”Oberyn Nymeros Martell… How many Dornishmen does it take to start a war?”
”When he was no more than sixteen, Prince Oberyn had been found abed with the paramour of old Lord Yronwood, a huge man of fierce repute and short temper. A duel ensued, though in view of the prince’s youth and high birth, it was only to first blood. Both men took cuts, and honor was satisfied. Yet prince Oberyn soon recovered, while Lord Yronwood’s wounds festered and killed him. Afterward men whispered that Oberyn had fought with a poisoned sword, and ever there after friends and foes alike called him the Red Viper.”
”The boy of sixteen was a man past forty now, and his legend had grown a deal darker. He had traveled in the Free Cities, learning the poisoner’s and perhaps arts darker still, if rumors could be believed.”
”He had studied at the Citadel, going so far as to forge six links of a maester’s chain before he grew bored.”
”He had soldiered in the Disputed Lands across the narrow sea, riding with the Second Sons for a time before forming his own (mercenary) company.”
”His tourneys, his battles, his duels, his horses, his carnality… it was said that he bedded men and women both, and had begotten bastard girls all over Dorne. The sand snakes, men called his daughters.”
”And of course, he crippled the heir to Highgarden…”
”A wrong word, an Ill-timed jest, a look, thats all it will take, and our noble allies will be at one another’s throats”
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