"I envy you, Sansa," Margery told Sansa on the morning of her wedding. Sansa was there to wish her friend well and help her with the final preparations of being a bride, waking up just before dawn. "You're a Dornish Princess now, free as the wind and I'm to be Queen, forever bound to the Red Keep.

"I'm still going to be here, you know," Sansa replied as she combed out Margary's hair before her maids would style it. She was to wear her hair up, with a crown made just for her. It was a beautiful piece made by the best craftsmen in King's Landing, one of the Tyrell rose intertwining with Baratheon antlers. "Oberyn has a seat on the Small Council. I don't think he's leaving anytime soon."

Margery smiled and held Sansa's hands in hers. "Then at least I'll still have a friend here," she said. "And perhaps you and Ellaria can show me what it means to be in bed with royalty." Her eyebrows wiggled suggestively, and in all honesty, Sansa only realized her meaning after a while and she still blushed. "Sansa, you've been married for a few weeks, surely you must have been used to it by now." In all truth, Sansa did not know what to tell Margery. She was wedded, but not bedded, however, she did experience... other things that most women had not experienced in their marriage beds before, like being caught between her husband and his paramour.

"It takes... a lot of getting used to with Oberyn," Sansa concluded. Now, that was the truth. There was a faint blush on her face, and Margery immediately caught her meaning. Actually, Margery looked even more beautiful with her lips upturned slightly, it as almost as if she was pouting, but not quite yet. Sansa knew from experience that when Margery had such a face on, she was in her most cunning. She was planning something in her pretty little head, Sansa was sure of it.

"Come now, sweet girl, I need details," Margery said when Sansa took a seat opposite her. "You are the wife of the infamous Red Viper of Dorne. How is he like in bed?" Upon her first instinct, Sansa was reluctant to say anything. She did not retreat into herself as she did when the Tyrells first invited her to tea to learn more about Joffrey, so Margery took it as a sign that she was not ill-treated.

Sansa gulped. She knew that she would not be able to resist Margery's pleading, so she did not even bother to. "He... is gentle and gallant," she said, not even daring to meet her friend's eyes. "Just like the princes in songs and stories." That part was the truth though. She had only known Oberyn to be a sweet and gentle husband.

"No, sily," Margery gigged. "Does he have you and Ellaria one after the other or does he have the two of you at once?" Sansa went slack-jawed at Margery's question. In fact, she went utterly stiff just thinking about that moment when they each tried to seduce her. "Well?"

"They..."

"They?" Margery tittered. "Gods, Sansa, you're such a lucky woman!"

Thankfully, Margery's grandmother came into the chambers before Margery could press Sansa for more. "Oh, look at you, Margery, you can't find a more beautiful bride!" she exclaimed, giving her granddaughter a great hug. She even hugged Sansa too, saying, "And you, Princess Sansa, how nice of you to accompany Margery this morning."

Sansa smiled. "Margery's been so kind to me, I just had to see if there's anything I could help with," she said, despite still unused to being called "Princess". She often forgot that she was now a Dornish princess. It was a crutch for her, that new title of hers. For whatever reason, it made her stand a little straighter and hold her head a little higher. By then, Margery had retreated behind a screen so that her maids could help her into her wedding gown, which was another work of art in and of itself.

Margery emerged more than just Margery, she looked every bit a Queen. The gown had train of roses at the back and silver thorns that graced her smooth, shapely back where her skin was bared, roaming throughout the bodice in the front. The color of it was one that was carefully selected, a particular shade of light green that danced dangerously into being blue. The fabric was soft and light, and Sansa could not help but wonder if the abundance of thorns on the gown was a metaphor for anything that was to come.

"Marvelous," Olenna said, instantly approving of Margery's look. "We women must always remember that these fine clothes we wear, how we do our hair and what jewelry we adorn ourselves with, they are our armor as men wear steel upon the battlefield. They fight in battles that are tangible, but we, we fight differently." Sansa listened intently as Olenna passed down this bit of wisdom to both she and Margery. Her mother had told her that courtesy was a lady's armor, words that had saved her in King's Landing countless times, but she realized that Olenna's words also rang true. "Let those stupid lumps hack and slash on their horses. When they realize that it takes much more than the strength of their arms to ensure the survival of the entire family, they will lay themselves at your feet."

"Thank you, grandmother," Margery said, carefully noting that there was a slight softening of her grandmother's expression. "I'll always remember that."

Olenna nodded. "Oh, I won't doubt it at all," she replied. But then, she looked at Sansa and exclaimed, "Goodness, we've kept you in here for far too long, Princess Sansa! Shouldn't you hurry along and get yourself ready as well?"

Sansa smiled and nodded. "I'll take my leave then," she said and left the Trell women after giving them quick hugs and kisses on their cheeks.

"You can take a Wolf out of the North, but you can't take the North out of the Wolf, it seems," Olenna commented to Margery. "Your little friend is doing very well for herself since wedding into Dorne, don't you think?"

"They seem to love her," Margery said blankly. Sansa was far luckier than her now. She had an adoring husband that came with a lovely paramour, a bastard who was actually every inch of a highborn lady given utter freedom due to her station. While she? She was going to marry the beast that Sansa had so narrowly escaped. If her grandmother's spies were to be trusted, Joffrey had taken a penchant of killing the whores that had been offered to him. The last one was tied to one of his bedposts after he had finished with her and was fired at with his crossbrow multiple times. There were bolts on her head, breasts and abdomen. Olenna had asked her to strap a concealed knife to her thighs underneath her skirts at all time after that episode.

"Of course they do," Olenna replied. "She's a beautiful girl. The Dornish love sad, beautiful girls most of all, the men and the women, mind. They think that they're going to free those poor creatures from a cage. This... alliance that the Martells and the Starks promised one another might not bring the results that they all want, I fear. So many of their goals depend on the success of other variables. They might as well throw themselves into the wind and see where in which direction it blows them to."

No, the Tyrells were not fools like the Wolves and the Vipers were. They were firmly rooted to the ground. They would grow strong, just as their family words said. That way, the wind might howl in their faces, but they would only bend. They would not break.

Every inch of the capital was decorated. How the smallfolk cheered for their new Queen as she had walked into the Great Sept of Baelor in her wedding finery. They loved her. They loved her for giving bread to the orphans, for visiting the markets with her maids to speak to the struggling merchants. They loved her because they saw her to be one of the rare, charitable noblewomen, because they believed that she had their interests in her heart.

How those in attendance of the ceremony cheered when Joffrey announced, "Let it be known that Margaery of House Tyrell and Joffrey of the Houses Lannister and Baratheon are one heart, one flesh, one soul!" It seemed as if all of King's Landing had forgotten that they were still in a war. "Cursed be he who would seek to tear them asunder!"

Although it was the wedding of her close friend, Sansa could not help but to feel a tinge of sadness. She prayed to whatever Gods existed that what she suffered at Joffrey's hands would not pass to Margery. "We have a new Queen now," she muttered to both Ellaria and Oberyn when Joffrey kissed his bride.

Ellaria squeezed her hand in hers. "Better her than you, my love," she whispered, while Oberyn silently pressed a kiss to her shoulder. Having her husband and Ellaria by her side only made it clear that she could have been the one in Margery's place. If her brother had not consented to a Dornish alliance, she might not have been there, but she would still have to live under the yoke of the King even though Margery was there. A thousand thoughts swam through her head, and it was Ellaria's hand that made her realize that she was a little further away from the spiked caged that once held her.

The royal reception was an utter extravagance. It was a show, a farce as anything in King's Landing had been. Wine flowed freely, food was abundant and there was laughter. This was not King's Landing. This was an oasis of laughter and joy made real by Lannister and Tyrell gold. It was a fleeting moment that served nothing more to express the power of these two families that would be joined, a moment used to buy the joy of the people.

To keep up with the farce, Ellaria and Sansa took a quick change of clothes before they rejoined the wedding festivities. Ellaria had worn a daringly low-necked gown in the particular shade of yellow mixed with orange that mirrored Oberyn's suit that plunged down to her navel, revealing the gold-embroidered breast-wraps she wore with the gown. The many-tiered necklace she usually wore along with the leather cuffs she wore on her biceps were gone, and instead she wore a billowing cape with embellished shoulder-caps. Sansa, on the other hand, wore another coral gown that had a long, tight sleeve on one arm but bared the other, the skirts long and flowing like that of Ellaria's. They had spent an entire afternoon designing this dress, Sansa and Ellaria, in the company of a famous seamstress that traveled between the southern reaches of Westeros. She wore coral because Oberyn and Ellaria deemed her too fair to carry the Martell color as of yet. Her skin had too many pink tones in them that would make her sickly in too much yellow, they deemed.

"We will have you looking like a true Dornish princess when the sun has turned you golden," Oberyn whispered in her ear after he and Ellaria had schooled her on the fine art of mastering colors for one's wardrobe.

The three of them all walked hand in hand, Oberyn between the two women. No doubt, the rest of the nobles that looked upon them would whisper and gossip, but since the other two showed no care or concern as to what they were talking about, Sansa paid little heed to them as well. They then chanced upon a rather skilled contortionist. "Hello," Oberyn said, which was less a greeting than it was an exclamation of intrigue. The contortionist had bent so far backwards that her head was directly beneath her knees.

"Oh, hello," came a disembodied voice in reply. It was a male voice and surely did not belong to the contortionist. It was Tyrion Lannister.

"Not you," Oberyn dismissed him, and strangely, the Imp did not respond with a barb at all. He must have had a lot on his mind for whatever reason.
Before long, the three of them where ushered into the area where the food had already been served. It was said that 77 courses of food would be served, and Sansa tried hard not to dismiss the extravagance for folly. She had seen the joy and the elation of the smallfolk, and then realized that the Lannisters and the Tyrells were not buying into an alliance with one another. They were buying a distraction for the smallfolk. Weddings, especially royal weddings were a time when they were given a holiday, where they would come to see the city in all its splendor, forgetting the dire straits they were in for at least a day.

"Sansa, you really must do something about your husband," Ellaria giggled, causing Sansa to snap out of her thoughts. Immediately, Sansa trailed her eyes towards Oberyn and found that he was smiling in a rather cheeky manner. Actually, he was not merely smiling cheekily. He was looking right towards Ser Loras Tyrell, who stood next to a ridiculous statue of a lion. Oberyn had the audacity to give the Knight of Flowers a playful, suggestive wink even as he had Ellaria on his lap and Sansa's hand on his chest. It was a gesture that Loras had no doubt appreciated.

"My husband is a greedy man, Ellaria," Sansa replied. "We can only hope for another to rein him in since you and I are clearly not enough for him."

"And who would that be?" Oberyn asked her, tipping her chin. "Pray, tell me, my lovely wife." She pondered for a moment, but he gave her no chance. His lips were already upon hers before she was able to think of a smart remark to speak against him with. Sighing lightly, she knew that she would always lose to him in any verbal sparring if she continued to be influenced by anything that he was doing.

They were brought back to the present by Ellaria, who gestured that they had company. The newcomer was a tall woman. Fair of skin and hair, her eyes blue like sapphires. "Princess Sansa, Prince Oberyn, I am Brienne of Tarth," she introduced herself, following a quick nod to Ellaria. "I was in the service of your lady mother, Princess. She tasked me to return Jaime Lannister to King's Landing in exchange for you and your sister... but it seems that plans changed along the way."

Oberyn had heard much of Brienne of Tarth. She was the one who was rumored to have killed King Renly Baratheon, but swore that she did not do so, and blamed Stannis Baratheon for Renly's death instead. Before the death of Renly, she was part of his Kingsguard, the only woman to have ever received such an honor, rebel king or no.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Brienne," Sansa greeted. "Would you like to sit with us?" Anyone who was in the service of her mother was welcome, particularly when the lions were now prowling around her.

"Oh, no, I can't possibly..."

"Lady Brienne, you must," Oberyn insisted. "I think I should take Ellaria for a walk," he annoucned, clearly leaving to give the two of them some privacy. It was a rare opportunity to have her mother's sworn sword by her side. He left Sansa with a kiss on her cheek and proceeded to openly display Ellaria to the rest of the nobles in King's Landing.

"Lady Catelyn will be overjoyed to see you so happily married, Princess Sansa," Brienne told Sansa as Oberyn and Ellaria left. "She did worry about your safety here for many nights."

Sansa nodded. "Thank you," she said to Brienne. "Although... I don't know what you should tell my mother if you should return to her service." For returning Jaime Lannister to King's Landing Brienne surely had certain immunities granted to her by her former captive, who was now reinstated as the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard. However, Sansa doubted if she could return to her mother so freely.

"My duties are with you now, Princess," Brienne said steadfastly. "If... you would have me. I offer my services to you as your personal bodyguard."

Knowing that Oberyn would certainly not object to having a layer of protection around her, she consented. "Alright, you shall be my bodyguard, Lady Brienne," Sansa proclaimed. "I thank you for your service, under the condition that you would extend your protection to Ellaria as well." She believed that there was no longer any need to properly define her relation to the older woman to Brienne, since she had already seen their... dynmaics.

"It would be an honor, Princess," Brienne replied with a bow. "Your mother would be greatly relieved with this arrangment, I believe." Sansa could not help but to smile a little. "I hope you're right," she said. By then Oberyn and Ellaria had already returned and the King had called for some entertainment of his own. None of them bothered to watch any of it, a troupe of hired dwarf-actors depicting each of the Five Kings in the war.

Oberyn had agreed to the arrangement that Sansa and Brienne had made, while Ellaria thanked Sansa for her graciousness despite her insistence that Oberyn was enough protection for her. "You are too generous, my love," Ellaria told Sansa. "Although... I hope that we do not frighten Lady Brienne too much as the days grow long."

Sansa knew what Ellaria had meant. Gods, she was no better than Oberyn. But then again, it was probably the reason why they were together for so long.

"I have seen a shadow wrought by Stannis' Shadowbinder from Asshai, L... Ellaria," Brienne clarified, fumbling on what to properly address Ellaria with. "I do not believe that I can be so easily frightened..."

Ellaria only smirked and slinked an arm sensually on Sansa's shoulder in the most unsubtle way. "We shall see about that, Lady Brienne."

For whatever reason, no one spoke after that. Sansa had half expected for Brienne to say something back to Ellaria, but even Ellaria's eyes were trained towards the main table where the Lannisters and Tyrells had sat.

There Joffrey was, with a plate of pie in one hand, clutching at his neck with the other. His usually pale complexion was changing into a dreadful shade of purple.

"He's choking!" Margery shouted.

"Someone help the poor boy!" Olenna Tyrell cried. "Idiots, see to your king!"

"You don't have to see this," Oberyn told Sansa, drawing her into his arms, clearly knowing what was transpiring.

However, for the first time, Sansa resisted entering his embrace. "No," she said, gently, but Oberyn could see the vehemence in her eyes. "I will watch every moment of this." Watch Sansa did, commiting everything into her memory.

She saw Cersei frantically crying for help, cradling Joffrey as he laid choking in her arms after vomiting everything he just ate out. Jaime Lannister just barely getting to their side to give any aid he could. He failed. By the time he reached Joffrey, he was already dead.

In the bright afternoon sun, Sansa saw her father's killer die in the most horrible way imaginable. His eyes had turned blood-red and his throat utterly purple. Blood trickled from every orifice that he had, and no matter how hard Cersei Lannister had shouted and screamed, no help came.

She had waited so long for this day to come, for Joffrey to be struck down by whoever was capable of doing it, or by whatever miracle. She had thought that she would be so overjoyed that her heart would burst. Instead, all she felt was cold goosebumps all over her body, and cold within her heart.

There was no feeling of vindication. No hatred. No joy.

There was only pity. She pitied him for having to die in such indignity on his own wedding day, and she pitied herself and Robb because they did not have a hand in this.

HAN: Here it is, the moment which everyone is waiting for! Joffrey is finally dead, woohoo!

Once again, I'd like to point out that the Tyrells really don't care who is currently in power, they just want some of it for themselves. If Robb wanted the Iron Throne, I'm sure that Olenna would have thrown Margery towards him despite Talisa's presence, which is why Margery and Sansa are still besties despite the fact that Dorne is secretly allied with the North.

If you miss Robb and the Northern gang, I'm sorry, but there's almost nothing to write about them. I will think of something soon, don't worry.

Brienne actually gets to Sansa here HAH HAH HAH.

Enjoy!