in the black.
He remembered his own eyes: pale purple, pale purple.
We are two people, he thought.
Yet we are two reflections of the same bloodline.