"Is it done then?" Mother asked that bald man that smiled creepily. For whatever reason, Mother had handed her leash to the man and he looked extremely pleased with himself. She found no other sign of her siblings, and started calling out to them. The pink little humans around Mother did not seem pleased, though, although she did not know why.

The brown-skinned human female that was new to Mother and her friends talked to the bald man. "It is done," the brown female replied. "You hold the whip."

"Mother? Are you leaving me here with this man?" she asked Mother, but was paid no heed. "Mother?" She squawked and squawked, but still Mother did not do so much as to look at her.

Instead, Mother looked towards the lines and lines of men in armor. Wielding the golden whip that she was given, Mother shouted towards them in the Old Tongue, "Dovaogēdys, naejot memēbātās!" The men moved forwards as Mother commanded them to with surprising unison. However, the pink humans with Mother looked utterly surprised. Didn't they hear Mother speaking in the Old Tongue to her and her siblings? "Kelītīs!" Mother shouted again, and this time, the men stopped moving.

The bald man was pulling too hard on her leash and she did not like it. However, the higher she tried to fly away, the more the man tried to hold her back down. She was almost going to get hurt from such a struggle. He bellowed towards Mother in a strange form of the Old Tongue, something along the lines that she would not come to him. Of course she wouldn't heed him. He was not Mother. She had no compulsion to listen to him at all.

"Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor," Mother told him, clearly proving that she was fluent in the Old Tongue. The bald man was so stunned that he lowered the leash, asking if Mother could understand him. of course Mother did. "Nyke Daenerys Jelmāzmo hen Targārio Lentrot, hen Valyrio Uēpo ānogār iksan. Valyrio muño ēngos ñuhys issa," Mother told him, striking fear into his heart, so much so that he ordered Mother's new men to kill her. Luckily for her, they listened to her now, not him. "Dracarys," Mother told her, and she obeyed.

Throwing her head back, she belched out a steady stream of fire from her belly, effectively burning the despicable bald man to death.

Oberyn shot his eyes open when he realized that Sansa was no longer between himself and Ellaria. Seeing that his paramour was still sound asleep, he gently crept off the bed and walked around their chambers to look for his missing wife. She was not in the privy, nor was she in the study. Thankfully, he found her on the balcony, looking out into the Narrow Sea. He could have sworn that her eyes had appeared to be highly luminous in the dark of the night.

"You will get a chill if you stay out here in the sea-air for too long," he whispered into her ear as he wound his sculpted arms around her waist. She turned towards him for a short kiss, then turned her eyes back towards the sea. "Do you like the sea?" he asked her, twanting to know that lied in her thoughts.

"In the North, the nearest anyone could come to the sea was Bear Island for the Mormonts, Eastwatch-by-the-Sea for the Night's Watch or in White Harbour," Sansa answered. "The Narrow Sea was the first thing I wanted to see when I first came here. Lord Baelish even said that he'd bring me to the Vale away on his ship from King's Landing before you came here..." There was a short pause on her part, and she let loose a heavy breath that she must have had kept in her chest for too long. "I saw her," she proclaimed. "I saw her in a port-city, Princess Daenerys Targaryen."

"What did you see?" he asked her.

"She was... buying soldiers with one of her dragons," she answered. "But she had the soldiers' master burned when the deal was done. They wore leather armor and had round shields... She called them 'Dovaogēdys' in High Valyrian..."

Oberyn's face darkened. "Unsullied," he translated for her. "You saw her in Astapor, buying Unsullied?" Sansa nodded her head, but she could not comprehend what that had entailed. Her education as a lady did not encompass the economic activities of Slaver's Bay a world away from Winterfell. "Unsullied are militant eunuchs, boys who were snatched from their cradles, castrated and trained for war. They obey every command that their masters give them..." However, there was one thing that he could not understand as of yet. Which beast's mind did she enter when Daenerys Targaryen was buying her Unsullied? "Sansa, what did you warg into?"

"I... I don't know," she answered. "All I know is I saw what happened and everything started burning."

Oberyn understood her confusion. She could have seen the scene from a bird flying overhead, or from the eyes of a horse. She needed time to learn how to warg correctly and there was no one else alive that could teach her. Until then all that she would see random images from random events, and hopefully, one or two of them would have anything to do with their ventures. They were lucky thus far. She had first seen Robb and now Daenerys Targaryen.

He was now at a standstill. He did not know if he should tell her that her ability to warg had definitely changed how the game was to be played. Varys had implied heavily that she should be encouraged to try to control any of the dragons, but none of them knew the toll that it would create on her. He would not put an unknown risk upon her, and rode on hope that one day Daenerys would learn how to master her dragons faster than Sansa would have learned how to master her own gifts.

"Patience," he told her, turning to face her, his hands squeezing her shoulders gently. "Do not force yourself."

"I need the practice," she told him, with a new resolve. "I can't just let my mind wander like this when I least expect it."

"So you are telling me that you wish to go to Essos, present yourself before Daenerys Targaryen and tell her that you are a skinchanger and you can help her bring her dragons to heel?" Oberyn asked her, hoping that she could see the futility of what she was attempting to do. "That would not sit well on anyone, my dear wife."

For the first time in her life, Sansa frowned and glared, at Oberyn, no less. "I don't mean that, I..." She was so frustrated that her words failed her and she could just stare at him. He had never seen greater beauty although he understood that it was a completely irrelevant time to be making such a comment. With her back against the light from the hearth behind her, her hair seemed to glow like shiny copper and her eyes large like saucers in her tiny bout of anger. She was not completely angry at him, only marginally so.

"Come now," he said, gently coaxing her back into his arms. "Perhaps you should start with something small, like a cat?" He chuckled when she wrinkled her nose a little. "Or a dog, maybe?"

Sansa sighed. "I once had a direwolf," she reminisced, "Her name was Lady and she was the sweetest thing. But... Joffrey got into a fight with Arya and when hers bolted off, the Queen had Lady killed as punishment instead." She wondered if it was... suitable to reveal that Arya's direwolf and Oberyn's second daughter shared the same name and decided to opt out of doing it. She knew how taken he was with Robb's Grey Wind, and if Lady was alive, no doubt that he would have doted on her as well.

"Perhaps one day, your sister's direwolf will reappear," Oberyn told her soothingly. "Your brother holds the Westerlands and the Riverlands, maybe Robb's men would have spotted her?" Seemingly comforted, Sansa nodded and sank her head onto his chest. She was beginning to trust him more and more, and had wordlessly yearned more bodily contact with him. For that, he was glad. When she yawned, he asked her, "Shall we go back to bed then?"

Once Sansa nodded her head, he put one arm on her back and used the other to lift her off her feet, like how he had carried her on their wedding night. Gently, he put her back onto the bed, next to Ellaria and plopped himself next to her, hoping that his wife would at least find some restful sleep that night.

"Robb Stark has executed Walder Frey," Tywin Lannister read the latest report from Westerlands. "In exchange for his life, the Freys are allowed safe passage in the Riverlands and in the North. They're scattered like the wind now."

"And who holds the Twins now?" Oberyn asked, feigning concern. "Another virile grandfather with... two hundred children?" Tyrion was the only one who laughed at his joke. They even clinked their goblets together as good measure of their appreciation for some light humor that was so dearly needed in the Small Council.

Cersei rolled her eyes while Tywin ignored the two of them completely. "To answer your question, Prince Oberyn, a Northern lord known as Jon Umber, a man so large that they call him the Greatjon, has been rewarded with the Twins by Robb Stark, gifted from the bosom of the Riverlands," Varys said. "I believe that Edmure Tully seceded command of the Riverlands to his nephew and so Robb Stark is both King in the North and King of the Trident now."

"They're all but empty titles," Cersei countered. "He can't just strut up and down the world, thinking that he is some sort of savior of the people."

"And yet, dear sister, it's his name that they're singing songs with out there, and not ours," Tyrion retaliated. "It won't be a good thing for us if they believe that he can be their savior."

"We'll have to put those songs out then," Cersei continued. "Everyone who's singing his praises will have their tongues cut out."

"Then you won't have anyone else singing yours," Tyrion fired back. "It's a simple enough concept, you know."

"Enough," Tywin chided his children. "Varys, what news from the North?"

Varys let out a small hum. "Meage Mormont is still on her way to Winterfell to resack it in the name of her King and thus cleansing it of Boltons and/or Ironborn," he answered. "The Mormonts of Bear Island are stalwart supporters of Robb Stark and they'll be sure to hold Winterfell until a Stark returns to it."

All eyes fell towards Oberyn for that one second, and it was a moment that he did not relish. With Robb's growing strength, Sansa was seen to be a greater danger to the Iron Throne. If not for the fact that Dorne was also promised the head of the killer of Elia Martell and her children, there was nothing left to guarantee that Oberyn would spirit Sansa back to her family. The suspicion was there, Oberyn knew. They would only be able to conceal Dorne's involvement with the Starks for only so long.

"I've had the most lovely confession from my Sansa last night," Oberyn commented. "She held me in her white arms and said me, 'You are my family now'" It was the truth, and it seemed to have calmed the Small Council down somewhat. Maester Pycelle even added that he always found Sansa to be sweet and good-natured. "Don't worry, my lords, you've charged Sansa with me and she is now Sansa Martell." Although, he mused to himself, Sansa Martell could be even more dangerous than Sansa Stark, once she has acclimatized to her role as a Dornish princess, but they did not need to know that.

Just then, as the tone of the meeting was about to return to one of seriousness, a Lannister knight came into the room. "My Lord Hand, Ser Jaime's returned," the Knight reported. Contrary to conventional wisdom, Cersei did not react immediately to the news. "He was brought back by Lady Brienne of Tarth, who was in the service of Lady Catelyn Stark."

"This council is adjourned," Tywin muttered hastily and quickly went out the door with his children following him closely at his heels.

Things were indeed getting more and more interesting, Oberyn told himself and shared a knowing look with Varys.

"What news do you have from Essos?" Oberyn asked Varys on the way out of the chambers. They were in Lannister territory still, which also meant that there were less ears to catch anything said between them. The spies were all sent to the other corners where those of their concern were populated.

"I'd say nothing new. The little birds are quiet, although there was word that she's already arrived in Astapor," Varys replied. "Why do you ask?"

"I'd imagine that my brother-in-law is getting anxious, holed up in the lion's den," Oberyn answered. "He's getting so restless that he's sent his forces back to Winterfell."

Varys nodded. "Patience is the virtue that what young monarchs lack," he reasoned. "The wolf howls and the lion roars and we're all trapped wondering why we're always talking in animal metaphors. Those in Essos must think that we're a crazy bunch of people to do so." Such was the charm of Varys, his clever way with words, his innate ability to downplay his true intentions and capabilities.

"It will be an interesting song for the minstrels to sing," Oberyn replied. "Westeros is nothing but a large jungle filled with animals waiting to tear each other apart. You know, in Essos, they do think that we Westerosi are the barbarians and not the other way around?"

Varys raised an eyebrow towards Oberyn. "You seem to be very knowledgeable about Essos, did you spend much time there?" The eyes and ears of the spies around them must not know that they are familiar with one another. Thus, the opening conversation between two seemingly unfamiliar people must be started. But, it was the truth that he was rather intrigued. Although Dorne often traded with various territories in Essos, he did not expect Oberyn to be so familiar with the lands across the Narrow Sea.

"Five years," Oberyn answered. When Varys asked why he spent the time there, he continued, "'Tis a big and beautiful world. Most of us live and die in the same corner where we were born and never get to see any of it. I don't want to be most of us."

"Most of us aren't princes," Varys replied. He did have a point though, and Oberyn rested his case. He was a second son who had joined the Second Sons in Essos, albeit a very rich and powerful second son. He had only known a life of freedom and privilege, as most nobles in the Seven Kingdoms would and he had no shame of that.

However, Oberyn was not quite done with Varys. "You're from Essos," he told the eunuch. "Where? Lys?" Varys' slightly startled reaction was indication that he was right. "I have an ear for accents," he explained.

"I've lost my accent entirely," Varys said.

"I've an ear for that as well," came the reply. "How did you get here?" For one, people in Westeros did not trust their strangers not of their lands, and there Varys was. The Master of Whisperers serving the third king in a row.

"It's a long story," Varys answered warily.

"One that you don't like telling people."

"People I trust." No doubt, Tyrion Lannister would be one of them. Oberyn was not blind. Although they acted like they had nothing to do with one another, he could sense a pact of camaraderie between the two. It lied in the subtle exchanged glances during meetings, the way that they would roll their eyes whenever Cersei tried to be clever.

"You should come to our chambers," Oberyn said, giving him an open invitation. "My paramour, Ellaria and Sansa would find you very interesting." He had not thanked Varys for giving Sansa the salve for her whip-wounds yet, and would use his visit as an opportunity to do so. "We've brought our own wine, not the swill you serve here," he added, trying to sweeten the deal. "We have some lovely boys on retainer..." He came to a pause because for whatever reason, Varys did not respond when he said "boys", and there he was, thinking that he was an expert in reading others. "You did like boys before...?"

Varys shook his head. There was no need for him to elaborate further. As they spoke, they passed through the throne room and both stopped subconsciously quite near the Iron Throne.

"Girls, hmm," Oberyn murmured. "I hope that you won't be offended when I say I never would have guessed."

"Not at all," Varys returned. But then he just shrugged and added, "But, I've never been interested in girls either."

Now, Oberyn did not believe him. "What then?" he asked. "Everyone's interested in something..."

Varys shook his head again. "Nothing," he said plainly. "When I've seen what desire has done to people, what it's done to this country, I am very glad not to have any part of it. Besides, the absence of desire leaves me free to pursue other things." His various spars with Petyr Baelish came to mind, the most recent one ending just right where he now stood with Oberyn. Baelish had revealed that he knew that Varys had been using his majordomo, Ros, prostitute from Winterfell to spy on him, causing him to lose his hold on Sansa just before the Lannisters received word of the Dornish suit for her hand, and just minutes after they parted with which other's company, Varys discovered that Ros was brutally murdered by Joffrey by way of crossbow. Yes, he was very, very happy not to relish in any form of desire.

"Such as?" Oberyn asked again, bringing Varys back to the present.

He did not answer. He merely looked towards the Iron Throne and left Oberyn's company with a formal nod and a brief pause.

HAN: I'm so sorry for the delayed update. Work was a bitch and I was too tired to do anything after I came home.

I hope you liked that chunk of interaction between Oberyn and Varys. Obviously, I took it out from Episode 6 in Season 4 although we are chronologically in Season 3ish... Things have changed and so certain situations will be sped up or delayed.

I have to admit that I'm not really comfortable in having Sansa immediately warging into Drogon or any dragon, so I'll leave her a little confused about that first scene in this chapter for now.

Enjoy!