The man had his own pyramid.

As far as Brynhildr understood, the pyramids were only for the most influential members of society. Yet, she knew certainly that he wasn't from Meereen. Her best estimate was that he was from Qohor; why else choose the banner with the horns of the Black Goat?

As they walked, she noticed camps set up in the streets, banners hung like the ones Daario had described to her. The other companies didn't have pyramids, so why did this man get one? Was he really so important? If that was the case, why hadn't Daario recognized his banner?

At any rate, the pyramid was fresh, in stark contrast to the cavern beneath the pit where the slaves usually slept. There were holes in the walls that one could look out of, carefully carved in perfect patterns to let the air in. The men sat her down on a plush cushion in front of a table with food, and the orange-robed man beckoned toward it, prompting her to eat.

The mysteriously influential man dismissed his sellswords– there were only six of them– and sat across the table as she slowly began to grab at a bowl of fruit, sweet sliced persimmons bathed in lemon and sprinkled with the leaves of flowers that grew around the edge of Meereen.

Leaning back in the chair, the man furrowed his brows, asking, "Who are you?" He had an accent when speaking the Common Tongue, though she couldn't place it.

Brynhildr stopped chewing, swallowing hard and saying, "My name is Mineri."

"Mineri... of what house?"

"Lothbrok."

"You are not Essosi," he said. "I've seen enough of Essos to know that you are not from this land in the slightest... and I've never heard of a House Lothbrok. The way you fight, the blade you carry... is it Valyrian steel?"

She shook her head. "No. It is steel from Wessex."

Once more, he seemed to find nothing to grasp at. "I've never heard of Wessex."

"Most have not," she agreed vaguely.

He hummed, lacing his long fingers together. She felt nervous having him stare down at her like that, and yet, she didn't want either of them to look away. "Your master claims you can use any weapon. That you even know about poisons, building ships, and crafting weapons."

"Yes," she said. "I can use a sword, spear, ax, club, knife, and bows. I know some things about poisons. I know how to heal with herbs, how to kill with them. I know how to build small ships and I can make weapons for myself. I'm also a fairly good tracker... I can use my senses as an animal would."

"Good," he replied. "That is exactly the sort of person I need. I haven't been in Essos long..." He smirked to himself, "Got into a bit of trouble in the land I am from. I was with the Second Sons for awhile, even in these same fighting pits, before I chose to found my own company. They are called the Brave Companions, made of society's outcasts. Are you brave, Mineri?"

"Yes," she confirmed. "Very brave."

"Then tell me, what are you? Where do you come from?"

"I am a Viking," she said simply, unsure if she could trust him with her real identity. "Vikings are great warriors from a land called Scandinavia. We wish to die in battle and reach Valhalla, a great hall where we feast with our gods.

"How did you learn about building boats?"

"I was taught by the Viking Floki," she explained as best as she could. "He built ships for my father to find new lands. That's what we used to travel to Wessex– my father always looked west for new adventures. We Vikings are warriors and explorers."

"You'd fare well in Braavos," said the man. "You know, they have no slavery there. They respect their women far more. You could worship whoever you wanted... I'm sure the Many-Faced God would not discriminate against whatever gods you believe in. Perhaps in the future you may go there... if you fare well enough to make a company of your own. One with naval strength. Tell me more about these Vikings. Your father. Who are you, really?"

She pointed at him, mildly annoyed that only she was talking. "I've talked enough. Who are you?"

His lips curled, and he flashed a smile that made her want to trust him. A smile she estimated could make a person weak to their knees. He reminded her of the sun, though that was perhaps because of the sun on his robes. It was mischievous yet sincere, bright and dark at the same time.

"I am Prince Oberyn Nymeros of House Martell," he said. "Brother to the Prince of Dorne, Doran, blood of the Rhoynar."

"Oh." That made some sense. "So, you're Westerosi."

"Yes," he said. "Now, tell me. Who are you, truly?"

She considered that if he was a prince, she might gain more respect from being known as a princess as well. "My real name is Brynhildr Ragnarsdottir. I am the Princess of Kattegat. Seventh child and second daughter of King Ragnar Lothbrok, fifth child and only daughter of Queen Aslaug Sigurdsdottir– once Princess of Götaland. My mother's father was Sigurd, slayer of the dragon Fafnir. My mother's mother was the shield-maiden and Valkyrie Brynhildr, for whom I am named."

"Why do you call yourself Mineri?"

"My brother made that nickname for me. I was little, I wanted 'my arm ring' – the bands young boys wore as we came of age to mark their transition into adulthood. It showed commitment, and I wanted one of my own. I used to cry for one and Hvitserk began to call me 'Mineri' for how I'd say it."

"And what is a Valkyrie?"

"Valkyries are handmaidens of the god Odin, our Allfather. They choose who lives and who dies in battle, they choose the slain worthy of Valhalla. My father would call me 'Little Valkyrie' because Brynhildr means 'ready for battle.'"

"You've seen true battle?"

"Yes. I went to war in Northumbria, in Wessex, in York, and in Kattegat. I am called the Killer of Kings. Kingkiller, for murdering King Aelle of Northumbria and King Ecbert of Wessex. Queenkiller, for killing Lagertha, the usurper Queen of Kattegat. I killed them all to avenge my parents, to make my brother, Ivar the Boneless, King of Kategat. In battle, Ecbert's son, King Aethelwulf, called me 'The Demon of York,' 'The Pagan Nightmare.' But I like to call myself 'Brynhildr the Undead.' My fate was to come here and change history. I cannot yet reach Valhalla and I will never see my family again."

Oberyn leaned forward with interest, a smile not leaving his face. "You and I are going to do great things together, Princess. I feel it."

In her bones, she felt the assurance that he would lead her towards her destiny.

She was shown by his guards to a chamber that was entirely hers, bigger than anywhere she'd ever lived. Her room alone– an apartment, they called it– was larger than the entire house that'd sheltered her mother and five brothers in Kattegat. An area for a bath, a table to have breakfast, couches to lounge on, a large bed, even a closet waiting to be filled with clothes. The way everything was arranged reminded her of the room in the castle of Wessex, where she and Ivar had been captured after traveling to England with their father.

Servants came while she was still exploring to draw her a bath. She sank into the tub and scrubbed herself raw, removing every last bit of grime. She undid her battle braids and soaked her hair, a heavenly citrus-smelling oil added to the water lingering around her head afterwards.

Soft robes were laid on her bed, and she wore one as she examined the armor that'd also been provided, presumably for when they were on the move. It wasn't like what they wore in Meereen– a red silk cloak beneath an armored shirt of overlapping glittery copper disks, combined with a high gilded helm. Much lighter than metal, and still hard enough to protect her. She liked it.

Lunch and dinner were brought to her room, but unfortunately, no one came to share it with her. She sat alone, wondering what Oberyn's plans were. Would he use her to settle this trouble in his homeland or would he simply add her to his numbers and keep her as a mercenary? She wasn't sure how that would help her reach any dynasty.

It made her wonder how that would come to be. She herself was a Princess and Oberyn, apparently, a Prince. Did he mean to take her for his wife? This dynasty she would hold, would she contribute to its bloodline? Or, even stranger, would she be offered to another Prince or King in this land or Westeros? Last Daario heard, the Dragon Prince of House Targaryen was still unwed, and two years her senior. She didn't know if he had anything to do with this destiny.

Brynhildr was fetched the following morning, guards leading her to where Oberyn's men were all ready to move. Eight horses waited for them, one for each of them. On their backs they'd carry knapsacks with their possessions, and strapped to their person would be their weapons.

Oberyn spoke in what was surely Qohorik to the six men, then turned to Brynhildr, "And you are our newest member. You'll learn Qohorik in time. Meet the boys, Ahyad–" He gestured to a tall man hardly wearing armor, his muscular arms bursting out of his leather, "Izir–" A gigantic but friendly-looking bald man grinned at her, "Nsan–" The man's skin appeared darker than it actually was, every inch of it covered in elaborate curls of tattoo ink forming what appeared to be runes even up his throat and cheeks, "Maseh–" Though nearly toothless and very scarred, presumably from a similar experience with the fighting pits, he tried to smile, "Kahmid–" He waved, not looking pleased, body covered completely in armor as if he was expecting someone to try and hurt him in that exact moment, "And our most recent recruit, aside from you, Vazim."

The final man reached over from his horse to shake her hand. As best as he could in the Common Tongue, he said, "Hello, Princess."

"Hello," she said in return. Turning back to Oberyn, who kicked at his horse and led the way out of Meereen, she inquired, "Where are we going?"

"Anywhere," he said. "To find more recruits, to see if we can merge with other companies. Anything, really."

Brynhildr made a face. "Why am I here, then? What do you want with me?"

His lips curled, and he flashed her that devilish smirk, saying, "Is it not obvious? I want someone to lead them when I'm gone."

"No, that was not obvious," she said bluntly. "Why would you go?"

"I cannot say forever. Do you know why I was sent away from my home?" His men laughed as if knowing this story. "When I was sixteen, I was found abed with the paramour of a lord sworn to my brother. He challenged me to a duel to first blood– rather than kill, as you do in the pits, it ends when someone has drawn blood from the other. We both took cuts, but the lord's wounds festered and killed him. Someone started a terrible rumor that I poisoned my blade."

The men laughed once more, and Brynhildr assumed it was not a rumor– it was true. "At any rate," said Oberyn, "I became known as the Red Viper and had to be exiled. I went to Oldtown first. Studied at the Citadel for some time– this is a place for maesters, very clever scholars and healers in Westeros– I even formed six links of a maester's chain before I grew bored. It gave me some time with my eldest daughter, Obara– her mother is a whore in Oldtown. I had her sent back to Dorne when I left for Lys.

"I was there for a time, then went to Volantis. Met a noblewoman there, had a daughter we named Nymeria. I took her back to Sunspear, visited Oldtown again, fathered another daughter named Tyene and took her to Sunspear before I went to soldier in the Disputed Lands. I grew bored and took a position on the Second Sons. That was when I had the idea to form my own group. I left, found these outcasts in Qohor, and since then I've been on a mission to find someone to replace me before I return to Dorne and start training my daughters to fight."

"And why have you chosen me to be captain in your absence?"

"I saw you fight," said Oberyn. "You and that man, your friend, you were magnificent. I tried to buy him, too, but his master would not sell him. No matter, I think you are capable enough to make this a great company. I need time with my children before they are older; Obara is six and she ought to begin learning to defend herself, otherwise she won't find it so easy. I'd like to have a sellsword company to turn to if I ever need it."

"Wait," said Brynhildr, making a face. "If your eldest daughter is six years old... how old are you? I thought you were about eighteen, like me."

He winked, "I was fourteen when her mother had her. Bastards are not shunned in Dorne, as in other parts of Westeros. They are born of passion, are they not? My three girls are beautiful and they will be powerful as well."

Gods, Brynhildr could not have imagined having a child at fourteen. At fourteen, she still hadn't been to a real battle. She hadn't seen Ragnar in nine years at that point. She couldn't picture herself at that age with a babe on her hip. "I take it you never had children?" asked Oberyn. "Were you married?"

"No and no," said Brynhildr simply. "I was a Princess, daughter of the most famous man in our country. My brothers wouldn't let men near me nor would I entertain them. The only time marriage was even discussed for me was to seize King Aethelwulf's son, Aethelred, as a puppet king we could use. I thought him handsome, but in the end I knew I was not fated to stay."

"You can marry now, if you so wish. As long as you put our company first. Tell me, what are your ideas for it?"

She thought for a moment. "I want... female warriors, for starters." Oberyn chuckled, and translated to the others, most likely to say that they were not what she was looking for. Brynhildr tried to add, "Men are fine, but I don't want them to be the majority– they will never fully accept my rule. If I'm to be captain, I want women to teach. I want shield-maidens."

"I did consider merging with the Company of the Rose," admitted Oberyn. "They have some female warriors. They have Northern blood– the company was formed by men and women of the North who rejected Torrhen Stark's submission to Aegon the Conqueror. They have less than fifty people. They could use my influence and your leadership. Yes, I like it. Good. I'll see what can be done about that."

They exited the walls of Meereen, a path carved through the desert heading westward, the sun rising behind them. Oberyn explained that they would be going first to the city of Tolos, across Slaver's Bay, to plan their next steps then board his docked ship to go wherever they pleased and avoid what he called the 'Dothraki Sea.'

As the sun began to set, they stopped to make camp, having only a few shawls to act as beds. Brynhildr started a campfire while the men took turns going to piss behind a small sand hill, teasing each other that they could reach the water from there. They reminded Brynhildr of her brothers, only, they bothered her a lot less.

Oberyn decided that before they eat, they allow Brynhildr the opportunity to evaluate their skill. It was easy enough for Nasan and Kahmid to do without exerting themselves. A wooden shield was used as a target for Nasan to show how precise his shots were with a bow and arrow, while Kahmid threw knives with more accuracy than Brynhildr had ever seen. She wouldn't say Nasan was a better shot than her, but admitted to herself that Kahmid threw knives better than she did. She had less practice with them, always having thrown axes.

It was revealed that Oberyn had purchased new weapons for her, which he laid out now that they were out of Meereen. Happily, she took in her hand two new knives and an ax, and showed the men that she could, in fact, use those very well for simple throws.

Ahyad and his arakh were placed in combat against Brynhildr and her ax. It was an unfair fight for Ahyad, who tried to slide across the sand elegantly but couldn't do much against blunt force shoved his way, the ax swiped across the edge of his head the moment Brynhildr got a proper grip. Clapping, Oberyn motioned for Izir and Maseh to spar with their swords– the winner would fight against Brynhildr.

It was Vazim, his hand around the shaft of a spear, that seemed most pleased with the fact she was just as strong if not stronger than them. He'd gone up against Oberyn (this was no competition, really, Oberyn was exponentially better) then against Brynhildr, who was less good with the twirly tricks the men knew how to do. Oberyn himself had landed her flat on her arse and offered his hand to pick her up before announcing that finally, it was time to eat.

"You fight well," said Brynhildr, chewing on a roll of dried meat. "You are a great warrior with that spear; it is no wonder they gave you such a formidable name."

"Thank you," said Oberyn. "As are you– your own nicknames are the sort to send shivers down the spines of men. I knew I chose you for the right reason." He scooted closer, leaning back on one arm and half laying down, yet still looking up at her. "It still astounds me that you were never married. Your family was less worried about political alliances, then. In these lands, girls eleven and sometimes younger are made to marry for political alliances."

That was incredibly sad to hear. "I am lucky," agreed Brynhildr. "I had protective brothers, though sometimes they overdid it. My first brother– my true blood brother– was not married until he was twenty-three. As Ragnar's children, we had leave to do what we wanted with our love lives."

His eyebrows shot up. "That is generous. Though, I suppose, no one is exactly forcing me to marry. I might do it much, much later than most. My privilege as a second son, the one who will inherit nothing. We have been looking for a husband for my sister Elia for many years. She is twenty-two and very beautiful, very kind. No offers have been good enough. She is worth far more than what some believe. But, my brother says, perhaps she will marry the Dragon Prince one day."

"Your sister will be Queen of Westeros, then," said Brynhildr. "That is a good thing, isn't it?"

"Yes. We're long overdue for a Dornish Queen. You know, from what I know about the Dragon Prince, he'd like you very much. But I don't think you'd like him. I don't think you'd enjoy being stuck in a castle."

"No," she agreed. "Castles are boring, as there's not much to do there. I enjoy adventure. Learning new things, exploring new lands. I am Viking, I am not meant to stay in one place. That is why I was brought here. That is why my destiny had to come in a place others of my kind would never get to see."

Oberyn hummed, "I would like to bring you to Dorne one day. So you can meet my brother, sister, and daughters. Perhaps you and I might one day have a child together."

Brynhildr burst out laughing, the idea ridiculous even though she thought Oberyn was perfectly handsome. "A child? You and I? No."

"Why not?" he teased. "We are both warriors. We are both young. I would very much like a daughter who is just like you. She would be a warrior on both sides."

"No," repeated Brynhildr. "I have a destiny to fulfill."

"You don't know if that destiny involves children or not."

"If it is the gods' will, then I suppose it does involve them. But that has not been made clear to me."

"What if they choose for my seed to take root when we bed each other? Then, does that mean your gods will it?"

She laughed again. "When? You are so convinced we will bed each other. Look around us." She gestured at the barren desert, the lack of cover, their own men curled up close by, not even asleep. "I hardly know you."

"People don't need to know each other very well to want to fuck each other," said Oberyn with a smirk. "Don't tell me you haven't felt intrigued."

"Simply because I feel intrigued doesn't mean it will happen. Do not get any ideas about forcing it now that you know I don't want to. I will kill you for it."

Oberyn became serious. "I would never force you."

"No?" she asked, a bit unsure. "Rape was highly frowned upon in my country, but Daario Naharis told me about those Dothraki and their cruel customs, 'honoring' the women they rape. You bought me, I am technically your slave. Even my brothers would have their way with the slaves, practically coerce them into sleeping together."

"That is not something we tolerate in Dorne," said Oberyn. "No, if we are to bed each other, I wish for it to be mutual. It is not pleasurable otherwise. And you are not a slave, Princess. You are a free woman. A sellsword now. When the day comes where you are ready to admit your desire for me, then we will indulge. But not a moment sooner."

"I don't think I could admit that," said Brynhildr. "I've never... with anyone. I don't feel desire the same way you do."

"No? Not even with the boys and girls you grew up with?"

"Protective brothers, if you recall. Five of them. Even if I would have tried to sneak away, I couldn't have. Besides, I was younger. I did not find it so enticing. And I knew it was a risk. That it would interfere with my fate."

"Then, when you decide you cannot contain your curiosity any longer, I will be here. I know it will be you who carries my fourth daughter."

She rolled her eyes. "You may dream of this, Oberyn Martell. But as handsome as you are, you've yet to show me that you make good on your promises to make me captain of some great company."

He smirked. "Oh, I will make good on those promises. You'll see. And then, I think we'll need to celebrate."

Brynhildr turned onto her side, acting as if she was going to sleep. "Whatever you wish to believe, Oberyn. Good night."

"Goodnight, Princess," he called. "May the gods give you sweet dreams, and may I fill them."

"I know I will certainly fill yours," Brynhildr retorted.