It was only in the middle of the night when Sansa dared to have Shae check on her after being whipped by Joffrey.

"He is a monster!" Shae exclaimed when she saw the whip-marks on Sansa once she was in the relative safety of her own chambers. She had taken off Sansa's outermost dress and her corset to check her skin. The reddest ones were on the back of her neck, where it had not been protected by her clothing, but there were angry marks even on her back, despite the fact that she was clothed there. She frantically retrieved a healing salve that she'd gotten from the market in efforts to help them heal better, but Sansa winced and hissed whenever she applied it to her skin. "Does it hurt, my lady?"

Sansa shook her head silently, with a tear in her eye. She could not let anyone know that she was hurting. She could not let any sign of weakness show. "I can manage," she said, tempted to bite her sheets when Shae applied the salve to stop herself from being too loud.

There was a knock on the door, followed by a soft, male voice. "Lady Sansa, are you in there?" However, Sansa put her hand over Shae's, warning her not to respond. "Lady Sansa, this is Varys here. Forgive me, but I have to come in."

Varys was met with Shae and her dagger the moment he entered. "My dear, if I meant Lady Sansa any harm, you wouldn't even be standing here right now," he said, not moving a single inch until Shae dropped her dagger slowly. Instead, he pressed another salve into her hands. "This, I believe, would work better than any market-bought remedy. Lord Baelish uses this for his most... battered ladies at his little establishment." Still, Shae did not move. "I'll wait here until you're done tending to her."

However, Shae was resourceful enough to put a screen between Sansa and Varys so that she could at least do her work on Sansa while she could talk to Varys. "Lord Varys, what brings you here in this hour?" Sansa asked, trying to sound as she would normally, despite the stinging pain that she was feeling on her back.

"It would seem like the players of the game had changed, Lady Sansa," Varys replied. "Your brother was not supposed to take Casterly Rock, not with the fact that he had executed one of the most important northern lords himself. Have you ever wondered, how on earth did he gain 10000 new soldiers in the blink of an eye?"

"I'm a stupid little girl with traitor's blood, Lord Varys," Sansa replied. "I have no head for strategies."

"That may be," Varys replied, playing with Sansa's game. He saw her in court, he saw how her eyes worked. She looked as if she was the ice-clad mountains of her homeland. Still and cold, taking whatever beating the winds dealt her. The world and the King had forgotten that the ice-clad mountains were where avalanches occurred. "Your brother took Casterly Rock because he entered a dangerous alliance with an even more dangerous man. If the entire plan backfires, the worst is certainly not Tywin Lannister having a row of heads to cleave at the hand of Ser Gregor, his personal butcher."

Sansa did not understand what he had meant. "Why are you telling me this, Lord Varys?" she asked him.

"Because you are the center of your brother's new strategem, my dear," Varys said. "He will try to use his new ally to take you back. You must be all eyes and ears, Lady Sansa. If you survive this, you'll not only be free from King Joffrey and his predilections towards butchery, you'll be back with your family."

"D... don't you serve the Iron Throne?" she asked him.

"No, my dear, I serve the Realm," Varys answered. "And now, the Realm needs a strong woman like you away from King's Landing where you can flower into the person you should be. Do not worry, my lady, no one will know that I came here. This conversation never happened."

"Thank you, Lord Varys."

"No, thank you for your strength, Lady Sansa," Varys replied. "No one would have expected you to survive this long. But you did, and here we are now. I pray that you continue to live, no matter how hard it seems to be. Live on, my dear."

Sansa pretended not to understand his words. She did. She took them as encouragement. "Thank you, Lord Varys," she repeated and had Shae send Varys on his way. Yes, she would survive. She was a Stark of Winterfell, and she would weather this storm like her family had weathered harsher storms than the rest of Westeros has ever known.

"So, what do we do about Casterly Rock?" Tyrion asked Tywin during a Small Council meeting a few days after the wedding date for Joffrey and Margery's wedding date was decided. "Robb Stark seems to have a field day making himself at home."

"Actually, Lord Tyrion is right," Varys said. "My little birds told me that the Young Wolf is quite literally having a field... day. He and his men got busy planting as much food as they could side by side the smallfolk in their fields. Apparently, he told them that they'll grow their own food if there's not enough for them to buy. At this rate, they'll have radishes and lettuces in three weeks."

Pycelle furrowed his brow. "What a disgusting maneuver!" he exclaimed. "Does he think that merely showing that his heart is with the smallfolk..."

"Well, whatever he's doing, it seems to be working," Tywin interjected, throwing a bunch of opened letters towards the center of the table. "I received these this morning. The lords of the Westerlands have told me that they cannot afford to go against their own smallfolk, lest a repeat of last year's riots here start again. Robb Stark now sees himself as a champion of the people."

Psychological warfare. No one would have thought that Robb Stark would have such a hold in the art of war. But then again, it was not such a foreign concept to the Northern lords. It was always how they had ruled their lands. Ned Stark had always been the executioner when the laws of the North commanded it to be, and no doubt his son had learned from his example.

If Tywin Lannister was seething in rage, he did not show it. He was the man who had caused the extinction of two Houses in his youth. They still sang the "Rains of Castemere" in his honor. He was a cold, calculating man, and many feared him. They feared him because they cannot read him.

"Let him rot in the Rock," Tywin proclaimed. "As long as our forces can hold King's Landing, we can wait him out until he loses his patience and dares to try his luck. Let him gain control over the Westerlands. He will be so drunk with power that he would want more. He is a boy playing at war, and even the greatest warlords will fall as greatly as they rise."

However, Tyrion could detect that his father was not yet done with his words. "And this... just came," he said, almost slamming the newest letter onto the table. "It seems like Dorne wants a piece of the North as well."

Tyrion was the first one who grabbed the letter and read it over and over again, as fast as he could. "Prince Doran wants Lady Sansa as Prince Oberyn's bride... as a measure of goodwill?" he asked. "Whatever does Dorne want her for?"

"It would seem that they're still sore about the fact that it was Lady Lyanna Stark that caused Prince Rhaegar to abandon Princess Elia," Cersei said smugly. "Imagine, what... punishments they would have for Lady Lyanna's neice..."

"The Dornishmen are savages," Pycelle commented. "Prince Oberyn the chiefest of them all. An expert in poisons, he's killed more people than he has uh... brought to his bed... It won't be a happy marriage. Not when he's already fathered so many bastards."

Varys nodded. "Sand Snakes, they're called, after their father, the Red Viper. The three oldest ones are more menacing and deadly than the next, I heard."

"By marrying Sansa to Dorne, she will lose her claim to the North as Robb Stark's heir," Tywin said with a long breath. "At least, we will have one less thing to worry about after Theon Greyjoy killed their brothers Bran and Rickon." In all technicality, Dorne was not truly part of the Seven Kingdoms. They were ruled by a Prince or Princess, who was head of House Martell. If Sansa Stark was to be known as Princess Sansa Martell, then her status as heir to Winterfell would be nullified. It was the perfect plan.

"So, you'll put the poor girl into a pit of snakes instead," Tyrion concluded. "While you wait for the opportune moment to put her brother in his proper place."

There was a shadow of a smile on Tywin Lannister's lips. "Patience is the most important thing to have when you want to exact your revenge," he said. "As it happens, I'm a patient man."

"When would Sansa be told of her upcoming nuptials?" Cersei asked her father, definitely relishing the chance to tell her that she would be married to a monster.

"She won't be," Tywin replied. "They'll be married after the Dornish has settled down in King's Landing."

The Dornish party arrived in King's Landing just as Oberyn said they would, two and a half weeks since the day they rode out from Casterly Rock, meeting with the rest of the retinue from Dorne on the Roseroad. Oberyn left Obara and Nymeria at Casterly Rock with their ten thousand spearmen, who once again donned their guises as merchants selling lemons, pomegranates and oranges, the chief exports of Dorne.

"Ellaria and I will ride onwards to King's Landing," Oberyn told the lords in his retinue, one of them was Lord Harmon Uller, Ellaria's father. "I want to make sure what kinds of shit has been stirred there before we make our ... true entrance."

"Yes, my Prince," said one of the lords, while Ellaria bade her father a temporary farewell. "We have already sent word to Lord Baelish's pleasure house of your imminent arrival."

Oberyn chuckled. "You do know me well," he said. "I shall see you all soon then."

He and Ellaria rode in silence. They would arrive in the city before dawn, before anyone could see them coming. Pleasure houses do not sleep, so he was not worried about their readiness to receive him. A blond boy in about his twenties came to welcome them after they had dismounted at the stables, no doubt one of the majordomos that Littlefinger kept to run his business. "My lord, if there is anything I can..."

"Food, wine and our rooms first," Oberyn cut the boy off. "We've been riding all night."

The blond bowed his head and led them to a large room surrounded by windows, with a behemoth of a bed with ample pillows and blankets. Soundlessly, he and Ellaria crept into bed until they were woken up for their midnight meal and went back to sleep again.

When they woke, it was already past dawn and Oberyn made contact with certain little birds. Lord Varys was an infamous spymaster but no one ever knew his true allegiance, except for him and his brother. They shared the same goals ever since Robert Baratheon took the Iron Throne. It was not hard for him to work with Varys, although he knew so little about the man.

After they had their breakfast and some of the wine they brought with them poured, Oberyn had Littlefinger's majordomo, whose name was revealed to be Olyvar bring them a few girls. Three were selected, of different shapes and sizes. He circled the girls like vultures, sneakily touching them, sampling the feel of their skins, before landing on the tallest one.

"Look at this one," he said to Ellaria, "how lovely is she?"

Ellaria took notice of her long, golden hair that fell in perfect curls. "Beautiful," she responded as Oberyn inspected her further. "But... pale..."

"They like them pale in the capital," Oberyn explained as he removed the girl's dress, revealing her smooth, fair skin and small breasts. "It shows that they don't work the fields." However, the girl did not seem too receptive. "Do I frighten you?" he asked her. The girl merely shook her head. He shot a questioning look towards Ellaria. "You like?"

"Timid," Ellaria answered with a slight shake of her head. "Timid bores me."

So, Oberyn went towards the next one while the first put her dress back on. The girl was smiling wickedly already. "You're a bit of mischief, aren't you?" he asked her, and she chuckled slightly. "I think she likes you," he commented to Ellaria, removing her clothes as easily as he did the first.

"She has good taste," Ellaria replied, knowing that they have already found their mark.

Running his hand around the cheeks of her buttocks, he asked, "You're not timid, are you?" As a response to his question, the girl walked towards Ellaria and stretched her leg backwards to touch her head with her toes, causing Ellaria to let out a delighted chuckle. "Do you like women?"

"Only when they look like her, my lord," the girl replied as Ellaria caressed the tip of her nipple with the tip of her finger.

"This one will do nicely," Ellaria added, slowly drinking in the girl's curves and noting that they had chosen the one with the reddest hair among the three while Oberyn kissed her shoulder.

"Very good, my lady," Olyvar said, but was immediately corrected by Ellaria.

"Oh, I'm not a lady," she said, matter-of-factly, as it it was the plainest thing in the world to say.

"A... term of courtesy in this establishment," Olyvar offered.

"A lie, anywhere," she returned. "Why not use use the right words? I'm a bastard, she's a whore... and you're a what? A procurer?"

Olyvar decided to let the matter rest. The customer was always right. "Any of the others?" he inquired. Ellaria pouted and merely flicked her head, and Oberyn understood her meaning.

"The two girls can leave," he told Olyvar, and as the rest of the girls made to exit the room, he added, "you'll stay."

Olyvar, however, seemed surprised. "I'm afraid I'm not on offer, my lord," he said.

"Everyone who works for Littlefinger is on offer," Oberyn rebuked as he poured himself some more wine. "Take off your clothes, we'll be here awhile." By then, Ellaria and their girl had already started the festivities.

"My lord," Olyvar protested. No, he merely tried to protest. It was a half-hearted attempt at best.

"I am a Prince, boy," Oberyn insisted. "Have you ever been with a Prince?"

Somehow, those words made him relent. His tight, formal expression loosened into a smile that Oberyn knew had always existed. "Can't say I have," he returned as Oberyn approached him, prowling like a sleek tiger. "I'm wildly expensive," he replied, but Oberyn did not even budge.

"Take off your clothes."

There was no reason for him not to obey. As he threw off his robes with a little help from the Dornish Prince, he asked, "Which way do you like it?"

The only response Oberyn gave was a quick, hard grasp on Olyvar's crotch. "My way," Oberyn almost growled. He would have taken it a step further, if fleeting voices singing an ill-loved song wafted through the various doorways of the establishment. The song soon got so loud that even Ellaria could hear it.

"Oberyn..." she pleaded, but her words fell on deaf ears. Oberyn was already out of their room by the time she got off the bed.

The voices came from the adjacent room, where two Lannister men with two girls on each of their laps were singing. He could tell that they were Lannisters because of their golden hair and their light-colored eyes.

"You lost, friend?" one of them asked him.

"Forgive me for staring, but I don't see many Lannisters where I'm from," Oberyn answered. With every second he looked at them, he wanted to skin them alive, even if he did kill more than a handful of them at Casterly Rock.

"I don't see many Dornishmen in the capital," the first Lannister returned. It was a rather neutral answer, containing neither barb or ill-intent.

"We don't like the smell," Oberyn added, almost as if it was a joke. He was stopped by Ellaria, who grasped his forearm rather tightly. She made to pull him back to their room, but he did not budge.

"Come with me, lover," she cooed, but the second Lannister man had something to add.

"Gods, look at this one!" the fool exclaimed, ignoring Olyvar's suggestion for them to be moved to a private room. "Why are you wasting a woman like this on a Dornishman? Bring him a shaved goat and a bottle of olive oil!"

Even Ellaria seemed appalled at this jape, but not because of her nor Oberyn. This man surely did not know who he was dealing with and had not the brains to exercise caution. He even had the audacity to laugh at his own joke.

"Do you know why all the world hates a Lannister?" Oberyn asked him. He walked closer to them and watched them as they stood up from their chairs and their girls fleeing the room. "You think that your gold and your lions and your... gold lions make your better than everyone." The two Lannisters did not respond further, only looking at him, trying to anticipate his next move. "May I tell you a secret? You're not a golden lion, you're just a pink little man who's far too slow on the draw."

It was a contest to see who would reach their weapon first, and the moment the second Lannister had his hand on the hilt of his sword, Oberyn had stabbed his wrist with his dagger, causing him to cry out in agony.

"The longsword is a bad option in close quarters," Oberyn explained, teaching both of them a lesson. He turned towards the first Lannister and said, "When I pull my blade, your friend starts bleeding quite a lot I'm afraid... So many veins in the wrist." As he spoke, he twiched his dagger ever so slightly, increasing the second Lannister's agony exponentially. "He'll live if you get him help straightaway... so... decisions..."

Luckily for the two of them, they were interrupted by another Lannister. This time, one that was far shorter than any one of them. "Prince Oberyn, forgive the intrusion, we heard that there might be..." Without warning, Oberyn pulled his dagger from the second Lannister's wrist, causing Tyrion Lannister to come to a pause. "Trouble..."

He did not bother to watch the two fools exit the pleasure house, but drew Ellaria into his arms. "Apologies, my love," he offered as she kissed him fervently, completely ignoring Tyrion and the man beside him.

Undaunted, Tyrion continued, "I'm here to welcome you to the capital..."

Finally, it was Ellaria that decided that they were supposed to stop. Sighing at the tedium of the need of courtesy, Oberyn introduced Ellaria first. "Ellaria Sand, my paramour" he told the two newcomers, and two Ellaria, he gestured graciously, "The King's own uncle Imp, Tyrion Lannister, son of Tywin."

"If there's anything I can do to make your stay in King's Landing-"

"And what are you?" Oberyn asked the man next to Tyrion. "His hired killer?"

The man smiled rather widely and said, "It started that way, aye. And now I'm a knight."

He could see that they made strange partners, those two. They must have weathered many tribulations together. "How did that come to pass?" he asked further.

The knight shrugged. "I killed the right people, I suppose."

His answer was so amusing that Oberyn could not help but laugh, with the other two awkwardly joining in. "We'll need a few more girls," he suggested. "Girls, yes?" Strangely enough, Tyrion shook his head while his knight nodded. It was a rather hilarious sight. "You don't partake?" he asked Tyrion.

"I've a lot to do, I can't," he replied. "Prince Oberyn... might I have a word with you in private?" Immediately, Ellaria plucked herself away from Oberyn's arms and started to move back towards their room. Once she had left, both Tyrion and Oberyn walked outside the pleasure house.

"Seems like I visited the Lannister brothel by mistake," Oberyn commented.

"Oh, they take all kinds," Tyrion replied. It was a truthful observation. Littlefinger's pleasure house provided for any kind of desire at the right price.

"Even Dornishmen," Oberyn said in an undertone, but Tyrion was careful not to respond to that in any way.

"The King is very grateful that you traveled all this way for his wedding-"

"Let's speak truth here, Joffrey is insulted, I am only the second son, after all." Even if Doran could travel so far from Dorne, they would not risk the head of their Prince. Oberyn, who was just as capable as Doran in every way, was the only alternative.

"Well, speaking as a fellow second son, I've grown rather used to being the family insult," Tyrion said, trying hard to keep up with Oberyn's long, confidant strides. "Why did you come to King's Landing, Prince Oberyn?"

"I was invited to the royal wedding!" Oberyn exclaimed rather innocently. It was, of course, the perfect cover. Tyrion might not have known the precise reasons as to why he was in King's Landing, but Oberyn suspected that he would have some inkling of it.

"I thought we were speaking truth."

Oberyn relented. Somewhat. "The last time I was here was many years ago. Another wedding. My sister, Elia and Prince Rhaegar Targaryen, the Last Dragon." They paused as two Goldcloaks passed them by, and he continued when they left. "My sister loved him. She bore his children, swaddled them, rocked them and fed them at her own breast. She wouldn't let the wet-nurse touch them. Then beautiful, noble Rhaegar Targaryen left her for another woman... That started a war, and the war ended right here, when your father's armies took the city."

Tyrion knew what Oberyn was insinuating. "I wasn't actually..."

"They butchered those children," Oberyn continued, cutting Tyrion off. "My nephew and niece. Carved them up and wrapped them in Lannister cloaks. And did you know what they did to my sister?"

Tyrion did not answer. He could not answer. "I've heard rumors," he said when Oberyn demanded an answer.

"So have I," Oberyn returned, looking up towards the sky. "The one I keep hearing is that Ser Gregor Clegane, the Mountain, raped Elia and split her in half with his greatsword." Tyrion tried to worm his way out of the conversation by repeating that he wasn't there. "If the Mountain killed my sister, your father gave the order..." He despised Tywin Lannister with the very essence of his being. "Tell your father I'm here," he challenged Tyrion. "And tell him that the Lannisters aren't the only one who pay their debts."

Oberyn walked calmly back into the pleasure house, where Ellaria was waiting for him. The first part of his mission, which was to secure an alliance with the Young Wolf as already a success. All he needed to do was to marry his sister, Sansa, to free her from Lannister tyranny and to avenge his sister. He hoped that the latter two parts would fall into place as easily as the first.

HAN: Hello there! Finally, things are shaking up at King's Landing!

I hope that you don't find it strange that Tywin Lannister would give Sansa up so easily. I adapted the same reasoning for Sansa to be married off to Dorne from Silberias, because it was the only plausible reason why Tywin would just surrender her to Dorne.

I also hope that you enjoyed Oberyn's little exposition for the denizens of Kings' Landing.