The Red Viper came and went like a desert wind—quickly, quietly, and leaving behind only a faint scent of spices and danger. His identity was far too sensitive for a long visit, and his trip to Firegrass Manor remained a closely guarded secret. What he offered was a verbal alliance, polite friendship, and commercial cooperation—but nothing binding, nothing written. That was how the Martells operated: soft words, hard hearts, and deeper plans behind every smile.
During his short stay, The Red Viper spent much of his time dueling with Gendry. To be challenged again and again by one of the most formidable fighters in all the Seven Kingdoms pushed Gendry's skills to new heights. Oberyn always used his preferred weapon—a longspear—forcing Gendry to fight at a disadvantage.
"The Red Viper is treating me like a low-spec Mountain," Gendry muttered after their third bout, wiping sweat from his brow. He finally understood Oberyn's intention. The man wasn't just sparring—he was rehearsing. In his mind, Gendry was standing in the place of Tywin Lannister's savage hound: Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain. Against an eight-foot monster of pure muscle and cruelty, a longspear offered both reach and safety. Oberyn was preparing for the day he would face his true target.
Gendry admired him for it—though he admitted, silently, that the man was complicated. Oberyn Martell was a figure people whispered about in every corner of Westeros. Tales of his duels, his victories in the Dornish Marches, his pet vipers, and even his lovers were countless. It was said he bedded men and women alike, leaving behind many daughters across Dorne—the infamous "Sand Snakes."
"What do you make of The Red Viper?" Gendry asked Qyburn as they walked the shaded courtyard.
"In talent, he is extraordinary," Qyburn replied, hands folded in his sleeves. "But Dorne is too small for the size of his ambition. Harsh climate, barren lands, and the smallest population among the Seven Kingdoms. In wealth and strength, The Reach and the Westerlands stand far above them—and both are Dornish rivals. After that come the Vale and the Riverlands, then the Stormlands, the North… and finally Dorne."
Gendry sighed. "Small in strength but grand in ambition. Doran and Oberyn carry heavy burdens. Dorne followed the Mad King into the war and suffered for it. Their defeat shattered them."
"They did not even choose that war," Qyburn said quietly. "Aerys held Princess Elia hostage, and commanded Prince Lewyn Martell to lead ten thousand Dornish soldiers to fight at Prince Rhaegar's side. Lewyn died, his soldiers died, and Dorne swallowed its rage—for Elia's sake."
"Poor people," Gendry murmured. He thought of the Silver Prince's doomed love, the war that destroyed families across the Seven Kingdoms, and the bells that tolled over the rubble of an era. House Martell had been dragged into tragedy by Targaryen madness. Their pain ran deep.
"Injustice and ambition—that is what brings war," Gendry reflected. Westeros was a land full of grudges. Tyrell resentment. Martell resentment. The Baratheon rifts. The North's anger toward the South. And behind these tensions lurked men like the Spider and Littlefinger, whispering poison into the right ears.
Strength. What he needed most now was strength. Not involvement in Westerosi quarrels—not yet.
"I see Doran and Oberyn as two sides of the same coin," Gendry said. "Oberyn is fierce, passionate, feared. Doran is quiet, patient, cautious. And yet Oberyn obeys him."
Qyburn chuckled. "He suffers greatly, that Red Viper. A man of fire forced to remain still. Bound by Dorne's weakness and his brother's slower plans… vengeance delayed is its own torture."
Gendry nodded. Doran's long game, for all its cleverness, was flawed. His pawns were unreliable, and Dorne's resources were limited. Years of hesitation meant their schemes often fell apart before they even began.
"This is why The Red Viper seeks us," Qyburn continued. "He wants allies. Dorne needs soldiers. In Westeros they have few friends, and across the Narrow Sea, the Three Daughters may have gold but no courage."
"So be it," Gendry said. "Oberyn's friendship is a double-edged sword, but an edge can cut for me as well. Dornish horses, spices, trained spearmen—these are valuable. Especially the horses. Their endurance is unmatched. Perfect for light cavalry."
The Disputed Lands were made for cavalry: flat plains, warm winds, and open roads.
"Dornish horses are excellent," Qyburn agreed. "But Oberyn will not sell them in large numbers. He is cautious. And Dorne wants to keep favorable relations with the Three Daughters. Many Archon children even grow up in The Water Gardens."
"They're simply used to caution," Gendry said with a smirk.
Qyburn hesitated before asking, "But what if The Red Viper guesses your true identity, Your Highness?"
Gendry looked out across the courtyard. "The world is changing. Even if he guessed, he wouldn't dare act rashly. House Martell cannot afford new enemies. And their hatred for House Lannister gives me room to maneuver."
Qyburn sighed in relief. "Then we stay focused on the Disputed Lands and the Stepstones."
Gendry nodded. "We must make the Wolf Pack's name known. If Oberyn sees us as valuable, he will invest more. And the slavers of Myr—let them tremble."
A glint of ambition lit his eyes.
"Spread word that we plan to unite with the Cat's Company and plunder Myr."
Qyburn's eyebrows rose. "A feint?"
"Exactly. Let the Myrish fear an invasion. Meanwhile, our true target will be the Stepstones."
The Myrish were already on edge. Their navy was respectable, but their land forces were weak—nothing but mercenaries and hired sellswords. The Wolf Pack struck too quickly for them to react. The Myrish wanted the Golden Company, but the price was colossal, and the Golden Company never risked their strength on offensive campaigns.
"They defend," Qyburn said, "but they do not advance."
"Precisely."
Gendry unfurled a map across the table. The Stepstones chain sprawled across the Narrow Sea—small islands, but strategically priceless. Whoever controlled them controlled trade, piracy, taxes, and movement between Essos and Westeros.
"Now that we possess a sea outlet," Gendry said, tapping three islands on the map, "we must seize at least one or two of these island chains. Control them. Fortify them. They will be our foothold in the Narrow Sea."
His ambition grew bolder every day.
His dream kingdom would stretch from the Disputed Lands' coast all the way to the Stepstones—land and sea united, a power unlike anything in the region.
But dreams came step by step.
"For now, we take the smaller islands," Gendry said.
News had recently arrived that several escaped slaves—former rowers, fishermen, and smugglers—had fled to Gendry's territory, bringing with them a handful of stolen ships. Enough to attempt something daring.
"We no longer need the Old Pirate," Gendry said confidently. "We can take our own islands now."
This was a delicate matter. The Wolf Pack's relationship with the Old Pirate had grown… complicated. The man had once been essential, but now he watched with unease as Gendry's power skyrocketed.
The Old Pirate expected the Wolf Pack to rise—but not this quickly.
Gendry's audacity, cunning, and willingness to challenge slavery itself made him unlike any leader in recent history. No prince, no king, no sellsword captain had dared attack the foundation of the world's largest trade network.
"Prepare the fleet," Gendry said. "Call the captains. We move at dawn."
Qyburn bowed slightly. "And the feint toward Myr?"
"Continue it," Gendry said. "Let every slaver in Myr believe we're coming for them. Panic is a weapon. Fear will make their fleets stay near their ports."
Qyburn nodded. "And the Wolf Pack?"
"Send them to the borderlands," Gendry ordered. "Let them raid lightly—nothing major, just enough to rattle the Myrish. Make them think we're gathering strength for a direct assault."
"And in reality," Qyburn said with a sly smile, "we slip away to the Stepstones."
Gendry smiled back. "Exactly."
He felt the winds shifting. The Disputed Lands, the Stepstones, the Narrow Sea—opportunities waited everywhere. If he played the game well, he would carve a kingdom from fire and ambition.
But for now, the first island awaited.
Small victories led to great realms.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)