On the training grounds of Firegrass Manor, the Red Viper and Gendry circled each other, their blunted weapons ready. Both wore simple leather armor. For days, the prince had observed the Free Army and the Wolf Pack, studying how this small, burgeoning kingdom operated. Now, he wished to test its king.
"Watch yourself, Commander!" Oberyn's longspear was a living thing in his hands, a striking, coiling viper. It darted and weaved around Gendry, a blur of motion. The prince feinted high, then his spearpoint suddenly dropped, striking at Gendry's groin, then his shield. He was a whirlwind of speed and cunning, but Gendry was no easy mark. The heavy warhammer was lightning-fast in his hands, each blow delivered with a precise and terrible force.
*Black hair, blue eyes, tall and strong,* the prince thought, his eyes narrowing as he noted Gendry's features, and the wild, ferocious power that seemed to grow as the fight wore on. It was a familiar fighting style, reminiscent of the warriors of the Stormlands and the North. He knew the Wolf Pack had been founded by Northmen, but this boy… there was something more.
*He lives up to his reputation,* Gendry thought, his arm aching from the constant impacts. He had sparred with Longspear and the others, but the Red Viper was a true master. His spear was a phantom, striking from unexpected angles, the blunted tip still landing with enough force to cause considerable pain. But the pain only seemed to fuel the storm in Gendry's blood.
The prince's spearpoint finally punched through Gendry's oak shield, but before he could withdraw it, Gendry's hammer came crashing down. The Viper pulled back just in time, but the force of the near-miss was still jarring. He felt the formidable power hidden in the boy's frame, a strength that sent a tremor up his arm with every clash of their weapons.
He spun like a cat, his spear a living extension of his arm, aiming for Gendry's heart. Gendry dodged, a roar of pain and effort escaping his lips as the spear shaft grazed his ribs. He endured the pain and swung his hammer in a vicious counter-attack.
*To endure that pain and still choose to attack,* the prince thought, a new respect dawning in his eyes. He parried the hammer blow with the shaft of his spear, then used it to pin Gendry's body, preventing the follow-through. He could have ended the fight then, with a thrust to Gendry's throat, but he did not. The outcome of the battle was left hanging in the air.
"I have lost, Prince," Gendry said, breathing heavily. It had been a draw on the surface, but he knew the prince had other weapons at his disposal—darker, more subtle arts of poison and magic.
"You have not lost, boy," the Red Viper smiled. "Your courage and strength are exceptional. You lack only a bit of experience. After all, I have lived many more years than you."
The onlookers—Steel-Fist, Longspear, and the Unsullied—all applauded, their cheers ringing through the courtyard. "How long have you been training, Commander?" the prince asked.
"A few years, I suppose," Gendry replied. He had spent most of his life at the forge, but his natural strength had made him a quick study.
"Incredible," the prince said, shaking his head. He wondered about the boy's origins. Such skill was rare, even among the nobility. For a commoner to possess it was almost unheard of. *He is shorter than the Mountain,* he mused, *and thinner. But his strength far exceeds his build, and he is quick. In time, he might even surpass us both.* "I have not had such a satisfying fight in a long time," he said aloud. "If you do not mind the trouble, Commander, I hope we can have a few more matches."
"It would be my honor, Prince."
Later, they walked together through the green fields of Firegrass Manor, where the new crop of firegrass was already sprouting. "When I walk beside you, young Commander," Oberyn sighed, "I cannot help but confront the fact that I am growing old."
"You are in the prime of your life, Prince," Gendry replied.
"You need not comfort me. I have white in my hair. The most painful thing is not growing old, but that my wish has not yet been fulfilled."
Gendry knew the prince's wish: to kill the Mountain, and the man who had given the Mountain his orders. But with the power of House Lannister at its zenith, it was an all but impossible task. "People are always constrained by their desires," Gendry said.
"When I was young, I loved to travel," the prince said, his voice soft with memory. "One of my happiest journeys was with my mother and my sister, Elia, to Casterly Rock. Elia was frail and sickly, and rarely left Sunspear. She found everything new and exciting. I was a monster. I mocked her suitors. I should have cut out my own venomous tongue." He looked away, his eyes lost in the past. "After she died, I deeply regretted my youthful cruelty. I have waited year after year for my revenge, and it feels as if there is no end. I only feel old age slowly creeping up on me. Especially when I see a young talent such as yourself."
"May the gods, old and new, grant you your wish soon, Prince," Gendry said.
"Hah!" the prince laughed. "I no longer believe in the gods. I believe only in myself. If the Seven truly existed, I would have been the elder son, and I would have avenged my sister myself." He turned to Gendry, his gaze intense. "Will you not tell me something of your past?"
"There is little to tell," Gendry said. "I had no father. I was a blacksmith until I joined the Wolf Pack."
"It seems heroes can rise from Flea Bottom," the prince mused. "But all that is in the past. I wish only to grasp the present and make my own wish come true. My brother Doran has told me for years that a change is coming, a variable that will shift the balance of power. But I have waited too long." He looked at Gendry, his eyes burning with a new, fiery hope. "Now, it seems, you are that variable."