"You can't go anywhere today," Shae told Sansa. "Lord Varys might have given you some good stuff, but it wouldn't do for you to have your back smothered by clothes before they fully heal." She knew from experience that some ones could not be covered, lest they would fester. The whip-marks on her deeper than the rest and even as she applied a fresh layer of it, Sansa still winced and grimaced in pain. They thought that the marks had been healing, but it seemed that they had gotten worse.
Knowing that Shae was probably, right, she relented. "I... guess I don't have anything to do today," she said, and decided to take her corset off as well. It was a welcome change, to be able to remain in her own room, to be far, far away from prying eyes, preying ones and most importantly, ones that always held her with pity. It would be good for her not to be in their company, at least for a day.
"You should send for a healer to look at this, my lady," Shae said, sitting next to Sansa on her bed. "What if it gets worse?"
No, Sansa did not want to see Maester Pycelle. He was notorious for being a Lannister spy. She did not want to have anything to do with him. "I... I think I can manage," she said firmly, reaching towards her back to touch her wounds. It wasn't good, they were slick, but when she checked the finger she touched them with, there wasn't any pus.
A few polite knocks on her door then interrupted them. "Lady Sansa, it's me, Tyrion," said the voice from outside the door. Sansa and Shae exchanged looks and Sansa decided to let Tyrion in. Just like when she admitted Varys into her chambers, she had Shae put up a screen so that Tyrion could not see her with her weeping whip-marks. "Lady Sansa... I'm here to escort you to the Tower of the Hand to see my father."
Sansa regretted that she could not contain her shock at that moment. "Wh... what does the Lord Hand want with me?" she asked, her voice starting to tremble.
"Well, it's about your future, my dear," Tyrion replied, noting that Shae practically vaulted to Sansa's side to help her get dressed. They had chosen one of Sansa's newest acquisitions, a dress with an almost sheer, gauze-like back with embroidered flowers. It was made in the style of the gowns worn by the ladies from Highgarden, a gift from Lady Margery Tyrell, no doubt, modified to suit her Northern sensibilities. Shae hastily combed and braided her hair simply and they were out the door in twenty minutes.
She was walking so stiffly, every step she took measured and calculated, as though maintain an economy as to not over-exerting herself. Even at her lowest in King's Landing, she did not struggle to walk. Taking advantage of his lack of height, he took a discreet step backwards and could see that the flowers on her back seemed to have angry, red leaves. Upon a closer look, he realized that those were not leaves at all. They were marks left by Joffey's whip.
But... the last time Joffrey did that was about three weeks ago, just after her brother took Casterly Rock...
If Tyrion had paled in anticipation for what was going to come, he was sure that she did not see his expression change. He was sure that a certain someone would not like to see his betrothed to be so clearly in pain. He only hoped that all would be well.
Cersei was already waiting for them at the door when they arrived at his father's tower. "Ah, here you are, little dove," Cersei called out to Sansa as sweetly as she used to when they first met in Winterfell. "How are you keeping, my dear? I've not seen you in a long time, I must say."
Ever since Robb Stark's triumph, Sansa had made it her sole occupation to avoid anyone who was involved with their family. She hid in the gardens with the Tyrells, or in the Godswood alone. If she couldn't hide in the open, she would hide in her own chambers. "I am well, Your Grace, thank you," Sansa replied graciously, immediately losing her pained expression. Tyrion could not imagine how she had made such a change possible. Sansa was an even better actress than Cersei was.
"That's good," Cersei said, taking Sansa's arm in hers as they entered her father's office. "We have a very big surprise for you, little dove. You're to be a bride soon."
A... bride?
Sansa wanted to believe that Cersei said. A few months ago, the Tyrells plotted to have her marry Ser Loras, but for whatever reason, the plan did not fall through. She had thought that she would have found escape with the Tyrells, even if Loras did prefer the company of men (she was not so naive that she was ignorant of that fact), so much so that she missed the opportunity to leave King's Landing on Littlefinger's ship. She knew, deep down in her gut, she knew that if Cersei had looked so smug it would not turn out well for her.
As they walked further into Lord Tywin's office, she could see that there were a number of men next to him, clad in rich yellows and bronze accents. They wore their robes opened to reveal a sliver of their chests and spoke in an accent that she had never heard of before, at least not until now. Cersei tried hard not to chuckle when they stopped next to one of them, who was standing at the foot of the table, directly opposite Lord Tywin.
"My lord," Sansa greeted politely, and Tywin nodded his head, acknowledging her greeting.
"Lady Sansa, I'd like you to meet Prince Oberyn Martell of Dorne," Tywin said, gesturing towards the man right next to her. At his words, the prince in question tipped his head slightly towards her and kissed the knuckles of her hand. She could see that he was far older than she was, yet, had a certain... charm about him. His eyes were as dark as his hair was, his jaw, squarish but chiseled, lined with a dark, short beard from end to end. "He is to be your husband."
Sansa's eyes widened and her gaze flew back towards Tywin. "My lord?" she asked, almost in shock, forgetting that Oberyn was still holding her hand.
"You are the ward of the Iron Throne, Lady Sansa," Tywin said. "In the absence of your Lord father, and with your brother's rebellion, we are your legal guardians now. You will marry who we want you to marry. You will marry Prince Oberyn and place another layer of security between the capital and Sunspear as my granddaughter Myrcella is currently doing." His words were piercing, and merciless. "I'll admit that when you take the name of Martell, your rights to inherit Winterfell and all of its holdings if your brother Robb falls in war will be nullified."
It took Sansa an incredible amount of self-control not to break down in front of Tywin Lannister. This was a first time that she had heard that her two younger brothers were killed, and she heard it at the same time when she knew that she was to marry a Dornish prince. What did Tywin want her to do? Become a clown that cried and laughed when he wanted to? "Ho... how, my lord?" she was barely able to ask.
"Theon Greyjoy turned on Winterfell and sacked it in his father's name," Tywin explained curtly. "Your brothers, Bran and Rickon were apparently burned to death. This makes you the heir to Winterfell, for however short a time it will be."
Sansa could feel Oberyn rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb, a sign of comfort. His hand was warm, she could give him that. It stopped her from immediately trembling, and she was grateful for it. "When will I be married, my lord?" she asked, still looking directly at Tywin.
"A week from now, Lady Sansa, in this very capital," Tywin answered. "You are luckier than most women in this age, Lady Sansa. Most brides never get to see their husbands before they wed."
The first thing that Oberyn noticed about Robb's beloved sister was that she was nothing like everyone described her to be. Her family told him that she was a fanciful girl, light-hearted and eager to smile. He saw a sombre little thing pained by abuse and torment. The Lannisters told him that she was nothing but a foolish girl, but by the way she stared Tywin Lannister down with those doe-like blue eyes of hers, she proved to be everything but.
They thought that he would not notice. They thought that he would not realize that the reddish-purplish leaves on the back of her dress was no embroidery from Highgarden, but lash marks from a whip. They had beaten the girl and not given her proper care. The gauze-like material the color of her skin on the back of her dress yellowed where it touched her weeping wounds. Their insolence knew no bounds. Their cruelty no limits.
His hand almost flew to his dagger when Tywin told Sansa that she was now the heir to Winterfell now that her two younger brothers were dead. He had the audacity to even add that her claim to Winterfell would be gone when she would be a Dornish princess. It was a lie that Tywin had wanted so badly to sell to the rest of the world. Perhaps, in this respect that she was lucky that the Lannisters had not detected their deception yet.
Still, when surrounded by scheming, prowling lions, Sansa stood tall. Granted, she was physically tall, but she never let a hint of weakness show through. It was an extraordinary, but heartbreaking thing to see it in someone so young and so beautiful. She was an interesting girl, indeed, and he could only marvel at her. When they were dismissed by the Lord Hand, Oberyn decided to take matters into his own hands.
"Might I walk with you, my lady?" he asked her.
He could see that she tried to force a smile. "Yes, my lord," she almost squeaked once they were out of Tywin's office. She was still wearing her mask of submission, the mask that veiled many more things. He took her in his arm until they reached the Godswood of the Red Keep. She was a Northerner, no doubt she would find peace with a weirwood tree close by.
"Lady Sansa, your brother and mother are well," he told her, knowing that the crashing of the waves beneath them would not carry their voices far. "But their hearts would break when they see what the Lannisters have done to you."
This time, her mask fell. Shattered into pieces as a silent tear surfaced in her left eye first, followed by the right. For whatever reason, she could no longer hold it together. If he was the man the Lannisters deemed would take her far, far away from her home, then she would not care if he could tell them anything if they could not reach him as well. "You've seen them, my lord?" she asked him. "Where... how?"
"I fought by King Robb's side when he took Casterly Rock, princess," he whispered into her ear. Princess... no one ever called her princess before. "You are a Stark of Winterfell, Princess Sansa. Your brother is the King in the North. You are a Princess in every sense of the word." He had spoken the truth, and when she married him, she would be a princess twice over.
"How are they?" she asked him.
"They are well," Oberyn answered. "Your brother married a Volantene noblewoman by the name of Talisa Maegyr. His Queen is beautiful as she is wise." He made sure not to touch her back for fear of hurting her any further. "Your mother is hale and healthy." It was only then when Sansa actually understood what had transpired between Dorne and her brother. Then and there she told herself if marrying Oberyn would give her the freedom to live King's Landing and all its dark memories that it gave her, then she would gladly do it. Whatever his aims for the throne was, for coming to King's Landing, she would need to borrow his strength.
Knowing that there was no one else to see them, she buried herself in his chest, fisting a handful of his silken robes as he held her by her waist towards him. It was the first time she ever came so close to a man. She had dreamed of being held like this thousands of times before, but not in this... situation. "Who did this to you?" he asked her. "A lady as you should not have known such cruelty..." It was not poison that caused her lash marks to weep. It was a lack of care.
"Joffrey did it," she answered. "He thought to punish me for Robb's victories."
Oberyn clenched his fists. That boy-king had gone too far. "Did he beat you, often?" he asked her.
"Yes," Sansa answered, her words almost failing her. No, she was not about to cry. She had gone past that. She could no longer care less why she was to be beaten. She no longer wished for Joffrey to stop.
"You will see no such cruelty from me," Oberyn said, holding her hand tight in his. "Sansa, I will never hurt you. I promise."
"Is it because you're now allies with Robb?" she asked. She was no fool. She knew how political marriages worked. Even when she had first come to King's Landing, when she thought herself to be the future queen of Westeros, she knew that her betrothal to Joffrey was a political union more than a love-match. She was just... excited that she would finally see the world greater than Winterfell and the North. Was it a lie that she told herself, for bringing her family to ruin because she wanted to be a princess? She would never know.
"Yes, and no," Oberyn replied truthfully. For whatever reason, he found himself completely entranced by her eyes. Those blue eyes so reminiscent of the summer skies, they saw everything. They saw evil, perceived danger and veiled her own fear. He felt his soul to be laid bare before her, naked as he was born, whenever he looked into her eyes, and he had barely even known her. "I lost my sister to Lannister cruelty, dear Princess. I cannot bear to see another fall into their hands."
With those words, he felt her lips against his. She was a brave one, this she-Wolf from the North. Drawing her deeper into his arms, he took control of the kiss and pressed her against the weirwood tree. She tasted sweet, yet tart at the same time, evident proof that sweet Sansa Stark was always more than met the eye. When the kiss had ended, she looked so shocked at herself that she turned away from him. "For... forgive me, my lord," she stammered. "I shouldn't have been so... forward."
"Oberyn, call me Oberyn, princess, as I will call you only 'Sansa' from now on," Oberyn chuckled. "We are to be married next week, are we not?"
Perhaps the greatest shock that Sansa had was not the fact that she was going to be both a Dornish princess and the Princess of the North in a week. It was the fact that she had taken instantly to Oberyn's paramour, Ellaria Sand, like how she had taken to Margery Tyrell, despite her status as a bastard. Oberyn had told her that in Dorne, bastards were loved as true-born children. That there were no distinction in the treatment of any sort of children, because they were all born out of love.
Growing up in Winterfell, Sansa had learned since a tender age that her mother did not tolerate Jon Snow's presence at all, despite the fact that her father wanted him raised together with the rest of her true-born children. She had overheard her mother saying that Jon Snow's presence in their home was a symbol of her father's betrayal to her, and she could not tolerate it.
Seeing Ellaria so loved by Oberyn made her guilty. She should have loved Jon as Arya had loved him. Even Robb, treated him like a brother. Seeing Ellaria walking so gracefully as she came forward to welcome Oberyn's betrothed into their lodgings in the Red Keep (they've since removed themselves from Littlefinger's pleasure house to avoid incurring Robb Stark's wrath) and her life, a wound in her mind was opened, a regret that she had repressed for far too long.
"Whatever is the matter, my love?" Ellaria asked when she found that Sansa could no longer look her in the eye. She was inconsolable by the time Ellaria embraced her. Oberyn just watched from the chaise opposite them, watching as Sansa rambled about her bastard brother on the Wall.
"I... I was never good to him," Sansa sobbed. "I should have... he's family..."
Oberyn watched his betrothed intently. She had suffered too much in this accursed place. It pained him evidently to watch her tremble and shake the moment she perceived that she was no longer any form of danger. He had seen her courage in action, felt the simmering rage within her pale skin that she had buried. That kind of courage was built upon suffering. It was built upon the suppression of fear and anger. But when she cried, she had cried because she had been unkind to her half-brother... It only showed him that he needed to get her out of King's Landing and to her family as soon as possible. That, or they needed to end the evil of the Lannisters quickly so that no one else would suffer as Sansa had under them.
"Shh... my love," Ellaria soothed her lover's betrothed. "Your brother Jon is on the Wall. He is safe from all the evil you and the rest of your siblings have suffered." It was a comforting thought, and luckily it was comforting enough for Sansa. Slowly, her tears had run dry and she apologized profusely for ruining Ellaria's dress.
"I'm sorry," she apologized, blinking back more tears. "I'm just a stupid..."
Ellaria brought her hand to Sansa's cheek. Her skin was not only pale, but flawless and smooth. She could have been a Targaryen with such lovely skin, if not for her flaming red hair. "Sansa, love, you don't have to apologize for anything," Ellaria told her as Oberyn brought his arms around the two women. Ellaria knew that her lover was boiling in anger, too enraged to talk. "You are not at fault here."
"Trust me, Sansa, they will pay," Oberyn said after he had calmed down some, pressing a kiss to Sansa's temples. He made a silent promise to the Gods, whether or not they existed, that he would see his end of the Stark-Martell alliance upheld and more.
HAN: Before you guys gush and coo over how romantic Sansa and Oberyn's first meeting has been, I hope that you understand that she's not fallen for either him or Ellaria yet. The reason why Sansa is acting like this is because she can no longer have her shields up any longer for the time being, and knowing that Oberyn is on Robb's side, Sansa put them down momentarily.
On another note, Oberyn is very, very impressed by Sansa.
Enjoy!