Gendry and the Red Viper rode along the coastline. Once they reached open ground, they would be able to press on faster toward Myr. Another portion of the army was already being ferried there aboard Morosh's ships.
Some understandings needed no words. House Martell lacked allies, and a bastard who commanded an army was a prize worth courting.
"How does the Lord Commander intend to deal with the Dothraki?" the Red Viper asked.
He had a long, somber face, large black eyes like pools of dark oil beneath finely arched brows. His forehead and nose were sharp and well-defined, and his glossy black hair showed only a trace of silver. A true Salty Dornishman.
Gendry, by contrast, was every inch a Baratheon—black hair like polished jet, blue eyes deep as the sea, a tall and powerfully built young man, swift and fierce.
"With soldiers and the defenses of Myr," Gendry replied. "I have no interest in squeezing coin out of Myr to hand over to the Dothraki. That's how merchants think."
Most of the Free Cities lay across open plains, perfect ground for Dothraki assaults. If he wanted to break their bones, it would have to be done head-on.
"They've been beaten before. Under the walls of Qohor, the Dothraki were not invincible."
"And now we have your support as well, Prince," Gendry added pointedly.
"In Dorne, we avoid large-scale frontal battles whenever possible," the Red Viper said. "We rely on lightly armed warriors and swift Dornish horses for sudden strikes, and we let our harsh climate wear the enemy down. But in the Disputed Lands, that approach may not suit. It's mostly wide, open plains."
"Then you can serve as our support," Gendry said with confidence. "The Wolf Pack and the Free Company will meet the Dothraki head-on."
If they did not strike the Dothraki hard enough, they would return to Myr again.
"Then I'll look forward to celebrating victory with the Lord Commander," the Red Viper said with a smile.
"And what of these lands and estates?" he asked as they rode through the Disputed Lands, passing fertile fields and manor houses. Their slave masters were dead or had fled.
The freedmen who remained were afraid. The Dothraki swept through towns like locusts, leaving ruin behind. Yet they still believed the Breaker could not be defeated.
"Distribute them," Gendry said. "Part will be taken into public ownership. The smaller plots will be given to the freedmen. I will measure the land and register the population."
"Measure the land? Register the population?" The Red Viper looked genuinely surprised.
"Yes. Land and households are the foundation of any rule. Many slaves never even had names. The slave masters used to conceal their numbers to avoid taxes. That ends now."
In the framework Gendry envisioned, he meant to draw out the full potential of the land. A system of towns, household registration, and examinations would form the core.
"A ruthless move," the Red Viper said in admiration. "The power of this fertile land is enviable. Dorne is too barren. Even if we controlled every soul there, it would not amount to much."
Among the Seven Kingdoms, Dorne, the Stormlands, and the North all had relatively small populations because of their harsh climates. Of them, Dorne had the fewest.
"I knew your father long ago," the Red Viper said, his thoughts drifting back.
"I wasn't close to him," Gendry replied evenly. "I doubt he even remembered how many bastards he fathered."
He would follow his own path—lie low, wait, build his strength, and bide his time until chaos returned to Westeros.
"That may be true for other houses. But House Baratheon? Your ancestor was the Conqueror's bastard brother."
"That's only a rumor. And the matter of Baratheon succession is none of my concern," Gendry said thoughtfully. House Baratheon was a tangled mess now. Involving himself would gain him nothing.
"The great lords of King's Landing, Casterly Rock, Storm's End, and Highgarden won't see it that way. You've taken in the orphaned daughter of House Targaryen. Don't you covet that ugly throne? Won't you lead the exiles in revenge?"
"I have to admit, you're a skilled persuader, Prince Oberyn," Gendry said, looking at him.
For years, the Dornish brothers had searched for allies. Nothing would delight them more than seeing House Baratheon turn its blades upon itself.
"This isn't a threat. Power stirs the heart. King Robert's grandmother was a Targaryen princess, and in the end he still overthrew the Targaryen dynasty."
"The War of the Usurper wasn't born of ambition alone," Gendry said with a faint smile. "The Mad King and Rhaegar brought that ruin on themselves."
"Whatever the cause, at the Battle of the Trident, Rhaegar lost."
"Years ago, when we were still young, the heir to Storm's End was already infamous for his wild ways," Oberyn went on. "He loved women, loved wine, loved the tourney. People said he was like the Laughing Storm reborn."
"Robert adored songs that made him laugh, the bawdier the better. He'd only sing them when drunk—'A Cask of Ale,' 'Fifty-Four Tuns,' 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair.'"
"The Silver Prince and he were opposites in every way," Gendry said after a moment. "My maester told Daenerys and me stories of Prince Rhaegar. Born at Summerhall, he carried a sadness with him from the start. He loved music, loved Summerhall, loved to sleep beneath the stars in its ruined halls. He would play his silver-stringed harp and sing of dawn, of tears, of fallen kings."
"But he should never have placed that crown of roses on the northern wolf maid. He destroyed himself, destroyed my sister, destroyed Robert." The Red Viper let out a quiet sigh. "That was many years ago."
Gendry knew of that tourney—Harrenhal, the false spring. The past still lay wrapped in mist.
"If the gods hadn't played their tricks, I would have been the eldest son, and Doran the third. You've seen it yourself. I have a taste for blood. Truth be told, I wanted to fight in King's Landing. For more than a decade, I've thought of little else."
"You say that, but I think you would still obey Prince Doran."
"I have no choice." The Red Viper gave a bitter smile. "You know of that shameful defeat. Ten thousand Dornish warriors. Prince Lewyn."
Gendry knew the tale well. During the War of the Usurper, the Mad King had taken Princess Elia Martell as a hostage and compelled Prince Lewyn to lead ten thousand Dornishmen to join Rhaegar's host against Robert's rebels. The Dornish suffered grievous losses, and Prince Lewyn was slain.
"There will be a chance," Gendry said. "A chance to contend with the Lannisters. At least when it comes to Tywin, we share some common ground."
"That is all in the past. Now, at last, I see a glimmer of hope in you. I want only revenge for my sister and her children. First, I will kill that ox-brained Gregor Clegane. And if I can, I'll take the master of that vicious hound with him."
The Red Viper kicked his horse into a gallop.
"For now, let's deal with those Dothraki who reek of sheep."