Brynhildr had never been so entertained by a man.

Oberyn would not leave her mind, which of course was difficult to manage anyway because he was constantly around her. The group was so small and the desert so vast, she couldn't avoid him even if she tried.

It seemed that now that he knew she found him handsome, he could not stop implying his own desire for her. He'd nudge at her arm as they rode the rest of the way to Tolos, he'd sit beside her for each meal and sleep as close to her as she'd allow. He'd tell her she looked radiant when she'd just woken up and her hair was a mess. When she'd get fed up enough to hold her knife under his throat and warn him not to keep at it, he'd tell the other men something in Qohorik and gesture to his pants, which she took to mean that he was feeling aroused from her violent reaction.

And yet, it was unbelievably funny. A man so dangerous and unpredictable, sharp-tongued and openly attracted to both men and women, believing that she was the most perfect thing. Each day they made camp, he had her practice the spear with him, and though he always drank before a fight, he'd still manage to pin her down just to smirk and say that as soon as she said the words, they could do this unclothed, and he would worship her. He'd watch her fight with the others as if he were a Viking witnessing a Valkyrie descend from the sky. He'd lay back in the sand to admire her even when he thought she didn't notice it.

Tolos was a city glowing with life. Song filled every street, and Oberyn explained that it was known for producing the finest singers in all of Essos. Each building had a large balcony with white banisters and wide arches to propel sound out into the nicely-set stone streets, curvy and curling towards the city center, where a massive pavilion was open with different tents for vendors and for the people to sit together, chat, sing, and watch performances in the square.

"I want to learn more about your people," said Oberyn, coming to her room in the large house he'd bought out for them to stay in. He was still working on making contact with the leaders of the Company of the Rose, and claimed he might even be able to get them a job here before they had to choose to go anywhere.

Brynhildr undid her braids in front of a cracked mirror, looking forward to a steaming bath. "What do you wish to know?"

"Everything. Tell me about your gods. What are they like? You mentioned one– Odin. The Allfather."

Brynhildr smiled, happy to talk about her beliefs. "Odin is the god of wisdom, war, and magic. He is King of the Æsir in Asgard. It was said my father was descended from Odin."

"What's Asgard? What is Æsir?"

"Asgard is one of the Nine Worlds, and the Æsir is its fortress. Asgard cannot be seen, but it is in the sky, connected to the world of men– Midgard– by the rainbow bridge, Bifrost. Valhalla is in Asgard. Valhalla... is vast and gold-bright. Every day, the slain men chosen to sup there arm themselves and fight in the great courtyard."

Oberyn held his hand up, motioning for her to pause. "You Vikings, you are strange. You live wanting only death, you battle constantly, even after you've been slain?"

"Yes!" she said enthusiastically. "It is wonderful. Each night in the courtyard, the slain kill one another, but they rise again and ride back to the hall and feast. The roof of Valhalla is made out of shields. The rafters are spears. Coats of mail litter the benches. A wolf stands at the western doors and an eagle hovers above it. It has five-hundred-and-forty doors, and when Ragnarok comes, eight-hundred warriors will march out of each door, shoulder to shoulder. We will never stop our fight."

Oberyn's eyes were wide as he drank it all in. "Ragnarok? It sounds like Ragnar, like your father– what is that?"

She leaned forward. "Ragnarok is the twilight of the gods, and it will happen like this: there will be three years of terrible winters and summers of black sunlight. People will lose all hope and surrender to greed, incest, and civil war. Midgardsormen, the world's serpent, will come lunging from the ocean, dragging the tides in and flooding the world. The wolf, giant Fenrir, will break his invisible chains. The skies will open and Surt, the fire-giant, will come flaming across the bridge to destroy the gods. Odin will ride out of the gates of Valhalla to do battle for a last time against the wolf. His son, Thor, god of thunder, strength, and storms, will kill the serpent but die from its venom. Surt will spread fire across the earth. At last, Fenrir will swallow the sun."

"That is magnificent," said Oberyn. "Thor– he is who makes the storms, you say?"

"Yes. He is who makes the weather, who we pray to during sea voyages. When my father took my brother Ivar and I to England, a great storm came to us. I told Ivar as he screamed that Thor was testing our resolve. I saved him from drowning that day, I swam us to the shores of Wessex. My brother, you see, they call him 'Boneless' because his legs are very disfigured. He cannot walk on his own. I carried him for years on my back and later on, he made himself a brace that allowed him to limp with a cane. He is very, very strong. But he could not swim, and our mother foresaw that he would drown."

"You said he became King. And that you killed the Queen of Kattegat to avenge your mother. Well, you said you also killed kings to avenge your father."

"Yes. My father... gods, I could spend hours telling you stories of his brilliant mind, how he pushed our people towards England when they did not think it existed. I hardly knew him but everyone told me stories of him. He had a plan to enact revenge for King Ecbert slaughtering our people in a settlement he gave us. He had King Ecbert hand him to King Aelle to kill. Ivar and I returned to Kattegat and with time we gathered a great, great army to avenge our father. I Blood-Eagled Aelle and killed Ecbert even as he tried to kill himself."

"So, Kingkiller. But what about Queenkiller?"

"While we'd been in England the first time, Lagertha killed my mother in cold blood. You see, Lagertha was married to Ragnar. She is the mother of my half-brother Bjorn and my half-sister Gyda, who died before I was born. My mother, Aslaug, is said to have bewitched my father. Lagertha left him and Aslaug was the sole Queen. It isn't until now that I avenged her that I can say truly that my mother only really loved Ivar, because he was weaker. My brothers and my father's friends, Floki and Helga, raised me. Yet, my mother still kept Kattegat thriving even after my father ran away, humiliated from a defeat by his brother in a land called Frankia. Lagertha returned when she was undefended, called her a usurper, and killed her when my mother asked for safe passage. She was my blood, and I had to avenge her. I killed Lagertha in the battle for Kattegat."

"Is that where you got your sword?" asked Oberyn, gesturing to her hip.

She shook her head. "No, this belonged to a sort of priest named Bishop Heahmund, from England. He beat up my brothers Ubbe and Hvitserk when they tried to negotiate terms with King Aethelwulf. So, I killed him when he fought for Lagertha and I took his sword."

She smiled to herself as Oberyn sat silent, pensive. "During that battle," she whispered, "my brother Ivar did such magnificent things. He is clever, when he is patient. Lagertha's army fired a massive volley of arrows at him. He shouted up and spread his arms and not a single arrow touched him. And my brother Bjorn Ironside, he once killed a bear with his bare hands. They are strong, very strong."

"You said you had five brothers," said Oberyn. "Bjorn, Ubbe, Hvitserk, Ivar. Who is the fifth?"

Brynhildr thought of her dear brother, the one she'd been closest to. "Sigurd. My mother, she was a völva. She could see parts of the future. She knew he would be born with the image of the serpent Fafnir in his eye, the same serpent her father Sigurd killed. So, my father named him Snake-In-the-Eye. He and I always played together. He was born before Ivar and since Ivar could not walk, he and I would be each other's companion. But as we grew, he and Ivar always bickered. They said very cruel things to each other, and Ivar could never contain his anger. Sigurd resented our mother for many reasons while Ivar loved her more than anything. After we avenged my father, Ivar killed Sigurd in his rage."

"Your brother is a Kinslayer," said Oberyn. At her confused look, he clarified, "That is what we call it here when someone murders their blood. Likewise, rather than being Kingkiller or Queenkiller here, you'd be Kingslayer and Queenslayer."

"I like that," said Brynhildr. "Queenslayer sounds better than Queenkiller. You know, they also call me 'Bloody Brynhildr' for the day of my first battle. Bjorn, he was nicknamed 'Ironside' because in his first battle, he was untouchable. No arrows or swords cut him. Me, I was covered in the blood of my enemies. When we grabbed King Aelle, Floki taught me to Blood Eagle."

"Yes, you mentioned it before. What is that?"

She smirked devilishly, and Oberyn seemed to find this more attractive, leaning forward with interest. She walked to him, hair now flowing free over her shoulders, and went to stand behind him. "For a Blood Eagle," she explained, "we heat a sword in fire. Then, we cut–" She traced her fingers down his back, "Through the skin. We hack at each rib until we spring them from the spine, popping open like the wings of a bird. It lets out much blood. When we did it to Aelle, we could not cut his lungs out, for he died before then. But... normally, that is what we do next. We hung him from two trees, arms spread. My brothers thought it fitting because it looks like being crucified, which is the image of the Christian god they worshiped in England."

Oberyn shivered as she ran her fingertips back up his spine. "You will be a fearsome commander if you use the Blood Eagle here."

"I could," she agreed, walking around him to open the door as the servants knocked, bringing in hot water for her back. "It would certainly send a message. Do you think it would help if we had our own fleet? I could learn to design large ships to help us."

"It would help," said Oberyn, getting out of the chair to give her privacy. "We could go to Braavos next, so you might learn from them. This man, Floki, he'd like the triremes and war boats they make there." He nodded his head to her, excusing himself. "Princess. I'll leave you to your bath. Thank you for telling me about the Vikings. I wish I could one day go there."

"I wish you could, too," said Brynhildr. "You would have liked it."

Even after his departure, his presence seemed to linger in the room. She sank into the hot water, almost too hot to bear, and stared up at the ceiling, recalling the way he listened, the way his eyes lit up being told about her gods, her people, her adventures. He was an incredibly curious man, always looking to where his next quest was.

That worried her a bit. If she was to open up to him, if she was to allow herself to feel love, would he stay? Would she be enough of an adventure to hold him at her side? Or would he simply leave, over and over again, each time he grew bored?

He'd admitted to boredom many times. He sired daughters between stretches of it. Would he saddle her with this burden of his sellsword company and never come back to see it? He claimed he would actually care for his daughters, in stark contrast with other noblemen, yet what would he do if they had a child together, a child not born in Westeros?

He came to see her again the next day, with a chest filled with vials of herbs and other strange objects, including the skull of a cat and the preserved body of an unborn piglet. He told her he would teach her about his world now, about the poisons he knew how to make. There were many of them, and she was unsure she would remember them all.

Yet, he did everything to make sure it stuck in her mind. Oberyn stood behind her, just about her height, holding her hands and having her mime mixing each solution, crushing each ingredient into a paste, passing them through strange tubes with water, wine, ale, and even mead. He spoke in her ear about the deadliest poisons known in Westeros and Essos, he explained why he named some of his own concoctions so.

He explained what their effects were, which were slower acting than others, how to slip them into people's foods without them noticing. It wasn't entirely new to Brynhildr, but she admitted he was very skilled at his craft. She wanted to hear more of it, and wanted him to use that soft tone to praise cruelty and suffering in a way only she could appreciate.

"Why did you start learning about poisons?" asked Brynhildr as they watched a mixture bubble under the heat of a lit candle. "Is it part of Dornish culture?"

"Not exactly," said Oberyn, legs spread comfortably as he slouched in a chair. "Well, the Dornish do believe in pursuing any knowledge without shame. It is why we are open with our sexualities, among other things. But, mostly, I always liked to read. My sister and I would spend a great deal of time in the library as children, and at some point we both became interested in herbal mixtures. She learned more of its applications aligned with healing, I learned more about killing. And I was good at remembering those things."

"Your sister sounds very clever, herself," said Brynhildr.

"Elia is wonderful. The very best person. Our mother lost many babes before our birth, some before their term and others in the cradle. Elia and I were born a year apart, our eldest brother ten years older and in his own world as he was prepared to become Prince of Dorne. She and I did everything together, much as you describe your relationship with Sigurd. She was my closest friend, my constant companion. She is kind and imaginative, beautiful in all the ways a person should be. She deserves everything in life, and I wish the world would always give that to her. I want her to be happy, always."

He threw up his hands, "And my brother, well, I admire him a great deal. He was always more patient than Elia or I. He is calculating and stern but I know he can love. He recently married a woman from Norvos and he is a father now. He has his duties and he knows how to be selfless– the sort of thing a ruler from Dorne must be. He had no choice but to send me to exile because of what I did... I don't resent him for this. It is a difficult thing to do and he still did it because he had to avoid further trouble. He is wise. I know that if I tried, I could learn much from him. I simply cannot sit still... I cannot hope to be like him just yet. Many find him boring, but to me, Doran is... the very best brother. Practically a second parent to myself and Elia, similar to how you described your brother Hvitserk."

Brynhildr smiled. "I admire your devotion to your family. You care for them so very much."

"And what would you say you felt for yours?"

"I cared for them, of course. I did not know my father well, my mother was never the greatest with me, and I knew I would leave them all behind anyway. But I still somewhat respected Bjorn and Ubbe, though they'd order me around most often. I loved Hvitserk and Sigurd the most– they respected me and played with me. Ivar and I were close for a time. We understood each other in a way the others could not, but... our tempers clashed. Our beliefs were not enough to hold us together. But, I suppose, it is hard to cling to the idea of family for too long because I did not see us a true unit."

Oberyn raised a brow. "Why do you say that?"

"Lagertha left and took Bjorn with her... I think, before Ubbe was born. I don't know exactly. My father thought family was the most important thing for a long time, but eventually he set aside those feelings for other prospects. Bjorn would not care properly for his children, he'd abandon his partners for others the moment he grew bored. In an ideal world, my father wouldn't have left, Lagertha and Aslaug might've ruled together alongside him, we all would have gotten along. But, alas... it wasn't so. I still cherish the memories I have with them, but I am not entirely sad to have left them behind. I'll never know what became of my brothers, but I hope that they are all successful. That they are satisfied with the things they've done."

He slid on some leather gloves, reaching over to the flask to reveal their solution had turned a deep red, fully liquid. "You are here because you were meant to do things far more important than them," surmised Oberyn. "In your case, family would hold you back from greatness. This, for example..." He held the solution towards her. "I have a job for you. If this goes well, then you'll have proven the person I need you to be. The person your gods must want you to be if they sent you to me."

"A job," she repeated. "My first job as a sellsword?" He nodded. "Am I to kill using this poison?"

"Yes," he said. "Sellswords, they might be hired to defend a whole city, or to murder one influential person. It varies, and some have terrible reputations because they begin to loot and seek only wealth from the experience. I want my company to have a good reputation. I want them to be seen as loyal, honorable, and still effective. I want them to be known to practice discretion. So, as your test, I need you to kill someone and I need you to do it as subtly as you can."

She narrowed her eyes. "How long do I have? What are the rules?"

"You can use our men throughout this week. There is no limit to what you can ask of them, as you will be their leader. You'll be killing a man named Yja Rikh. He is set to perform this week in a singer's contest. Tolos's version of the fighting pits, where you may place bets on who will be judged most talented. Singers from all over Essos will be coming. He cannot walk out alive from this contest. That's all you need to know. The rest, you learn on your own."

As the flask cooled off, he placed it in her hands. "This poison will act quickly. And, of course, you cannot let it be known you were responsible. Be wise."

Brynhildr was glad to accept the challenge. She put the men to work immediately, having them come with her to tour the city. First, she had them work with her to get eyes on this Yja Rikh, their group splitting by the pavilion until Nasan returned claiming to have heard someone speaking to him. Brynhildr confirmed it herself, eavesdropping while pretending to buy a sack of clams for dinner. Yja Rikh was not a quiet person– he loved to sing and he loved to talk. He spoke to anyone around, without discrimination.

So, she judged him to be fairly careless. This proved to be true. Everyone knew where he lived, and so she found his house with ease, noise from within made by his two children and his young wife. All of Tolos knew where he took his meals, when he practiced at the pavilion, and even what he planned to wear for the contest. He was a wealthy man, and Brynhildr supposed that whoever had asked Oberyn's help in killing him wanted either his glory or his money.

She learned by listening that he only ever drank sweet red wine– not ale or mead or other concoctions of Slaver's Bay. And, more importantly, he only drank the wine after his warm-ups but before his performances. It was a narrow window, but one she felt capable of fitting into.

She assigned the men to find out who else would be coming to compete at the pavilion. Where people hailed from, what day they would be arriving. Already, she'd seen an influx of Essosi– people who looked different and spoke different, which was confusing for her but did enough to blend her into a crowd and prevent her face from being seen.

Brynhildr was told that some singers from Lys would be arriving the night before the competition. Asking around, she'd learned that Lys and Volantis made the best sweet reds in all of Essos. Lastly, the greatest thing of all, the Lysene enjoyed to paint their faces for this competition. All she had to do was blend in.

She mimicked their style of painting their faces– colorful and making bright red smiles over their cheeks– and donned their bright orange robes to slip into the singers' tent. When Yja had stepped aside for warmups, she'd slid her gloved fingertips laced with the poison over the interior of his empty cup, just before a real Lysene came around happily filling the cups at everyone's station.

Brynhildr lingered around long enough to see Yja grab the cup before slipping out, tossing off the orange cloak as soon as she exited the pavilion. Behind her, she heard screams begin to sound, people rushing in to hear what had happened.

"That was easy," she told Oberyn honestly as they had their supper. "Why?"

"I wanted to see two things," said Oberyn. "One, if you would still kill someone knowing them more. Knowing they had a family. You could kill to survive in the pits, but you are not there anymore, are you? You passed this test. Second, I wanted to see what other prospects you might have when we go to Braavos. What do you know about it?"

"Only what you've told me," she said. "They worship the Many-Faced God. They have good boats."

"And they have Faceless Men," said Oberyn. "They are costly assassins who will kill anyone in the known world and have the magic ability to change faces. They are the greatest actors in the world and they use many methods against their targets. I think you would do well there. I think I'd like my commander to have the skills of the Faceless Men."

"What does that entail?" asked Brynhildr. "If I have to do that, does it mean I give up my gods?"

"Yes. You give up everything that makes you you. As a Faceless Man, you can never kill for your personal reasons. The gift of death comes to those chosen by those who hire you. They are formidable, and it doesn't matter how big or small their numbers are. You could make much money with them, you could give the Brave Companions a reputation beyond other sellsword groups."

Brynhildr began to smirk, and Oberyn wiggled his eyebrows, as if believing he'd intrigued her. Yet, she said flatly, "No."

Oberyn's smile dropped. "No?"

"No. I am not giving up my gods for those in this foreign land. I am not going to indulge in this society, who will limit what I can do. I crave death, yes, but I also still crave Valhalla. My mother entrusted Ivar and I to Floki and Helga so we would never deny our gods. Never. I don't believe I need to become a Faceless Man to make your company great. And, if this is what you ask of me, then I want nothing to do with me. Not you nor anyone will make me set aside my beliefs. If I am to become a sellsword, so be it. My father may have told me not to deny paths offered to me, yet this path sounds like one that will strip me of all I am."

She thought he'd be upset, that he'd regret having purchased her. Instead, his face lit up again, and he said, "Then, what are your ideas, now that you have this opportunity? Now that I wish to truly invest in you?"

"Female warriors," she insisted. "I didn't see many female sellswords at the Great Pit of Daznak. You have only me. I think it is a poor choice to deny their potential skill and I believe that if you place me as a commander, I can draw in recruits from everywhere. Women who wish to fight or already can and are not given respect for it. I could teach them to make their own weapons as I did in Kattegat, I could teach them to build boats so we might craft our own fleet. I could teach them about poisons and healing balms. I want women as part of this company. You said you could do something about that. Will you, or will you press on me becoming a Faceless Man and betraying my gods?"

"Your wish is my command," said Oberyn. "You'll have your shieldmaidens soon enough. The Company of the Rose will be meeting us here. I will even have envoys sent from Tolos to the other Free Cities, looking for fighters. I'll have them come and find us here."

"Thank you," she said simply. "Then, you are not upset that I do not wish to be a Faceless Man?"

"Why would I be? It was only an idea, not a requirement. It doesn't upset me that you wish to retain your individuality, that you do still have ideas about how to improve this company, regardless of my suggestions. It shows me that you know how to do what I ask of you and you won't simply function as a puppet for me to wield. You'll have your own ideas and ambitions but you still respect yourself enough to not lose yourself in the process. Tell me, Princess, what does your heart want? Regardless of the company, regardless of your prophecy?"

She didn't know how to answer. "My whole life has been about my fate. Trying to find it. I don't know who I'd be without that and I don't know what my goal is. Happiness... no, not exactly. To please my gods, to see my family again in Valhalla, perhaps. If I'm to change history, surely that will be a good thing."

"I believe so, Princess. You seem the sort of person who could make that a reality."

"Why do you keep calling me 'Princess?'"

"It is your title, is it not?"

"I don't call you 'Prince.' I call you 'Oberyn' and the men call you 'Viper.' They call me Mineri even though they now know my name is Brynhildr. Why, then?"

"You are a Princess," he repeated. "You have the beauty and strength of one. I would like to keep referring to you as such... unless of course it bothers you."

Raising a curious brow, she decided to relent. "You can call me that if you wish, though you'll be the only one to do so."

"I would hope so," said Oberyn, a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. When she scrunched her nose at him, he winked as if his comment were entirely innocent.