They were once again entrapped in one another. Sansa was beneath Oberyn, who was penetrating her, while Ellaria straddled her mouth, kissing Oberyn while Sansa pleasured Ellaria with her tongue. It was a chain of mutual ecstasy, each one of them giving to the other, and receiving from yet another. It was in such a circle that Sansa felt the safest. It was familiar, intimate and heated, where she knew that she could always return to.

She could feel Oberyn's warm hands on the curve of her breasts, and in one fluid, languid motion, she felt his manhood leaving her cavern, only to be replaced by two of his fingers. She breathed in deeply, and turned towards Oberyn, who was already joined with Ellaria. She had at first seized his lips, and they were soon joined by Ellaria. There were three tongues twisting and writhing around one another, hands all over and she could have sworn that she jumped a little when she felt Ellaria giving her pert bottom a cheeky squeeze.

"Oh, my loves," Oberyn cooed when both Sansa and Ellaria descended upon him, the two of them taking their turns to suck on his manhood, while the other sucked and nipped at the base of his shaft and his testicles. There would be times when they would even lick him simultaneously, stopping for a kiss or two in between.

His hands were at the back of their heads, coaxing them to continue. He was bucking into their mouths, or whatever crevice they would contain him in. He no longer knew what he was doing. All he knew was that he was reaching completion. It was their tongues that did him in. One last stroke of a tongue on the curvature of his testicles brought him to ecstasy, and sent ejaculate raining over the faces of both Ellaria and Sansa. When he had recovered, he wiped their faces off with a silk handkerchief that was lying on the side-table, peppering them with kisses after they were clean.

It was magical, the bond that they had shared. Open, fiery and wild. It was how they had loved, and they were unapologetic for it. Sansa knew that if there would be any time she would doubt what they have for each other, all she needed to do would be to have another go with them.

"You were wonderful, my love," Ellaria praised. "There is little that we can teach you now."

Sansa merely let Oberyn curl his arm around her. "And soon, she will leave us for another," Oberyn joked, highly exagerrating the woe in his voice. Sansa no longer tolerated such jibes. She glared at him, gave him a strict swat on the shoulder and turned towards Ellaria, who welcomed her with a warm laugh. "And thus, the Princess rejects me..."

"You'll be sleeping on the couch if you so much as utter another word," Sansa growled in annoyance.

"Peace, love," Ellaria soothed. "Oberyn does not know his boundaries yet."

Sansa groaned, rolled her eyes and turned back towards Oberyn and he chuckled. "I don't mean to be morbid or unpleasant, my love," he told her. "But do you remember what I had promised you on our wedding night?"

"I don't think I'll have anyone but you and Ellaria," Sansa retorted, looking directly into his eyes. "I..."

"You are still young and you will travel far and wide," Oberyn told her, tipping her chin. "I am not asking you to give yourself to whoever offers themselves to you, but to seize the opportunity should you wish it. As much as I wish to have you kept forever in a room with magnificent wines all for myself, that is not your destiny nor is it my fortune."

Those words made Sansa feel like she was the old her again. She had wanted so much to one day be of use to Oberyn and Doran, and when she had made her decision to offer her services to Daenerys Targaryen when the time was right, she already was looking back towards Oberyn and Ellaria. "I'm sorry," she sighed. "I'm just being stupid again."

"No one is always so sure of themselves," Ellaria offered. "You give yourself too little credit."

"And I fear that you give me too much," Sansa returned. "I mean..."

"You must have more faith in yourself," Oberyn added, kissing the tip of her nose. "You are now able to defend yourself, your political acumen is flawless. Now, my love, you will also become a beloved seductress. Cersei was right, that one of a woman's weapons lies between her thighs. It might not be one that will get rid of her enemies, Sansa, but it might gain her more than a few allies. You will enslave them, as you have enslaved Ellaria and I to you."

It was only then did Sansa realize Oberyn's intentions. "What kind of husband trains his wife to one day seduce others?" she asked him. "Most men would immediately discount you as either a fool or a madman," she told him. "I can't decide what you are at the moment."

"I am whatever you want me to be, my love," Oberyn returned, nibbling on her earlobe. "So long as you wish it."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "Oh, shut it," she scolded him mildly, trying to squirm out of his arms, but he only pulled her closer to him.

"No one's ever told me to 'shut it' before," he explained to her. "Not even Ellaria." It was a strange phrase to his ears. Personally, he would have used stronger, coarser language, but he knew that Sansa preferred a more demure diction.

Ellaria chuckled. "That's because I ask you to shut the fuck up when I need to," she added, gently prying Sansa's face away from Oberyn so that she could kiss her.

"You'll have to get used to it," Sansa told him, making herself comfortable in Ellaria's arms instead. "You were the one who chose me as your bride, anyways."

Oberyn deliberately left his mouth agape, pulling his face into a look of utter shock. However, he realized that Ellaria and Sansa were already fast asleep, curled around one another. Gently, he patted Sansa's head. There were so many things that he wanted to tell her, so many things that he wanted her to experience, but he knew that everything was going to be cut short. They had each their own duties to fulfill, and now, the time that they had borrowed had come to an end.

"You don't know how much it pains me to do this, my beautiful Sansa," he whispered, slipping the contents of a vial filled with sleeping-draught down her throat. "But I must, for your safety, and that of Westeros'."

Before coming to Dorne, Tyrion Lannister often asked himself what made Dorne so powerful. It was a land filled with deserts, and what arable land it had was made too salty by the fact that most of Dorne was surrounded by seawater. It wasn't the lemons, olives, pomegranates or even the exotic items traded from Essos that made Dorne rich. It was salt!

Salt was never packaged in forms that identified their producers. It was done to make sure that every particle of it fetched the fairest price, and every student of economics knew that the fairest price was always that the market demanded, and it would always demand the highest price. The Dornishmen had an ingenious way of making salt, and it was the cheapest. They simply scooped seawater from the sea, poured them into pans and left the seawater to evaporate under the sun, leaving only the salt. That salt would then be mixed with fresh water and the mixture would be left to evaporate again. This process was repeated and repeated over and over again until the purest salt particles remained.

To think that rich merchants in other areas of Westeros, namely the Vale, the Reach, the North and the Westerlands prided themselves in their vast, cavernous salt mines, where miners lived short lives to produce what little amount of salt they could. Dorne had been simply evaporating seawater for centuries, never giving out their secrets until now. It was no wonder at all that the Dornish houses were all rich, and they were so happy with the rule of the Martells.

"Lord Tyrion, we grant you this secret because we are grateful that you have treated my aunt so well during her sojourn at King's Landing," Prince Trystane told Tyrion when they were coming back from the nearest salt factory from the Water Gardens. "We have been producing salt in this manner since the time of my great-grandparents, and we have sworn all the maesters in the Citadel into secrecy by filling their own pockets with a good amount of it each year."

"And now you want me to keep that secret too," Tyrion said. "What makes you think that you could trust me to do so?"

Trystane chuckled. "The elders of my family think that you are unlike your own," he told Tyrion. "Aunt Sansa thinks that you are honorable and wise, and my father trusts her judgment. Uncle Oberyn however, wishes to remind you that he saved your head from the executioner and that you would well remember your debt to our family."

"Ah yes," Tyrion sighed. "I surely won't forget about that."

In all truth, he had never thought that he would survive that trial by combat. He knew that he had won one before, thanks to Bronn, but when Oberyn told him that he would be his champion against the Mountain, he seemed to have lost all hope at one point of time.

"Come, I am to bring you to meet with my uncle and father," Trystane said. "Your sworn sword, Bronn, he is already waiting for you there."

Although Tyrion knew very well that Bronn swore no oaths to him, he was reluctant to explain the length of their arrangement to Trystane, so he let the minor error slide. Somehow, he suspected that he was entering some elaborate Martell plot, one that had been set in motion even before he had entered Dorne. He knew that they would not have so willingly let everything else happen around them. He entered Prince Doran's private study and found the two Martell brothers behind the ornate table, with Bronn bound and gagged in one corner. Brienne of Tarth stood over Bronn with her sword held close to his neck.

"Can you imagine that Brienne single-handedly took Bronn down?" Oberyn asked Tyrion mere seconds after he had entered Doran's study. Bronn rolled his eyes but Oberyn chuckled. "Alright, it took a long while, but Brienne did it all the same."

"Can I ask why is it you have my man held prisoner?" Tyrion asked.

"Well, you broke into our salt factories and stole our secrets, intending to give them to your father," Doran added. "We cannot tolerate such a transgression. What happens if you brought this information back to King's Landing, to your father or perhaps our rivals in the Reach?"

Tyrion sighed. "Alright, we've gone through all the pleasantries. What do you really want with me?" It was no wonder that Trystane had so unsubtly hinted that his life was now indebted to the Martells. "You know, Bronn would most probably kill me if you pay him enough gold. So... there's that option for you."

"We know," Oberyn replied and nodded to Brienne to release Bronn. "However, we have a proposition for you."

"It doesn't sound as if it would bode well for me," Tyrion countered. "Can I refuse?"

"You are not in a position to do so," Doran said. "Here you are in the heart of Dorne, so far away from King's Landing or Casterly Rock. We know your relationship with your family and we could easily slit your throat right now and they would rejoice." Tyrion knew that every bit of what Doran said was true about his family. He and Jaime had a rather cordial relationship, but if Cersei and Tywin really wanted his head, Jaime would not have the ability to stop and refuse them although he would try all he can to save him. "You are not like them, Tyrion Lannister."

"What else has Princess Sansa told you?" Tyrion asked them both.

"That you have helped her many times before," Oberyn said. "And for that I am grateful."

"For that, we hold your life-debt to our family void," Doran dictated. "And we have a new deal for you, one that you won't refuse."

When Sansa woke, she realized that she was not on her bed in the Water Gardens, but on a ship. Lady was in a cell large enough to accommodate a beast of her size with lots of space for movement, right next to her cabin. There was no one in the hallway, and she quickly rushed up towards the deck. "Oberyn? Ellaria?" she called towards her lovers, but no one came. All she saw was the ship's sailors and Tyrion Lannister standing near the railing, looking back towards the mainland. "Tyrion, what are we doing here? Where are we going?"

Tyrion Lannister sighed. "Do you want the long story or the short one?" he asked her.

Sansa gave him a pointed look and looked at the bow of the ship. "Since we're not on the Evening Star, I think that I want the long one," Sansa said. "Come on, I'll have someone set tea up for us on the deck. You are going to tell me everything about it."

"How do you know where we're going?" Tyrion exclaimed, puzzled. No one told him where he was going until now. All Oberyn and Doran said were that he was going to accompany Sansa to safety in Essos. No one ever said precisely where in Essos they were heading to. Even Brienne and Bronn were prevented from joining them, just to keep the facade that they were still in Dorne.

"This is the Silver Storm," Sansa explained. "Doran and Oberyn commissioned this ship for me. We're going to Meereen."

It would not be the first time that any of the Martells made him drop his jaw. "Are you... certain?"

"Of course I am," Sansa replied. "They told me that I would be on this ship the moment any danger comes to Dorne."

"But... Dorne is not in danger," Tyrion reasoned. "I've not even sent my report to my father yet."

"It doesn't matter," Sansa said. "They must have planned to do something, or else they wouldn't have gotten this ship to sail. Why are you here anyways?"

"They said that I'd best get on the ship or they'd kill me," Tyrion answered truthfully. "I do like my head on my shoulders, and I decided that since I've seen so much of Westeros already..."

Sansa rolled her eyes. "You're not telling the truth," she grumbled. "This is getting nowhere."

"No, I wasn't," Tyrion said. "But I think you know very well why your husband did this. And since when did you ever complain about anything?"

For the first time in his life, he heard Sansa snort. He bet that not even Oberyn had heard this. "I complained about everything once, but that's not the matter. I know what I'm going to do, but what do they want you in Meereen for?" If anything, Tyrion thought that this slight alteration in Sansa's character was her melding her former self and her new persona. It was a good sign, he thought, that she was finally finding a part of herself in this big, convoluted world they all lived in.

"Well, I don't know, really," Tyrion said, rubbing his temples. "So why don't you be a dear and put the tea on and we can exchange our sob stories?"

"The armies of Dorne are massing, my lord," Varys told the Small Council. It had been weeks since Tyrion had reached Dorne. Given the lifestyles of his hosts, Tywin did not begrudge him for the tardiness of his report. He did, after all, task his son to give him a detailed report on Dorne, and such could only be accomplished after some amount of time observing the Dornishmen as they ran about their lives. "They said that Lannister and Tyrell soldiers were spotted setting to the private apartments of the Martells in the Water Gardens."

Mace Tyrell shook his head. "This is preposterous!" he exclaimed as the doors to the council's chambers were opened and some guards brought in the charred remains of the soldiers in question. They were as Varys described, wearing the armors of Tyrell and Lannister men. "Lord Tywin, this... this is a heinous accusation!"

"It is indeed," Tywin returned. "Varys, what do the Martells say about Tyrion?"

"There was no word from Lord Tyrion," Varys said. "The Martells have also cited that Princess Sansa was kidnapped. She was not seen after they put out the fires."

"They are the ones who have instigated this!" Pycelle raged. "My lord, the Martells must be stopped before they..."

Tywin cleared his throat and no one dared to make a sound. "They are already in league, the Martells and the Starks," he said calmly, although he knew that he had been fooled for the better part of a year. "They were in league before Prince Oberyn married Sansa Stark." Now that he looked back, he realized that Tyrion's deadpan jokes were actually accurate. The fact that the Northern armies had all retreated to the North was now clear to him. It was so that the fight would be brought to them instead. It was an oversight that he knew would come back to haunt him limitlessly.

"The Martells must be stopped and the Starks as well," he said. "Send word to Petyr Baelish. Tell him that if he hands me Robb Stark's head, he will have Catelyn Stark and everything in the North as a gift to console him of his recent widowerhood. Or, if he would give me Doran and Oberyn's, he can have Sansa Stark if he finds her. The choice is up to him."

"My lord, is placing all your cards on Baelish wise?" Varys asked. "What if he swallows us all whole when he accomplishes either one?"

Tywim slammed his palm onto the table. "I told you to contact Lord Baelish, and you will do so!" he shouted at Varys, a rare occurrence and the representation of what rage that stirred him to destroy the Reynes in his youth. "Am I clear?"

Varys nodded and bowed. "I will get to it immediately."

"Good," he said and saw Varys off. "Lord Tyrell, would you be so kind as to summon Jaime to my study? There is much I would discuss with the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard."

"Very well, Lord Tywin."

HAN: FINALLY we are seeing some progress! I decided rather than have Tywin attacking Dorne for whatever reason, let Dorne start some of the party first. By party I mean uprising...

I know, Oberyn's being an utter meanie for leaving Sansa for Meereen like that, but hey, if they really had formal goodbyes, they'd be having hot goodbye-sex forever and ever and work can't be done at all.

Enjoy!