Firegrass Manor had grown more lively over the past few weeks, but today felt different. There was a quiet tension in the air—a feeling that someone extraordinary had arrived. Standing at the manor's entrance, Gendry watched a lone rider approaching, the dusty path shimmering under the late-afternoon sun. When he finally recognized the visitor's figure, he let out a slow breath.
For the first time since Firegrass Manor had risen to prominence, a noble of real weight had come to visit.
Prince Oberyn Martell.
The Red Viper of Dorne.
He rode a charcoal-black steed with a flaming red mane, the creature's every movement smooth and deliberate. Dornish desert horses were smaller than the great warhorses of the North, but they were nimble, swift, and possessed legendary endurance—said to be able to run for two days and a night without faltering. The prince sat his horse with effortless grace, tall and slender, his silhouette merging with the creature beneath him as though the two were carved from the same fierce bloodline.
Gendry couldn't help admiring the sight.
"Dornish warriors are countless as grains of sand, but none compare to this one," he muttered to himself. The Red Viper's sheer presence demanded attention.
Oberyn wore a pale-crimson silk robe over a tunic laced with copper scales, the patterns shimmering like freshly minted coins whenever he moved. A gilded helmet rested on his head, adorned with a delicate copper sun—the symbol of House Martell. Behind his saddle hung a round shield polished so brightly that the Martell sun-and-spear sigil gleamed even at a distance.
As he approached the gate, Oberyn lifted his helmet with a decisive sweep, revealing a long, strikingly expressive face. His dark eyes were deep and alert, framed by elegant brows, and his sharp nose and high forehead lent him a naturally dignified air. His silky black hair, streaked with only the faintest silver, fell freely over his shoulders—a classic look for those of the "salty Dornishmen" descent.
"Welcome, Prince Oberyn!" Gendry greeted him with a respectful bow.
Oberyn's lips curved slightly. "They whisper your name with fear across the Myr. But tell me—how should I address you? Liberator? Commander-in-Chief? Butter-King? Iron King?" His dark eyes sparkled. "I don't even know your actual name. Let me see the face of the man who is shaking Essos."
Gendry merely shook his head with a faint smile.
"A name is nothing but a label, Your Highness. Especially among mercenaries. You may simply call me Warhammer. As for my appearance—well, appearances matter little. I doubt a man of your experience cares about such triviality."
Oberyn laughed softly, an unmistakable amusement playing on his sharp features. Gendry then introduced his companions one by one.
"This is The Handsome Man, treasurer of the Wolf Pack Company.
Maester Qyburn, our physician and scholar.
Dick the Fletch, our archery instructor.
Longspear, commander of my cavalry.
Steel Fist, commander of infantry.
Black Billy of the Summer Isles, commander of archers.
And Gray Wolf, my head of guards."
Their titles lacked the grandeur of the Red Viper's legends, but each man had earned Gendry's trust in blood and battle.
"You must be tired from your long journey," Gendry said. "Please, come inside and rest."
"With pleasure," Oberyn replied.
The two men walked side by side, their entourages trailing behind. Gendry had heard countless rumors about the Red Viper, both from his own experiences and from Qyburn's endless stories. Dorne and the Reach had always been hostile neighbors, and Oberyn's past included a duel that had indirectly crippled the Reach's heir.
As they walked through the bustling streets of Firegrass Manor, Oberyn spoke first.
"I used to be a mercenary too, you know—many years ago."
"Oh?" Gendry's interest sharpened. "When was that?"
"Long ago," Oberyn said, the faintest nostalgia in his voice. "I've never been the type to stay still. I once studied at the Citadel—managed to forge six links before boredom consumed me. Afterwards, I served in the Disputed Lands as a mercenary. First with the Second Sons, then with my own small company. But even in my youth, I didn't dare to overturn the foundations of the Disputed Lands as you have."
His gaze drifted to the soldiers marching nearby—former slaves who now served the Free Army. Their pride and discipline impressed even a prince.
Gendry sighed. "Circumstances force a man's hand, Your Highness. If we had not been driven to this point, I would never have taken such drastic measures."
Oberyn nodded. "This is a good land—a chaotic one, yes, but good. When I was young, I believed I could conquer the world, yet I never managed to build anything lasting." His gaze softened. "Chaos breeds new life. Myr is overflowing with hidden potential beneath its chaos. Even my own ancestors came from Essos. One fled slavery and became the legendary Nymeria, ruling Dorne with fire and resolve."
Gendry chuckled. "I know the story well."
Oberyn cast a warm look around. "Had I no obligations in Westeros, I might have stayed here longer."
"I would welcome that very much," Gendry said sincerely.
Oberyn's mood darkened slightly as they approached the tower guarded by Unsullied.
"I heard you dealt with the Brave Companions," he asked suddenly.
"Yes," Gendry replied. "Criminals, every last one of them. They had fangs when biting the weak, but they snapped like twigs when they met real strength."
"Good." Oberyn's voice chilled. "There are many such monsters still roaming this world."
By the time they reached the top of the tower, a warm breeze swept across the view, revealing the entire sprawling manor—its market stalls, training grounds, crops, barracks, and new construction sites. Oberyn stood at the edge, his robe fluttering like crimson flame.
"Let me be direct, Warhammer," he said. "I came to discuss cooperation. Not on behalf of Dorne, but on behalf of myself alone."
Gendry raised a brow. "How shrewd of you, Prince."
Oberyn smirked. "Doran and I may seem different, but in truth, we are two sides of the same coin. My actions are my own, separate from my brother's diplomacy."
His eyes lingered on the Free Army below.
"I once thought the Wolf Pack alone was worth my attention. But the Free Army… now that is impressive. Slaves transformed into disciplined soldiers—remarkable."
Gendry bowed slightly at the compliment.
Oberyn continued, "I want to lend my influence, and in return, I want to work with a power capable of shaping the future."
"Then speak plainly," Gendry said.
"There was a murder long ago," Oberyn began, his voice turning cold and hollow. "A monstrous crime in King's Landing. I assume you know the story."
Gendry's jaw tightened. "I do."
The crimes of Tywin Lannister's "mad dogs" were infamous.
Gregor Clegane had smashed infant Prince Aegon's skull against a wall. Before the blood had dried, he raped and murdered Princess Elia. Ser Amory Lorch had dragged Princess Rhaenys from under her bed, stabbing her dozens of times until she lay lifeless.
Oberyn's expression hardened, pain flickering behind his fiery eyes.
"I am called bloodthirsty. Perhaps I am. But I have waited—year after year—for justice."
Gendry inhaled deeply. "And what do you expect from us, Prince? What benefit is there? Your revenge seems… steep."
Oberyn chuckled, though the sound lacked warmth. "You cunning young man. You hide your sharpness beneath politeness. But don't pretend you are free of danger yourself. The Three Daughters will never tolerate your rapid growth. The pirates neither. Chaos surrounds you like a shadow. Don't you need allies? Support? My horses, my spearmen, my spices, my Summer Red wine?"
Gendry answered immediately. "I need all of them. But it would not be easy for me to offend powerful enemies on your behalf."
"I am patient," Oberyn said. "I have waited this long. A little more time is nothing."
He tilted his head. "What do you want, Warhammer?"
Gendry gazed at the horizon, voice low but unwavering.
"I want Myr. I want the Three Daughters. I want all of Essos."
Oberyn roared with laughter.
"Madman! A true madman!" he said between breaths. "Perhaps only madmen and the young can walk beside me. You remind me of someone else—someone who toppled a kingdom for a doomed love. Ah, yes, you two share more in common than you'd like to admit. Both indestructible. Both lovers of warhammers."
Gendry snorted. "You're overthinking it."
"Perhaps," Oberyn said lightly. "Though the children born of the lioness and the king… well, that is another complicated tale."
Gendry leaned forward. "Then why choose us for alliance?"
"I once considered many," Oberyn replied. "But each one faded like smoke. The governors of the Three Daughters care only for coin. They are unreliable fools. You, however… you are new, unpredictable, bold. And most importantly—still alive."
He looked directly into Gendry's eyes.
"You are strong enough. And you have potential worth betting on."
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