birtek: On the contrary, the dialogue adds depth to the characters, make some characters interact when they didn't see each other in canon. Everything can't be battles and fancy tournaments. The dialogue is crucial to a story, especially this one, where it is built on character interaction rather than sex or battles.
ATP: Self-insert oblige, having decent hygiene with a full bathroom is obligatory.
Sansa
Of all the places on the continent she would have hoped to set foot in one day, she did not expect to visit the Water Gardens so soon.
Far to the south, in Dorne, in a land that seemed almost mystical, she would be lucky if she were to travel there even once. And being of the North, such travel was almost impossible.
Yet, here she was, surrounded by the calm pools and the shade of palm and orange trees. Not a soul to disturb her, except perhaps a couple of children running, chased by midwives or maids, while the guards stood silently, far away.
It felt good, to be finally left alone. To be in peace, not constantly jeered at, humiliated and beaten.
The people she crossed paths with were all pleasant to speak to, and none laid so much as a finger on her. Ellaria Sand, whom she only knew as being Prince Oberyn's whore at court, proved to be such a lovely woman, who showed her every affection as if she were her child.
She took care of Sansa, presented her own daughters to her, and made sure that she had every comfort here: clothes, food, water, a comfortable bed and peace when she needed it. She showed her the vastness of the Gardens and the calm sea and splendid turquoise beaches right next to them.
Ellaria Sand was a gentle, kind, soul. Something Sansa was sorely missing recently, and she thanked her much for it.
But Sansa didn't delude herself. She knew that she was just a hostage between these walls. She wasn't allowed to ride anywhere unless it was with a close escort, never mind even going to Sunspear. But if she were to trade gaolers, at least she thanked these ones, for they treated her like she was a proper lady.
But now, she was alone, even further from the North than before. Her family was still out of reach, and she had no news of them. What happened to her family? Robb, Bran and Rickon were dead, but what of Arya, Jon and Mother? Where were they? Were they safe?
So many questions, and so little answers.
For now, though, Sansa decided to soothe her mind the only way she knew how: to take a dive in the pools.
Slowly, she took off her light Dornish dress, a gift from Ellaria that had belonged to one of the Red Viper's daughters when she was younger, and put it aside, amidst the palm trees.
The area of the Gardens she was in was a clearly secure area. No less than eight guards were on duty in this place alone, and they could only let through the members of the Martell family without any announcement.
This suited her well. It meant no one would come, and if they did, it would probably be Ellaria or one of her young daughters, who had sought to play with her.
No one would come to stare at her, no one would disturb her.
Shedding her last items of clothing, her shoes, she slowly dropped into the pool, feeling the warm water around her ankles, then along her entire body as she sunk further in.
She enjoyed the feeling of it, a fresh respite despite the water temperature, since the sun was high in the sky, and peals of sweat had started to form on her forehead.
She sunk her head deep into the pool, her auburn hair slowly sinking with her whilst she closed her eyes to avoid the stinging sensation of more water rushing into them.
The water soothed her scars, making the light twitches and small pains go away for an instant.
When she rose out of the water to take a breath, she could feel her hair falling in front of her, and quickly shoved it back. It would not do to feel uncomfortable while swimming, and it would do even less for her hair to graze her burnt face.
With a few strokes, she went towards a part of the pool which laid in the shade of a large orange tree, whose leaves had painted a side of the pool with green and yellow. The heat was much more bearable there.
Therefore, she brought a hand to the edge of the pool, and rested there, placing her hands out of the water to allow her head to rest for a moment, enjoying the silence and the small chirping of the birds, interrupted by a few ruffling of leaves caused by a small breeze coming from the sea.
She closed her eyes, dreaming for a moment.
However, this didn't last long.
Sansa started to feel uneasy, like something was amiss. She looked around, as if she knew she was being watched.
Suddenly, a figure appeared amidst the palm trees, and she instinctively retreated into the water.
"My lady, I did not mean to scare you," said a feminine voice.
Sansa squinted; her vision blurred by the sun bearing down on her.
"Who goes there?" she asked.
"It's me, my lady," the voice of the small figure answered, "Myrcella."
Sansa slowly tiptoed her way back towards the edge, where a stony staircase had been etched into the pool, resting on a shallower area.
Indeed, she could finally see the person that had interrupted her afternoon swim. It was the princess Myrcella, with her long blonde hair, wearing a Dornish robe similar to Sansa's own, but strewn with the sun and spear pattern so particular to House Martell.
"I did not wish to interrupt your day, my lady," the Lannister girl spoke softly, "I merely hoped we could speak. We have not spoken in a long time."
Sansa got out of the pool, grabbing a towel and clothing herself with it, letting the drops of water run down her hair to come to settle on the ground below.
"You're beautiful, my lady," said Myrcella, her voice as soft as ever, whilst looking her up and down.
Sansa didn't say anything. Instead, she just looked at the girl inquisitively, as if waiting to see if she would drop the mask she was wearing, or to see if she was truly genuine in her intentions.
Inwardly, Sansa hoped it was genuine concern. After all, the girl was a child, not even three-and-ten yet. But she knew better.
"I'm sorry." Myrcella shifted awkwardly in front of her, looking downwards.
"What for, my lady?" Sansa dared to ask.
"For what he did to you," Myrcella's answer was quick. "I…I…cannot fathom what you had to go through. I…I cried for you, and prayed for you, whilst I was still in the capital, my lady."
"I thank you for your prayers." Sansa said. "But I fear they were not of much use."
Myrcella seemed to be uncomfortable at Sansa's answer, but nodded nonetheless.
"I…I knew…Joff was…" the Lannister girl was struggling to keep herself together. "My brother was a monster."
Sansa didn't say anything, letting Myrcella continue.
"He was always mean to everyone. The servants, the maids, even Tommen and I," she confessed. "But my mother was always kind to me. I could not have imagined her doing this to you."
Then you do not know your mother at all, Sansa thought bitterly. She might just be a bigger monster than he.
"Joffrey was a monster, and now he's dead," Sansa's reply was cold, without any emotion.
"Yes." Myrcella nodded. "I cannot rejoice in his death, but I can certainly think it was a liberation for you, just like when my great-uncle Kevan sent me here."
Myrcella took a step forward.
"I was afraid at first. Leaving my family, my home, it was all hard. Of course, I knew it was going to happen one day, but so soon? However, one thing did console me, and that was getting away from Joffrey. He could no longer torment me, but I feared someone else might do so. After all, it was no secret the Martells despised us."
Sansa didn't utter a word, instead adjusting her towel while looking at the blonde-haired girl.
"But I have been treated with nothing but kindness here. Even the Red Viper's daughters, those whom are called the Sand Snakes, only treated me with the utmost kindness, love and respect, as if I already were one of theirs. I'm…happy for you, my lady. I hope that you will find some happiness here, as I have."
"I thank you, my lady." Sansa nodded in response. "Does your betrothed treat you well?"
"Oh, Trys is sweet as could be." Myrcella suddenly bore a broad smile. "I could not dream of a better husband, I must admit. But, tell me, my lady, are you adjusting well here?"
"I am trying to, my lady." Sansa sat down on a small oaken bench, before suddenly finding herself asking, "Tell me, what do you know of Prince Quentyn?"
"Only what the rumors say, my lady."
"And what do the rumors say?"
"That the Prince is a gift from the heavens to us, that he has done much for Dorne and its people, and that he avenged Princess Elia's death," she replied simply.
"Have you met him?" Sansa asked.
"Only once," Myrcella replied. "He seemed kind but reserved. In truth, he wasn't interested in me as much as the woman at his side at that moment, but he still wished Trystane and I happiness in our marriage."
"When was this?" Sansa seemed to grow confused.
"This morning." Myrcella smiled slightly. "The Prince has come to visit the Gardens to pay homage to his father."
Sansa opened her mouth, but words didn't come out of it. Why didn't she notice his presence, and would she finally get some answers as to why he brought her here?
"My lady, could I ask you a question?" Sansa inquired.
"Of course," came the Lannister girl's answer.
"Why has the Prince brought me here, in your opinion?"
"Why, to marry you, my lady."
Myrcella's answer seemed to have cut deep.
"To marry me?" Sansa asked, taken aback.
"You are a beautiful woman, my lady, and from another kingdom besides," Myrcella replied with her innocent voice. "But it is known the prince's heart is spoken for. If he brought you here, wouldn't it be for you to marry him so that he may lay with his love, whilst you could enjoy whatever you wish to do without a worry? That is what Trystane told me."
Sansa's gaze stayed fixed on the girl in front of her, unsure of what to answer.
Fortunately, another woman entered the pathway. It was Ellaria Sand, who called out to them.
"Lady Sansa, Prince Quentyn requires your presence, you must get dressed!"
Myrcella looked at her and took the intervention as a sign to leave.
"I bid you a good day, my lady." The blonde-haired Lannister bowed her head slightly and left, leaving Sansa confused.
No matter, she would find answers soon.
Putting on her dress, she was quick to dry her hair and walk towards the doors to the small patch of gardens and pools she was staying in, and was escorted to another place, less crowded, and with much more shade.
In the middle of this new garden was a table at which Prince Quentyn sat alone, garnered with fruit and pitches and glasses. Alongside it was an empty chair, clearly destined for her.
Quickly, she walked down the stony path which snaked through the palm trees to find the Prince standing, awaiting her.
"Lady Sansa." He rose, "Please sit."
Sansa curtsied before taking the chair opposite him.
"Wine?" he offered.
"If you would," Sansa agreed to a glass, no more.
The prince took a pitcher and served her a glass of Dornish Red, whilst serving himself only a cup of water.
He then handed her a plate full of cut fruit, on which lay apples, grapes, peaches, plums, oranges, pomegranate and clementines.
She took some of it to her mouth, enjoying the sweet sugary taste of the clementines whilst also tasting the fresh wine coming to soothe her throat.
"How are you faring, princess Sansa?" the prince started by asking. "I trust everyone has been kind to you?"
"I am well, my prince," Sansa spoke in a low voice. "I have been well treated, but as I have told your men, I am no princess."
"I am sure my men have told you why you are addressed as such. Though I am pleased to hear you are well here, the heat can be challenging to adapt to, and do call me Quentyn." Her interlocutor rectified his curly hair as he brought water to his lips.
"I shall."
"I am sorry for not meeting you earlier, I had business to attend elsewhere, and these past weeks have been a true nightmare. I needed a few moments of rest," he continued.
Sansa nodded at these words.
"When we met in the capital, I did not expect the Lannister dogs to have mistreated you in this way." He crossed his arms, staring at her with a twitch in his right eye, his scar almost judging her. "But you are a strong woman, princess. You survived your torturers and you kept your wits while more fickle women would have broken. I truly admire your courage."
Sansa was taken aback by these words, and couldn't manage to mutter anything.
"When I ordered you to be taken, I must confess, I only intended to stop your suffering. Even with the Tyrells in charge, who knows what could have happened to you in that wretched city. No. If I got you out, it is because I wanted you to stop suffering."
"I thank you, my…Quentyn," Sansa answered, floored.
"I know you must long for home. Gods know I can understand how you feel. But as it stands there are enemies between Dorne and the North, and as such, I may not return you even if I wished to." The prince sighed.
"Even if you wished…" Sansa wondered aloud.
Prince Quentyn nodded.
"I will be honest, Princess." Prince Quentyn looked at her with sad eyes. "Completely honest. You are my hostage here."
Sansa's eyes fell.
Of course, it was too good to be true. As she had thought, she had only swapped gaolers.
"Now, I do not intend to see you unhappy. I promise you, on my life, that you will be returned to your family as soon as possible," he said, clutching one of her hands.
"I understand." Sansa did her best to repress tears.
"Princess, something is bothering you," the prince observed. "Please, speak your mind."
Sansa looked him in the eyes, fighting back the tears, and said to his face: "Don't you wish to marry me, my prince?"
"Me?" the prince's eyes went wide. "Who gave you such an idea?"
"Your…brother, told Lady Myrcella, and she told me."
"Trystane is too young to understand what is happening." Quentyn chuckled. "As for Lady Myrcella, she is a sweet girl, but too innocent. No, I do not wish to marry you. I am not so cruel as to have saved you from a horrible fate to forcefully tie you to me, far from your home and your family."
Sansa breathed a sigh of relief.
"No," the prince continued, reaching towards his doublet and pulling out a letter, which he promptly gave to her. "This is the reason I must keep you here."
Sansa took the letter, and quickly began reading it.
Suddenly, her face turned white with shock.
"Quentyn,
I write to you most urgently. It seems that the North has kept a weapon from us. A week ago, a force of fifty thousand strong men that set from Harrenhal was destroyed at the walls of Riverrun.
The survivors say they were set upon by a huge blue dragon, who wiped out the army and forced them to scatter. Word has now traveled that it had a rider.
The identity of the rider is Lord Regent Jon Stark, whose real parentage you know. He supposedly is acting in the name of King Rickon Stark, of Winterfell, and since then has been helping the Riverlanders. I know nothing else.
I hope this raven finds you well, as it may be my last. The Ironborn have been seen around these waters and we might be the target of their next assault. We must all be ready.
Do what you must for Dorne. Unbowed, Unbent, Unbroken.
Your cousin,
Sarella.
"
Sansa put down the letter, in shock.
"I must admit that this was very unexpected news." The prince sighed, his face betraying no emotion other than a slight frown. "But I must owe you the truth. Your bastard brother is not Eddard Stark's. He is the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. This makes him…"
"…a Targaryen." Sansa gasped, her fingers shaking.
"Daeron Targaryen, to be precise. A secret that is now no longer one, seeing as he has somehow acquired a dragon of his own."
"Rickon is alive…" Sansa allowed herself a smile.
"It seems so." Prince Quentyn nodded. "In any case you may now see why I need to keep you here. Dorne will soon go to war, and your cousin was not on the list of the enemies I intended to face, much less one with a dragon."
Sansa's heart lifted. Surely, Jon would come and save her, now that he had a dragon. He could come into the courtyard of Sunspear and fly her away from here. But that was if she knew where she was.
"While honor may dictate that your cousin may be my enemy since he represents the stain on Elia's honor, I am not one to jump to hasty conclusions. Perhaps your cousin may be amenable to us, and in which case, I will be happy to hand you back to him or your brother so that you may join your family as soon as possible."
Sansa's eyes darted to the prince, who seemed genuine.
"However, if he doesn't…then in order to stop every castle from Yronwood to Sunspear from a fate worse than the Dragon's Wroth, then you must understand that I cannot do otherwise than keep you here till I get dragons of my own. I am sorry."
Sansa gulped and nodded slowly.
"I understand, Quentyn."
"In the meantime, while you are my hostage," the prince held her hand again as they stood up and walked away from the table, "I do not wish you to lack of anything. You will be treated like a princess, and I have given orders as such. If you have any concern, however personal they may be, bring them to Ellaria who will bring them to me. If you wish to travel, I can have an escort arranged. If you wish to visit certain establishments or wish to go to bathe in the sea, I will have ladies come with you as well."
"You are kind," Sansa bowed her head in thanks, holding his arm while sliding the letter inside her dress.
"If you wish to buy yourself any stuffs from the market or the shops, I shall give you gold to spend, Princess," Prince Quentyn continued. "If you must speak to me immediately you will be let through to my rooms. Just remember to knock first, it will save us some embarrassment."
"I will tell lady Ellaria if I wish anything," Sansa said with a slight smile, the prince showing her to the door to her rooms.
"Have a good evening, Princess." The prince kissed her on the cheek and let her in her rooms, finally leaving her alone in her chambers, which were already large enough for a king.
That night, she closed her eyes with a wide smile on her lips. For the first time in so long, she could feel that her family was close, and that they had not forgotten about her.
Soon, they would come for her and they would finally be reunited. She would hug mother, Rickon, Jon and Arya, for even if there was no word of her sister, she knew she was alive.
But most of all, she smiled at the thought of Jon having a dragon. His parentage be damned to the seven hells, she could not care less.
No, she cared only for one thing: now she would see Cersei Lannister burn.
