The training grounds of the Fire-weed Estate were silent, save for the rhythmic clatter of wood on oak. Both Gendry and Prince Oberyn wore only boiled leather, their weapons blunted for the bout. On one side stood the sun pierced by a spear; on the other, a pack of wolves in full stride.
"Watch yourself, Commander!"
Oberyn's spear moved like a living thing—a viper's tongue that darted, withdrew, and struck again before the eye could track it. He circled Gendry with the fluid grace of a dancer, the ashwood shaft whistling through the air. A feint to the head became a low sweep; a thrust at the chest transformed into a jarring strike against Gendry's shield. Oberyn moved in a blur of copper and silk, his strikes precise, his retreats instantaneous.
He was fast, but he found his opponent was not the lumbering brute he had expected. Gendry's warhammer moved with a surprising, explosive speed, and every block from the young man sent a shuddering vibration up the length of Oberyn's spear.
Black hair. Blue eyes. Tall and broad.
Oberyn watched the way Gendry fought. The boy's strength grew more savage as the sweat began to pour, his movements gaining a wild, storm-like intensity. It was a familiar sight, one that plucked at a string of memory Oberyn couldn't quite place. He had seen monsters like the Mountain and giants like Duncan the Tall, but this boy possessed a specific kind of ferocity—a blend of Northern grit and the raw, kinetic power of the Stormlands.
"You've a bite to you, boy," Oberyn noted, his breath coming in steady, controlled cycles. "I didn't expect a smith to move like a shadowcat."
Gendry didn't answer. He couldn't. His focus was entirely on the tip of that spear. He had sparred with Longspear and the veterans, but the Red Viper was a different breed of killer. The Prince's spear swept left and right, appearing in blind spots Gendry didn't know he had. Even blunted, the impact of the wood against his ribs brought a flare of sharp pain.
But the pain only served to stoke the fire in Gendry's blood.
Oberyn lunged, the spear-tip punching a hole clean through Gendry's oak shield. It was a masterstroke, intended to pin the shield and leave the defender open. But as Oberyn moved to withdraw the weapon, Gendry didn't pull back. He stepped into the strike, letting the spear-shaft slide through his shield as he brought his blunted hammer down in a crushing overhead arc.
Oberyn twisted away at the last possible second, the wind of the hammer's passage ruffling his hair. He felt the shockwave of the blow through the ground. The sheer, unadulterated power in the boy's arms made Oberyn's own wrists ache from the mere parry.
The Prince recovered with feline agility, his spear snapping out like a whip. He caught Gendry in the flank, then spun, the butt of the spear hovering a fraction of an inch from Gendry's throat.
"I yield, Prince," Gendry said, his chest heaving, his face slick with sweat.
On the surface, it looked like a stalemate, but Gendry knew better. Oberyn had a dozen ways to end a life that didn't involve a spear-tip—poisons, dark arts, and a lifetime of dirty tricks.
"You didn't lose, lad," Oberyn laughed, wiping his brow. "Your courage is massive, and your strength... well, that is something else entirely. You lack only the miles on your boots. I have a few decades on you, after all."
The surrounding soldiers—Iron Fist, Longspear, and the Unsullied—broke into a roar of cheers. They had seen their Commander hold his own against the most dangerous man in Dorne.
"How long have you trained?" Oberyn asked as they walked toward the water barrels.
"A few years," Gendry lied. He didn't want to explain that most of his life had been spent at a forge, not a master-at-arms' court. But the anvil had been a better teacher than any knight.
"Rare talent," Oberyn mused. He looked at Gendry's physique, comparing him to the ghosts of his past. Shorter than the Mountain, leaner too. But the power... it's all in the shoulders. He hits like a falling star.
"If the Commander doesn't mind, I should like to go again tomorrow," Oberyn said. "It has been a long time since I felt a hammer move that fast."
Later, they walked the low, rolling hills of the estate. The fire-weed harvest was a sea of vibrant green beneath the setting sun, a testament to the life Gendry had carved out of the dirt.
"Walking with you makes me realize I'm getting old," Oberyn sighed, looking out at the Narrow Sea.
"You're in your prime, Prince. Why speak of age?"
"Do not comfort me, Warhammer. My hair is turning, and my list of regrets is longer than my spear. The worst part of aging isn't the joints—it's the fact that my greatest wish remains unfulfilled."
Gendry knew what that wish was. The Mountain's head on a spike. Tywin Lannister's legacy in ashes.
"Desire is a chain we all wear," Gendry said.
"When I was young, I loved to travel," Oberyn said, his voice turning distant. "My favorite trip was to Casterly Rock. I went with my mother, her lover, and my sister, Elia. She was always so fragile, so delicate. Every new sight was a wonder to her. And I... I was a little monster. I mocked her suitors, I sharpened my tongue on everyone I met. I should have cut that tongue out years ago."
He stopped, looking at a cluster of fire-weed. "Since she died, I have spent every waking moment regretting the boy I was. I've waited so long for justice that I feel myself becoming a ghost."
"If the gods are just, they will grant you your opening," Gendry said.
"I stopped believing in the Seven a long time ago. I only believe in the Viper. If the gods existed, I would have been the firstborn, and I would have been the one to protect her, not Doran."
Oberyn turned to Gendry, his black eyes searching. "Tell me, Commander. Where did you really come from? A boy doesn't just fall out of the sky with a hammer like that."
"The past is a distant memory," Gendry said bluntly. "I had no father. I was a smith in Flea Bottom until the world caught fire. Then I joined the Wolf Pack."
"Heroes from the gutter," Oberyn smiled. "Like Ser Duncan the Tall. It's a fine story. But stories don't change the world. Variables do."
He looked Gendry dead in the eye. "Doran tells me to wait. He says the future will bring the change we need. But I've grown tired of waiting for the wind to blow."
The Red Viper stepped closer, his voice a low, dangerous whisper. "I think you are the variable, Gendry. The one the world didn't see coming."