The days that followed Sansa were grueling. At dawn, she would have a light breakfast with Oberyn and Ellaria, and then they would depart to the empty space near the armory where Oberyn would teach her the basics of the martial arts. How the Dornish had fought was different than what she knew how the Northmen had. Oberyn had placed much emphasis on how correct and strong her stances were, how she had breathed and the clarity of her mind. It would be the good part of a month before she was allowed to start sparring with him with a blunted imitation of the dagger he had given her. In the afternoon, after a quick bath, she would meet with the younger Sand Snakes in the schoolroom, where Maester Caleotte presided over their education. They would learn about the various cities in Essos, what languages they spoke, what things they traded with and what their cultures were. Sansa then realized that most of the economy of Essos were driven by slaves. Only Braavos and Pentos did not practice slavery, and Sansa's stomach churned when she heard about how the Unsullied were trained, how there were slaves marked with different kinds of tattoos to show what they were used for.

"How many tongues are there in Essos?" Sansa asked Caleotte. "Which is the most dominant?" They all spoke the Common Tongue in Westeros. High Valyrian had been taught, but only as a language of learning. When the Dragons had died, so were the popularity of High Valyrian as a language that only the truly intellectual and the Targaryens learned it. Sansa was not familiar with the tongue at all, for she was born in an age where there were no dragons and no Targaryens.

Caleotte did a rough calculation and said, "There are dozens, actually. One could never manage to count them all. However, most of the Free Cities speak their own variants of Valyrian, be they High or Low, and the Dothraki speak their own tongues. In Slaver's Bay, they speak Low Valyrian peppered with words from the old Ghiscari Empire which existed even before the Valyrian Freehold."

"Which tongues should I learn?" Sansa asked further. "I'll need to learn how to converse with my brother's in-laws if I am to be his ambassador."

"For you, princess, I would think High Valyrian would be sufficient," Caleotte said. "After all, these different languages are actually intelligible to one another... to a certain extent."

"Could I trouble you then, to teach me after the evening meal?"

"Of course, dear princess, of course."

Thus, Sansa's days were a constant stream of lessons. From sunrise, continuing after sunset. She would only retire deep in the night, her head feeling as sore as her arms and legs. She would be too tired to do anything else, even to make love, content to have either Oberyn or Ellaria by her side as she slept.

"Papa, you are overworking your wife," Tyene said as she and her father lounged about one afternoon with Ellaria. "She had never stopped ever since she came here. I'll bet that you hardly get to see her all day."

"See her?" Oberyn repeated. "I only see her shadow apart from the mornings." If anything, Sansa was determined. She knew that she had to learn in weeks what others had learned in months, and what she learned in months, others would normally take years. She took in everything that would be taught to her, and she tried her hardest to apply it. When she had grasped enough of High Valyrian, she spoke it with Oberyn during their training sessions. She would giggle with Elia, Obella, Dorea and Loreza in it in the schoolroom.

Ellaria raised an eyebrow. "I warned you," she told Oberyn. "I know how much promise Sansa can have, but at the rate she's going, she will end up a tired woman when she reaches Volantis." Sansa had been trapped so long that she grasped at freedom. If everything that she had been doing would give her that freedom, then she would do it. Sansa had told her once, how happy she was at the thought of being queen one day that she did not stop pestering her mother about it. It had been a habit that she had carried from childhood.

"So it is my fault now?" Oberyn asked his paramour and daughter, particularly aghast when Tyene emulated Ellaria's expression. "Is it wrong to want to indulge my wife?"

"Since when was so much work 'indulgence'?" Tyene returned with a raised eyebrow. "I'd be bored to death if I was made to work so hard!"

Oberyn shrugged. "She seems to enjoy it," he reasoned, but was still met with a frown from his daughter. "You, on the other hand, should be more diligent with your training. Sansa would be on par with you soon if you continue slacking as much."

"Papa..." Tyene glowered. However, she was interrupted by Sansa coming out of the schoolroom after her younger sisters. She looked so tired that she had slumped on another couch, visibly ignoring the others. Her father would have gone to her, if Ellaria had not stopped him. Slowly she crept towards Sansa and found that she was already sound asleep, snoring even. "She's sleeping," she reported.

"I do not care what happens, you will put Sansa to bed and chain her there if you have to," Ellaria told Oberyn, uncaring that she was patronizing him. "She's too tired to even walk!"

"Yes, my love," Oberyn said, obeying Ellaria's every word. He walked to the couch where Sansa was and picked her up, marching up the stairs that led back to their chambers. Gently, he placed Sansa on the center of the bed where she would be between him and Ellaria. Even with dark circles under her eyes she looked incredibly beautiful, and the weeks of training had further refined her body... Finding himself in need of a nap as well, he cradled her in his arms and fell asleep as well.

He woke when he felt Sansa stir. It must have been deep into the night already, and Sansa bolted from the bed, mechanically moving towards her closet to get dressed.

"Sansa, where are you going?" he asked her.

"I'm late for my lesson with Maester Caleotte," she repeated groggily. "I'm just so, so stupid," she ranted to herself. "I must have overslept..."

Oberyn chuckled and walked towards her, holding her by her waist. "I told Maester Caleotte that you would be excused for tonight," he said. When she looked towards him, big blue eyes begging askance, he said, "You went straight to sleep after you emerged from the schoolroom, my love. Ellaria would have had me throttled if I woke you up."

At least, Sansa had relaxed a little and allowed him to lead her back to the bed. From the way she had looked, she was nursing a minor headache. "When will the ship to Volantis be ready to sail?" she asked Oberyn, pulling the covers around her, her head leaning upon his shoulder.

"In a week, I would think," he said. "Is the Lady Ambassador ready for her voyage?"

"I think I am," she said. "I'm just worried that I'll open my stupid mouth and say something wrong."

"The Volantenes are not a cruel people," he explained to her. "Well, not everyone in Essos are cruel, unless you happen to cross them."

"And how would you cross them?"

"Oh, there are ways," Oberyn said. "The most important thing would be one should not disrupt anything that would prevent them from making money."

Sansa furrowed her brows. She had learned that much of the economy of Essos runs on the trade of slaves. Slaves were used as currency, for food and goods, and even as tribute to the Dothraki hordes so that the Horselords would not attack their cities. They who came from Westeros could not imagine such a fate to be meted out to fellow humans, although the smallfolk lived lives as dreary and terrible as that of slaves. "But... Daenerys Targaryen is trying to stop slavery in Essos. Wouldn't that be counter productive?"

"The Silver Queen is... flexing her muscles with her noble quest," Oberyn said. "She has dragons, she has armies, but she has no experience. Anyone would try to see what they can or cannot do, like you, my love."

"She wants to learn to rule," Sansa concluded from Oberyn's words. "Maybe she thinks that if she can't control Slaver's Bay, she won't be able to control Seven Kingdoms."

"Five," Oberyn corrected her. "The North and Dorne will stay independent, remember?"

"What about the Riverlands?" Sansa asked her husband. "Didn't the Riverlands swear fealty to Robb?"

"I would think that is only a temporary measure," Oberyn said. "Does your uncle Edmure really want to cede being Lord Paramount of the Trident and be Robb's vassal instead?"

Sansa shook her head. It was a question that she could not answer. "I've never seen my uncle Edmure since I was a girl," she said. "I wouldn't know what he'd want."

"Five then," Oberyn returned to his original point. "However, Robb is having such a fun time ruling Casterly Rock, are you sure that he doesn't want to steal it away from the Lannisters?"

"He's too honorable to do that," she said. "Robb's just like Father."

"Would you?" Oberyn asked her. "What would Sansa Stark do if she took Casterly Rock?"

Sansa fell silent. She had never thought of such a thing before. "I would... take it as my own," Sansa answered after a long moment's thoughts. "I will rid Casterly Rock of Lannisters, and I will feed them to Cersei and Lord Tywin in meat pies. Is that what you want to hear?"

Oberyn chuckled. "That would be a worthy venture," he said. "But in all seriousness, my love, what would you do if you have conquered a land?"

"I would determine if I should make my home there," Sansa said, looking Oberyn in the eye. "I would see if it holds any strategic value, and if there are any survivors who would not my presence there. If I am to rule, then I will." She was born a Stark, and she was meant to marry any prominent son of the Great Houses in Westeros. Her marriage to Oberyn was in line with the destiny a girl of her station was given. Given the chance, she could be the lady of Sunspear, a lady that her mother had always envisioned her to be. "Why all the questions though, is there something on your mind?"

"I was wondering, what kind of leader would you be," he told her, kissing her forehead. "Will you rule with an iron fist or would you throw conventional wisdom away and rule with what your heart tells you like your brother."

"What would you have me rule, though?" she asked. "There isn't anything that anyone's not yet claimed."

Ah, she did not have the spirit of a conquerer, and Oberyn was at least relieved. If Sansa had wanted to become a queen by her own right, he would do everything and pay every cost to have her dreams come true. He thanked the Gods that she was content in being a princess.

They fell into silence again. It was a comfortable one between them. In the months of their marriage, he had discovered that she was most at peace in those moments, where they would lie together in bed, his arms around hers, not speaking a word. They were both creatures that retreated deeply into their thoughts, and bit by bit, he began to understand how she had functioned.

While fire burned within his soul, there was a cold rage in Sansa. She was kind to all that would show her kindness, but she had reserved a special fate for those that had done her ill. She was patient. She had learned that patience when she had learned to survive King's Landing. She would lie in wait until the opportune moment struck. Thankfully, she was wise enough to see that it was not now. That made her the perfect match for Dorne, and for him, and he had thanked the Gods for sending her to him at times.

"Tell me about your travels in Essos," she pleaded him, after a particularly long silence, one that almost brought him to sleep. "When did you go there?"

"Oh, I was all over the place, quite literally," he said. "One day I was in Pentos, and the other in Lys. I was young then, itching for a fight and itching for a good fuck here and there." He had purposely used the word with his wife, knowing that her lady's sensibilities would be scandalized. It was an endearing to see her eyes widen so when came across something that offended her.

"And did you find any of those?" Sansa asked on, clearly not giving into what he had wanted. Besides, she had lived in King's Landing for three years. She knew all the foul, uncouth words and heard them being used all the time by the people who should have been the most "refined". It was ironic, really, but she, the Northern bumpkin would prove the most reluctant to use such words, only out of habit.

"Why, yes, and more," he answered with a wide smile. "Nymeria's mother was a noblewoman from Volantis whose father had hired the Second Sons. I forgot what we were fighting for, but I remembered that her father had given us five chests of gold that glittered so brightly in the sun that one's eyes would hurt. However, I decided as the lieutenant that I would have some of the spoils, if you get what I mean. Thankfully, her father did not skin me alive when he found out that she was with child. In fact, she had not wished to give Nymeria to me, and it took a lot of... coaxing on my part to bring her to Dorne."

Sansa understood perfectly. She could also see that he was immensely proud of Nymeria, who seemed to have a cooler head than Obara. But then again, Oberyn had loved all his daughters the same, fiercely and protectively. She had marveled at how confident he was in them, but seeing how Robb had so easily trusted them in his army, she knew that he would be absolutely right to worship his daughters in his way. "How long did you serve under the Second Sons?" she asked him.

"One year," came Oberyn's answer. "War... is war, in Essos or in Westeros," he added. "It never ends, and when people find a new thing to quarrel about, their swords and spears will rise. It would seem that war is in human nature, my love."

"Then I should thank the Gods that my husband is one of the best warriors in Westeros," Sansa said, her fingers threaded in his. He gave thanks to her compliment with a sweet kiss.

"You should be sleeping, you know," Oberyn reminded her. "Ellaria will have both our heads if you fall into your breakfast bowl in the morning."

Sansa nodded with a yawn, and was asleep before long.

Arya was adamant that she would not be herded into another lesson from a Septa, even if there were plenty of Septas that would teach her to do so at Casterly Rock. She could tolerate the lessons, but she had made it clear that she wasn't going to live like a lady. Catelyn was livid that Arya would not continue her education as it had been in Winterfell. "Your sister studies all afternoon and night for her upcoming mission in Volantis," she told Arya firmly. "Sansa knows where her duties lie."

"Sansa doesn't have to learn to sew or embroider any more," Arya said. "Besides, she wants to be a diplomat now. I want to learn to fight!" She had killed her fair share of men throughout her travels. She had wanted to be a Faceless Man as well, to learn from Jacqen H'ghar, but now when it seemed that she was now a princess, and not a mere lady, she wanted to be a warrior princess, like Nymeria Sand's ancestor.

Talisa could only smile kindly on her youngest sister-in-law. She was a precocious young one, and like every member of her husband's family, carried steel in her bones and steel in her will. However, where Arya was concerned, she had no say at all. Catelyn had resumed her duties as a mother instantly, and Arya had had many arguments with her ever since she returned to her family. It seemed to her that said argument must have started since before their family was parted. It had carried the weight of many years, and had most probably stemmed from Catelyn's unspoken wish to return things to her own version of normalcy as soon as possible, as much as she was able to.

Obara, however, favored the little princess' tenacity. Arya had reminded her much of herself when she was younger, when she had lived a simple life with her mother, but yearning for a life that had... more for her to explore. "Lady Catelyn, Princess Arya, let me tell you a story," she said. "When I was a child, my father came to take me to court. I'd never seen this man and yet he called himself my father. My mother wept, she said I was too young and a girl. Oberyn tossed his spear at my feet and said, 'Girl or boy, we fight our battles, but the Gods let us choose our weapons', and my father pointed to the spear and then to my mother's tears. I chose the spear, and this is where I am now."

"See?" Arya said, gesturing at Obara. "Obara's father wanted her to learn to fight, and she's doing a good job as Robb's Captain now!"

"Alright," Catelyn said, finally acquiescing to Arya's demand. "If you want to fight like Obara, you will train like Obara." Her voice was fierce and strong. It did not thunder across the room where the women of the Stark family had claimed for their daily activities, but everyone fell silent. They knew that Lady Catelyn was being deadly serious and she would not be undermined or swayed. "If I hear so much as a peep of complaint from her or Nym, they will march you back to the Septa's schoolroom and you will do whatever the Septa tells you to do."

Arya had gulped a little, slightly fearful of her mother's threats. However, deep down inside, she would rather suffer such threats than not see her mother at all. "I will, Mother," she said, hugging Catelyn happily. "I'll not disappoint you at all!"

"Are you sure that you can take on Arya, Obara?" Catelyn fretted, looking towards the oldest Sand Snake.

"It is not a problem, Lady Catelyn," she said. "Beside, Nymeria and I will need some practice here and there." Her casual smile faded when her eyes met with Arya's. She wanted the little princess to know that she had meant business. "We have a lot of experience, knocking sense into our little sisters, if Princess Arya would have us, that is."

Arya decided that she was not afraid of Obara at all. She had wanted to learn to fight properly, and she would go through with her wishes. "I would, Obara," she said. "Thank you."

"Well then, we'll meet at dawn in the training fields. Just you, Nymeria and I."

"Deal"

HAN: Here's a little feel-good chapter focusing on the Stark sisters. Nothing too heavy, for now that is.

I wonder what would happen if the Lannisters knew that Sansa was heading to Volantis though. HMMM.

Enjoy!