Talisa had never felt so out of place in her life before. She knew that coming over to Westeros, to live in a world where slavery did not exist would have its price. The culture of Westeros was nothing familiar to her. There was nothing that she recognized, and nothing that she knew. She was a mere healer serving in an army (she actually didn't really care which army she served in) for an honest wage and now, she was the Queen in the North.

She was used to a courtly life. Her grandfather was one of the Volantene Triachs, after all. She knew precisely what words to say to which person at court, and she knew that with enough time, Westerosi politics would come naturally to her. However, she was not used to such a martial life. When her husband was to formally inspect his "newly reformed army", she was supposed to be riding on a horse by herself (they rode elephants in Volantis). Not only that, she was presented with a costume of full plated armor, made to her dimensions, complete with a skirt made entirely of mail for the ceremony.

If she were any other woman, she would have asked for a beautiful gown and permission to ride behind her King on the same horse. Sadly, Talisa Stark (formerly Maegyr) was not any other woman. She was a Volantene noblewoman, which meant that she had to earn the love of her husband's people even more than if she were a Westerosi noblewoman not born of the North. They knew that she was a tough healer, and she would have to show her mettle as a gracious Queen to their King for them to love her.

"You look like a fish out of water," Obara teased her in High Valyrian once she had suited up in her armor. Neither Obara nor Nymeria wore plate armor, opting for their usual Dornish armor. The Dornishmen dealt often with those in Essos, where Valyrian was still spoken, which was why the Sand Snakes would often converse with Talisa in her native language.

"I would think that they would rather me dress in wolf-pelts and be done with it," Talisa replied in the same manner and language. "My husband's people are strange to me, yet, I must strive to understand them if I am to be truly Queen."

Nymeria gave Talisa a sweet smile, helping her adjust her armor. "Don't worry, Your Grace, you will go out there and you will show them that you are the Queen, not them," she offered. "They will love you for it."

Quickly, the Sand Snakes helped to Talisa to style her hair in a manner that would not obstruct her view should the wind blow. They were warrior-women, Talisa mused to herself as they wordlessly helped her. They would know how a woman should look like upon the battlefield. In the end, her hairstyle was that of a low bun with several braids that ended where the bun began. For added flair, Nymeria, who was the more feminine of the two, stuck white flowers into the braids.

"Northmen do not trust ostentatiousness," Nymeria explained. "Flowers would do better than jewels."

It would seem that the Sand Snakes were right. Robb was completely taken by his wife's beauty, despite the armor, which made her move in an awkward manner. "You look beautiful!" he praised and wanted to kiss her until he remembered that the Sand Snakes were still in their company. "Oh... sorry, my ladies."

"We'll be waiting outside then, Your Grace," Obara proclaimed, and left the room with Nymeria to give the King and Queen some privacy. If Robb had guessed right, Obara had the audacity to roll her eyes. He would let such insolence slide, he mused. He was in a good mood because Talisa had never seemed more beautiful to his eyes.

"You should dress in plate armor often," he said, words to which she slightly pouted.

"My mother used to scare me with stories of you Westerosi warriors," Talisa told her husband. "She said that you wore heavy plated armors on horses and they would catch us from our beds if we were not careful. Now, look at me, I'm a Queen of the North in Westeros and I'm wearing the same armor."

Robb chuckled at her story. He knew that people in Essos did not use heavy armor like they did in Westeros. Like in Dorne, the sun was hot in Essos and knights would have cooked in their armor if they wore steel plates to battle. However, he applauded his wife's enthusiasm. "They will love you," he reassured her. "Mother doesn't like to admit it, but you're starting to grow on her too."

Talisa remembered how coldly Catelyn had treated her in the early days of her marriage towards Robb, but now her mother-in-law was fairly lukewarm to her. It was a start, she supposed. "So, if I impress your men today, I'll impress your mother?" she asked him.

"Let's not go too far today," he replied, ushering her out of their room. "Take it easy, one step at a time."

It was a magnificent sight. In the open fields just beneath Casterly Rock, next to the port-town of Lannisport, the King in the North held a formal inspection of his troops with his Queen. It was a show. It was a show for all to see that he was in control of his army and no one could take it from him. It was a show, not only to the unseated Lannisters, who kept their lives and their freedom, although they were skulking in their seats as they watched the display of Northern soldiers, all of them in their newly-made steel armor, paid for with Lannister coin. The rest of the army were lightly armored spearmen, wearing helms with full visors.

This new army of the North prided itself in being uniformed. There were no separate banners, sigils nor colors. They were united only with a single banner, a plain, grey one, bordered with red. No one, even the King had any special motifs. All twenty thousand of them were united under a single cause and a single purpose.

The drums were sounded. Their beat slow and steady. Together, the King in the North and his Queen rode through the ranks of their army that stood at attention. Each of them battle-ready, each of them well-rested and hopefully well-fed. They would be ready to march whenever the order was given.

Talisa tried hard to stay on her horse. Usually, she rode well, but she was not used to riding with steel armor on. It not only made her heavier but also more slippery. She could feel the heat of the sun upon her skin, even though the sun had been nothing but a balmy kiss when she was in her normal clothing. All eyes were on her, and she knew it. All she needed to do was to stay on her horse.

Robb, on the other hand, knew that in order to continue fighting, he had to placate his bannermen first. If he lost them, then he would have lost his strength. He knew that he had to be seen to take care of their interests, and also he had to mold their interests to his. He had learned enough from that episode with Rickard Karstark, he was not going to have a repeat of it again.

When the formal inspection was done and Talisa was safely off her horse and shuffled into the podium to stand next to his mother, he began his speech. "This day marks the day of the rebirth of the Army of the North!" he proclaimed to thunderous applause. "Let us all remember that we set out from our homes with united goals. We have come so far south to have revenge on King Joffrey for killing my father and to tell him that he can take his other Six Kingdoms. The North will rule its own!"

The Northern soldiers all cheered, while the Dornish ones merely watched.

"As a token of my appreciation to my loyal bannermen and our gracious friends, I will now announce the new ranks and orders of the army. May all of us serve together in peace and glory!"

To those that looked upon the ceremony, it had looked like a grand affair where lords who provided great service were rewarded with greater command of men. These lords looked very pleased with themselves, but the fact of the matter was that what Robb had done was merely moved the men around. He separated his bannermen's men from them, and gave them new men to command. It was the same for every other lord under his wing. Their numbers only seemed inflated because they had one less commander. With Roose Bolton gone, the average number of soldier one of his lords commanded had increased by at least two hundred. Such a move not only made them happier, it also made them seem more important. Even Obara and Nymeria were not exempt from the ceremony. They were each given command of 5000 spearmen for their "excellent services rendered".

When the ceremony had ended, Robb looked towards the stands where the lords of the Westerlands were seated. They were still talking amongst themselves, whispering, perhaps scheming and plotting. It was then when he knew that he had achieved his goal. He would have them see that the Northern Army was more than a ragtag squad of soldiers with only luck on their side. He would show them that they had true mettle in them, and that at in any moment's notice, he would overcome those who thought to oppose or undermine him.

There was little pomp or ceremony, even though Sansa and Oberyn's wedding was held in the Great Sept of Baelor. The Great Sept was closed for the day, admitting only Sansa's Lannister captors and Oberyn's Dornish retinue. Ellaria had chosen a gown of coral for her, cut in yet another Dornish style. The neckline was plunging (Sansa thought that it reached the same levels of what Margery had preferred), the fabric soft but dense at the bottom of the skirts. There were leather accents on the neckline that crossed at her back, ending at her waist. The shoulders of her gown were filigreed, with the motifs direwolf facing the Martell's sigil of the sun pierced by a spear. Gasps and sighs were abound when she walked from the Red Keep to the Great Sept. They had never seen Sansa in this light before, her hair worn relatively free and curled, in a daring gown that no one had seen her in before, her head held high.

Sansa could see how Cersei had scowled the moment she walked into the Great Sept, she no longer cared for what Cersei thought. She could see Margery almost in tears, whether they were real or not, she could not discern. She saw Joffrey standing at the door of the Sept. He was smiling smugly, as though expecting her to suffer from her own wedding. As much as Oberyn had protested, Joffrey was to lead her up to the steps of the Sept in the place of her father. The King was the father of the Realm, Tywin Lannister had told him. If he wanted to have his bride, he might as well agree to it.

"You know what they say about your groom?" Joffrey asked her as they walked towards the steps that led to the High Septon and Oberyn. "He's half-mad and more murderous than all the Dornishmen combined." In the week she had spent with Oberyn and Ellaria, she knew that he was nothing but half-mad. She had seen what insanity true was and she knew that Oberyn was not insane. "He will have his way with you, and he will poison you if you misbehave."

Sansa had to fight the urge to roll her eyes. Even if Oberyn was famed for using poisons, he would be a fool to even try to poison her. Her family and his were now bound to a single fate due to the alliance between their respective brothers, so much so that her marriage to Oberyn was merely the icing on the cake. That was why she continued her blank expression and looked forwards. "Yes, your Grace," she replied coolly.

"He'll bring you to Dorne, and you'll melt in the desert sands," Joffrey added. "Would you like that?"

Sansa deliberately ignored that question. They were too near the steps for Joffrey to do anything too... drastic. In many ways, this wedding would seal multiple alliances, depending on their angle. To her brother, it solidified the alliance between Dorne and the North, and to Dorne, it meant that they would have gained a powerful ally for Daenerys Targaryen when she arrives in Westeros. To the Lannisters, it meant a second layer of protection between themselves and the Martells, for they were marrying their ward to House Martell, in addition to Princess Myrcella's troth to Prince Tystane. Even if Joffrey was a fool, he would not dare to have botched this wedding. He feared his own grandfather too much to have done such a thing.

Only when Joffrey let go of her arm did Sansa look up. She saw Oberyn, dressed in his Dornish long tunics of greys and blues with leather accents. It was a bold move, softened by the appearance of the Martell sigil as a repeated pattern. He must have known how much her eyes had widened to see him honoring her and her family thus, because he was smiling so much that she could see the fine lines about his eyes deepen. When she was close enough to him, he gave her his hand and almost cheekily pulled her to his side. Luckily for her, she was light on her feet and was able to keep up with him.

The High Septon raised his eyebrow at the pair. One was a young girl and the other, a seasoned warrior and equally infamous prince. As he presided over the ceremony with long, droning speeches of how the Gods have blessed this union, he could not help but notice that the groom's arm was wound around that of the bride's waist. When he said the names of the Seven Gods and bound their hands together with a cord of silk, the groom's arm was still on her bride's waist.

"I give you, Prince Oberyn Martell and Princess Sansa Martell!"

As the attendees of the wedding applauded the proclamation from the High Septon, Oberyn drew Sansa into his arms and kissed her, going so far as to leaning her so far backwards that she gave a little yelp. No doubt, Ellaria would have enjoyed the sight of them both then and there. He cared little for what the others thought. He wanted to show her captors that she was now in his care, and they would need to answer to him before they would lay their hands on her.

"Your mother and brother would have loved to be here," he whispered into her ear as they walked out of the Great Sept, hand in hand.

"I know," she replied softly. Even if she was now Princess Sansa Martell of Dorne, she was still not out of the dangers that once surrounded her. Her boldness would only let slip that Dorne had other motives with her. One wrong step and everything that she had worked so hard for would come crashing down. She was not ready to take that risk. She would never be willing to do so. Then, all of a sudden, she sobbed. It was only one cry, but Oberyn was immediately alarmed.

"What is wrong?" he asked her, tipping her chin.

"Back... back when I was a stupid little girl, I used to dream of marrying a prince and being a princess in the capital..." she told him, half smiling and half crying. "Look at me now... I..." She could not finish her sentence. Oberyn did not let her. Even though her words held some amount of joy, he would not allow her to revisit the pain of her past memories. So, he silenced her in the only way he knew how. He kissed her again, a sweet kiss, this time, filled with promise and hope.

He could tell that she would be as red as one of Margery Tyrell's most beloved roses after that second kiss. He felt the warmth of her cheeks when he had cupped it in his hand. "You are a Princess twice over, Sansa," he whispered into her ear. "Your enemies would always deny you that, but you must remember."

The wedding feast was a simple affair. It was not grand, but it was something that Sansa could bear with. Margery had proposed a toast to her and Oberyn's health, a toast that Oberyn had heartedly drank to, while Sansa returned with one that prayed for an equally joyful wedding for her friend.

Wanting to have a taste of what he could never have, Joffrey called for the bedding to take place. Oberyn could have sworn that he almost punched the young King in the face, but had stopped after Ellaria kicked him from under the table discreetly.

Sansa looked as white as a sheet. She knew what a bedding entailed, and she did not want any of the Lannister men touching her. Thankfully, the Martell men were deft. Even before anyone could touch her, they had lifted her high and quickly away from anyone not of their ranks. Thus, she had reached her new chambers with Oberyn relatively unscathed, while he was utterly naked save for his smallclothes.

It was at that moment when Sansa knew what the word "sculpted" had meant. It denoted Oberyn's physique in the truest sense. Every single part of his body was chiseled, his strong chest, the fine ridges of his abdomen... Although she had no reference point to compare him to, she was sure that her husband was more... beautiful than the rest of the males she knew.

"May I carry you too the bed, my wife?" he asked her, obviously knowing that she had been staring at him.

She nodded her head. "You may," she replied, and felt him swoop her off her feet most effortlessly.

"You are lighter than I expected," he said as he strode confidently towards their bed. But before he covered her with the blankets, he took out a small vial containing some blood and poured its contents to a random spot on the bed. "Your former captors would most certainly want some evidence that this marriage has been consummated," he explained.

Sansa did not care. "You've hurt yourself... for me?" she asked. Knowing that it was impossible to hide anything from her, he showed her the small cut he had made on his thigh, where his clothes would have easily concealed the wound that already seemed to be healing.

"I would do anything for you, sweet one," he told her. "You are my wife, are you not?"

"But..."

"Sansa, I want you to know that although we are bound by marriage, you are not bound to me unless you wish it," Oberyn continued, gently hushing her with his finger on her lips. She knew instantly that he was trying to get an important message across. "If you wish to take a lover, man or woman, you can and I would be happy for you. If you bear them children, I swear to you, they will be raised as my own, with my name."

Sansa... did not know what he was doing. As a wife in a political marriage, she knew that her husband would most certainly veer off from the marriage bed and take his lovers. She had accepted Ellaria because she was his paramour for as long as she had been alive. She knew that she could not pry them away from one another, but she did not know that the same freedom was given to her.

"Maybe... maybe I don't want to," she almost squeaked in reply. "Maybe I want... you and... Ellaria, but just not now..."

Oberyn's face brightened and he could not help but planting a kiss onto her lips for her words. "Then we will wait for you," he told her. "No one will take you before you are willing to offer yourself to them. This much I can promise you."

"Before that happens, will you take other lovers too?" she asked him further. "Man or woman?"

"Only if you and Ellaria permit," Oberyn replied plainly, glad that she could at least understand how the Dornish bed worked.

"I'll permit only if she does," Sansa decided immediately. If they were going to let Dornish rules become the way of the bedroom, then she would follow Ellaria's lead. She needed the older woman's guidance, not only to negotiate her way as a new Dornish princess, but also to Oberyn's heart, since he was her husband now.

Happily, Oberyn kissed her another time, as a token of thanks.

"Wait..." Sansa added, interrupting a somewhat heated third kiss between them. "What do we tell Mother and Robb?"

HAN: Heh heh heh, we see two important ceremonies today, and we hope Robb and Sansa's journeys are smooth henceforth. They serve as a renewal for them in a way.

Maybe when Sansa is older and more secure with her footing, she'll take a lover... Hmmm, who though?

Enjoy!