The Red Viper

When the Hao Yin's distinctive black sails finally pierced the harbor's ever-present mists and slowly pulled up to the bustling docks, a well-dressed man with a shrewd air and a hint of reverence had already been waiting at the appointed spot for some time.

Maleo Romis, one of Yulon's pieces on the board hidden deep in this waterborne city, was now welcoming his master with far more pomp than any ordinary merchant would show. Behind him followed several burly men who looked like servants but had sharp eyes. They swiftly and efficiently held back the curious crowd, clearing a space for Yulon.

At almost the same moment, another company came marching into the docks in impressive numbers.

They had more men, and though their equipment was mismatched, they carried the hardiness of veterans who had survived countless battles. Their armor and banners bore the image of a deadly serpent rearing its head and flicking its tongue—the Red Viper Mercenary Group, whose reputation had recently soared in the Disputed Lands.

The mercenaries' coarse laughter and the clanging of weapons immediately drowned out the bustle of the docks.

Yulon's gaze passed over his loyal agent, then fixed on the figure at the head of the mercenary group. The man stood tall, dressed in a splendid Dornish-style velvet coat and scale armor. His skin was dark, and his black eyes burned with insatiable vitality and a dangerous gleam.

Balv had seen this Dornishman before and remembered him well. His noble status and distinctive character and manner of doing things had made a deep impression, so he immediately reminded Yulon, "That's Oberyn Nymeros Martell, Prince of Dorne, known as the Red Viper. I've seen him. There's no mistaking it!"

Yulon's mismatched eyes narrowed slightly, and, for once, genuine surprise flickered through his mind—Oberyn Nymeros Martell?

The Red Viper, Prince of Dorne—why was he here? And dressed as a mercenary?

Yulon's thoughts raced back, piecing together every scrap of information about the prince: Oberyn Martell (258 AC–300 AC), who would eventually meet his end in King's Landing.

When he was young, Dorne's ruler had sought a marriage alliance with Casterly Rock, giving him the chance to meet the Lannisters' golden twins and their dwarf younger brother. But what truly earned him the name "Red Viper" was his famous duel with Earl Edgar Yronwood when he was sixteen. The earl died after his wounds festered, and everyone was convinced Oberyn had poisoned his blade. From then on, the nickname "Red Viper" clung to him.

In the original story, he had indeed spent five years as a mercenary across the Narrow Sea in the Disputed Lands, first serving with the Second Sons before forming his own company.

His thoughts raced, but Yulon's face remained composed, wearing the same faint smile that suggested he took nothing seriously.

One was one of Dorne's most exalted princes; the other, the Son of the Drowned God of the Iron Islands. Now they had met on the docks of Braavos.

Oberyn's talents were matched only by his danger. His poisons were as deadly as his spear, while his loyalty... was as unpredictable as a summer storm. His reputation was no exaggeration: passionate, clever, quick to take offense, and utterly unconstrained.

What an unexpected traveling companion, Yulon thought with a cold sneer, his gaze lingering briefly on Oberyn before turning away. A beautiful, deadly desert viper has slithered across the Narrow Sea... Should I see him as a useful blade, or a cup of poison that could turn on me at any moment?

In this situation, trust was the most extravagant—and unwise—of notions.

As the Hao Yin's huge black hull drifted ghostlike toward the busy docks of Braavos, a figure approached with just the right blend of warmth and respect before the mooring lines had even been secured. Maleo Romis, Yulon's deeply buried operative in this city of secrets, was now perfectly playing the part of a shrewd local contact with a measure of influence.

"My most honored lord! Welcome to Braavos!" Maleo's voice rang out, loud but courteous. He bowed slightly with a smooth, natural movement that conveyed respect without drawing too much attention from the dockworkers and merchants around them.

His eyes quickly swept over Yulon and the Ironborn elite behind him. Once he had confirmed their identities, his smile grew a little more genuine. "The voyage must have been grueling. Maleo has arranged everything for you: hot water, a hot meal, and a place to stay in perfect quiet."

His words were like a well-rehearsed script, flawless from start to finish. Then he seemed to notice the well-armed, menacing company nearby and turned toward them at just the right moment, wearing the look of a merchant admiring a potential business partner.

"Ah, I assume you've already witnessed the famous company's prowess during your voyage?" Maleo spread an arm, gesturing elegantly toward the Red Viper Mercenary Group. "Allow me the honor of introducing them, my lord. These brave warriors are the Red Viper Mercenary Group. Their name has recently become enough to make even the most stubborn foes tremble in the Disputed Lands. Their captain..."

His gaze settled on Oberyn Martell, who was watching the meeting with an interested expression.

Maleo's voice took on a note of well-judged admiration. "A truly outstanding leader, Captain Oberyn. His valor and wisdom are widely celebrated among mercenary circles along the western coast of Essos. That you arrived at the same time and met here in Braavos is surely a clever twist of fate—and perhaps a sign of a successful partnership to come."

Maleo's words were smooth as silk, trying to wrap their chance encounter in the guise of a promising omen. He praised the mercenaries while subtly demonstrating to Yulon that he was well-informed and skilled at making connections. Under his careful orchestration, the whole scene looked like a triumphant reunion he had arranged himself, with host and guest delighted to meet, rather than an accidental encounter between two dangerous and unpredictable powers.

"Maleo, thank you for your hospitality!" Yulon then gave the mercenary captain a standard Westerosi noble's greeting and smiled. "Oberyn Martell, I've heard a great deal about you. I never expected to meet you across the Narrow Sea, and even less expected a prince of your stature to form a mercenary company."

"Have we met?"

"Not yet, but those in my company who have met the prince were deeply impressed by you."

Oberyn blinked and smiled. "Does the man live up to the stories?"

"Far more than that. Which is why having a prince of your stature as my escort makes me uneasy."

At Yulon's words, Oberyn Martell gave a short, low laugh, mingling self-mockery with unmistakable pride. He lifted his chin slightly, fixing Yulon's mismatched eyes with the famous gaze in which black flames seemed to burn.

"Escort?" he echoed, his voice light, as if he had heard an amusing joke. "Lord Greyjoy, perhaps you overestimate the weight of titles east of the Narrow Sea—and underestimate how carefully a viper chooses its hunting ground."

He took a step forward, moving with the grace of a leopard patrolling its territory, heedless of the salty sea breeze and the rough mercenaries around them. "In Dorne, the sun scorches the red earth, and the Water Gardens teem with sweet intrigues. I am a prince, and every word and deed of mine reflects on House Martell's sun-and-spear banner. But here"—he casually gestured toward the vast, chaotic eastern continent, the copper bangles on his wrist jingling—"amid the dust storms of the Disputed Lands, beneath the glitter of gold in Pentos and Slaver's Bay, being a prince means nothing. Here, only two things matter: how sharp your blade is, and whether you can be trusted to honor your contract."

"I am here not as anyone's prince," his gaze sharpened, though that familiar dangerous smile still played on his lips, "but as captain of the Red Viper Mercenary Group, an expert who works for pay. My reputation—good or ill—rests on my ability to complete a job, not on my bloodline. Your unease is needless worry, and an insult to my professionalism. What you should worry about is whether you can pay enough, not whose son I am."

His final words carried a touch of cold mockery. He openly acknowledged the complexity of his identity while firmly drawing a line: here, he followed only the rules of a mercenary.

"Then I'll be counting on the captain to look after us for the rest of the journey!"

Since they were already here, Yulon would make the best of it. He wasn't afraid; he simply didn't want this "Red Viper" to discover his secret on the far side of the Narrow Sea. With Oberyn at his side, he would have to be all the more careful from now on.