The red Viper

Myths earned him the name Red Viper, he hadn’t sought out the name... he himself would never have allowed anyone to identify him by a nickname, because the red viper meant something to him, something private, a transformation in his life… He remembered his early years in Dorne, the dry heat scraping across the sand. Even as a boy, he had been faster than the others, more impatient, more determined... he never wanted to wait, he wanted to act, he never wanted to waste time learning, he wanted to be able to do things already. While other children played with wooden swords, he observed the world with an attentive curiosity that would later become his battlefield intelligence. But the nickname had nothing to do with childhood dreams of heroism. People first spoke of the Red Viper after he and his older rival had fought that duel on the infamous night , a duel later spoken of only cautiously and quietly, that the opponent’s sword had been coated with a substance that could not have come from human hands. Oberyn had survived, but his opponent had not, and Dornish tongues wove a tale of poison, blood, and warnings. 

The viper strikes twice, the viper decides the encounter before the first step is taken.

But what no one knew, or dared to say, was that magic had already played a part in that encounter, a quieter power that had slumbered in the sands of Dorne for centuries and responded only to those willing to listen. Oberyn had felt it for the first time as he grew older, a painfull pulling under his skin. Once, alone in the wasteland, when he had been banished from Dorne again for not following the rules, he had seen a snake, red as dried blood, with eyes that held an ancient consciousness. It was not of this world, or at least no longer entirely part of it, and it hadn’t bitten him. Instead, it wrapped itself in a soft line around his hand, pressing its head against his skin as if to transmit something .. ancient Dornish spells that had faded with time. From then on, an invisible force accompanied him, at first only a hint of an advantage, an intuitive knowledge of poison and healing, of life and death, of the line that separated them. His reflexes sharpened, his gaze became more precise, his instincts more deadly., and when he mixed poison, he sometimes knew in advance how a body would react to it. 

Something had been unleashed that had slept inside him since birth, and even though he used this advantage from time to time… he didn’t want to be captivated by this magic. He wanted to fight for freedom ..  freedom for all ..  and it felt wrong to feed on something others did not have. He had been chosen, though he did not yet know why, and he knew deep down that exploring this mystery would not be easy, and he suspected he would not like what he found. Everything that had power over him felt wrong. All the battles he survived meant nothing, because when his sister and her children were killed in a cruel, barbaric manner, he couldn’t help them, couldn’t save them. Not the Red Viper, not the Dornish prince, and not Oberyn Martell.