SOS 6: Viper (Patreon)

Three days had passed.

I sat at the edge of my bed, elbows on my knees, staring at the dagger resting on the table. Forged with the essence of the Moon, altered, sharpened beyond normal blade, proof of what I could do now. Proof that I can thrive in this world.

My room was quiet. Evening light filled the room, through the windows, catching dust motes in a soft glow. Sweat still clung to my skin from training my body The one thing I need to maintain. I hadn’t bothered to remove my boots. My shield leaned against the wall, along with my armour.

I dragged a hand through my hair and exhaled slowly.

It was different living in this world, no electricity, no modern comforts i was used to, but fulfilling in its own way.

It was’nt the the songs, wars or even the politics, it was the people.

I’d thought I had an edge, knowing this world from books, The hoises, its wars, its plots.

But…

Arianne Martell she was supposed to be the promiscuous Princess, a political piece in her fathers game. That’s what I remembered. But the woman who stood before me three nights ago was something else entirely, holding secrets older than Dorne itself Magic. 

This wasn’t a story I new anymore..

What else Didnt I know?

Is Oberyn truly just a charming rogue, or something darker beneath the wit?  What of Tywin Lannister? or Daenerys Targaryen 

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling beams. The air hung heavy with salt and the day’s heat, pressing against my skin.

I couldn’t stay here for long. Arianne would use me perhaps kindly, perhaps not, but she was her father’s daughter, and Dorne was a viper’s nest even when it smiled. Whatever she wanted from me, I doubted it ended with simple friendship or shared curiosity about power.

My eyes drifted to the dagger resting on the table. The edge caught the light, faintly blue beneath the sheen of oil.

Why had Gerold come to Sunspear at all?

The memory rose unbidden, with the sharp scent of the sea below Starfall’s cliffs.

I saw her in the upper gardens, the sun sinking low, painting Starfall’s white stone, rose-gold.

Allyria stood by the fountain, sea wind tugging at her silver-dark hair, which shimmered like moonlight on the Torrentine. Her skin, warm and sun-kissed, glowed softly, her slim frame graceful.

She wasn’t Ashara, no bard would sing of her beauty, but there was a quiet beauty in her sharp features, her steady dark eyes. 

She heard my boots on the path and turned, her face blank, “Gerold,” she said, nothing more. No title, no welcome.

“I want to talk,” I said.

Her arms crossed, guarded. “Then talk.”

I took a breath. “We’re not kids anymore. You know what Starfall needs. What House Dayne needs. If we -”

“Marry?” she cut in, her voice low but sharp as a blade.

“It would make sense,” I pressed. “You know it does. I care for you, in my way. I could be a good lord. With you… ”

“No.”

The word was flat, final, like a door slamming shut.

“You haven’t even thought about it,” I said, stepping closer, my voice tightening. “Allyria, this is..”

“I’dont need to think.” she said, cutting me off again. “And I’d never take you as a husband.”

Her words hit harder than a fist. She didn’t flinch.

“You think I’m unworthy?” I asked, my jaw tight.

“I think I know you,” she said quietly. “You’re proud. Quick to anger. and self-important, convinced the world owes you”

I stared, stunned. Something in me stubborn and reckless pushed forward. I reached out, and held her cheek with my fingers, and leaned in, thinking I could make her feel what words couldn’t.

She stepped back, without fear, eyes filled with cold anger. “Enough,” she said. “Don’t.”

The space between us turned colder than the sea wind. 

I stood there, her rejection sinking in. 

Me, refused.

Anger flared, hot and fast. I turned and left the garden without a word.

The next morning, I was summoned to the great hall. Lord Dayne stood before the high windows, dawn light pale on his weathered face. His eyes were dark, filled with anger, but his voice stayed even.

“You leave Starfall by midday,” he said. “Take your horse and your sword. You won’t return.”

No shouts, no accusations. Just exile, spoken like a sentence long decided.

I rode south before the sun climbed high, the red of Starfall’s towers fading behind me.

The candle beside me flickered. I exhaled slowly.

Starfall was gone to me. 

Allaira’s words still echoed sometimes,I wasn’t going back there anytime soon. Maybe never.

And Sunspear… this place was no safer. The Princess might smile like a friend, but she saw only me as a piece on a board. I’d be a fool to stay here any longer than I have.

She’d smile, speak gently, pretend I was a confidant… but the moment my value ran dry, she’d trade me like any other tool..

I’d be a fool to stay here.

I need to leave. Not immediately but soon, without making myself her enemy.

But where? 

My head throbbed.

Enough.

I needed air. Space to think 

I stood, pushed back from the table. 

The room was still warm from the sun, sandstone walls glowing faintly. I crossed to the chest at the foot of the bed and pulled it open.

No armor. No formal doublet. Just a light linen shirt, loose at the collar, the sleeves rolled to the elbow. Comfortable, forgettable. I fastened a plain leather belt around my waist and stepped into dark riding trousers and worn boots. Sand clung to the leather edges. It always did.

The dagger, I slid into a hidden sheath sewn inside the belt. The armor and shield, I left them on the table. 

No need to draw attention.

I paused at the mirror. My hair was messy, falling unbound around my shoulders. I tied it back with a strip of cloth, just enough to keep it clear of my eyes.

My throat felt dry. I reached for the small water jug, drank, then wiped my mouth with the back of my hand.

Time to go.

The corridor outside was quiet. Servants moved like ghosts, soft-footed, heads bowed. None met my eyes.

I walked past sunlit arches, through a courtyard where orange trees cast shifting shade across pale stone. Two guards at the gatehouse nodded as I approached. I gave a small one back. 

Always better to be polite.

The air outside the castle walls hit like a wave hot, dry, thick with spice, sweat, and sea brine. The streets of Sunspear were already alive. Merchants setting out baskets of figs. Fishermen hauling nets from the pier. Children running barefoot across sun-warmed tiles.

The sun leaned west, throwing long shadows across the narrow streets. I pulled my cloak tighter, blending into the press of bodies.

Sunspear was never quiet. Voices carried from balconies. Sand coated every doorstep. Light glared off white walls and copper roofs. Somewhere far off, a piper played a low tune.

My boots scuffed against stone steps as I descended down to the City. I kept one hand near the dagger, not gripping it, just aware of it. People brushed past, tight braids, sun-browned skin, the smell of salt and roasted peppers.

The farther I walked, the louder everything became, voices arguing in thick Dornish accents, donkeys braying, coins clinking into wooden bowls. Women in bright veils haggled over spiced dates. A pair of spearmen leaned against a wall, helmets under one arm, watching the crowd with bored eyes.

I turned left into a busier street as lanterns were being lit one by one. The sky turned darker.I passed a vendor roasting meat over coals, fat sizzling and popping in the fire. 

My stomach tightened. I hadn’t eaten since morning.

Just ahead, a tavern squatted next to a weaver's shop. Torchlight flickered behind its shutters. Voices loud, drunk, careless spilled out onto the street.

I hesitated only a heartbeat, then pushed the door open.

Cool air hit me first, thick with sweat, wine. The room was dim, lit by lanterns hung from ceiling beams.

A crowd filled the long tables, sailors, guards, merchants with dust on their cloaks. 

I stepped inside, shutting the door behind me. No one looked twice. Good.

The floor creaked beneath my boots as I moved toward the back. A serving girl brushed past, carrying a tray of figs and small clay cups of wine. Her braid swung against her shoulder, dark and glossy. She didn’t spare me a glance.

I found an empty table near the wall, half in shadow. I sat with my back to the corner. From here I could see the door, the windows, the stairway leading above.

A serving girl came by a with a Jar of wine and dropped it off at the table with a smile.

The wine was rough, cheap Dornish red, bitter at the back of the tongue. I sat alone at the table, the din of the tavern swelling and fading like a tide. I poured another cup.

Where should I go?

West was closed to me. Starfall was a memory that didn’t want me back.

Essos, maybe…

I’d read enough in my old life to know that men with no name or coin joined sellsword companies. The Cats, The Second Sons, The Golden Company if they’d have me. 

Fight in the Disputed Lands, Earn coin.

A clean break.

Or as clean as a man with magic humming in his bones could make.

I took another drink, staring into the dark wine. The thought wasn’t comforting, but it was better than nothing.

A shadow fell across my table.

I glanced up.

A young woman stood there, dark eyes, hair wrapped in an orange silk scarf. Not a serving girl by her dress, Too clean.

“Ser Gerold Dayne,” she said quietly. “The Prince wishes to see you.”

My fingers tightened around the cup. “Prince… ?”

She didn’t blink. “Prince Oberyn.”

My stomach tightened.

Oberyn.

I glanced around the hall again, really looking this time. Past the laughter and the wine. The tables near the back, they were occupied by whores, their lips painted deep red, dressed in silks so sheer I could see the dark nipples beneath. Near the corner, a man’s hand vanished beneath the skirts of a girl with gold rings in her nose, her head tossing back as she whispered something in his ear.

This wasn’t just a tavern. It was a brothel.

And I’d walked straight into it.

The girl waited, patient as still water. 

I rose, shrugging my cloak over my shoulder, my fingers brushing the dagger hidden beneath. The stairs groaned under my weight as we climbed, the air thickening with perfume, spilled wine, and the muffled sounds of pleasure behind closed doors.

At the top, she pushed open a carved wooden door. 

The scent hit me first, spiced lamb, wine rich with Dornish heat, and sex, thick and musky. 

Low tables were laden with figs, dates, and glistening cuts of meat.

*NSFW*

Around them, naked men and women lounged on cushions, fingers tracing skin, lips locked against slick flesh. At the center of it all, A woman Elaria Sand, sprawled with her legs spread wide, dark curls glistening between her thighs as a woman buried her face there. Her full breasts tipped with dusky nipples rose with each slow breath, her sharp eyes locked on me even as she arched into his tongue.

And next to her, I saw him. Prince Oberyn Martell, 

shirt open to the waist, the hard lines of his torso gleaming as a woman kneaded oil into his shoulders. His gaze, gold and sharp as a viper’s, fixed on me as he lifted his cup, a smirk playing at his lips. 

“Ah,” he purred, voice smooth as silk over steel. “The Darkstar! Come, Sit. Share our wine before it turns sour.”