Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The morning market was already warm, though bearable compared to the afternoon heat. Patrons and shoppers went about their business, strolling from stall to stall, the awnings and canopies offering a brief respite from the sun. Spiced meats and fruits filtered through the air, snacks for the market goers as merchants called out their wares, flagging down anyone who made eye contact with them a second too long.

An arm loosely locked with her handmaiden, a young woman began her stroll from her small compound through the market streets. A white and beaded silk scarf draped on her head and one side tossed over the opposite shoulder, the two barely got to their first destination when a commotion broke the relaxed but loud peace of the market place.

They snapped their heads towards the sound, not seeing much until a slight young man slipped between the crowd, eyes latching onto their form, particularly the young woman. His face brightened with relief as he ran to them.

“My Lady! Please, I need cover!”

Narrowing her eyes, the lady gestured to his leather knife holster strapped across his chest, “Take that off, you fool, if you can't even hide yourself from guards. And your tunic too.” The boy complied, quick fingers familiar with the buckles as he shrugged that and then his white tunic over his head. The handmaiden snatched it from his hands, stuffing it into her basket and covering it with her own red scarf.

Next, the lady tugged him behind her and hissed, “Keep quiet, you are my stable boy.” Just as a pair of guards broke through the crowd. Immediately, the three of them pretended to become focused on a stall full of trinkets. The stall owner said nothing, though her eyes darted between the three of them and the guards. However, anyone close enough to her compound tend to have loyalty more firmly for the lord there than with the city guards.

After a long moment of surveying the area, the guards approached their group, “You there!” Turning to them with a guileless expression, the lady tilted her head to the side, “Can I help you, sers?”

They eyed the boy suspiciously, “We're searching for a thief. A boy.”

Aghast, she placed her hand tenderly on her chest, “Do you- are you suggesting my stable boy is a thief?” Behind her, the boy put on an equally hurt and astonished expression, shrinking into himself to appear smaller. The handmaiden helped by wrapping a comforting and protective arm around his shoulders. “Loran is a good boy!” She insisted, “A bit simple but he would never steal from anyone! Why, he's practically been raised within my husband's household-”

“My lady,” One guard interrupted, growing frustrated with her prattling, “Have you seen anyone run through here?” Taking a long moment to think, purposefully too long in order to make them impatient and irritate them further, the young woman nodded slowly and pointed, “I believe I heard something from over there-”

They immediately ran off to the left, not even hearing the end of her sentence. There was a pause as they waited for the guards to be out of sight, before she whirled around to the boy, cutting off his sniggering. Paling at her furious expression, Loran tried, “My Lady-”

Her hand snaked out and latched onto his ear, tugging him close, “Foolish boy! Has the Mentor taught you nothing!?” Whining, Loran begged, “I'm sorry, my Lady! I thought-”

“No!” She hissed back, “You didn't think.” Keeping a firm grip on his ear, the young woman turned to the handmaiden, “Marie, it appears our outing will be delayed. Will you please accompany me back to the compound?”

Amused, Marie nodded, “Of course, my lady.” The handmaiden leading the way, the lady pulled the boy all the way back to the compound by his ear, Loran whining the entire way. The guards standing at the entrance bowed as they chuckled in amusement at the complaining boy as they passed them. “He should be in the training pavilion currently, my Lady!” One called after them.

“Thank you, Sebastian.” Was her prim response.

It didn't take them long to enter the training pavilion, wide arches to allow a breeze to filter through whilst protecting the occupants from the unforgiving sun. At their entrance many of the currently training younger ones began to laugh at Loran's misfortune. None to gently, the young woman released the boy, making him stumble before the Mentor, whose arms were folded. The disappointment was palpable even with his calm expression.

“Loran.”

It was only his name that was spoken, but the weight of the Mentor's irritation was enough to have the boy truly contrite and ducking his head down. “I'm sorry, Mentor.” The man arched a dark eyebrow as he faced the Lady, “What did he do?”

“According to the two guards who were chasing him? Theft.”

That had the man frowning, snapping to Loran, “You got caught stealing!?”

“But-!”

“No excuses!” The Mentor cut off, “You should be spending more time training your stealth than with your blades if you got caught stealing! You are to be making junior disciple within the next year, and you are still being caught for something that the greenest of novices learn how to do!”

“I'm sorry, Mentor! I didn't see them!” Loran tried to argue, only to wilt at the dark expression settling like a thunder cloud over the Mentor's face. “If your situational awareness is that terrible, you shouldn't even be let outside of the compound, risking the rest of the brotherhood.”

Loran fell to his knees, bowing forward until his head touched the stone. “Forgive me, Mentor! I beg for one more chance.” Rubbing at his temple, the Mentor bemoaned, “How many chances have we given you, Loran? How many times have you failed to follow through with your word? Shouldn't you be giving up by now?”

Instantly, Loran's head snapped up, eyes filling with determination, “I will never give up, Mentor! I will do better! I promise!”

“Your promises mean nothing if you can not keep them.” The Mentor replied softly, stepping closer to the boy and staring down at him. There was a myriad of emotions flickering over his face, never settling on one. The silence was deafening, and the Lady wondered if she should step in. However, she knew the Mentor to never be cruel, only hard on his students out of worry. After some long seconds dragged by, the Mentor sighed heavily.

“Get up, Loran.”

The stubborn boy shook his head, “Not until you accept my promise! I will do better! I won't sneak out, I won't get caught stealing, I'll practice my stealth more-” Holding up his hand quietly, the Mentor stopped the boy’s begging in his tracks. “Enough, Loran. Get up and go to your bunk. I would have you think on your behaviour. Come find me when you believe you have the true reason on why I am upset with you.”

“But-” Loran tried to protest.

“Go.” His tone was final. Mouth clicking shut, Loran ducked his head down as he rose back to his feet. He hurried out of the pavilion, only pausing to accept his things back from Marie. Turning to the other students, the Mentor called, “Dismissed! You have an hour before the lesson restarts. Spend it wisely.” The students ran out of the pavilion, keeping quiet with their teacher's turmoil of emotions on their minds.

Once all of them have filtered out, Marie being the last to leave with a lingering glance their way, it was soon just the Mentor and the Lady left to themselves. Without the students watching, the Mentor slumped, exhausted. Desmond ran a rough hand through his shortly cropped hair, “That boy, I swear.”

Stepping closer, Sansa placed a soothing hand on his arm, “He looks up to you, husband. He's only trying to gain your attention.” Sighing, brown eyes cracked open. With a roll of them, the man muttered, “Too much like me. I knew what a little shit I could be at his age, and I don't want him to get hurt.”

Hand trailing down his arm to instead take one of his hands into hers, Sansa squeezed it encouragingly. “It's not your fault, Desmond. Maybe talk to him. Perhaps explaining more on why such secrecy and caution is needed, he would stop acting out.”

With a steady gaze on her, Desmond nodded as he muttered to himself, “Could help.” Then, he let his head fall into his free hand with a groan, “I'm not even his father, why does it feel like I am!?” Laughing, Sansa reached up to take his other hand as well, leaning into catch his eye, “Because you are a soft-hearted man who can't say no to orphans.”

His response was to tug her into an embrace, grumbling in her hair, sari having slipped down, “I'm only twenty, Sansa. I'm not old enough to be a dad to this many kids.” With the last five years exposing her to Desmond's strange words, Sansa pursued them for the meaning and snorted a second later, “Maybe stop taking in every street urchin you come across then.”

“Never.” Was his sullen response, and Sansa ended up giggling a little into his shoulder before she pulled away. Cupping one hand to his cheek, she brushed a thumb over the scar that cut over his lip, the man leaning into the contact. “Go easy on him, Desmond. He's only trying to make you proud.”

“I'm already proud of him.” The man muttered, confused and frustrated, “I'm proud of all of them. This isn't an easy life, and I don't give them much of an option-”

“Hush now.” Sansa reprimanded with a small scowl, “You give them plenty of options. You have forced none of them onto this path, this is all by their own choice.” Sighing once more, the man nodded, stepping back. Her hand fell but he caught it. Staring resolutely down at her hand, his calloused fingers tracing the lines on her palm, Desmond whispered, “I hope I'm doing the right thing.”

Curling her fingers around his, she dragged his hand up to her mouth, placing a soft kiss on them. Hands that have killed and saved, and she pressed all her love into that one fleeting kiss. Looking up at him, Sansa gave him a warm smile, “You are. I truly believe that you are, Desmond.”

The relief in his eyes at her resolute opinion had the man relaxing, tension seeping from his shoulders. Gaze soft, Desmond stepped closer once more to bump his forehead against hers, “Thank you, Sansa.” Closing her eyes, said young woman leant into the contact in response.

Five years ago

Climbing up over the balcony railing, Desmond purposefully scuffed his foot across the stone ledge, and with practised ease dodged the blade that went sailing where his head previously was. Blinking once, the boy grinned at the disapproving expression of the knife thrower. “How many knives do you think you've lost by now?”

Rolling his eyes, Desmond's father approached him, the boy hopping down from the railing to enter into the office, “None. I send people to retrieve them. And must you continue coming into my solar this way?” Punching the man lightly in the arm once they were close enough, Desmond replied cheerfully, “Keeps you on your toes, old man.”

Roughly ruffling his hair, not that there was much to ruffle with how close cropped it was, Oberyn Martell refuted with a hint of offense, “I'm not an old man! I'm a man in his prime.”

Desmond snorted, “Keep telling yourself that, dad.”

When Desmond died, he couldn't say opening his eyes to blurry surroundings and unfamiliar arms holding him was surprising. It was similar to being in Ezio's memories in the animus on the day he was born, forcing the little body to kick and stay living. After all the experience he's had in his past life with falling into bodies not his own, Desmond took to his new life easily.

The new land he was in was reminiscent of both Altair and Ezio's time period, with his new home, the Kingdom of Dorne, being hot and sandy as Masyaf had been. His mom was absent, Desmond having been given over to his dad not too long after being born. From what he gathered, his mom was a prostitute, his dad an actual prince. And for a while, Desmond waited for the disinterest or dislike to arrive, being a bastard of a noble, but it never came. It took some years as he learnt about his surroundings and new culture that bastards were loved in Dorne, an exception compared to the rest of the continent he lived on: Westeros.

It seemed, for once, he was lucky. Because he was loved by his father and older sisters, he was cared for and never forced into anything besides lessons, which Desmond willingly attended. He was in a strange new world, and even before all the shit with Abstergo he always tried to gather as much intel on his new environments from when he ran away from the Farm.

And man, what a world he lived in.

Dragons existed not even that long ago, there was bizarre magic over the Narrow sea, and some insane past wars. This was not a world where one should go into without being physically capable at protecting themselves, and Desmond had no problem throwing himself into Assassin training as soon as he was able to fully run without tripping, along with the actual training provided by the Master at Arms.

His family thought his perchance to climb and sneak around to be adorable until he got a little older and Desmond was able to sneak up on them, scaring them shitless. But he could feel the older instincts from the ancestors of his past life still linger in his head, and already knew without making the conscious decision that he would be building his own brotherhood here, and this time there was no Isu technology or Templars to fuck it all up.

And standing before his dad, a request on the tip of his tongue, he would begin his mission on ensuring the peace and protecting the innocent. “I have something to ask of you.” Desmond began, his father's jovial expression melting some at his son's serious expression.

“Ask away, my son.”

“I want to get the Stark sisters out of King's Landing.” Oberyn's face went blank, though there was that typical fire at the name of the capital city, and those who resided within its walls. “And why would you wish to do such a thing?”

Standing his ground, Desmond steadily gave his reasoning, “They are a pair of innocent girls caught up in the middle of a petty power play, and I can't in good conscious leave them there knowing I could do something.” Folding his arms, Oberyn pointed out, “There are already rumours that they don't even have both sisters, just the one.”

“Then we get just the one out.” Desmond insisted, not swayed. “She's alone with the Lannisters, father. It isn't fair for her.”

“Life isn't fair, Desmond.” With a gruff sigh, the older man paced away from Desmond towards his desk, showing his lack of interest in his son's request. However, Desmond was stubborn when he wanted to be, and dealt with Bill Miles a good chunk of his past life. This dismissal would do nothing to dissuade his decision. “And if you had the chance to get Aunt Elia out of the Red Keep?”

“Do not,” The older man whirled around, that fire now blazing in his eyes, “Bring Elia into this.”

“You're leaving another girl to be trapped and harmed by the Lannisters!” Desmond argued, stepping forward, “Doing nothing is just the same as helping them keep her captive! If we have the ability to help, then we must.”

“You don't even know this girl-”

“That doesn't matter!” He yelled, “This is a girl with a large amount of political pull, and there is only so far someone can be pushed until they begin to learn to inflict harm on others. She's a child surrounded by enemies, who is she going to learn from?” It wasn't his only reason, he had plenty of them really, but the idea of someone being warped by their circumstances to become bad when it could've been prevented was certainly at the top of his list. He'd seen what happened when some became disillusioned with the world or their cause. He saw what happened with Lucy.

Oberyn scoffed, jaw clenching before he stated, “The North is currently winning to begin with.”

“The tide of war can change, dad.” Retorted Desmond, pointing out, “And you know the Lannisters will use any means necessary to win and keep themselves in power. Hell, I would kill the king himself with the right opportunity.”

“Don't say that, Desmond.” Oberyn hissed, coming back over to him, a furtive glance around the room causing himself to do the same, “We are in our home, but you may never know who is listening.” He said that as if the older man hadn't spewed treasonous words himself on a daily basis. But he was a father to the core, and worried about his family more than himself. Softening his tone a little, Desmond continued, though still with defiance, “I will go there myself, if I have to.”

“And are you going to rescue all the poor girls in the kingdom, who are similarly helpless?” The words were derisive, meant to hurt. Desmond held back a flinch.

A ridiculous part of him wanted to say yes. He wanted to believe he could, because he had done so before. If he could save the entire world from being burnt by the solar flare, he could try and save all the helpless in this one if he tried hard enough. But knew that was a hopeless, and impossible, endeavour. Didn't mean he wasn't going to try and help as many people as he could. “The war is making it worse. Removing one of the Stark girls takes a political piece away from the Lannisters. Ending this war should be our goal, we must take away this advantage from them.”

Assessing him for a long moment, his dad softly exhaled, “Peace is a fools ideal.”

Desmond nodded in begrudging agreement, “It's not achievable but you can still achieve something similar. There's no harm in trying, because at least I could say I tried.” That sharpened his softening expression, the older man glaring once more at Desmond, “Are insinuating that I did not try to get Elia and her children out of the lion's den, Desmond? Because I would be careful with your next words if you are.”

And this was why Desmond knew his dad preferred daughters over sons. When they argued, he found it impressive and something to be proud of. When Desmond did it, it was annoying and doubting his judgment. Desmond may have said his father loved him, didn't mean they never got at each other's throats. However, Desmond knew that Aunt Elia was a painful topic, and genuinely replied, with only a small bit of hesitance, “I would never say you didn't try, dad. We all know you did. But coming from the front in plain view is not always the best tactic.”

“And what would you suggest?” Oberyn tiredly asked, running a hand through his hair, “You sneak in over the walls, carry her out like it's that simple? You don't even know the layout of the city, much less the Red Keep. You are skilled, my son. But you are still a child, and have not yet experienced the world around you.”

The words irritated Desmond, wishing to reveal that he wasn't, in fact, a child no matter what his current body showed. However, he would sound insane, and that would be counter productive for his goal. “Then help me find another way, dad.” The younger man requested. “There's got to be some other way we can get her out of there. If she's safe, then maybe the Northern armies could begin to retreat back to their own lands to fortify against their enemy. With no war ravaging the Riverlands, then less crime could be inflicted on the small folk. The Lannisters would turn to focus more on themselves with no immediate war, and we could find a way to remove them as well during the lull.”

With the way he snuck around the palace, Desmond had heard many mutterings about Targaryens and the return of their rule. He didn't care too much about who was the rightful ruler on the throne, just wanted to carve out a place for himself in this world, and keep as many innocents alive as possible.

His father slumped onto his desk seat, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “The North fight for more than to just rescue the daughters. They executed Ned Stark, and they are at war for justice against that injustice. They would not just retreat because the Lannisters have no hostage.” And though his father made a very good point, the son was determined with his plan. So Desmond waited, watching as Oberyn contemplated. Then, with a heavy sigh, Desmond knew he won even at the grief filled gaze that was sent his way, his father reminding him, “You can't save everyone, Desmond.”

A wry smile pulled at his lips, thinking about his past life and ancestors, and agreed, “No.” However, he would not be swayed from his decision, “But I can try to save as many as I can.” Was his resolute response.

At fifteen, Desmond knew by this world's standards he was considered a young man. Eligible for potential marriage if he so chose, and with him technically having noble blood despite being a bastard, he could have his own household. He already had a few personal servants and guards, most he picked himself based on loyalty, their current skill set, and how willing they were to agree with Desmond's increasingly bizarre and strange schemes. One of them, a boy just a year older than Desmond going by the name Obah, was straight faced and appeared as if nothing was ever interesting or amusing. But Desmond knew better. The kid was just as much of an adrenaline junky as he was, and immediately joined him as he began climbing the Sunspear Palace's roofs when they were younger.

Said roof tops was where his personal guard found him, watching the setting sun cast an orange blaze of fire across the city and surrounding sandy landscape. With a stifled sigh, the older boy sat next to Desmond. “Did the discussion go well?” Leaning back on his hands, the other sent Obah a humourless smile, “I pissed him off and mentioned Aunt Elia twice.”

With a barely concealed wince, Obah muttered, “So not good.” A pause. “Does that mean we're breaking into the Red Keep ourselves then?”

“This is why you're my favourite.” Desmond chuckled, leaning to nudge the other teen's shoulder with his own. Obah swayed with the motion, a tiny smile creeping up on his usually blank face. “But no, we're not breaking in it seems. Dad wants to talk with uncle about getting the girl out.”

“Only one?”

“He mentioned about rumors of there only being one Stark girl with the Lannisters, so we'll plan for one, adapt for two.”

“Alright.” Obah agreed readily. Really, Desmond loved that this guy was down for anything.

Desmond's budding household consisted of three personal guards, a stable boy, and three maids – who were also being trained to fight alongside his guards. He had a tiny section of the Sunspear Palace set aside for himself, but he knew that one day he wanted to have his own keep. Can't really build a guild of assassins right under your father and uncle’s noses. He had his eyes on this old compound on the edge of the city, a few centuries old and crumbling. It used to be a private hold for a branch family of the Martells, but fell out of use.

If he dropped enough hints, Desmond might be able to get it soon. Uncle Doran had approved of Desmond creating his own household after the boy had firmly insisted he had no interest in taking the power from his cousin Arianna. Not that he could even if he tried. Even with bastards being more appreciated here, they would never allow a Sand on the throne unless last resort. And that woman could have Dorne for all he cared, as long as she didn't hurt innocents, grew corrupted with power, or tank their freaking economy, then they were good. But with him out of the palace and minding his own business, it eased any worried nobility of him wanting to try take it from her. And when Desmond reached sixteen, his uncle had promised him some personal land and funds to build up his own household.

Desmond was fucking stoked.

With a gusty exhale, he tilted to the side so that his head fell into Obah's lap. The boy blinked down at him, hand already beginning to sift through Desmond's short brown strands. There was a part of Desmond that wanted Obah, more than just their close friendship, but held back. Though a bastard, he was still Obah's lord and the power imbalance made him uncomfortable with the thought of pursuing the other male, on top of Desmond being mentally over thirty at this point. He wanted more, but held back, because he was genuinely happy with the comfortable friendship that they had, resting there in the quiet.

Walking the palace halls by himself two days after his talk with his dad, Desmond was interrupted from his musings by Ellaria. He brightened at the sight of her and little Loreza trailing behind her. He was exactly in the middle of his eight sisters, and loved them all, ecstatic to have siblings in this life. He was certainly a common punchline though, being Oberyn's only son.

His littlest sister bolted to him the second he turned their way, stooping down to catch her before she collided with his legs. She giggled as he faked grunted, “Oof, you've gotten heavy Loreza. Better stay away from all those tarts.”

“I'm not heavy!” She protested with an adorable pout. “You're just weak.”

“Weak!?” He gasped, “I'll show you weak.”

And with her already captive in his arms, he began to tickle her fiercely, her delighted shrieks filling the hall way. Coming closer, Ellaria smiled fondly at the pair of them. “Mama!” Loreza yelped, “Rescue me!” With a sad shake of her head, the mother feigned regret, “I'm afraid you insulted your brother's pride, there is nothing I can do to help.”

“That's right,” Desmond added, blowing a raspberry on her neck, making her squeal. “My weak manly dignity was injured and I must react accordingly.” However, he did let up on the tickling, dropping her panting body to the ground. She wavered before collapsing onto the floor in a giggling heap.

Above her, Ellaria informed him, “Oberyn and Doran are looking for you.”

Sobering, Desmond nodded, “Thanks, Ellaria.” Tsking, the woman reached up and patted his cheek gently, “You can call me mother, if you so wish. I've told you plenty of times and I know you aren't adverse to it.”

He only shrugged in response, glancing away. Moms in general were a touchy subject for him. His mom in his past life was a distant figure in his memories, she loved him but never stepped in when Bill was angry or upset with his inadequacies. His birth mom in this world was not even a memory, having given him to Oberyn barely a week after he was born. He was a son after all, and even in Dorne sons mattered. It felt strange to call Ellaria mother even after she practically raised him.

However, he was weak to the women in his life, and gave in. Darting a kiss to the woman's cheek, Desmond murmured, “I'll be on my way, mama.”

Smiling sweetly at him, the woman gestured to the hall behind her, “Best not keep them waiting.” Nodding, Desmond then glanced down at Loreza, who was playing with the laces of his boots. Nudging her leg a little he said, “I'm off, squirt. Play with you later.”

Hopping up, the girl flung her arms around his waist as a goodbye before darting off and away from them. Sharing an amused glance with Ellaria, they parted ways, Desmond off to talk with his dad and uncle.

He didn't know what their answer would be, even after his talk with Oberyn. So when he entered the solar, and saw where his uncle was sat behind his desk with his dad off to the side, arms folded, Desmond's curiosity turned into trepidation. There was a calculated gleam in his uncle's eyes, and from his father's posture, he was tense. The door clicked behind him, steps loud as he approached the desk, eyes darting between the two men. “Either it's a no, or you have a plan I'm not going to like.”

They shared a glance between them at Desmond's opening words, before Uncle Doran cleared his throat, “Have a seat, Desmond.”

Absolutely not. Desmond stayed standing. At his silent refusal, Oberyn sighed, exasperated, “It's a yes, but only if you agree to the plan.”

“I would be happy to hear the plan before I agree to it.” A pause. His father was frowning that frown that told Desmond he was amused but exhausted by his son's behaviour. Uncle Doran however pursed his lips, uncertain on how to continue. Desmond decided to take a seat, relaxing into a sprawl as he waved his hand, “Lay it on me. What's the plan?”

“Marriage.” Was his dad's frank answer.

Desmond blinked. “You're getting married, dad?”

The man dropped his head into his hand heavily, however it lightened the mood as Uncle Doran snorted, turning to look at the man, “Yes, little brother. Are you getting married?”

“No, I'm not.” The man loudly declared, before scowling at Desmond, “You will be, if you want to save the Stark girl from the lions.” Desmond stilled. Registering that, he leapt to his feet, starting to pace around the room in thought. This was why he didn't want to sit in the first place, knowing he would need to move in order to think.

Despite being reborn with a bunch of sisters that adored him and a father that actually liked him, Desmond found this world sucked a whole lot more than his previous one. For one, there was no plumbing, but he was slowly working on that issue. Another was how traditional and old fashioned the world was in the way they treated people and genders, however that was something he had seen in his ancestor's lives before, so he had adjusted to it with a surliness. Desmond hated the thought of others being less deserving to live or treated fairly just because they were born in a lower social class. Granted, that still existed in his world, but not with such a huge divide and apathy as it did here. Being born a prince's son gave him far better treatment, but that was only due to being born in Dorne. Anywhere else and he probably would've been fucked.

But one of the main things he knew about this world that he did not enjoy was the way ages were perceived. At fifteen, he was seen as a young man, and able to marry if he wanted to, despite himself fully in the mindset of 'I have the memories and common sense of a fully realised adult, but I am in the body of a child which means I will not have any romantic or sexual interactions with people my age because that's gross and collides with my morals'. His current plan was waiting until he turned eighteen so he could finally have sex again. Those few months of being in and out of the animus having completely shot any libido – except for those awkward moments when he left the animus after Ezio decided to fall into bed with some prostitute – and Desmond hadn't had the chance to even kiss a person, let alone fuck. However, alive once more meant he finally could. Desmond just wanted to wait until he was at a comfortable legal age – his past life's standards of legal not this place's fucked up one's – to finally have sex again in order to not feel gross. It was agony at times, but running across roof tops, planning a future brotherhood of assassins, and designing hidden blades did a lot in keeping himself occupied and distracted. And his hand helped too.

And now, he would have to get married to a girl to save said girl.

Rubbing at his mouth, Desmond paused in his pacing at ask, “How old is she?”

Doran picked up a letter, “She is the eldest daughter of Ned Stark, which I believe would make her thirteen.” Grimacing, the teen went back to his pacing. Obviously, he would not touch her, damn whatever traditions would demand a consummation to make the union a legal one. And he wouldn't be shocked if she was terrified to marry a stranger, let alone have him bed her. However, there were ways to lie and work around that issue.

Neither his dad or uncle knew he was a reborn man, so he couldn't argue that he was too old for her, as he would seem like an idiot, being only two years older. “They mention her having begun her bleeding. She is deemed a woman grown by that standard.” His uncle then pointed out, seeing the problem his nephew was taking issue with. However, he was just a little off the mark, Desmond inwardly mused. But it was close enough to work with. Scoffing, Desmond glanced their way, “We all know that means fucking nothing. If she got pregnant at that age, I highly doubt she would survive it. She's too young to carry a child, she's still a child herself!” He couldn't help but exclaim.

“And so are you.” His dad finally spoke up, dark eyes watching Desmond knowingly. “You always call yourself a child, thinking fifteen is not old enough to be seen as an adult. What is wrong with a child marrying a child?”

“Uh, besides it being just wrong? And that children should be far more focused on being children than having to worry about marriage and making children themselves?”

“Her hand could be offered to me instead.” Oberyn pointed out, “Or even Doran.”

And Desmond's lip twitched to snarl, “I will kill them. Offering a child to a man as old as her own father.” He began to stalk back and forth again, further agitated even as a plan began to form. In this instance, the backwards traditions would work in his favour. She would be deemed as his property, which meant she was under his protection, safe and secure from her enemies. And they would probably have to go to the capital in order for him to marry him, they would want that seen first hand, and not just ship her over on the first Dorne bound vessel.

Which meant an easy way into the castle and an excuse to learn the lay out of the place. Obah and Abed have been coming along well in their training, especially their stealth. He knew Abed had some reservations still about killing, so he couldn't be the one to make that kill, but Obah on the other hand didn't have much of an opinion on taking a life beyond not hurting those that don't deserve it. As for the girls, Annalise and Pryia could be deemed stab-happy, and very eager to help with the murder of a monarch. He thought them adorable.

“How did you get them to agree to a marriage?” Desmond wondered out loud, because it seemed too easy. Why would they just allow to marry off one of their biggest pawns to a bastard in Dorne. Oberyn snorted, “Promised to not join the war on the North's side. They couldn't handle it coming from two fronts.”

His uncle held the letter out to Desmond, who came closer to take it. Scanning the contents, he rose a brow at the insinuations and underhanded threats. To make a long letter short, the Martells promised to not join in on the war front, for either side, if the Lannisters gave them the Stark girl. After all, they deserved something from the lions after they brutally murdered Dorne's beloved princess and her children. In addition, she would be married to a bastard, and none of her children would be first contenders for the Northern throne. Though, that meant that her not marrying a Lannister would mean they wouldn't have a secured heir to the North that the lions could control. However, everyone knew that the North was currently winning far more than losing, and the Lannisters just finished surviving an attack from Stannis. Dorne promised food and trade for the city to recover on top of no war.

The Lannister's reluctantly agreed. Dropping the letter back on the desk, Desmond scrubbed at his face. “It seems I will be getting married.” He then glanced up at the two men, suddenly filled with dread, “Please tell me I don't have to be the one to tell my sisters?”

The riot of laughter from below his hiding spot in a large tree was met with sullen silence. His sisters reminded him of cackling hyenas surrounding their prey. Arms crossed and pouting, waiting for them to get bored, he jolted when something heavy hit the tree. Grasping a branch to not tumble out, Desmond snarled down, “Fuck off!”

It was Obara – because of course it was – who had hit the base of the tree with the butt of her spear. She gave him a smirk and mocking wave, “Come down, little brother. We want to hear all about this girl you're marrying.”

That sent his sisters off into another round of teasing. It was all the older ones, the younger ones watching and giggling at the interaction. Glad they were having fun, Desmond internally grumbled. He had picked the best tree for this, because though Obara could absolutely kick his ass still – he was getting used to his awkward teenage body still and all its growth spurts – he was the best climber of them all and this tree was particularly difficult if you weren't as experienced in climbing like Desmond.

“There's nothing to talk about.” Desmond snapped back, still holding tight after another hard thump to the tree. “I'm marrying her to get her out of King's Landing. What more is there to hear?”

“I think it's sweet.” Tyene cooed, on his side but not bothering to stop the third hit of the tree by their eldest sibling. “Very heroic and like the songs.”

“He's an idiot to marry to save a girl he doesn't even know!” Obara argued, turning her glare from Desmond to Tyene. The young woman did not wilt, too used to the expression. Instead, she rolled her eyes, “Why are you so worried, sister? Strangers marry all the time.”

Jabbing a finger in Desmond's direction, Obara snarled, “Because our brother has a foolish heart! He wears it on his sleeve and is too eager to please others! He'll martyr himself for a strange girl just because he thinks it's what's right.”

“Because it is right!” Desmond had to defend himself, shifting in the branches to glare down at them. “She's a little girl trapped by her enemies. They killed her father in front of her for fuck sake!” It reminded him too much of Ezio and the death of his family. It lodged in the back of his throat and knew that it would not shift until he got the girl out of that lion's den.

“You would fall on your sword if you thought it was right!” Obara yelled back. And damn her for being right. He did die for the world. Sighing, irritation whooshing out of his lungs with his breath, Desmond leapt out of the tree, crouching with the landing. When he straightened up, he didn't fight as Obara grasped the front of his tunic to pull him into a tight and uncomfortable hug. The armour dug into him painfully. But he accepted the affection nonetheless, rare as it was. “Don't worry about me so much,” Desmond mumbled into the leather, “I can take care of myself.”

The muscled arms tightened further around him. “Maybe. But you are still too loose with your heart, brother.” Then she shoved him away from her, digging a finger into his chest as she growled, “Whatever you're planning, because I know you are planning something, don't do anything that will cost you your head. Because then I would be honor bound to seek vengeance.”

“Aww,” He couldn't help but coo, placing a hand to his heart, swatting her finger away in the same move, “I knew you loved me.”

Being grappled and shoved into the nearest fountain was expected. But hey, at least it cooled him off a little from the sun's heat. The unimpressed expression on Sarella's face when she helped him out was hilarious.

In his own quarters, which consisted of a bedroom, a private greeting room – or as he called it, his living room – and then a room across the hall way that bunked Abed, Obah, and Habib, his private guards. He had his three personal servants, picked up from the streets just like the other two, that were housed in another room close by. Desmond made sure all their shared rooms were spacious enough and provided them a nice salary because he was cool like that. His stable boy, called Lyam and ten years old, bunked with the other stable boys, but could be seen following after his guards or maids most of the time, as Desmond tend not to ride much beyond practice and exercising his horses.

He had four. Desmond was both smug and ashamed for how rich he was.

Within his lavishly decorated living room – there was a pile of silk and beaded pillows in a corner that he took to napping in, when his massive bed was not comfortable enough - Desmond was sprawled across one of the lounge chairs, his six people – barring Lyam who was currently playing with the other younger servants, on his break that Desmond made mandatory for his household – perched or leaning on the wall around him. Waiting.

It was taking him some time to gather his thoughts and plan for this wedding, which for him was a cover to assassinate some very important people. All six of them knew this, and were waiting on their designated roles in this plan. They were the only ones that knew. His dad maybe had suspicions of what he was planning, but because he hated the Lannisters the man wasn't going to stop him.

However, instead of explaining his plan, Desmond blurted out, “Am I really that obvious?” He shifted his head from looking up at the ceiling to looking over at where Abed was sat on the other chair. The teen titled his head to the side like a curious bird, “Obvious in what way, my lord?”

Making a face at the title, Abed only did it to annoy him Desmond was sure of it, he elaborated, “Do I wear my heart on my sleeve.”

“Yes.” Obah bluntly stated, and the other five let out a smattering of laughter that echoed around the room. It was a nice sound, even as he shot a scowl over to where Obah was tucked into the corner. Then, he approached Desmond, coming to lean against the back of the lounge chair, “However,” He began with a considering inspection of Desmond's person, “It's only obvious to those that know you. Of course your sisters are able to see it.”

“Did you watch them bully me in a tree and do nothing to stop them!?” Desmond accused, only mildly offended and hoping to change this new and vulnerable topic even though he was the one to start it. Obah was not swayed however. “You can lie when it matters, and have everyone convinced you are a relaxed and non-confrontational, but those that really know you, know how much you care. You have a big heart, Desmond, and you give it freely.”

Making a face at the rare show of sincerity on Obah’s face, Desmond sat up, “This topic is not why we're here. Forget it.”

“Yes, my lord.” The six of them intoned. Desmond was sure only two of them really meant it.

Sighing, Desmond began, “As you may have heard, I met with uncle and my father two days ago, where they told me that I would be marrying the eldest Stark daughter. Her name is Sansa and she is thirteen. Not only does this marriage allow me to get an innocent girl away from the Lannisters, it gives us an in. We can get into the castle, figure out the layout, the guard shift schedule, and plan on how to kill the king.”

“Only the king?” Marie asked. She was an eleven year old street urchin who had stabbed a man in an alley way when Desmond found her. The man was trying to buy business from her that she wasn't selling, and Desmond's first words were to praise her stabbing skills. She was a sweet girl that hid a truly bloodthirsty animal, and Desmond was doing his best to direct that towards people who deserved it. Why did he constantly keep finding little murder gremlins to add to his household?

Desmond shook his head, “Not just the king, if we can swing it. Tywin is a definite target as well. Maybe even find a way to kill the Mountain while we're at it, but I honestly don't think we can plan that without needing more time in the capital. And with him not staying in a fixed place it would make it difficult to pin him down and attack.”

“Makes sense.” Annalise murmured, tucking a brown curl behind an ear thoughtfully. Next to her by the window Pryia nodded in silent agreement, her eyes focused on her sewing. All three of the girls were being trained as well, but far more discreetly. Because even if his father could get away with his daughters being taught to fight, it would be suspicious if humble maids could wield a blade.

The six of them would be coming with, the girls mainly to ease Sansa with female friendship. Desmond didn't entirely understand the way girls and their bonds worked, he was just as baffled when Lucy and Rebecca immediately hit it off despite not having met before. He was banking on that with his future wife and his maids. Plans formulating, Desmond finished up by informing them, “We leave in a fortnight. You're dismissed.”

They filtered out, however Obah decided to stay behind, the door closing softly. The two males eyes one another before his closest friend and guard commented lightly, “I think you're doing the right thing.”

Desmond scoffed, looking away as he ran a rough hand over his head. “That's what I think I'm always doing. The right thing.”

“Do you not want to?”

Looking down at his hands Desmond wondered to himself, not for the first time, what his ancestors would've done in his place. He was certain they would've done the same with building the brotherhood, but he doubted they would've put it at risk by marrying a girl. Saving one person over many doesn't seem to be a logic Altair would've followed. Maybe Ezio, but even after living their lives, he didn't live in their emotions, their most private thoughts, so he could be completely wrong with his assessment. However, he mentally reasoned with himself that he was actually trying to save the masses by removing Sansa from the board, no longer a pawn to be used against her own family.

Scrubbing a hand over his hair, the reborn man grumbled, “I don't think I could allow myself to be selfish and live a life ignoring others who I could help. Don't think I could forgive myself.” And he grew up on the stories of Elia, mainly the good ones, so the entire plan also had a personal touch to it too. Desmond would've loved to have known his aunt. Would've loved to have another member part of his already large family.

“Is this because of your past life?” Obah wondered curiously, and Desmond snapped his head up at that, surprised. He had confessed to the other teen a few months back about his memories, slightly drunk and desperate to not be alone with his thoughts. He had thought Obah had brushed it off as drunken ramblings because his friend never brought it up again. Until now. “You still believe me? I thought you thought I had a momentarily lapse of sanity and decided to ignore it.”

Huffing a short laugh, Obah came to crouch before him, leaning his weight on his spear, dark brown eyes were warm as he replied, “I, unfortunately, suffer the affliction of believing everything you say, Desmond. I would follow you through all the Seven Hells and back, you need only ask.”

A wry smile twitched at Desmond's lips, “What did I do to deserve this loyalty?”

He shrugged nonchalantly, “We've been friends since we were children playing in the Water Gardens and you stopped a noble boy from shoving sand into my mouth. You gave me a home, Desmond. That is not something to forget lightly.”

Ducking down, Desmond pulled Obah into an embrace, tucking his head into the older boy's shoulder. “Thank you, Obah.”

A reassuring hand patted his back. “Of course, Desmond.”

Chapter Text

King's Landing was filthy. That was Desmond's first impression of the capital. If he thought the plumbing situation was bad in Dorne, it was worse here. They were absolutely still throwing their shit out a window and into their water system. He was relieved that the scarf still wrapped around most of his face blocked out some of the stench as their retinue made its way through the streets. Oberyn was nearer to the front, his guards flanking him and Desmond's own household.

Ellaria elected to stay behind, which made his dad irritable during their travels. This was not going to be a fun few days, but it was only five days. Get in, have three days to prepare, marry, spend the fourth day getting ready to leave, and then leave on the fifth morning. It would be deemed insulting to have such a short stay, but neither parties wanted to be here any longer than necessary.

To his right, Abed grumbled under his breath, “Look at all the starving people.”

Desmond did as suggested, and narrowed his eyes at the skin and bones on all the common folk. He really fucking hated class systems, especially to this extreme. Such a massive abuse of power and a lack of compassion. His fists tightened on his reins. As if sensing his agitation, his sand steed tossed her head back, and he had to force himself to relax.

Patting her neck in comfort, Desmond took in the large walls of the Red Keep, already assessing how climbable the structure was, and when he glanced at his people Desmond spotted with approval that they were doing the same, just as he taught them. The Red Keep was towering and would be a long climb, but the keep was old enough to have some piece crumbling or falling out, making easy hand and foot holds.

Trotting through the gate, registering the amount of guards about, Desmond tugged the red scarf around his face down, letting it pool around his neck. The milder climate was a relief on his sweaty scalp and he pitied his household, who had to keep it on for the sake of security. Best to not let anyone remember what they looked like, just in case.

Stable hands came hurrying over as they entered the courtyard, and Desmond eyed the waiting figure. An older man with a stern expression. Going by the red and gold and the age, he was going to conclude that this was Twyin Lannister. The man had come from the front lines for this wedding, and Desmond wondered if he should feel flattered or cautious. Most likely the second option.

He glanced over to Obah, and then to Annalise, giving a short nod. They nodded in response and began to dismount. The boy coming to hold his steed jerked back when she snorted and stamped her hoof. Giving the startled boy a reassuring grin, Desmond said, “Claudia has a bit of a temper. Give her some apples and she'll calm down.”

The boy gave a tentative smile in return, nodding as he stuck his hand into his little satchel and pulled out some apple sliced, “I always carry some treats just in case, m'lord.” Smiling, Desmond ruffled the kid's curly brown hair, “Good lad.” And walked off to join his father, who was waiting for him up front. Their bags would be taken to their rooms, and he trusted his people to keep anyone wanting to snoop away from his things.

Coming to his father's right, Oberyn settled a hand on his shoulder that felt more like it was to give comfort to the older man than to Desmond. With a reassuring nod to his dad they approached Tywin. Where Oberyn gave a curt dip of his head to the Lannister, technically rude but seemed expected going by the lack of reaction on the older man's part.

Desmond however couldn't get away with that and bowed, “Lord Lannister.” The cold green eyes bored into him scrutinizing him. Desmond held his gaze unflinchingly. “Desmond Sand, I presume.”

“Yes, my Lord.” A brow arching was Tywin’s response, and Desmond got the feeling that nothing impressed this man. It was like meeting a far more cold-blooded Bill Miles. He was once again thankful to have been born into the Martell family. “Follow me.” The man commanded, turning sharply on his heel, “You will need to be presented to the king.”

Desmond was surprised with how well his father was keeping his sharp tongue in check. “Of course,” Oberyn replied coolly, “He must be ever so displeased with having to give up his betrothal to Lady Sansa.”

Never mind.

Tywin shot his father a hard look even as he replied, voice dry as the desert, “The king understands that hard decisions need to be made for the sake of the kingdom.” Withholding a snort, Desmond thought to himself, 'The man doesn't even believe the words he just said.' When he looked over his shoulder at where Obah was dogging him closely, the older boy rolled his eyes as if he read Desmond's mind.

It was not a surprise either at the man's attitude with the grandson he had, Desmond decided when he got his first look at the king. He lounged on the throne like it was his, but it was in no way effortless in appearance. To Desmond, it was like watching a child walking around in their father's too big boots, stumbling about and feeling taller than you actually were. They bowed in deference when they came closer to the throne steps, as expected, and the king had this nasty smirk on his lips as he eyed Desmond, “So this is the one? The bastard?”

'If the rumours are true, then you have no leg to stand on, you little shit.' Desmond inwardly groused as he lightly replied, “I like to think the circumstances of my birth matter less than the choices I make in the world.”

The boy-king's brow furrowed, displeased, before he snapped his fingers. “Sansa! Come here.” It was like he was beckoning a dog as a girl stepped out from the crowd to the left of them. She curtsied deep, and when she set her gaze on Desmond, he saw barely contained fear and anger in her beyond the purposefully blank expression. Pale skin, bright red hair that stood out sharply in contrast, and a dress that seemed just a touch too small for her form. They couldn't even dress her properly. Annalise and Pyria would need to be informed. Maybe they could lend their own dresses to Sansa until they could get her her own.

As she approached them Sansa held back a flinch as the king stepped off his throne to instead tuck her arm into his elbow, a disgustingly false display of affection. He brought her before Desmond as he leant in to whisper something too quiet for anyone but her to hear. She stiffened, eyes going wide as she took in a sharp breath, staring at Desmond.

'Ah.' He realised with simmering rage, 'She had not been informed until now.'

And then, the king proceeded to announce to the whole of the court, “I'm greatly saddened to announce that with breaking my betrothal to Lady Sansa, I will also have to send her away with her soon to be husband, Desmond Sand! I'm sure he will take care of her. The Dornish are known for their...appetites, after all.” The court tittered around them as Sansa paled, eyes dropping to stare at the ground. He could see her hands beginning to tremble.

The insinuation rankled him, knowing that the king was feeding into the lies and assumptions of Dornish men and their supposed 'sexual appetites'. It was true, there was far more sexual liberty in Dorne and yes, there were some men who couldn't take a no for an answer, but the general populace were decent people. But what truly enraged him was how the king used that to terrifying the girl.

Having enough of this farce, watching the draining colour from Sansa's face, Desmond stepped forward. The Kingsguard stiffened, some even laying a hand on their swords. His anger must be leaking through as Desmond offered a short bow, “If the king would be so humble to allow me to get to know my future wife, I would ask to take a turn in the castle gardens. I've heard that they are beautiful.”

Eyeing him, no doubt searching for any lies, the king scoffed, dropping Sansa's hand carelessly, “Do what you want with her.” Gritting his teeth, Desmond chanced a look over to his father, who was watching all of this silently, gaze missing nothing. The man caught his eyes and gave a short nod, forcing out a jovial chuckle, “What a good idea, my son. Get to know your future wife, I will deal with the rest of the arrangement.”

He held back the urge to slump with gratitude, bowing in an unusual show of formality for appearance’s sake. “Thank you, father.”

Desmond turned to Sansa, and offered his arm. He waited patiently as she hesitated. Then, Desmond witnessed just how brave she was through her fear, as she gracefully accepted, her hand dainty as it slipped into the crook of his elbow. He had no doubt that if she didn't have to conform to decorum, she would've refused it. But there was steel under the silk, and Desmond hoped one day to see it revealed.

Her hand was so small where it rested on his arm. Throwing knives. Maybe a dart whip. Those could be good weapons to train her in, if she was so inclined. With her height, a long bow would work too. Desmond began to guide her out of the room without a backwards glance, Obah and Abed falling into step behind them, along with two of his father's own men. It was easy to ignore the stares of the court, instead he discreetly observed Sansa beside him. Sansa held her chin high despite – or perhaps in spite of – the mockery from the court around her. ‘Dignified.’ Desmond’s mind supplied, impressed. She was tall for her age, an inch below him, and he was certain she had more height to gain in the coming years. There were shadows under her eyes, a tension to the press of her lips, and she looked far older from being trapped here than any thirteen year old should.

As soon as they were down the hall, away from prying eyes, Desmond broke the silence, “You'll have to guide me to the gardens, I have no idea where we are going.”

Abed snorted from behind. Sansa flicked her gaze to Desmond searchingly, before giving a dip of her head, “Take this next left, my lord.”

He did as instructed before offering, “You can call me Desmond, if you want. I am a bastard after all.”

“As you say, my lord.” Holding back a wince at the polite denial – and what he had hoped would break some of the tension between them – Desmond looked over at her. She met his gaze for a split second before looking away in a show of a courteous demure. It did not hide how her hand was still faintly shaking. She was good, her mask having been quick to build after being here for only half a year. But he knew the signs of a liar, of a terrified person. He faced forward.

His future wife was a brave one.

The gardens were actually decent, though it was no Water Garden in his humble opinion. He decided to voice that out loud to Sansa, who politely asked him about Dorne. Desmond readily launched into the love of his home, describing the heat, the scenery, the plants, the stars at night, the foods, everything that came to mind. It helped to ease Sansa a little, eyes a little starry as he talked about the sea side and the iridescent shells that could be found on the shore.

“I'll take you there.” Desmond promised, “My sisters would show you all the sights of Sunspear, and maybe even a trip to Planky Town.”

A tiny, hesitant smile showed. “That would be lovely, my lord.”

And then, they were deep within the gardens, and Desmond pulled them to a stop. She blinked at him, guard up and wary, her hand slipping from his arm to take a few steps back. He let her go as Obah and Abed followed his silent command to give them distance and keep watch. The two other guards followed a second later, all four turning their backs to give them a semblance of privacy.

As alone as they could be, Desmond began with an apology, “I'm sorry. Neither my father nor I had thought you unprepared for this marriage. We thought you were informed after it was agreed upon a month ago, but I see that their cruelty here is as I expected.”

Her fingers wrung together, “They have treated me as well as I deserve, being of traitor's blood.”

Disgust welled up in his stomach, but Desmond kept it off his face even though his tone showed his true feelings. “Is that the lies they're forcing you to say, my lady?” He ran a hand through his hair, “It's good we're getting you out of here as soon as we can.”

Something lit up in her expression, eyes darting about fearfully as she quietly murmured, “Are you, taking me home?”

He shook his head regretfully, and her form wilted into itself. He was quick to add, “However, this was my plan, my lady. When I had heard about you being trapped here, I wanted to find a way to get you out. It was my uncle and father that suggested the marriage, but I swear, I wanted to free you.”

“Why?” The suspicion was evident in her tone, “You don't even know me.”

“True,” Desmond conceded, “However, some years ago, my aunt was trapped here, and I thought history shouldn't be repeating itself. Not if I could find a way to stop it.”

She gazed at him silently, taking in his words and probably searching his expression for any lies. Desmond tried to keep his facial features open with honesty. Then, with a curt nod, Sansa murmured, “When are we to marry?”

“Three days.”

“I don't even have a dress!” The girl blurted out, and a disbelieving smile broke made its way over his lips at the child-like behaviour. The kind of behaviour that was expect of a thirteen year old girl. And before he could let her growing horror ruin that, Desmond chuckled as he offered, “My maids had prepared a dress just in case, but it needs to be taken in to fit properly. We can arrange for a fitting later today, perhaps?”

And after a moment, Sansa gave him a hesitant, hopeful smile as she nodded.

As he had suggested, Sansa was fitted by his maids and his people went to work. Desmond had had the dress prepared due to having figured that the Lannisters would have provided Sansa with some horrible dress, and didn’t wish for her to be humiliated during the wedding. Finding out that she was purposefully not even given a dress was annoying but also expected of these assholes.

Then after the dress was finished, as planned three days later Desmond was stood at the altar, with the king escorting Sansa down the aisle. He firmly ignored the fact he was marrying a child (no matter how old he may be here, mentally was another matter), Desmond could readily admit to himself privately that his people had done well in the short time frame that they had.

A month time was not enough to make a wedding dress, even if Sansa had been prepared for it, and Pryia had had prepared a dress with enough room to take in once they had the proper measurements of Sansa. The three maids worked hard in the last few days to make something beautiful in the short time, and the results were spectacular, in Desmond's opinion.

He was no romantic. Nor was he good with flowery words. And though he hated to agree with the gross men of this world, Sansa Stark was beautiful, even at her young age. And the dress enhanced it.

In terms of embroidery, it was simple, with some light gold leaves on the bodice and along the off shoulder neckline. The fabric was white and had the waist line he remembered seeing once from his world during the Regency period. Becca and Lucy had downloaded some period movies for the group during down time, and one of them was Pride and Prejudice. Desmond could now understand the hype for Mr Darcy. But because of watching the film, it meant he could definitely spot the period of dress from very high waist line under the bust with a surprising accuracy for a guy with no fashion sense. The long sleeves had some poof to them, ending at just below her elbows. There wasn't much that his girls could do about that without ruining the design – allegedly, as Desmond, once again, doesn't know shit about fashion or sewing – but they made it look purposeful.

Her hair was in a hair net, reminding him of Claudia and the women from Ezio's time. He had his maids take over Sansa's since they arrived, and from what Marie had told him, Sansa was in desperate need of some friends. If Desmond was going to do one thing right by Sansa, it was to make sure she got some fucking friends.

When the king handed Sansa off, a malicious smirk in his lips as he whispered something too soft to hear but insidious enough to make Sansa's already pale complexion go deathly white, Desmond just barely managed holding back on decking the little shit. Instead, he held out a hand, and Sansa took it with a trembling one.

They faced the Septon, and Desmond found himself getting married.

What was his fucking life?

They left the feast early.

Desmond refused to put up with farce and the idiots. And Sansa ate not a single thing on her plate. Nor could he, really. Picking at it and finding it lacking in spice and seasoning made him desperately miss Dorne. At one point, he leant over to mutter to his new wife, “Does the food always taste like dog shit here, or is that just the city air messing with my senses?”

A startled snort was her response, to which Sansa quickly pressed her hand to her mouth, along with her eyes widening in surprise. Then, her mask fell back into place. But it was a success to Desmond, inwardly cheering as he noted the twinkle of mirth still in her blue eyes. Behind him, he had heard his guards cough to hide their own amusement.

But when Desmond decided that it was time to go, he signaled his men and his father's, before standing up. Joffrey had noticed however, and let out a jeer, “The Bedding Ceremony!” Raucous, drunken cheers followed, and Desmond was not having it. Placing one hand on his sheathed blade, he warned the hall, “Anyone lays a hand on my wife, and you will not see the end of the night.” Before beginning to stalk his way around the high table.

Joffrey's face reddened with rage, marching closer to Desmond as he bellowed, “I am the king! I order for the bedding ceremony-”

Desmond stepped close enough to loom over the boy, ignoring the guards that tensed about the room, both his and the king's. With a soft menace, Desmond asked, “Do you want to start a war within your castle, your grace? Because I will not hesitate to do so if one finger touches my wife.” Joffrey faltered at the threat, stepping back.

“Your grace.” Tywin fucking Lannister to the rescue. Desmond will only ever be grateful for that man in that single moment. Joffrey was furious, green eyes darting between his grandfather and Desmond, before conceding.

Without looking away, Desmond held a hand out to Sansa. She hurriedly came to his side and took it, where he then led them out of the hall, guards circling them protectively, shoving some overly drunk and eager hands away. A part of Desmond wanted to do what he would've done for his sisters when they were scared and tuck her under his arm. However, he figured the touch would not be welcomed, especially with her expecting to be bedded tonight, so he only kept a hold of hand.

Swallowing nausea down, Desmond ran through his plan mentally as they silently made their way to his room. It was part of the guest apartment that had been given to the small Dornish party, with a solar, two lavish bedrooms, as well as servant and guard quarters. It was the safest place for her to be, in his opinion, right now. Her things had been moved to his room that morning during the ceremony, so she would have something to change into to sleep.

Desmond entered the room, and mentally praised the girls for preparing a platter of food on the table. Now that he was out of the hall, he could admit to being a little hungry now. Ooo, spiced apples! The reborn man happily hurried over to the table, shoving a few slices into his mouth before remembering Sansa. Turning to her, cheeks full, Desmond blinked as she stared at him, before offering the platter to her. Behind her, Obah rolled his eyes as Abed and Habib chuckled.

“Try to recall some of the manners your tutor instilled in you, Desmond.”

Shrugging, Desmond wandered towards his room, grabbing a platter of lemon cakes as he called over his shoulder, “I'll try, but can’t guarantee it.”

There was some laughter and chatter from the guards and maids as Sansa followed him silently into his room, door shutting behind them, leaving the newly married pair to stand in silence, barring the sound of him chewing. Sansa's hands were wringing, her eyes flicking from him to the bed and back again. Swallowing hard, and wincing because he had not fully chewed the apples, Desmond went for blunt honesty as he set the food down on a table.

“We're not having sex.”

Her cheeks flushed, “M-my lord?”

Shrugging out of his fancy tunic jacket thing – there were proper terms but Desmond couldn't ever be bothered to remember them, much to Annalise's despair – he threw it over a chair and slumped into it. “We're too young. You're too young, for anything like that.”

“But they'll check.” Sansa pointed out, nervous but not looking so sick in the face.

Unlacing his boots, Desmond replied, “I've got a plan. Just make sure you wake up early enough and you get into the bath my girls will prepare for you, leave the rest to me.”

Confused, the red head nodded slowly, and stepped uncertainly towards the changing screen. Noticing she was still not too sure about his intentions, Desmond sighed, offering her a reassuring smile. “I won't touch you, Sansa. I can't promise to be an amazing husband, but I can promise to never hurt you.”

Her lips pursed, and Christ she was young. The open fear that she admirably tried to hide showed just how old she really was. No matter how mature she looked for her age could never remove that she had only been alive for thirteen years. A child.

Pointedly turning his back to her and the changing screen, Desmond continued with undressing, ready to sleep. He would be needing all his energy to get through the packing and preparations of tomorrow, along with dealing all the 'well wishers' of the court that may want to poke their noses into their marriage.

Tugging on his cotton pants he had made for him specifically for sleep – he wasn't that much of a fan of nightgowns to be honest – Desmond headed towards the bed placing a few pillows down the middle and taking the spot that was closest to the door. Having been familiar with his habits, one of the girls had placed his current book on that bed side table.

He had only just cracked it open, wanting to wait for Sansa, when the girl stepped out in her sleeping shift. She paused at the sight of him, before heading towards the vanity. Slowly, meticulous and precise, her fingers took down her hair. Pins making a small pile onto the surface.

Her hair was long as hell, Desmond admired, unable to help the way his eyebrows rose. It fell past the seat she was sat upon, about a half-foot away from touching the ground. Having completely forgotten his book, Desmond watched entranced as she brush out her curls and tangles, before braiding it into a long rope of hair. When finished, Sansa caught his gaze in the mirror, and he snapped his head back to the book. Way to go Desmond, look like a creep after having tried to assure her you weren't going to assault her.

“Should I blow out the candles, husband?”

His fingers tightened around his book. He was too young to have that as a title, but didn't show his discomfort as he closed it. “Yeah, I don't know why I tried to read, my eyes are aching.” As she settled in next to him on the other side of the bed, Desmond found himself staring forward, knowing she was doing the same. The silence dragged on.

Then, he let out an explosive sigh, turned roughly on his side and asked Sansa, “What’s your favourite colour?”

Sansa stared at him the bright moonlight offering some illumination to her baffled expression. Then, after a long moment where he was tempted to give up and actually go to bed, she replied hesitantly, “I don’t have one, I like many colours.”

“That’s neat.” Desmond commented blithely, “I like red.”

“...I do like pink and purple.” Sansa finally admitted, “Though yellow is quite a sweet colour, and blue and red are nice too.”

He chuckled lightly, “Alright, I’m convinced. You do like many colours.” Desmond caught a fleeting smile on her lips. After another pause, Sansa then asked, “Do you have a favoured food?”

From there, they unofficially played twenty questions until Sansa was yawning and drifted off in the middle of listening to him expound on the perks of climbing roof tops to escape angered sisters. His words trailed off went he noticed, and felt a small smile tug at his lips. Turning his back to her, Desmond burrowed down into his pillow and drifted to sleep.

His hand snapped out, catching the wrist before his eyes even opened clearly. Through a squint he saw that it was Obah’s wrist he had captured, hand hovering over his face. With a grumble, the reborn man said, “I could have stabbed you.” It was a good thing he had left his wrist blade off that night.

Unaffected, Obah gave a half shrug, “But you didn’t. Now, get up. We need to sort out the bedding issue.”

Groaning, Demond released Obah and turned to see where Sansa was blinking herself awake. She froze when she caught sight of his guard though, who backed away from the bed. Clearing his throat as he sat up, Desmond scratched at his neck as he said to her, “The girls’ll help you get ready, if you wanna pick out your dress for today.” His words slurred a little, mind still caught in the sleep haze.

After a pause, Sansa crawled out of bed, picking up a dress robe for her modesty. Once covered, she went to a trunk and fetched her clothes before hurrying out of the room. Desmond and Obah watched his silently. When the door closed shut behind her, the reborn man said, “I feel like we were kinda rude just then.”

“We did kick her out of bed.” Obah replied dryly.

“Maybe we should apologise later.”

“Get her a gift?” Obah suggested, “Girls like gifts, right?”

“With eight sisters,” Desmond began wryly, “I can safely say that girls either want pretty things, or deadly weapons.”

“I feel that she is one to enjoy pretty things.” Was his friends wise observation. Humming in acknowledgment, Desmond flopped back down on the bed to stretch. He didn’t flinch nor grab at the hand this time that settled on his hip, the bed dipping to Obah’s weight. Instead Desmond gazed up at him, curious to see what he wanted.

Obah then traced a hand over Desmond’s bare chest, the touch feather light that had his skin prickling with goose bumps. When the hand began to trail lower that was when he stopped Obah once again. “What are you doing?” The question was lightly spoken but Obah heard the warning. However, his friend was no coward as he honestly replied, “We will need proof of the bedding.”

“And you think I can’t do that myself?”

His friend raised a pointed brow, “You spent the night next to a child, I don’t think pleasant thoughts will come to you easily. And we don’t have time.”

Gritting his teeth, Desmond replied shortly, “You know exactly how I feel about ages, Obah. What makes you think I will make an exception for you?”

Obah leant in closer, Desmond’s breath catching as the guard murmured, “Because I know. And I consent either way.”

“You are a child-”

“I am an adult.” Obah cut off his protest firmly, “By my standards, I am an adult. And I can make this decision for myself. I know your circumstances, and I accept them. Now, let me help.”

Desmond liked to think of himself as very self-aware. After spending time in three separate people’s bodies, he knew his own mind quite well. The thing was, his memories were of an adult, but sometimes he did something stupid or irrational that made his adult mind pause in confusion. It was easier to just think of himself as an adult in a child’s body, but he had a sinking feeling as of late that his mind wasn’t as fully developed as he had hoped. Old soul in a child’s body, and it was hard to wrangle that in his head because he wanted Obah, but morally it had to be wrong, right? Because he was mentally over thirty. But when Obah pressed his lips to Desmond and felt his body alight with desire, he decided he was already a terrible person and might as well just walk into Hell full speed ahead at this point.

He could feel the eyes of his people on him when he stepped out of the bedroom, dressed but knowing he held a slight flush to his cheeks. Desmond resolutely ignored them as he went straight for the platter of fruit. Obah was finalising the ruse with a few drops of his blood, and would be out shortly.

Taking a bite of his apple, he slumped down into the seat across from Sansa, who was dressed in one of Annalise’s dresses, as the girl was about the same height as his new wife. Desmond liked to give his people a good wage, which meant they were able to buy nicer things. Annalise particularly liked nice clothes, so the dress provided was good enough for a lady of Sansa’s station.

If Desmond wasn’t a bastard, he would technically hold the title of Prince, making Sansa a Princess. Then again, she was already one, with her brother as King. So really, it was Desmond who married above his station. That made him chuckle to himself, Sansa looking to him with wary curiosity.

He sent her a grin, “How does it feel to marry a lowborn like me, Princess?”

Sansa frowned, “I’m not a princess.”

“So King Robb Stark is not your brother then?” Desmond asked lightly, and he could spot the split second of realisation, the momentary giddiness in her expression before it disappeared behind a placid mask. Hopefully, upon reaching Dorne, she would be less reserved and learn that she did not need to hide her emotions from him.

“Even if you are lowborn, my lord, rank does not make a person good.” Sansa then spoke up. The girl held his gaze firmly, once more displaying that hidden bravery, and Desmond’s grin softened as he agreed, “Actions do. So I hope I can prove myself to you that I mean you no harm.”

And the fleeting, shy smile sent his way felt like success.

Chapter Text

The way the sheet was paraded around in front of the court was humiliating for Sansa, despite both of them knowing the truth. The very idea that everyone was speculating the consummation between them was sickening. Desmond kept close to Sansa throughout the day, his guards and maids a tight formation against anyone wishing to talk to her. The girl very obviously wanted to disappear into the ground when the king said some foul mockery in front of the court.

The fact that they had to share a meal with the Lannisters made it worse. Cersei Lannister appeared to be insulting Sansa from looks alone over the rim of her goblet. Tommen and Myrcella were oblivious to the tension, instead the little girl going on about Sansa’s dress, and the dress she wanted to wear for her own wedding some day, whereas the boy was talking about his cats. Sansa seemed to prefer their words, indulging them and diligently not making eye contact with the older Lannisters around the table.

Desmond was quiet, observing this all and only giving perfunctory answers to questions. His father was more lively with the conversation, but the grip on his fork belied how infuriated he was, forced to be sat at the table with the man who was the reason for Aunt Elia’s death. His control was impressive, Desmond thought. It was a relief when they retired back to their rooms, the last of their things to be packed for the trip back home.

Well, Desmond would be going the long way, but it was necessary. As Sansa headed to their room, the maids trailing after her, his dad pulled him aside. “The horse will be ready for you, near the Kingswood.” Spoken quietly, Desmond nodded in response, “I’ll come aboard for a short period of time tomorrow, but before we set sail I will be gone. Keep Sansa occupied until we are far from shore?”

“Do you think she would react badly?” Oberyn asked, to which Desmond slowly shook his head, “I don’t believe so. She isn’t an idiot, and she’s more likely to stay quiet and observe. Surrounded by strangers, she’ll keep to herself but hopefully the girls will get her settled and comfortable.”

“And you won’t be taking Obah or any of the others?”

An amused smile on his face, Desmond commented, “Against their wishes, I’m not. I’ll work better alone.”

Dark gaze piercing, Oberyn stared at him searchingly. His expression was displeased even as he acknowledged, “Very well. I will have us dock at-”

“No.” Desmond interrupted, “I’ll make my own way back. I’ll stop at loyal houses if I need to, but I’ll be fine.”

The man frown deepened, “I don’t like this, Desmond.”

Smiling reassuringly, the reborn man clasped his dad’s shoulder, “Don’t worry, dad. Who knows, maybe I’ll beat you home.”

Oberyn snorted, “Doubtful.” Then, sobering up, he vowed, “I’ll look after Sansa.”

Not knowing that was even a massive concern weighing on his shoulders, Desmond let out a breath of relief when he felt that weight lift at his dad’s words. “Thank you.”

There had been changes to the plan since Desmond first started to make them, like he was scribbling ideas on paper then throwing them away when a new factor was added into the equation. The sheer size of the Red Keep, along with the amount of guards stalking the place, the reborn man could not in good faith have his people stay within for his self-designated mission. As he had mentioned to his father, none of his people were happy he was doing this alone, but he gave them the more important mission of keeping Sansa safe.

And, he needed the ruse of the Dornish having been sent off to hold. If they noticed missing numbers in their small party, then their over would be completely blown. Sure, many may point fingers and throw out allegations that the Dornish had been the ones to plan and execute an assassination, but without a hint of Dornish colours within the Red Keep, as well as proof that it was them, then all those accusations would just be words on the wind.

Besides, Desmond knew that no matter what people will say, many will be happy to see Joffrey and Tywin Lannister gone. Though, he had already added a third person to that list to get rid of last minute just because she had caused Sansa misery. He didn’t know his new wife long, but the girl had already begun to worm her way into his heart, and Marie liked her. Which was enough for Desmond to make Cersei the third mark. And, with her being left alone with his household, they’ll be able to get a gauge on Sansa’s person when he wasn’t around, whether she’s kind to people below her station or not. If she was rude, then Desmond had some lectures to sit her through. No way was he letting that shit fly.

After he discreetly slipped over the side of the ship when they began to depart from the dock, swimming to a hidden cove below the Red Keep, Desmond looked up at the sheer cliff side he had scouted as a possible place to break into the castle. It would be a long climb, and he would need to find a place to lay low and recover from the exertion, but it was perfect access. No guards were stationed there, seeing as no one thought it a possibility that any one would have the skill – much less the balls – the scale that treacherous climb.

Cracking his neck, Desmond took a deep breath, and then began his ascent. He was burning daylight and the three Lannisters weren’t going to kill themselves.

Sansa did not notice her new husband’s disappearance until King’s Landing was a distant structure on the horizon. Instead, she was so overtaken by the sinking realisation that she was free from the Lannisters. There was still the mystery of what awaited her in Dorne, but for the time being, that worry was put aside to instead make room for the overwhelming joy of no longer being a captive in the lion’s den.

Stood on the bow of the ship, leaning forward to watch the vessel split the shimmering waves, Sansa closed her eyes as the sea spray flecked her face. Breathing in the salty air, a wild exhale of laughter tumbled from her lips. A grin stretched across her face, wider than it had ever been since her father’s arrest, as she continued to laugh breathlessly, fresh tears burning tracks down her cheeks.

Happiness had never felt so light, a weight gone from her heart and soul.

When the giggles died down, Sansa wiping her face clean, she heard foot steps approach from behind. It was Prince Oberyn, and the girl quickly gathered herself to greet her new good-father. They had not talked beyond them exchanging pleasantries whenever he was in the same room as her. He did not come across as rude, more likely that his mind was occupied with other things, more important things than Sansa herself. The man’s warm brown eyes were soft as he approached her. Desmond must get that from Oberyn. “You do not need to hide your joy from me, child. I know I would be the same, if I was escaping that place.”

There was an instinct to lie and praise the Lannisters for their care, but it halted. Thick in her throat, Sansa had another epiphany: She did not need to lie. Not with the Martells. The gory details of what had happened to Princess Elia was known to her, and she was in the presence of – if not friends – allies.

“I hate them.” Sansa declared, voice wavering for a moment. Then, she tilted her chin up as she repeated, louder this time, “I hate them.”

There was a sharp smile on Oberyn’s face as he nodded in approval. “Good. You’ll find similar sentiment within the Water Gardens and Sunspear.”

“Is that where we are headed then?”

“Correct. Though, with Desmond’s own keep in the process of repairs, you’ll soon have a place of your own in the city proper. As a lady of your station, I’m sure you have had plenty of lessons in running a castle.”

Bashful at the praise, Sansa ducked her head as she admitted, “The desire to run a keep was at least one thing my sister and I could agree on.” A melancholy then washed over her, familiar as her favourite pair of slippers. Noticing the drop of her demeanour, the man offered, “When we reach Dorne, letters can be arranged for you to send to your brother and mother.”

Hope leaping in her chest, Sansa demanded tremulously, “Do you promise that, Prince Oberyn?”

His hand gave her a shoulder a warm squeeze before releasing it, stepping back as he nodded, “I do, good-daughter.”

Leaving her alone once more, Sansa stared at his retreating form for a long moment. Then her gaze drifted around the ship, and after noticing the guards and maids and sailors, it was at that moment that Sansa couldn’t spotted her new husband. Frowning, she left the bow of the ship to begin a hesitant exploration of the vessel, quietly seeking out the young man.

When Sansa had searched almost the entirety of the ship – having not stepped into the private quarters of the captain or the sailors, along with a few other sections – and came up empty, the lady sought out the guard that had woken them up the morning after the wedding.

His name was Obah, a tall imposing young man with a handsome face that seemed to stay permanently blank of emotions. She had seen that stone crack when Desmond would murmur something under his breath that only his guard had heard, a smile that showed teeth before it was tucked away once more, but it appeared that only her husband could garner such a reaction. Though intimidating to approach, Sansa had faced the royal court too many times to falter under his unwavering stare when he noticed her walking towards him.

He gave a dip of his head, “My Lady.” At the title, a part of her recalled the way Desmond mentioned that Sansa was technically a princess, and wondered if she should correct the guard. Instead of doing so, Sansa made a note of it to discuss further with her new husband.

Hands clasped in front of her, Sansa asked quietly, “Do you know the whereabouts of my lord husband?”

Obah did not blink as he stayed silent. It was like a bird of prey was assessing her for weakness, ready to swoop down and grasp her with sharp talons. Swallowing thickly, Sansa almost stepped away, but then the guard blinked slow and cat-like as he replied, “My Lord is currently not onboard.”

Sansa wavered, confusion washing over her, “I don’t understand.”

Glancing around with a quick darting of his eyes, Obah gestured for her to follow him with a tilt of his head. As he led her towards the stern of the ship, away from any prying gazes or listening ears, Sansa’s confusion turned to worry. With some level of privacy, Obah explained with that low roll of his voice, “My Lord has another task to fulfill within the Red Keep. He will meet us in Dorne.”

Panic rose as she rushed out, “Shouldn’t you be with him? What if he is in danger?” Sansa couldn’t have the person who helped her escape the Red Keep die, the man being the only form of protection she had as her husband. However, instead of appearing concerned by her words, Obah calmly replied, “My Lord is capable enough to keep himself safe. He does not need guards, we are more of a formality,” Obah paused, and added as an afterthought, “And for companionship. Lord Desmond gets lonely.”

Holding back the urge to splutter, Sansa struggled to formulate a response. Incredulous at the casual ease of knowing his Lord – the man he was sworn to protect – was alone, she didn’t even flinch at the man’s sudden touch. Obah braced both hands on her shoulders, dipping his head down to catch her gaze. He was very tall. Eyes firmly locked together, the man promised, “Desmond will be fine. You will see him soon, and you will be happy with the news he will bring.”

“What am I supposed to do, though?” Sansa whispered, feeling small. What was her life’s purpose if not to marry and give her husband heirs? What was she meant to do with herself? Sure, she had hobbies she enjoyed, but she was meant to tend to her lord husband’s keep, as well as the man himself. That was what she was taught to do, after all. Without Desmond to direct her, Sansa found herself shrinking.

“You are our Lady,” Obah replied, voice softer than before. His eyes were warm even without a smile as he continued, “We will protect you, just as you will keep us sheltered and fed. We are yours to command. Within reason, of course.” He tacked on.

Sansa gave him a bemused smile, “You’re awfully informal.”

Releasing her shoulder with a soft snort, Obah flashed her a grin. It was a blink-and-you-would-miss-it smile, and Sansa was so startled by it that she nearly didn’t hear what he said next, “Desmond prefers honesty over manners. Hope you won’t mind, my Lady.”

Slowly, her worry eased back, and she took comfort in the man’s trust in Desmond’s abilities. This man has known her new husband far longer than her, so she had to believe him at his word. If only for the sake of her sanity. Letting out a heavy breath, Sansa gave a small nod, “I would certainly prefer honesty over lies, Obah.”

“Good,” He nodded with approval, “Now, the girls are eager to get their hands on your wardrobe. Their complaints are annoying, and I would appreciate you relieving my ears of their ire.”

A startled laugh escaped her as she agreed, finding it in herself to tease the man tentatively, “Well, if it’s to help you find some peace, then I suppose it is in my duties as your Lady to do so.”

His lips twitched in amusement at her words as he led her below deck and to her quarters.

The trip from King’s Landing to Dorne was smooth sailing. Both literally and metaphorically. Sansa found herself getting along well with the three maids. Annalise came across as more distant compared to Pryia and Marie, but she was still kind with her actions. They helped turn some of Sansa’s already meagre wardrobe into something more functional, especially for warm climates. The old dresses were let out for her growing form, clever usage of fabric on the sides where they cut the original dresses extended the size to fit her better. No longer was she struggling to breathe against constricting fabric.

There was also the maids allowing her to borrow their dresses. A younger Sansa may have turned her nose up at wearing clothes that servants wore, but that was not who she was now. Instead, she gratefully accepted the flowing dresses, made for the Dornish heat as they got closer to the kingdom. The thin layers of fabric allowed for her skin to catch the cool breeze coming off the sea, perfect against the unforgiving heat of the sun. Additionally, Pyria explained that Desmond paid them well, so the dresses were quite pretty, actually.

But Sansa was still eager to get her hands onto her own fabrics, so that she could create her own dresses. Annalise had informed Sansa that there would be a tailor available as well, if she so desired. However, Sansa had no desire for anyone to see her bare skin. The scars had healed up well on her back as well as her thighs, and though they were not in abundance, they still filled Sansa with shame anytime her shift caught on the skin, or when she spotted them through her reflection. She had refused the maids to help her dress from naked, only allowing them when she had her underthings on first.

Those thoughts, however, could not dim the awe she felt as she caught sight of the shores of Dorne. There was a surprising amount of green beyond the sandy coast of the kingdom, and Sansa could already picture taking walks in the long grass. A small port, enough for a few vessels that were for strictly the Martell house to make anchor, was their destination. Sansa could spot the long winding path up to the Water Gardens. The palace had domed roof tops mixed with flat ones that bordered the keep for guards to walk along.

As they departed the ship – and Sansa got her sea legs under her unsteadily with Obah’s help – the party made their way up pale pink stones after exiting the docks. On the horses that had travelled with them, Sansa sat behind Obah – who she was silently concluding to have been the main role of guarding her – as she took in the sights around them.

The Water Gardens did not do its name an injustice, with fountains and man-made ponds spanning the front of the palace once they entered through the double gates, children laughing as they splashed through the water naked, fruit trees sweetening the air and providing shade to all who passed under them. On terraces looking over the fountains, Sansa could spot people going to and fro, tasks in mind.

And there, once the went through the inner gates of the palace, where the common folk were not allowed to enter without permission, their party was greeted by a very beautiful dark haired woman, and eight girls ranging from many different ages. Oberyn was quick to swing off his horse, hurrying over to the woman to swoop down and kiss her passionately.

Sansa flushed at the sight, ducking her head down to instead pay attention to the hand Obah was offering after he dismounted from the horse. Taking it the help, Sansa stumbled as her feet met the ground, weeks of being on the ship still making her unsteady. Catching her around the waist, Sansa grew further flustered at the closeness of the guard, and was relieved when he stepped back after a second.

“Apologies, my Lady.” The guard murmured as he turned away. He was as unmoved as always, and Sansa quickly looked away before her embarrassment got the better of her.

“Lady Sansa!” Oberyn called, and relieved to leave Obah’s presence, Sansa approached the man at his summons, and fell into a curtsy before Desmond’s family. She was desperate to make a good impression, and gave her best smile despite her nerves.

“It is an honor to meet you all.” Sansa began, grasping for words as quickly as she could, “In the short time I’ve known him, your brother has mentioned you all with much praise.”

The eldest one – Obara, a voice that sounded like her husband’s whispered – gave a hard snort, crossing her muscular arms. “Doubtful.”

Flushing further, caught off guard, Sansa opened her mouth to protest but her good-father spoke up first, chiding the woman. “Obara, your brother has many good things to say about you.”

Obara waved away his words like they were an irritating fly, “Oh, I know that. But he would still call me a bitch in the same breath, so I’d hope his new wife wouldn’t be lying to my face about that.” The woman replied, gaze sharp where they moved from her father to Sansa once more.

Realising that Desmond’s eldest sister was taking her measure, Sansa swallowed thickly as she gathered her nerves. This was not the Red Keep. They likely valued honesty, if Obah’s words rang true, so Sansa replied, “Well, my husband did not use such a word.” A pause, “Though, ‘abrasive cow’, was used at one point.” She was taking a leap of faith with that response, betting on Desmond’s fond words of his relationship with his eldest sister to help her along.

Obara threw her head back and cackled, fortunately. Around them, the other sisters laughed as well, and Sansa felt herself able to breathe again. “I like you, Stark.” The eldest sister drawled, “I suppose you’re not the worst person for my brother to marry.”

“A ringing endorsement from you, sweet sister.” A different daughter japed. Unlike the rest of them, this one had blonde hair like wheat. Tyene, her mind supplied as the young woman stepped forward to bring Sansa into a hug. Though surprised and freezing for a second, she relaxed and leant into the short embrace.

“Welcome to the family, good-sister.” Tyene smiled brightly, and soon Sansa was ushered in. Oberyn’s paramour, Lady Ellaria came to her side, linking their arms together so familiarly that Sansa’s head was spinning from all the kindness. Was this real, or was it all a ploy to get her guard down so that they could manipulate her easily? Sansa could not say, and she was terrified she was entering another cage once more.

Well, Sansa may seem stupid, but she wasn’t as empty-headed as the Lannisters liked to think. She sank into her manners and returned the kindness with her own sweetness, and dared not to reveal anything too damning to them all. And it was good she had decided on this, as she was brought into a hall where Prince Doran and his heiress Princess Arianne were waiting to formally greet Sansa.

It was easy, slipping back into that mask from King’s Landing and the Red Keep’s court. Especially when Prince Doran surveyed them all before asking, without greeting them first, “And where is my nephew?”

Sansa’s body locked up at the rumble of his voice. She still did not know why her husband had stayed behind in the capital, and unable to answer, Sansa prayed she would not be punished for her lack of knowledge. Thankfully, it was Oberyn who spoke up, once more coming to her rescue.

“That boy is off doing as he said he would,” The man replied vaguely, but it was enough to settle Prince Doran, “Should be back soon enough.”

The man nodded once in response, “Very well. Lady Sansa,” He then directed to her, the girl trying not to shrink into herself. She gave a deep curtsy silently as he said, “Welcome to the Water Gardens, and welcome to Dorne. I hope you will find a home here among us.”

His smile was just as kind as the rest of the family, but Sansa was not going to be fooled. She finally concluded on just how trapped she was again, even after being rescued from the Lannisters. Desmond had mentioned there was more to why they married, how she was just the excuse for the larger plan. These were not people who cared about her well being, not truly. It made her want to cry.

Sansa gave her meaningless words in return as she blinked away the sting of tears, and soon she was shown to her rooms, away from the invisible pressure of standing before the Prince Doran. They were Desmond’s, as Marie explained to her in the hall on the way. Prince Oberyn and his paramour, along with their daughters, moved away from the party, leaving Sansa in the care of her husband’s household, and the auburn haired girl relaxed a little once more.

She was tentative to, especially after that bombardment of a welcoming she had received, but Sansa could say she trusted the maids and guards far more she could with anyone else in the Water Gardens. Privately, Sansa decided she would not wander the palace alone. Not without at least one of them with her.

The rooms were as airy and decadent as they rest of the palace, though far more lived in with trinkets and baubles filling all the cracks and crevices. Through the greeting room there was a wide arch way that showed the actual bed chamber within, where Sansa slowly wandered into, taking in the large space. A low bed was on a dais towards the back of the room, where two large arch ways leading to a long balcony bracketed it, thick curtains to block out the sunlight pulled aside to let in the golden rays to shine through. The bed looked very enticing after the small cabin cot that she had used on the vessel, many pillows covering the surface. There were a lot of deep reds and some blues thrown into the décor of the room too, bronze and gold appearing every now and then.

There was a lute propped against one wall along with another pile of pillows on the ground. She could spot a weapons stand, set near an untidy desk. Large bookcases overflowing, and a section for changing that included a screen that had an embellished design of a bird of prey swooping across a mountainous landscape. In fact, as she took in the bed chamber, Sansa noticed there was quite a few birds decorating the place, be it the wooden trio that was hung from the ceiling above the pile of pillows on the floor, or the mural that spread out across the left side of the room.

Enraptured by the art, Sansa wandered closer to the wall, drinking in the details of the birds – eagles, Sansa realised – that soared in a bright blue sky, nary a cloud in sight. Like with the changing screen, it was a painting of a mountain range, sparse vegetation in a sandy scene. Within the mountain peaks, Sansa spotted what looked to be a keep, hidden deep in the cliffs.

She wondered on the inspiration behind the mural, her mind thinking it was a mix of both the Vale and Dorne. However, Sansa did not linger on it for long, when there was noise coming from the doorway. Turning, the lady noted that her trunks were bring brought in, a pitiful two compared to the five she had arrived in King’s Landing with.

“Desmond has set up an area for you, my lady, within his closet.” Annalise explained, showing Sansa a part of the room she had not noticed on first inspection. It was a curtained archway behind the changing screen, leading to a small room filled with clothes. Or, well, half-filled, as the left side was bare of any garments. Her husband seemed to prefer neutral colours over anything bright, besides a few hints of red within the beige, brown, or white. There were a few more elaborate outfits that Sansa concluded were for more formal occasions, and they were in the burnt orange and blood red of the Martell house colours.

‘Red is his favourite colour,’ Sansa thought to herself, as she began to help put away her small amount of clothes. She really was looking forward to expanding her wardrobe once more. In fact, though perhaps greedy of her, Sansa was thinking that she could have more dresses than when she was living in Winterfell. It was such a silly thought, one of a girl before tragedy had hit, but it was comforting for her when in a strange place.

“I think I would like to rest,” Sansa murmured as she and the maids exited the closet.

“Perhaps a bath first, my lady?” Pyria offered, and with a small sigh, Sansa readily agreed to that suggestion.

Once bathed and cleaned, smelling of jasmine and orange oils, Sansa crawled into an unfamiliar but soft bed, and fell into a deep slumber. Her last thought was on her husband, hoping he was safe, and praying he returned quickly.

Chapter Text

Desmond was late.

He’ll admit that he was running very far behind schedule, but he hadn’t expected the detour to take as long as it had.

After killing three very politically important people in their sleep – his ancestors in both lives would have been proud – Desmond got the fuck out of dodge that same evening. However, as he was climbing up on his horse, prepared to head south back to Dorne, he had an...Idea. An Idea that would piss his father and uncle off about not informing them beforehand. But, if Desmond was being honest, when did he not follow his instincts?

And his instincts was telling him that a band of assholes pillaging the Riverlands needed to be handled. Plus, y’know, revenge was something that all his ancestors got to play with, Desmond included. Now, in this new life, he got to continue that tradition. It may be over a decade too late, and it wouldn’t be the most satisfactory of vengeance for his dad and uncle, but it would have to do in a pinch.

Which was why he was two months late in returning home, nearly a total of three months since he dived off the ship. If he had kept on schedule, he might have actually arrived earlier than the rest of the party, like he had joked with his dad. However, the Riverlands was rife with destruction, thieves and bandits, and so many wary people. It was already a struggle tracking down the Mountain and his band of merry men, to add all the rest of the chaos of war into the mix made it eighty percent more difficult.

But he wasn’t an assassin for nothing, and Desmond was determined to rid the world of a few more shitty people before starting up his own little brotherhood. And figure out how married life was supposed to go when you had a child bride. He likely could have also snuck his way into King Robb’s war camp and talk with Sansa’s family, before deciding that that was a terrible idea, even for him, and decided not to.

Shaking the memories from his head, Desmond felt his horse perk up at the sight of Sunspear and the shadow city, the tired animal knowing they were almost home. However, if he wanted his absence to continue going unnoticed, he had to take the slightly longer route of skirting around the city before heading to the Water Gardens. The sun was creeping back down from its mid-point, which meant that by the time he reached home, it would be close to dinner time.

Perfect.

Hopefully, his lateness would be excused with all the gifts he got along the way. Desmond hadn’t done so with forgiveness in mind, it was just that he had the money, and he had people he cared about, so of course he was going to buy a bunch of shit for his sisters. And for his household.

And for Sansa.

That had him wincing as the horses began to canter along the edges of Sunspear. He did feel genuinely guilty about leaving the girl alone with his family, even though he trusted his people to look out for her. It was why he had sent a letter to Obah when he realised he was extending his journey. It was just a quick thing, mentioning that there was another task he wanted to complete, that he didn’t need to worry, and that maybe apologise to Sansa for me please?

He also scribbled instructions to get Sansa out of there if it looked like his dad and uncle were planning to use her as a pawn for the war. Desmond didn’t think they would, but he knew them, and knew that they weren’t above minor manipulation to get their way. Hopefully, with most of the Lannisters that were causing problems now dead, and with the Mountain gone, then the North can sort their shit out and head on back home. Desmond knew it was far more complicated than that, especially now that he married the King of the North’s eldest sister so the North would likely be turning their eyes to focus on Dorne soon enough if they haven’t already done so, but a guy can dream.

Though he received no response from Obah – not that he was expecting one – Desmond had practically felt his friend’s – boyfriend’s? Lover’s? – exasperation miles away.

And wasn’t that a topic Desmond found himself contemplating with steadily growing hysteria for the last three-ish months. On top of being a husband, he was a boyfriend? To someone that wasn’t his wife? Insane behaviour. Suddenly he had more ‘romantic’ relationships in this life than he ever had in the last. How was he meant to deal with this? A voice that sounded very much like Ezio murmured his approval, and Desmond made a face. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to be proud of that.

Either way, he had plenty of time trying to figure out how he would handle this mess he was now in. Sansa, Desmond figured he could sit her down and explain the circumstance behind why he was sleeping with his guard – it was just the one time, but still, there was likely more times to come – as well as talk with Obah about how he had to put Sansa first when it came to her well being, on the basis of her not being able to defend herself like Obah could.

Desmond prayed that Sansa and Obah at least became good friends in the time he was gone, otherwise he would be caught in the middle and he really didn’t want to deal with that. Granted, it was a problem of his own making, but Desmond was hoping the universe would give him a little slack on this matter. Then again, when had the universe ever done such a thing for him in the past?

He returned without any fanfare, thankfully, having not been expected as Desmond couldn’t be bothered to send word of his impending arrival. The guards at the gate were, inevitably, surprised even as they bowed to him as he entered, and Lyam came scampering into the courtyard quickly enough as Desmond halted the horse. The ten year old boy grinned wide at the sight of him, bouncing in place as the young lord dismounted, “M’lord! You’re back!”

Travel tired but indulgent to the exuberant greeting, Desmond ruffled the boy’s hair, “Yeah, I’m back, kiddo.”

“Everyone’s been really worried.” Lyam told him as he held the horse’s reins. Desmond was quick to throw his saddle bags over one shoulder, gripping a heavy sack in the other hand.

“Yeah? Not too much though, hopefully.” He replied conversationally as he walked with the boy towards the stables, wanting to get Lyam’s perspective of how these last two months have gone before dealing with his family.

“Prince Oberyn and Prince Doran haven’t been too happy about you being gone for so long. The ladies missed you, and lady Obara has been very grumpy over it.” The factual tone of the boy had Desmond snorting, shaking his head. Yeah, he knew his family were not going to be thrilled by his detour, the shit he would get from his older sisters was worth it in the end. A few less monsters in the world.

“And the household?” Desmond asked next as he paused by the stable entrance, Lyam doing the same so he could answer.

“Obah’s been training everyone, like usual.” He dutifully reported, “He sticks close with Lady Sansa. The maids like her too, and Habib said she’s nice.”

‘That was promising,’ Desmond thought, pleased, as he questioned the boy, “Have you talked with her much?”

“Yeah!” Lyam grinned again, “She eats with us in the morning, but I heard from Marie that it’s because she’s lonely.”

Humming at that anecdote, Desmond gave the boy another ruffle of his hair, and pressed a dragon into his hand. Smiling to himself at the boy’s excited crow at receiving the coin, Desmond went to his next destination. No matter how much he wanted to clean up and pass out in bed, he had to see his dad and uncle first.

Striding through the palace, he nodded to servants and guards alike as he passed by, many surprised but pleased at his return, bowing in greeting. Desmond ignored the usual discomfort at their deference, his past life mentality on servitude still reigning strong. And when he approached the doors to his uncle’s solar, he went right in, giving an idle wave to the guards.

“The prodigal son has returned!” He announced with a grin as his uncle snapped his head up upon his arrival, arms spread out wide to add to the dramatics.

“Desmond!” The man exclaimed, relief flooding his features. As the younger man rounded the desk to embrace the man – awkwardly with the amount of shit he was carrying – Desmond heard the door fling open again, his father striding in, announcing his own arrival with an irritable, “And here I thought I would be down my favourite son!”

Pulling away from Doran with a lazy grin, Desmond snarked, “You only have one son. And you’d be happy to be released of the stress. Also, happy birthday.” And the young man tossed the sack in hand to his father.

Catching it instinctively, Oberyn threw him a glare, “It is not my name’s...day…” Words trailed off as he untied the sack and peered inside. The man was stock still as he stared into the sack. Beside Desmond, his uncle spoke up, “What is it?”

The gruff order had Oberyn shaking his daze away as he tore his eyes from the sack to Desmond. “Son..you…”

For once, the Red Viper was speechless, and Desmond was a little proud of that. Jostling the saddles bags back up his shoulder from where they were slipping down, the young man wandered over to his father, giving him a pat on the arm, “Don’t hurt yourself, dad. It’s a gift.”

A gift that was ceremoniously dropped as Oberyn dragged Desmond into a fierce hug. The head of Gregor Clegane landed with a meaty thud and half-rolled out of the bag. It was enough for Doran to see, and he too was stunned speechless from where he sat behind his desk.

Smiling into the embrace, Desmond clapped his dad on the back, “I took a detour, it’s why I’m so late returning home. But I figured, while I was there, might as well fully avenge Aunt Elia.”

Drawing back, hands gripping his upper arms, Oberyn’s eyes were shining even as he smiled tremulously, “I’m proud of you, son. Thank you.”

And yeah, that hit Desmond right in the daddy issues. Clenching his jaw so it wouldn’t tremble, the reborn man took a sharp breath in and japed, “Slitting their throats while they slept wasn’t that difficult, but thanks anyway.”

However, his voice cracked, and Oberyn wasn’t an idiot. A large hand cupped the nape of his neck and his dad pressed a kiss to his crown. The silent gesture of affection and gratitude was one that nearly made the scared little boy trapped in his heart cry, and Desmond decided that if he wasn’t so tired he would likely actually cry himself to sleep that night, thoughts spiraling around his past life.

But, in the here and now, Desmond cleared his throat and stepped back. “Well, gotta wife to see.” And he gave a nod to his uncle before hurrying out of the solar. Let them have their moment together, and also let them never doubt his abilities again. He got it, he did. To them, Desmond was just a fifteen year old with too much confidence. Oberyn only believed he could kill the Lannisters because he had at least seen some of what Desmond could do. The man wasn’t an idiot.

Doran, on the other hand, had not seen much of Desmond training or running over rooftops, so he likely had been concocting a plan on how to appropriately react when the Lannisters caught his nephew red-handed. But now, with the news spread of the king being killed in his sleep – along with his mother and grandfather – as well as the head of Elia’s murderer laying on his office floor, he had no reason to doubt Desmond anymore.

And that was dangerous. Because now, Desmond was a potential pawn in any game the man was playing. It was hard to sometimes contend with that, especially when all Desmond wanted was a normal family who cared about one another. In a game of politics that was their life, loving your children wasn’t always the priority when it came to power.

That grim thought circled his head as he entered his bed chambers to the sight of a welcoming household. Marie was latching to his waist before he could even spit out a ‘hello’, a tight hug making him wheeze as she exclaimed, “You’re back!”

Smiling, happy to be home, Desmond let the saddle bags drop to the floor as he stooped down to drag her off the floor into a proper embrace. He’s going to receive the exact kind of welcome from his younger sisters, and Desmond was going to be just as happy to hold them as he was of Marie, already having thought of her as another sibling.

When in private, Desmond didn’t care for formalities, as his household had come to learn. And with that came a fierce loyalty that you couldn’t order. And as the reunion’s excitement came to a calmer simmer, Desmond looked around and found Sansa to be missing. In fact, Obah was missing too.

Frowning, the young man looked to Habib, who informed him promptly, “Lady Sansa is with your sisters, Obah watching over her.”

“Guess news hasn’t traveled that fast.” Was his idle response, turning to Annalise, “Could you set up a bath-”

“Already have done it,” The older girl cut in, “I’ll have a meal prepared, would you like Lady Sansa to join you?”

Unbothered with being interrupted, Desmond asked next, “Has she eaten yet?”

Pryia shook her head, “Not that I’m aware of, as she tends to eat dinner with us lately.”

That supported the information Lyam gave him, Desmond giving a nod as Marie said she would go collect his wife and guard, mind starting to contemplate the future conversation with Sansa. He’s sure there was much to address, especially after having ditched her to the tender care of his family. Hopefully she wasn’t too scarred.

As the household left him alone at his request, Desmond gathered back up his saddle bags, tossing them into the closet – noting how the empty spaces had been filled with some new clothes – before undressing. Behind the changing screen sat the tub, steam rising off the water’s surface, and Desmond could not strip quick enough. Letting out a groan as he sank his aching muscles into the bath, he closed his eyes and breathed in the lavender oil within the water. No doubt Annalise’s forethought on how much the ride would’ve impacted his body.

Eyes closed, the reborn man sank into the tranquility of being back home once again. It had been an interesting journey, and beyond the assassinations, Desmond enjoyed his time exploring parts of the north of Dorne. Oberyn encouraged him to travel, and Desmond was already mentally planning future places he wanted to visit, once the war came to an end.

Word had already began to trickle down by the time he was crossing the border between the Reach and Dorne – another sidetracked journey to buy some gifts – that a hasty crowning of Prince Tommen had occurred, with the Lannisters being ordered to retreat back to the capital. Word arose that Stannis was making his way there with a mass collection of Stormlanders, and the Northern army had halted their progression south. With the war on a tense pause, Desmond had no idea what would happen next, and a part of him was amused how much chaos he had caused in just one night alone.

He blinked his eyes open as he sensed a presence, turning his gaze to the sound of a familiar gait approaching. Just as he suspected, Obah rounded the privacy screen, pausing at the sight of the bathing young man. “Desmond,” He breathed out, and the cool exterior that his guard rigorously held tight to faltered, showing the relief beneath. “You’re alive.”

“Many seem surprised about that.” Desmond commented lightly, and grinned when Obah took determined steps to reach the bath. Then, the crazy fucker kicked off his boots before climbing into the bath, water sloshing over the rim as Desmond let out a startled laugh.

The laugh was silenced by a hungry kiss, calloused hands running over his bare skin, and Desmond gripped onto Obah’s tunic as he moaned with delight, mouth opening to accept the demanding tongue. He still needed to talk to his guard about what the hell kind of relationship they had – and also talk to his wife because he was technically cheating on her after all – but for the moment, Desmond was happy to receive the attention.

When they parted, Obah’s eyes were sharp with irritation, “Your letter was lacking.” It could have been such a casual statement if the thunder in his tone wasn’t there. And Desmond sighed, already having been feeling guilty.

Rolling his head back to rest on the edge of the tub, Desmond rubbed a soothing thumb under the guard’s jaw, “I know, I’m sorry, Obah.”

Glaring, Obah leant down and pressed another kiss to his mouth, a mean one at that, before climbing out of the tub. Desmond enjoyed the way the wet clothes clung to his guard’s muscles, uncaring of the puddle of water that rapidly formed as a small voice called, “Obah?”

Narrowed eyes still locked onto Desmond, the man answered, “Over here, Sansa.”

Hesitant footsteps drew near and Desmond wondered if he should cover himself as his wife stepped around the privacy screen. Her skin went flushed when she noticed his naked form, eyes darting around, unable to land on one point as she dipped into a stilted curtsy, “I’m pleased you’ve returned safely, husband.”

Sighing, Desmond dragged a wet hand down his face as he overheard Sansa softly ask Obah, bemused, “Did you climb into the bath?” Peering at them through his fingers, he was pleased to see that the pair of them were comfortable together, Sansa obviously deferring to the guard for guidance, and Obah himself not at all annoyed by her presence. His guard didn’t tend to like people much, after all.

“I missed the idiot.” Obah muttered under his breath. Sansa let out a soft huff of laughter as she replied, “So it would seem.”

Then, the girl turned to Desmond, a flush still on her cheeks even as she managed to meet his gaze. “It is good to have you back. The household has missed you terribly, husband.” And wonder of all wonders, she sounded genuine, eyes bright and happy for his return.

Bemused, Desmond propped his arm onto the tub edge, resting his chin in his hand as he drawled, “Well, I’m sure they will remember soon enough just how annoying I can be, and wish me gone again.”

Sansa gave a small smile at that, looking to Obah once more before stating, “I shall have supper prepped at the table for you. Welcome home, Desmond.” She offered sincerely, then swiftly left the private area. He could hear, in the other room, Sansa quietly speaking with his maids, dishes lightly clattering as they were spread about the table. He then pulled his focus onto Obah, who was currently turned to look past the changing screen, likely observing the movement.

“Should I be worried about your new relationship?” Desmond teased, keeping his voice low.

Obah snapped his head around to throw a glare at him, “Do not even joke about that.”

Holding up a hand in surrender, the young lord conceded, “Alright, sorry. Just curious on the changes that have been made in my absence.” He knew that even with Dorne’s relaxed stance on bastards and paramours, there could still be danger in implying that Sansa had been unfaithful.

Glare disappearing, Obah began to report, “Lady Sansa has adjusted well to both your household and the rest of the family. I would say she is still wary of them, preferring to spend time with the maids but not completely avoiding the family and joining in on activities and meals often. She was also uncertain about taking up her role as lady within the household, but Annalise and I managed to convince her to oversee the accounts and budgeting for the time you were away. Not that there is much necessity of that, seeing as we are a small household. However, she has kept within the stipend that you had set aside for her.” A small smile appeared, fond as he added, “She was quite determined to not overstep, not convinced that she was allowed to manage the household without your verbal permission.”

Desmond waved off the idea that he would be upset about Sansa doing a better job than he with the household, “I’ll let her know.”

“Good,” Obah nodded. “I think she has been growing bored, working her way through your personal library and running out of fabric to sew since the last time we went to the market. Please find her something to do before she drives herself mad. For now, however, I’ll leave you to your bath.” And the man heel turned away, always so abrupt on his exits.

Shaking his head in amusement, Desmond finished up his bath, drying himself off and coming around the privacy screen as he tied a robe shut over his form. Perhaps too dressed down, but he had worn layers the entire trip back and just wanted some freedom of movement without being impaired by too much fabric. The long silk robe was a ridiculous luxury, and Desmond held no shame in basking in it. He deserved it after saving his world after losing his fucking mind slowly to memories that weren’t his own.

The low table had been set out for dinner in the living room, and his entire household was gathered around, already in the middle of conversation. He could see that the ease of atmosphere meant that Sansa was not too rigid as he recalled from the short time they spent together, having grown comfortable with his household. Sure, she still held herself poised and proper, eyes glancing towards him to double check that she wasn’t overstepping or upsetting him, but she had relaxed more. A good sign of her settling in well enough.

As he plated up some curry and rice, tearing off a chunk naan bread, Desmond asked to the general audience, “Anything exciting happen in my absence?”

Abed spoke up through a mouthful, “Lady Sarella tripped into a fountain.”

“Oh, come on!” Desmond threw up an exasperated hand, “Why do I always miss the fun stuff!?”

“Are you saying what kept you for so long wasn’t fun?” Obah drawled on Desmond’s right. The guard had sat himself between Sansa and him, and he had caught the uncertain glance in his wife’s expression as she had watched him take that place, as if knowing that she should be sitting to Desmond’s right but was too afraid to do so.

They really needed to have that talk.

Waving off his guard’s words, the young man sighed, “That was work. I would’ve preferred to see my sisters embarrass themselves over that.” That caused some laughter as conversation continued to flow from his people, listening to all the gossip he had missed, as well as a curt update from Habib on the current rebuilding of the keep that uncle had promised him when the plan of marrying Sansa came to light. A consolation prize, no doubt, not that Desmond was complaining.

Apparently there were parts of the keep that had fallen into disrepair, needing fixing and touch ups according to his own plans of rudimentary plumbing system. Other than that, it all should be ready for his household to move into within the next few months. Which will be a relief, as he can finally begin his building of a Brotherhood.

Everything was going well, and the future was looking bright.

Chapter Text

On the first full day of her new life in Dorne, Sansa had been invited to meet with Prince Doran in a private part of his section of the palace after breaking her fast with her husband’s household, a courtyard with a large pavilion. It was beautiful, but it did nothing to ease her fears as she quietly made her way there, escorted by the Prince’s guard. Thankfully, Obah had done as he promised, and stuck by her side.

The chair-bound man was idly observing the nature around him, table set between him and an empty chair that had a tray of tea prepared. When he spotted her, Sansa was quick to curtsy and take up the seat at his gestured command. A servant began to pour tea for them as the man began to make conversation.

“How did you sleep, princess?”

Sansa startled at the title, looking at Prince Doran with wide eyes as she replied cautiously, “Well, my prince.”

Having seen her surprise, the man’s expression turned to wry humour, “I have some news for you, the reason why I summoned you this morning.” When she stayed silent, waiting with confusion and thoughts swarming with half-coherent ideas, Prince Doran continued, “Not too long after your departure of King’s Landing, King Joffrey, Lady Cersei, and Lord Tywin were found dead in their beds.”

The world seemed to pause, breath held as an odd buzzing ran through her ears. Unable to believe what was said, Sansa stumbled on her words as she rasped, “I’m-I don’t understand, Prince Doran. How-who could have…”

Gaze softening, Prince Doran gently explained, “The assassin is not known, but they had caused obvious upheaval. From the news I’ve gathered, Lord Stannis plans makes his way the King’s Landing to take his place on the throne.”

Blinking rapidly, Sansa did not dwell on her emotions at the moment, needing information instead as she pointed out, “Wouldn’t Princess Myrcella or Prince Tommen be the next in line?”

“You must have heard the rumours, Princess,” Was Doran’s response, “Of the children being bastards, products of incest between Lady Cersei and Ser Jaime. It was your father who had learnt the truth, sending out word to the lords of Westeros. The same truth that killed the Hand.”

Sansa turned her gaze to the garden, oddly numb as she digested all of that, taking a sip of her tea. She tasted nothing as her mind drifted elsewhere. She had grown to be very good at hearing things she should not, coming to conclusions that would be deemed treasonous, before suppressing them as if the enemies around her could hear her very thoughts. Sansa had dared not think to hard on such dangerous topics.

However, now it was different. Prince Doran spoke words that would be deemed disloyal to the royal family with ease, and Sansa finally unlocked that box in her mind. The first thing was the rage at her father having been murdered for the truth. The next was disgust at the rumours being true, that she would have married Joffrey if Desmond had not gotten her out of King’s Landing. From there, Sansa then pieced together what she had purposefully not paid any mind to.

Desmond had frankly stated that marrying Sansa was something he had planned, and though the words were pretty enough, she did not believe he did so out of the kindness of his heart. Obah’s admittance on the day of their departure, that Desmond had another task to fulfill in the Red Keep. It was not a coincidence that some days after three members of the royal family wound up dead. Doran may have been vague at the exact day of their death, likely to keep her from figuring out the assassin’s identity being her husband, but Sansa wasn’t a complete idiot. On top of that, Obah had also said that Desmond did not need protection, capable of taking care of his self. Additionally, the maids had told her many funny stories, some of which contained Desmond scaling perilous heights around the Water Gardens, similarly to the way Bran would.

Sansa was completely sure she had seen Desmond step onto the ship with her. But with how quickly he had disappeared, it was not too hard to believe that he likely left the vessel and swam back.

Her husband was a Kingslayer, and Sansa wasn’t too sure how she felt about that beyond relieved and darkly satisfied that the enemies of her family were dead.

However, Sansa had a feeling that knowing such knowledge was too dangerous for her to hold, and as she glanced back to Prince Doran, he watched her with curiosity, but not in a way that suspected that she had put all the pieces together. Likely expecting to see her emotional reaction to the death of the Lannisters now that the news had sunk in. Did he think her stupid? Or just naive not to come to such conclusions. Either way, it was not good for her to know this dark secret, so Sansa dipped her head finally in acknowledgment of the information he had provided and asked instead, “Why do you call me Princess?”

His dark brow arched, “Is that not your title?”

“I did not know that Dorne recognised the North’s desire for independence.”

With a shrug, Prince Doran explained, “Dorne has much history in its want to stay independent. Why would we fault another kingdom’s desire, especially after the murdering of their liege lord.” Sansa held back the flinch at the reminder of her father’s death, listening intently to Prince Doran, “It was quite admirable of your brother’s decision to wage war, especially with one of his goals to free his sisters. A goal I could sympathise in.”

Sansa ducked her head down, staring at her hands in her lap as she murmured, “I do not believe I should hold such titles, Prince Doran. My brother has not officially recognised me as Princess, even with his title as King. I would not wish to presume.” Nor did she wish for her title to hold leverage over her. Best to not claim royalty until she knew Dorne’s stance in the war.

“Very well,” The man agreed lightly, “If that is your desire, Lady Sansa.”

“What will become of King’s Landing and the throne?” Sansa asked next, desperate for answers now that someone was willing to give them, instead of what she once had to do; listening to conversations around her for information in the Red Keep, “Would you support Lord Stannis’ rule?”

“He’d be a far better king that the previous one,” Prince Doran chuckled, “Far more reasonable, too.”

Sansa bit her tongue on the next question. Prince Doran would not know Lord Stannis’ view of the North’s Independence. She just hoped that no more of her family lost their heads. Soon, she was dismissed from Prince Doran’s side after they discussed a little more news on what she had missed whilst at sea, and quietly made her way back to her husband’s bedchambers. Once sequestered away from any possible prying eyes or ears, Sansa couldn’t help the way she began to pace as the doors shut behind Obah.

The guard watched her silently as she wrung her hands, becoming lost in thoughts and emotion. The war of the Lannisters against the Starks have come to a halt, with the king that demanded it and the lord that was leading it now dead. Prince Doran mentioned that Tommen had been hastily crowned, but it was unlikely the boy would want to keep it, Sansa recalling clearly that he was a sweet and shy boy, not one for the crown unless he was to be used as a puppet. Sansa hoped he would not have such a fate.

Next, she thought on what would become of the two children when Stannis showed up. Perhaps he would make an alliance with Robb, which meant that the Lannisters might buckle under the pressure. Then again, the Stormlands had been divided on who to serve, even after Lord Renly’s death. The Reach had been backing that man, but without it, they would likely sway to the side of the winner. Which would be Robb if one acknowledged his many victories.

The Vale would stay neutral, Sansa was sure of it. If they hadn’t joined when the war began, they wouldn’t now, no matter the familial connection. The Riverlands had joined the North’s side in majority, but it was very much pillaged and bloodied as a battleground. They would not have much resources beyond what they could afford to give the North’s army and keep for themselves. They would likely stay on Robb’s side unless something massive swayed them to a different side.

Iron Islands was unlikely to join any side, raiding shores as they are wont to do. That just left Dorne, who hadn’t taken a side, even after marrying Sansa into their family. By that decision alone, any child of Sansa’s could potentially be a child that Robb could consider an heir if he has no children of his own. Martell blood on Stark throne. Unheard of, but a potential grasp of power.

There was too much uncertainty, even more so with how far Sansa was away from the war. The best she could do would be to send letters to her family, assuring them of her well being, as well as telling them how much she loved and missed them. Ink would never compare to being able to exchange such words of affection, but it would have to be enough.

“My lady.”

Sansa paused in her tracks to meet Obah’s steady gaze. That was the best word to describe the young man: steady. A pillar in the midst of a storm. He became very good with calming Sansa when she got worked up during her time on the ship. With not much to do, and when talking to other became too much, worrying was easy to slip into. She had worried for over a year of her life, it was hard to shake.

Obah was a silent, calming presence as she wrangled herself back to firm ground, away from the spiraling thoughts that was over taking her in such moments. Offering the guard a weak smile now, Sansa murmured, “Apologies, Obah.”

“The news you received was a shock.”

His statement was bland, and he did not seem at all surprised by the news. Another sign in support of her theory that her husband was a Kingslayer. Sansa did not say anything on the topic, however, and replied, “I suppose many would be shocked. It is not everyday that a king is murdered in his own bed.” A bolt of giddiness ran through her, recalling once again that that monster was now dead and couldn’t hurt her anymore.

Obah offered a disinterested shrug, “We are all people. Anyone can die.”

And with how factually it was said, Sansa did not feel threatened by such words. Instead, it brought an odd sort of comfort as she next said, “I think I would like to take a walk. My lord husband said that the gardens here were beautiful.”

A sort uptick of his mouth, Obah complied with a nod, “He is not wrong.”

Smoothing away any creases on her borrowed dress that might have appeared in her worrying, Sansa dipped her head in gesture for the young man to lead them on. The Water Gardens Palace was full of straight corridors and very few stair cases to reach places. Made for only three floors tall, the palace was long and sprawling, some roofs dome shaped, whereas others were flat topped. There were the outer gardens, open for the public to access and enjoy, with the inner gardens kept private for the Martell household. Dotted pavilions with fountains and pools glittering in the sun light, fruit trees filling the air with mild citrus scent, complimented by the few flowering trees. There were sections with over hanging canopies, providing shade, and Obah had to warn her about getting too close to the plants that were full of sharp needles.

“Cactus,” The guard explained as she delicately crouched to observe the grouping of such plants in one of the flower beds, “They become such a way to stop wild life from eating them. Of course, that never stops the animals from finding a way. Some birds even make nests in the larger ones. See there?” And Sansa stood up to turn to the towering, oddly shaped cactus that Obah was pointing towards, “A desert owl nests there. When it gets dark enough, it will hunt for a meal. The bedchamber’s window faces this section of the garden, so you might hear it at night.”

“How spectacular.” She breathed out.

Wonder-struck, Sansa took a small turn in place as she looked at the garden in a new light. It was hot – the dress she wore beginning to stick to her skin despite the light layers – and the sunlight blinding. There was sand everywhere, in cracks of foot paths and grooves of trees. The place held the sensation of unlivable, unforgiving for life to flourish. But that was wrong.

She could spot hummingbirds, sweet little things she had only ever read about, heard other birds cooing and singing in the towering pine trees. Life adapted. Plants obviously grew in abundance around them, and there was joy to be found as she had spotted a few serving children playing in the outer pools earlier.

Smiling, Sansa felt the urge to make a dress that was inspired by the garden around. Perhaps a silk or linen of a sandy beige colour, so that the threads of greens, oranges, and pinks would stand out. She could create the entire desert woodland across the skirts, hummingbirds on the collar and cuffs. Her mind continued to turn the idea around only to fade as she frowned in realisation.

“I do not have the ability to buy fabric or threads.” Sansa voiced after they had delved deeper into the gardens, finding shade under a pavilion wrapped up completely in wisteria. The reprieve from the sunlight was alleviating to her pale skin. She hoped she would not burn too much while living in Dorne. “I would have loved to create something to compliment this place. And I’m sure Annalise would want her clothes back.”

At her wry smile, Obah tilted his head, “Desmond had set aside a portion of the Household budget for you, when he learnt of the marriage.”

Sansa stilled, “Truly?”

“I’m sure you will be reasonable with your purchases.” He shrugged casually, and once more Sansa did not take his words the way she would have in King’s Landing. Obah was honest without needing to use double meaning to dole out hurtful speech. If he wanted to do harm, he would without pretty words. It reminded her of the North, and found security in that.

Softening her shock, Sansa asked, “You are certain it would be allowed?”

He nodded, “Of course. I can show you the accounts, if you wish.”

Fiddling with the ring on her finger, a piece of jewelry she’s had since before coming south, Sansa hummed in agreement, “I think that would be for the best. I do not wish to overstep.”

“If you continue to try not to overstep, you’re not going to move anywhere.” Was Obah’s amused drawl, and Sansa let out a huff of laughter as he continued, “We best return inside. You have not adjusted yet to the heat, and it is getting close to mid-day.”

Complying to his expert knowledge on Dorne’s temperature, Sansa followed after the guard, the pair falling into step next to one another as she softly asked him, “Are you worried about him?” She did not need to say who, as the guard let out a heavy sigh, exasperated.

“There was a letter waiting for me, upon our arrival. The idiot is taking a detour, and said nothing more beyond apologising.”

Pursing her lips, concerned, Sansa murmured to herself, “I hope he is well.” She may not know much of her husband, but from stories and the love his household had for the lord, Desmond appeared to be a good man. It was easy to tell a lord’s nature in the way his servants thought of the man, and with how informal they all were, Sansa found herself relieved that the man was kind. Did that mean she trusted Desmond completely? Absolutely not. But she wanted to, and time would only tell if she found herself able to.

The man just needed to actually be here, for such development.

“He’ll be fine,” Obah grumbled, “The idiot’s too stupid to die.”

A bark of laugh tugged out of her, Sansa quickly hiding her smile behind her hand as she delighted in Obah’s bluntness. His own smile appeared as they returned to the bedchamber, whereupon the guard showed her to the hidden two chests of coin.

Sansa had never actually seen treasury chests, father having once stated he would show her the Stark vaults when she was a little older, as Robb and Jon had gotten the chance to go down to them. And then she went South. So it was with curious eyes that she observed Obah kneel down in front of one and unlock it with a key that had been safely tucked into the folds of his wrap tunic.

It was layers of trays stacked on top of each other, rows for coin to sit in neatly, easier for counting Sansa figured. Gesturing to the desk, Obah stated, “There is the accounts book in the second draw down, under the hidden bottom.”

Going over to the desk, it took Sansa a few tries to unlatch the hidden bottom and pull out the accounts book. Flipping through it to the most recent page, Sansa noted the sum total that was budgeted out for her, and widened at the amount. 300 Gold Dragons had been set aside for her. With her station, her dowry would have been at the very least three times that amount. However because of the Lannisters, it was noted that Desmond received a pittance amount of 5 Gold Dragons. An insult. Going over her husband’s account, she noticed that with the household income from various investments and allowance given by her good-father, the 300 was a good few moons worth of coin saved up. A very generous stipend when put into perspective of his current accounts.

Running her fingertips lightly over the amount, touched by Desmond’s generosity, Sansa vowed to be stringent with her spending, to not waste it on anything frivolous. She may love pretty things, but she was not going to be an idiot about this. She may be stupid, but not stupid enough to spit on her husband’s kindness, as well as his trust.

Sansa knew where his treasury chests were, could access his accounts and change them if she wanted to be malicious and greedy. But Sansa was not raised that way, and she would never stoop so low, especially with her being in what was currently a relatively safe position.

“May we go to Sunspear?” Sansa asked tentatively, glancing over to where Obah was waiting to pull out the amount of coin at her request.

The guard dipped his head, “If you wish. We should wait until later into the day, where it won’t be too hot. Additionally, the markets pack away their wares at this time.”

“That sound’s perfect,” Sansa smiled, picturing how bright and colourful the market must be. Dorne seemed to love their colours, plenty of different dyes and pigments available from the stones of their mountains allow for such shades. “Could you please take out 10 Dragons, 25 Moons, 15 Stags, and then about a handful of the different copper coins?”

“Your handful or mine?” Obah joked as complied to her request, the metal clinking as they were placed into a pouch.

Smiling at his wit, Sansa sat herself at the desk and began to note out the amount she was taking from her stipend, counting out the copper coins when Obah placed the pouch on the desk, and drawing up a column for her to keep track of her expenses in the back part of the accounts, not wishing to get in the way of the ones Desmond had been meticulously tracking. Having always been slower when it came to sums in comparison to Arya, Sansa was grateful for the abacus to keep track of the numbers.

When finished, Sansa waited for the ink to dry before tucking the book into the hidden drawer, and glancing up at Obah, “Shall we have mid-day meal with the household before we make plans to depart?”

“I’ll inform Annalise.” Was his prompt response.

Once alone as Obah left the bedchambers, Sansa drifted to the closet and stared at her meager wardrobe. The Lannisters had only provided her a few dresses as she began to grow, but preferred to leave her to her too tight dresses. Another insult upon her person for which they mocked her for, as if she had any choice in being stripped of her power to buy her own clothes. Annalise had been kind in giving her a few to borrow until she could buy or make her own, and Sansa ran her fingers through the thin cottons and linens. There was no silk, but the fabrics were high quality. Sansa supposed they decided against such luxury due to the nature of their work, not forgiving with such precious fabric.

Sansa wondered if she should buy silks, as she could and wanted to. But made a mental note against it. She did not wish to go beyond her station. Yes, she was the first daughter of the previous Warden of the North, a long and noble lineage running through her blood, and currently a King’s sister. Sansa was far beyond the station of the young man she had married, Desmond had even joked that she married lower.

But he had been far kinder than many of those who matched her nobility, and Sansa did not wish to be presumptuous and arrogant. Besides, linens and cottons were what she grew up with, alongside leathers and furs. Silk and satin were only when she reached King’s Landing, betrothed to the Crown Prince and needed to dress for that new position. Now, she was married to a bastard of a second son. Sansa had no need to put on such airs.

That did not mean she could not embroider the fabric to her heart’s content and create something beautiful, even if it wasn’t on silk.

Her thoughts then stalled, as she blinked sudden tears away.

They were dead.

Joffrey, Cersei. Her tormenters were gone for good. They could never make her feel pathetic and small again. Cersei would never again sneer at her like she was personally insulting the woman for existing in her presence. Joffrey would never again order his guards to beat her for his amusement.

She was free of them.

Shoulders beginning to shake, the reality finally crashed down as sobs of relief hit her. Legs weakening, Sansa sank to the ground as she pressed a hand to her mouth to try and stifle the hysterical wet laughs that escaped. It was far stronger than the wave that had hit her on the ship the day they left that wretched city, and at least she had the privacy of a dark closet to hide the slip of her mask.

There had already been that freedom from having left King’s Landing, finally escaping the monsters, and having very firmly decided she would rather die than return to their clutches. Now, that phantom fear was unnecessary, because the monsters were dead. Slain by her husband. Sansa did not think the man would ever understand how grateful she now was for having killed her enemies.

Her head snapped up when she heard foot steps, and quickly tried to wipe away the evidence of her tears, stifling further sobs when Marie found her. There was an expression of panic on the girl’s face as she rushed to Sansa’s side, falling to her knees as she took hold of her hand, “My lady! Are you well?”

Shaking her head, Sansa wetly laughed, “They’re dead. They are dead, and I’m still alive. I never thought I would leave that damn place alive, and now they are dead.”

She sounded mad, delirious, however Marie only gave her bright smile, agreeing, “That’s right, my lady. You survived, where they did not. And for the pain they’ve caused you, you shall live twice the happiness they never will.”

Sniffling, Sansa smiled back tremulously, “I hope they are rotting in the Seven Hells.”

Hugging her, Marie declared, “Me too, my lady.”

After a lovely meal, where everyone pointedly did not mention the redness of her blotchy cheeks, Sansa found herself back in the closet, with Annalise opening a window she had not seen on the far wall of the small room. It was with wooden lattice over the opening to not allow anyone to sneak through, but offered enough light for Sansa to be able to properly see the clothes within. The eldest of the three maids instructed as she began to rifle through Desmond’s clothes, “As we do not have any appropriate riding clothes for you, you can use Desmond’s.”

“Won’t it be too big?” Sansa squeaked out, flushing at the idea of wearing his things.

Pryia shook out a pair of brown cotton breeches, showing off the tie to cinch in the waist, “You can tuck in the ends into your boots.”

Nodding hesitantly, Sansa took hold of the breeches as Annalise pulled a cream tunic with a hood off the rack, adding a red sash to bring in the inevitably loose waistline on her figure. They were still men’s clothes however, and were not made for a woman’s under garments.

Which meant that when Sansa was dressed and ready to leave, she had to tuck her shift into the waist line of the baggy breeches and the tunic was to her thighs. At least she could still wear her stays without it being noticeable in the loose tunic, allowing Annalise to style the sash, knotting the fabric off centre and the ends uneven where they hung down her left side. Fiddling with the collar, Sansa flushed again when she was hit with a faint scent of an earthy musk. Like the fresh smell of the pools of water with lily pads in the gardens. It was combined with the sharp sting of metal, and Sansa found herself enjoying it.

“Oh!” Maria crowed, coming over from a trunk, “Wear these!” And she presented leather arm braces. Bewildered by the request, Sansa offered her arms out to allow the younger girl to buckle them on, Marie commenting, “These were Desmond’s when he was younger, and grew out of. They should fit you perfectly.”

“Why would he keep them if they did not fit?” Sansa questioned, making Habib snort from where he was lounging near the window, on guard, “Desmond is like a squirrel, loves to horde everything.”

“’You never know when you might need it.’” Pryia seemed to quote with a fond role of her eyes, placing the borrowed dress Sansa had just been wearing into a basket for laundry. Giggling a little at the way the girl had lowered her voice to sound more masculine, Sansa accepted the pouch of coin from Obah, stuffing it into the red sash for safe keeping.

Then, after allowing Annalise to assist in wrapping a shemaugh that matched the sash around her head to protect her skin and eyes from the sun, the household made their way to the front courtyard.

“Do I need permission to leave?” Sansa couldn’t help but ask quietly, waiting for guards to appear and drag her back to the bedchambers. However, Abed shook his head, “Desmond said you are free to come and go to Sunspear or the beaches at your pleasure. As long as you are not alone and guarded.”

“What of Prince Doran or Prince Oberyn? Would they not disapprove?” Her fretting was eased by Marie’s hand slipping into hers.

“They have been informed of the trip, and Desmond’s sister have decided to invite themselves along.” Abed replied as they exited the palace and revealed a few of the older sisters beginning their own preparations on their mounts.

Suddenly quite nervous about being around them, Sansa shrank back a little, pausing in her steps. Obara spotted her first, sending her a smirk, “Ready to see a real city?”

“I’ve heard that King’s Landing smells like shit.” Nymeria japed in agreement, swinging up onto her horse.

Giving them a hesitant smile, Sansa continued her approach as she acknowledged, “I did not go into the city proper often, but yes, it did not smell nice.”

They left the palace without much fuss, Sansa letting the sisters talk around her as she stayed close to the guards, riding through the desert at a steady speed. There was only a small distance between the Water Gardens and Sunspear and its shadow city, barely a half hour’s ride to reach the outer walls of the city, and Obah was quick to point out what would be the future keep that her and Desmond would run.

It was on the northern side of the city, sat on the outskirts and looming over many of the other buildings. The best way she could describe it, from this distance, was as if many little buildings were all haphazardly stacked on top of each other, facing different directions and creating a wide, towering structure, carved out of the massive rocks and boulders that bracketed that section of the city. Sansa would have to be much closer to take in the minute details of the place.

However, it was far shorter compared to the massive Old Palace, the Spear Tower striking as it reached for the heavens to the east of the settlement, surrounded by the rest of the keep with their Rhoynish architecture. Around it, the shadow city was built up against the walls of the castle and sprawling downward, surrounded by the Winding Walls, three barriers of protection that confused invaders as they snaked their way through streets. They entered the city through the Threefold Gate, before taking a turn to enter the labyrinthine city, Sansa knowing immediately that in no way would she try to navigate this place alone.

The rest of the city continued to have either domed roof tops or flat ones, intricate details of geometric patterns carved or tiled into the buildings. Squat mud houses fading into more richer sections of the city, exterior staircases leading to second or third floors of buildings, that they too had this feature of appearing stacked on top of one another. Arching entryways and structures primarily made with white or beige stone blended in with the environment. Above the streets, fabric was stretched from one building to the next, providing shade as people went about their business below. Wells doted at crossroads and on corners, and Sansa spotted various trees in small courtyards of homes.

The heat was as expected, though Desmond’s clothes did well in protecting her from burning, and Sansa tried not to drink all of her waterskin too quickly, though Habib had murmured to her as they walked the streets – having left their horses at the stables near the city’s gates – that she could easily refill them from the wells or clean fountains.

Around them, the people were friendly and happy to see the Martell tabards on the guards, well wishes and blessings sent their way. The House was beloved by Dorne, and once more that added a point in Desmond’s favour. Joffrey was not loved the way the sisters around her were.

Upon reaching the market of Sunspear, it was revealed to be a massive courtyard, tents and stalls set out around a large fountain that children splashed about in. There was a statue of a woman dressed in armour, holding a spear in one hand and a water jug in another. The sisters split up, excited to buy things as Sansa found herself drifting towards the fountain statue.

Gazing up at the woman, Sansa asked, “Who is she?”

“Nymeria of Rhoynar.” Habib answered, observing with Sansa as women who passed by paused to press their palms in prayer at the statue before moving on.

Revered, beloved. There was an inscription on the other side of the pedestal the statue stood upon that referred to the long gone queen as ‘Mother of the Water’. Recalling the fabled water magic of the Rhyonish, Sansa mimicked the people around her to press her palms together and bowed her head over. The woman’s name made her think of Arya, and Sansa prayed to the queen for her sister’s safety, wherever she was now.

When finished, Sansa finally took to wandering the stalls, listening to Pryia and Annalise expound on the best stalls for good prices, Maria chiming in with her own anecdotes. The guards stayed quiet as they triangulated their group, Habib and Abed to the left and right at the front, with Obah a comforting presence at the back.

It was as they were perusing the stalls that Sansa noticed that each of the maids had a dagger on their person, even young Marie. Pretending not to notice – deciding it was best to think over it when not in an unfamiliar city – Sansa turned her attention to a large stall with bolts of fabric spread across the tables.

Giddy, she immediately headed over to it, beginning the diligent process of fingering the fabrics to test the quality, inspecting the swatches with sewing techniques tested upon each type of fabric. Her own sewing supplies had been greatly depleted, the Lannisters of course not resupplying her that Sansa slowly had less and less to do to pass the time as a prisoner.

Now, however, Sansa could buy what she wanted and needed to her desires. She had already mentally planned many dress designs on the trip to Dorne, that she was able to decide upon the yardage length of the fabrics she wanted quickly enough.

The stall owner, having noticed the sigil the guards wore, was friendly and jumped to assist her, though Sansa could see that he was not too familiar with who she was. In fact, the man was bold enough to inquire as he cut the lengths she requested, “Mayhaps this humble merchant know the identity of their honoured customer.”

Bemused, Sansa glanced to Obah to gauge on how to answer, and received short nod. Smiling graciously at the merchant, she replied, “Lady Sansa Sand, the new wife of Desmond Sand.”

He brightened, “Lord Desmond! He frequents this bazaar that he might as well live here.”

Laughing lightly at his words, Sansa observed, “As I understand it, he is a patron of many businesses in the city.”

“He is! Perhaps one day he might invest in my own.” And the man gave a cheeky wink.

Hearing what he was implying, Sansa made a mental note to broach the topic with Desmond of using her own stipend to invest. For now, Sansa demurred and said that she would speak with her husband before accepting the folded lengths of fabrics, Pryia taking them from her to place into her basket.

They continued onward, stopping at stalls that caught her interest, where she bought some more needles and new fabric shears. She was lucky to still have her mother’s darning mushroom, a parting gift that had been in her mother’s family for generations, following different women and houses they married into. Such a precious item with carved and painted details of flowers, Sansa was so grateful the Lannisters did not deem it interesting enough to destroy as they had done with a few of her precious things.

Along purchasing new tools, Sansa bought many bobbins and bundles of thread in various shades of the rainbow. With her stock having been so low, resupplying to this degree was hefty, but Sansa had the funds and did not hesitate in her purchases. In fact, when she caught sight of some gold and silver threads, she eagerly bought some, plans forming in her mind as she next noticed beads made of precious stones and metals.

It had been a long while since she was this excited over something, and Sansa embraced it with a smile. They were dead, and Sansa was going to thrive.

Chapter Text

Over the weeks, Sansa settled in. She spent time with Desmond’s sisters and his mother, though Ellaria was not his in blood, she was in his heart. Getting to know them, Sansa tried very hard not to fully trust them, even as they put up a good fight at worming through her defenses. She had desperately missed the companionship of other girls, missing Jeyne as fiercely as one would miss a limb, and allowed a part of her to be won over.

Her new good-father was kind to her, and was so obvious full of love that he readily shared with his many daughters. However, he was called the Red Viper for a reason and of course stayed equally wary even as she enjoyed light conversation with the man if they crossed paths.

However, she was still careful with her words, never voicing her truest thoughts and opinions, just in case they could be twisted and used against her.

Beyond getting to know the new family she was married into, Sansa was able to finally send off letters to her family. Citing her concerns for their well being, as well as begging for forgiveness for the letter she had written all that time ago, the one Cersei had made her write. She made sure to assure them of her safety and how the Martells were caring for her well enough. And Sansa made certain to not put a hint of her husband’s absence. The responses back were full of love and worry, mother not pleased she had married a bastard but relieved she was at least away from the Lannisters. However, Sansa could read in between the lines and see mother was afraid of the Martells possible plans with the young lady now married into it. Robb too written his own displeasure. But, even with the frantic scribbled ink, Sansa couldn’t help but smile at just being able to contact her family after so long of nothing.

Beyond that joy of having freedom of movement and being in correspondence with her family, Sansa had taken the time in the evenings to continuously turn over the dilemma she had realised upon the first full day of her stay in the Water Gardens. Curled up under cool sheets and pressed into soft pillows, Sansa had allowed her dangerous thoughts to come to the front of her mind.

Desmond had killed the Lannisters. He had done so in their sleep. That would call for assassination, instead of plain murder due to the political motive, even if the emotional side was there too due to family history. Desmond’s guards had trained with him, Abed having even off-handedly mentioning that they ran rooftops and climbed into places they shouldn’t with Desmond. That was not typical training of guards. The maids had their own weapons as well.

Desmond was an assassin, and he was training his own household to be similarly skilled.

Sansa was married to a Kingslayer. An Assassin. And she was baffled over how he was currently someone she had come to trust the most in the world, even with his absence. Perhaps it was because of the openness he had shown her in those few days that they knew one another. Or maybe it was the large funds, given over with trust that could be deemed naive if Sansa was a terrible person. Maybe it was even how much free range she had around the Water Gardens and traveling into the city, no longer caged. Or, it could be that his orders to Obah and his household was that Sansa’s safety was their top priority.

She hadn’t had a household like that since her own one had been slaughtered and her father made prisoner and subsequently murdered. And Sansa could feel herself relaxing properly around the seven members of Desmond’ household, enjoying meal times with them, along with playing around the gardens and exploring the shadow city of Sunspear.

At one point, Sansa had wanted to go down to the beach, before deciding that would be something that Desmond could show her, similarly with Planky Town. Her husband should be here, exploring the sights of his homeland, but instead he was off assassinating people and disappearing into the wind. Was it odd, that she felt exasperated similarly to the rest of the household? Likely. Either way, Sansa became comfortable in Dorne and began to trust this new life set before her.

It was around the second moon since her arrival to Dorne that Sansa broached a topic with Obah one evening. A topic that had been itching her brain for awhile. She hadn’t voiced the knowledge that her husband was an assassin, another secret that Sansa should not be aware of, but this one she could as it could be a possible threat to her own marriage.

Obah had taken to being the last guard to leave in the evening, obviously taking his orders seriously, though Sansa hoped the young man also began to enjoy her company the way she had with his. As she stepped out from the privacy screen, tying a robe around her night dress, Sansa searched for Obah in the darkened room, finding him silhouetted by the rising moonlight as he stood by one of the balcony entryways.

Observing his tall form for a long moment, Sansa approached his side, hands folded in front of her. Together, they listened to the owl that began to hoot, the distant rush of the ocean that was like an inky shadow in the night.

“Are you in love with Desmond?” Sansa asked softly.

If Obah had been still before, he was frozen now. Sansa waited patiently, holding her tongue on any assurances she wanted to give him, hoping that her silence was lacking in any judgment or derision, hoping it mirrored that that was how she genuinely felt about the possibility.

Finally, he came to life by exhaling slowly. “I am.”

“I see,” Sansa murmured, pleased to have her suspicions confirmed. “How long?”

“The day after your wedding.”

Surprised, Sansa turned to him, “So recent? I had thought it was at least a year.”

The tightness around his eyes softened as he shook his head, “I had wanted him for a long time, and Desmond had been hesitant about it, for many reasons but I suppose I finally got him to come around to the idea.”

Brows furrowing, the young lady hesitantly asked, “Was he not interested?”

“He was,” Obah shook his head, “But Desmond is very good at denying on what he wants in life. He will argue in defense of what is right, but his heart is a soft one, and he is forever not certain he deserves love.”

Her heart twinged with an aching sympathy, and a part of her wished to push to know more. Know why her husband had come to be such a way, but Sansa held back. It some something for Desmond to tell her personally, not to be shared like gossip. Instead, Sansa reached out and took Obah’s hand. When the guard looked down at her, she gave him a kind smile, “I’m happy he has you to show him love.”

“And you?” It was lacking in accusation, but there was a hint of caution, as if concerned Sansa was going to not love Desmond. She took the moment to try and see Obah the way Desmond must. There was the stern brow, the dark curls and faint stubble beginning to grow across his olive skin. He was handsome, with lovely eyes that became bright with life when he showed a rare smile. On top of his looks, he was admirable in his unwavering loyalty and care for Desmond, and gave him a soft smile.

“I hope, over time, I can come to love him. My parents built their love, and I wish we can do the same. And,” Sansa continued when she noticed the flicker of fragile uncertainty in his dark eyes, “I will never stop what is between you two. You have been a boon for me throughout all of this, Obah. In fact, I’m grateful for much, including your assistance at creating the farce of the consummation.” Here, Sansa couldn’t help the flush at having come to such a conclusion some weeks ago, not having known exactly what had occurred, but knew it was some form of sex.

Taking a breath to force away the heat in her cheeks, Sansa valiantly ignored to amusement in Obah’s eyes as she squeezed his hand, “We shall discuss this more with Desmond when he returns, but you are my friend, Obah. You love my husband, and give him what I know I cannot. I hope that one day I can love him as you do, and for him in turn for me as he does for you.”

“A triad is not unusual in Dorne.” The young man lightly pointed out.

Sansa blinked, a touch confused, before realising what he meant. Blushing once more, Sansa huffed as she dropped his hand mumbled, not actually offended, “You truly are a bold man.”

Chuckling, Obah nudged his head to the bed, “Go to sleep, Sansa. We can talk with Desmond upon his return, as you suggested.”

Going to walk away, ready for sleep, Sansa paused to press a soft kiss to his cheek, rising up onto her toes to reach. Smile up at him as he froze in surprise, the young lady said, “Desmond and I are lucky to have you, Obah.”

Sleep came swiftly as it had done for weeks now, rereading her mother and brother’s recent letters to ease her heart at their continual well being before going to bed.

And after having all this time to adjust to the new bed, Sansa realised that it would be another adjustment when Desmond returned.

When supper was cleared up and the husband and wife were left alone, Sansa observed the tired man uncertainly, trying to figure out how to interact with him after only truly knowing him for three days, and decided it was something to worry about tomorrow. Instead, she went to the changing screen to prepare for bed, and spoke to the man, “I feel I must thank you, husband.”

“Yeah?” Was the man’s usual unusual way of speaking for a noble, “How come?”

Peeking her head out, Sansa raised an unimpressed brow, “The Lannisters?” Was all she stated, and watched as he turned sheepish. An odd expression for a Kingslaying assassin. However, he did not seem surprised that she figured it out, and was secretly pleased he did not think her too slow to do so.

“Your welcome?”

Rolling her eyes once she was back behind the barrier at his lackluster response, Sansa added, “I will try not to feel insulted that marrying me was only an excuse.”

“I mean, I did marry you to get you out of there too.” Was his light argument, and Sansa began to understand just how Desmond won people over, no matter how exasperating he could be. He was irritatingly charming in his honesty.

Stepping out from the barrier she crawled into bed, noticing that he had just stripped down without waiting to those sleeping breeches he preferred. Facing one another, Sansa watched as his expression churned with a myriad of emotions, a question on his mind. She decided to voice the one on hers, wanting to get this one out of the way for now, “I do not mind that you love Obah.” Over the choked sound Desmond made as he inhaled too sharply, Sansa pressed onward, “He can give you what I cannot.”

Amused, Sansa watched as Desmond groaned and pressed his hands to his face, “I can’t believe you two have unionized against me.” He muttered before glaring at her through his fingers, “How did you two become friends?”

“You left us alone together.” Was her dry response, then giggled when he pouted.

Then, sobering up, Sansa tentatively reached across the space between them to curl a finger around one of his, “But, one day...I would like a family. When we are ready for it.”

Desmond was quiet as he gazed at her, and Sansa pulled on all her time in King’s Landing to not squirm under his intimidating stare. There was a silent intensity to Desmond, one that was unusual for someone so young and having not been touched by war. Then again, Sansa did not know much of her husband, so she could not assume what he has and hadn’t been through.

Finally, the gaze relaxed as he tightened his finger around hers, “When we’re a little older, we can see. I...I think I would like a family too. But let’s talk about this tomorrow.”

Smiling bright, Sansa agreed as she shuffled closer to curl into his chest, “Yes, let us discuss when we are well rested.” She had slept in the arms of Jeyne in the past, the pair having taken turns in holding one another in the night when they were bed mates. It wasn’t too different with Desmond, and after an awkward pause, the young man wrapped an arm around her and relaxed into the embrace.

Closing her eyes to the faint sound of his soothing heartbeat, Sansa slept easy. Perhaps even easier than she had the past two moons alone. It assuaged the continual precariousness of her place in the Water Gardens, now that her husband was back. And upon waking up the next morning to find that Obah had joined them at some point, his tall form curled around Desmond’s back, Sansa decided that no matter how odd their relationship was, it wasn’t one she could be upset about. She was safe now.

Chapter Text

It was early morning. Desmond knew this because the birds were beginning to sing but the sun hadn’t even peeked over the horizon. However, something beyond the wildlife had stirred him from his slumber, and his hand curled around the blade under his pillow as he strained his ears for what disturbed him.

The very faint sound of breathing, calm and unhurried. Light steps. They moved from the entrance into the bedroom, and around towards the right balcony archway. Desmond’s hand relaxed on the blade’s hilt as he cracked open his eyes to see Obah.

The guard was gazing out the balcony into the early morning sky, where he liked to stand and think. This would not be the first time that Desmond woke up to catch his first friend in this world contemplating his existence or whatever went on in his mind when he stared outside like that. However, Desmond could never figure out why it always had to happen in his room.

Heaving a sigh as he sat up, careful to not disturb Sansa, the reborn man grumbled quietly, “Can’t you ponder your existence somewhere else?”

From the faint moonlight, Desmond noticed Obah’s lips twitch in amusement as the guard continued to stare out into the world. “You have a better view.”

Shaking his head, amused, Desmond clambered out of bed to approach his guard, planting himself in front of Obah so that the guard had to look at him. Desmond was tall – likely to be much taller once he finished puberty – but Obah had always been the taller of them, and he had to tilt his head back a little to meet the guard’s gaze.

There was a heavy storm of emotion churning in Obah’s eyes, and Desmond figured he knew the cause of it. However, he didn’t know how to broach the topic. Thankfully, Obah was always able to voice his thoughts frankly.

“Sansa said asked if I was in love with you.”

Desmond’s brows flew up, “And are you?”

The guard frowned, eyes darting to the side, where said girl slept and he said nothing further. Sighing, Desmond glanced down at his bare feet, scratching at the back of his neck as awkwardness tried to settle upon them. However, Desmond was not going to allow this to fuck up their relationship, and looked back up at Obah once again.

Reaching up, Desmond pressed a hand to Obah’s face, gently turning the young man to face him. But, Obah continued to avoid his gaze and Desmond had to duck his head to catch it. “Obah,” He quietly insistent, “I’m not upset if you love me. In fact,” Desmond let out a breathy laugh, “I think I would be pretty lucky to have your love.”

“You do not return the affection.” Obah pointed out. Grimacing, Desmond dropped his hand, but Obah was quick to snatch it up, holding it to his lips. Pressing a kiss to it, the guard murmured, “I do not expect you to-”

Desmond twisted his hand around to grasp his guard’s jaw. The grip was in the side of rough as he scowled up at the man, “Don’t speak for me, Obah. I never thought I could have you, not romantically. I am your lord, no matter how much our friendship comes first for me we can’t ignore the power I have over you. I hate it. And I never want to overstep-”

“I took liberties first.” Obah argued glaring at him, “You stopped me, and I pushed. I used the need for proof of consummation as an excuse to get what I wanted from you.”

“I could have stopped you.” Desmond rolled his eyes, unimpressed with the explanation. “I could have but I didn’t.”

“Then if I haven’t overstepped, and you wanted it, I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.” Obah huffed, a rare show of honest irritation.

“I’m trying to tell you that I love you too, idiot.”

Desmond could see the exact moment that his words caught Obah off guard, the young man’s eyes widening as he stared at Desmond, unable to believe what he said. Smiling, exasperated, Desmond cupped both hands to Obah’s face, stroking his thumbs over cheek bones as he whispered, “I’m trying tell you that I’ve been in love with you for a really long time, and I hated myself for doing so.”

“You are not as old as you think.” Obah sighed, leaning into his touch, “Your memories, perhaps, but you are not older than I, Desmond.”

Wanting to protest just on principal alone, Desmond held his tongue as he knew Obah to be right. A part of him still considered himself to be an adult, but slowly he had been coming to terms with the truth of the matter. He was fifteen. Sixteen in a few months. Memories did not change biology. That did not mean he was going to sleep with his child of a wife, but Desmond knew he needed to stop being so hard on himself. Especially with Obah, who knew all the facts, and decided it did not matter. It was not that Desmond continued to age from twenty-five onward once he was reborn. He recalled the confusion of being a baby, of struggling to understand and learn concepts that his adult self would have picked up on quickly. Desmond already knew he reacted at times irrationally like a teenager would, even with commonsense ringing clear in his head.

Desmond just didn’t know why he fought against the reality of his circumstances for so long. This world already expected children to grow up fast, he was already deemed an adult by many, but he held on so tightly to his past because it was all that he had when he first arrived in this world. All he was, was his memories. It felt wrong to not allow them the ability to define him as a person. They were what made him an Assassin, because without that, Desmond knew he was just a nobody reborn into an unfamiliar world.

He had wanted to be a nobody when he was fifteen and running away from the Farm, but deep down knew he just wanted a place to belong. The Brotherhood, through the memories of his ancestors, gave him that verisimilitude. A mimicry of what he wanted, never truly the real thing. And it was that damn sense of identity that had him dying in the first place, and it was why he clung to it so hard. If he wasn’t Desmond Miles, if he wasn’t an Assassin, then what the fuck did he die for?

And what did he die for, to end up in a new world to only fall back into the comforting role of Assassin? Though he loved his ancestors through the memories he lived, he knew that the Brotherhood was susceptible to corruption, and there was no small amount of corrupt people in this new world. Creating a community of assassins was just asking for future problems long after he was gone and couldn’t fix anything. And it wasn’t that he didn’t want to create a Brotherhood, because he did. He would get too bored in this world, too jaded if he just allowed innocent people to be harmed. Fuck, that was why he agreed to marrying Sansa in the first place, and he barely knew the poor girl!

Here he was, having a goddamn identity crisis and Desmond just wanted to fucking sleep.

Letting out a heavy breath, Desmond dropped his hands and his head, forehead coming to rest on Obah’s shoulders, “Can we go to bed? I think I have a head ache.” Another one, at that. The last month or so had been nothing but on and off headaches, worsening over time. He must be really fucking stressed.

Chuckling softly, Obah’s hand curled over the back of his neck as he replied, “Of course, Desmond.”

He went back to bed with Obah tucking himself around Desmond’s back, facing Sansa as she unconsciously moved closer to him and his warmth. Deserts were cold in the night after all. Staring at the sleeping girl, Desmond thought about what she had said to him, about wanting a family together.

Growing up distant from the other kids on the Farm because of his father was the Mentor, growing up on the streets and afraid of trusting others, and then dying alone, Desmond knew he was a lonely person. He had sisters in this life, caring father and uncle, friends. But his memories alone made him feel distant from them all. Obah he clung to, like he clung to being an Assassin, because it kept him from losing his mind. Obah knew the truth, Obah accepted him as he was, and Desmond was just desperate to never be lonely again.

He worried that that desire to be less lonely meant that his feelings weren’t true, but Desmond couldn’t really determine what was true about his emotions and what was false. He knew he cared for Obah, he loved him. He wanted more, and he got it. So why did it still feel like it wasn’t enough.

Was he creating a Brotherhood because he needed to fill up this hollowness in his chest and not due to boredom? Was he only desperately waiting for Sansa to be older so he didn’t feel guilty about how much he wanted a family of his own, something he never got the chance to make in the first life? Did he genuinely care for her, even?

The fact of the matter boiled down to this: Desmond clung so hard to who he was when he died, that he continued to ignore the fact that he wasn’t twenty-five no matter what the memories told him. He was fifteen, and he couldn’t keep clinging to a dead man when he was determined to live his life the way he never got to the first time around.

It seemed like Desmond was the one to have an existential crisis tonight, and not Obah. Maybe he was just making this all more complicated than it needed to be. Was he overthinking his relationships? Likely.

‘Just go to sleep, Desmond.’ A voice that sounded like Altair sighed, exasperated.

Closing his eyes, the young man complied.

Waking consisted of a dull headache throbbing behind his eyes. Gritting his teeth as his mind roused itself, Desmond cracked open his eyes to squint into the morning light drifting into the bedchamber. Sansa was gone, and there was no weight to his back, so Obah was gone too.

Last to wake up, it seemed. Desmond rubbed at his face as he sat up, determining to ignore his headache as he got settled back into his home. He had family to greet, finances to check over, and training to observe. Washing his face and dressing for the day, he entered into the living area to see food already laid out and waiting, covered to keep warm and flies away.

Smiling to himself at the consideration of his household, Desmond sat down and ate his fill. The quiet late morning helped with his growing headache, but only a little. He would have to try and mitigate the exuberance of his sisters when he finally went to see them today. Maybe afterward he got his tasks completed Desmond could spend the rest of the day laying in bed with a cold cloth on his face.

Towards the end of the meal as mental plans for the day tentatively constructed, Sansa and Obah returned, the girl brightening at the sight of him, “Good morning.” She chirped sitting across from him at the low table and beginning to pour herself water from the jug. Her pale complexion was pinking no matter the effort she went through at protecting her skin with the scarf. Maybe a parasol would be helpful, Desmond considered as he greeted her in turn. She also seemed to be in clothes that actually fit her, the soft turquoise of her dress complimented her, along with the hints of delicate gold jewelry on her wrist and ears. Huh, when did she get those pierced? Must have been Tyene. His sister had done the same with Desmond and his own ears. Either way, Sansa was practically glowing with happiness, far from the shadow of a girl he had met in King’s Landing.

Obah bent low to press a kiss to Desmond’s crown as he passed by, startling him at the show of affection but flashing his guard a smile nonetheless. As the last of the trio sat down – Obah murmuring gratitude at the goblet of water Sansa next poured for him – Desmond decided now would be a great time to address the issue at hand. Especially grateful to know the pair were obviously friends now.

“Right,” He began after swallowing his last bite, “I think it’s time we talked.”

Sansa sat up straighter, eyes sharpening as she waited for him to speak. It was Obah, however, that actually properly began the conversation, tone a casual drawl, “Sansa is your wife, and I am your lover. What is there to discuss?”

Sighing, Desmond groused, “Boundaries, Obah. We are trying to discuss boundaries.”

“Hmm.” The guard grunted, though his eyes glinted with amusement at having annoyed him. Rubbing at his temple, Desmond tried once more.

“Let’s start easy. Are we all fine to share the bed together?”

He got a confirmed hum from Obah, with Sansa flushing a little even as she nodded. “I feel much safer.” Was her murmured anecdote, and damn if that didn’t just tug on the heart strings.

“Great. What about spending time together?”

Sansa tilted her head as she contemplated his question, answering carefully, “I enjoy walking through the gardens in the morning with Obah, if that is agreeable with you, husband?” She looked braced for him to deny her that pleasure of friendship with their guard, which made Desmond even quicker to agree.

“Sure,” He gave a half-shoulder shrug as he added, “I like to sleep in, anyway, so works for me. Obah?”

Both of them looked to Obah as the guard replied easily, “I enjoy the walks too.”

Sansa beamed at the older teen, and Desmond got to watch with delight as he caught the nearly hidden reddening of Obah’s ears, dark curls covering most of the appendages. His wife likely wouldn’t know to spot that reaction yet, but hopefully she would soon so they could both give the guard shit.

“And you, husband?” The girl turned to Desmond with earnest, “What of the time you wish to spend with Obah?”

“Training and guard duty,” The lord replied promptly, chin rest on his palm, “That’s how we usually hang out.”

Obah nodded in silent agreement even as Sansa frowned, glancing between them, “Should you not wish to have more romantic moments together? As lovers?”

‘Bless this girl and her innocence,’ Desmond thought fondly as Obah chuckled.

“We will find those moments, my lady.” The guard replied, “Don’t worry about it.”

Though still frowning, Sansa acquiesced to his words. A pause then fell on the trio, as the actually wedded pair had to decide about spending time together. Desmond was still certain Sansa wasn’t that comfortable around him, and was taken by surprise when her expression turned determined as she addressed him, “I would like us to spend at least one meal a day together. And...I would like to go to the beach together.”

“You haven’t been yet?” That was odd, the beach was literally a short walk from the Water Gardens.

Sansa shook her head with a shy smile on her lips, “I wanted to go with you.”

Softening, Desmond agreed readily, “Yeah, we can go together.”

“Should I stay behind?” Obah voiced quietly. To which Sansa immediately disagreed, offended that he would even suggest that.

“Of course not, Obah! You must come along.” She insisted, grasping his forearm imploringly.

Lips pulling with humour, Obah teased, “I must, must I?”

Sansa sniffed delicately, “I shall make it a command, if need be.”

“Don’t bother with that,” Desmond grinned, “Obah’s shit at listening to commands.”

“That’s slander and you know it.” Obah immediately shot back with a faux glare. Desmond, in a brilliant show of maturity, stuck out his tongue at his guard, making Sansa giggle at the byplay.

“How about we just take it one day at a time,” Desmond said after the humour died back a little, “And if anyone is uncomfortable or wants to make a suggestion, we’ll listen.”

“A sound plan,” Sansa nodded agreeably. “What are the plans for today, husband?”

Rubbing once more at his temples, Desmond grimaced, “Sisters. I need to see them, seeing as I didn’t yesterday. Look over the ledgers, maybe observe some training. Then, a nap in the closet.” It was both cool and dark in there. Wouldn’t be the first time he passed out in the place.

“Are you well, Desmond?” The use of his name from her lips startled Desmond into looking up, and he noticed that both Sansa and Obah were watching him with concern.

“A headache,” He waved their worry away, realising that his tentative plans were going to be shoved off for another day. Damn. Standing up, Desmond began instructing his guard, “Let Abed and Habib know I’ll check on their training tomorrow, if I’m feeling better. I’ll try to go over the accounts and whatnot later.”

“Is there anything you request from me?” Sansa asked as Obah gave a quiet murmur of acknowledgment at the orders.

Shrugging, Desmond replied, “What you’ve been doing since I’ve been gone.” It was perhaps not helpful, but he was not in the best state to be helpful in general. Departing from the pair, the lord left his rooms, Abed peeling off of the wall to follow him as he made his way towards his father’s – and subsequently his sisters’ – apartments within the Water Gardens. Already, there was noise echoing down the hall and filling up the courtyard. And even with his pain, Desmond found himself smiling fondly as he turned a corner and caught sight of his sisters lounging around a fountain.

Unsurprisingly, Obara was the first to notice him. For a split second, her expression brightened before it twisted into a scowl. The determined march toward him had Desmond wincing, hands up in surrender as he tried to placate his eldest sister, “Okay, I’ve got gifts and a headache, can you save- hurk!”

Rough hands yanked Desmond into a suffocating embrace as the woman growled, “You’re a fucking idiot, Des. But it’s good to see you again, brother.”

Wheezing out a wordless agreement, Desmond returned the hug, patting her back. He stumbled once released, and took the punch to the arm with dignity as Ellaria swooped in to the rescue. She smiled at him with arms open for a hug, peppering kisses to his cheek as she cooed, “Welcome back, Desmond. We’ve missed you dearly.”

Scratching his neck as the rest of the sisters took that as their cue to come swarming him, Desmond sheepishly replied, “I didn’t mean to be gone for so long, I swear.”

The dull pain in his head was throbbing with unrepentant viciousness as he spent a couple of hours with his sisters, listening as they caught him up on what occurred while he was gone. He made sure to tease Sarella for tripping into a fountain, her embarrassment a balm to his soul. Abed had been nice enough to leave and collect the gifts he had purchased on his journey, Desmond handing them all out.

Desmond could have done without the girls’ cries of happiness and squeals of gratitude, but he was happy to watch their joy. However, the tension as he fought to ignore the headache was spotted by Ellaria, who very kindly gave him the excuse of exhaustion from travel to dip out of the reunion. Making sure to give all of his sisters and veritable step-mother kisses on the cheeks, Desmond left them to their gifts.

As he walked down the hall with growing weariness, Desmond muttered to Abed, “I’m going to find a pool to drown in for a little while.”

Sympathetic, the guard didn’t even throw out a joke as he suggested, “Preferably one with shade.”

Humming in agreement, Desmond searched for a shadowed pool in his private garden, and barely remembered to take off his tunic and weapons before clambering in. Down to his pants and barefoot, Desmond fell face first into the blessedly cool water. He spent a long few minutes holding his breath as he let the muffled world beyond the water pass him by, head empty of thoughts. Only the relentless ache that beat to the rhythm of his heart just behind his eyes to keep him company in the blissful coolness of the water.

Then, when Desmond couldn’t go any longer without air, sat up from where he had sunk to the bottom of the shallow pool. Then, he leant back to float on the surface, blinking lazily up at the sunlight dappling through the willow tree that hung over this particular pool. As he did so, it was like the world was fading in and out of colour to greyscale then back to saturated hues.

It was...familiar. And the implications of what might be occurring was worrying. After all, Desmond’s lineage had died with him, so there was no way his DNA now held Isu genetics. Especially not in another fucking world that had no connections to the first one.

Or maybe he was just going insane. Maybe the headache was bad enough to make him go completely colour blind. Maybe it was triggering the headaches he got from the Bleeding Effect, and his brain was glitching.

“I think I need to nap.” He mumbled aloud.

“Likely.” Sansa murmured in agreement.

Too exhausted to be surprised, Desmond let his body sink to the water as he turned to face her, water coming up to his chest. She was sitting on the wall of the pool, sewing. A vibrant red fabric was in her lap as she studiously poked her needle in and out of it. Drifting over with mild curiousity, Desmond rested his arms on stone wall, cheek pillowed on top as he watched the near-hypnotic motion of the needle. The faint rhythmic sound of it puncturing the fabric and the pull of the thread through was equally lulling. It didn’t help his headache, but it didn’t worsen it either. The sound was interspersed with threads being snipped and pauses where she would re-thread the needle. It sounded like she was a deft hand at sewing. Good for her.

“How have you been settling in?”

His soft question had her pausing, before continuing with her sewing, “Very well.” Her voice stayed quiet but was touched with warmth, “Your family has been nothing but kind.”

“Good,” Desmond sighed, closing his eyes against the sunlight as he continued to rest beside her, “Don’t be afraid to tell them to back off if they get too much. I love them, but they drive me crazy sometimes.”

A puff of breath to signal a laugh escaped Sansa as she spoke with melancholic fondness, “They remind me of my own siblings as times.”

Cracking an eye open to watch the faint grief that flickered over her features, Desmond asked, “Have you contacted your family yet?”

“I have,” She halted her sewing to instead look out on the garden. There was now a different emotion washing over her face. Some kind of wistfulness. “It appears that mother and Robb are hoping to return to Winterfell once a treaty is made with Stannis. Mother told me that Arya had found them.”

“She’s alive?” Desmond perked up at the news.

Smiling, Sansa was faintly teary eyed as she glanced down at him, “Yes. Mother wrote that she disguised herself as a boy and escaped King’s Landing. Apparently, she was absolutely filthy and they nearly didn’t allow her into the camp when she came to them.”

Amused, the young man remarked, “Smart of her.”

“It was.” His wife agreed softly, smile fading as she sighed, “Robb will be marrying a Frey, so I suppose I shall have a good-sister in the next moon or so. A niece or nephew by a year’s turn.”

Watching the grief settle in her eyes, looking older beyond her years, Desmond decided she needed a reminder, “You can visit them, y’know?”

Sansa startled, blinking wide eyed down at him. “I-I am?”

“You’re not a prisoner here, Sansa.” Desmond closed his eyes peacefully as he talked, “I would say to wait until things settle down, but yeah, you can visit them. Hell, I’m sure we can host them in Sunspear if you wanted. Then again, I’ll be getting my own keep soon enough, so they could visit…” His words trailed off as a hand brushed against his elbow.

Cracking his eyes back open, Desmond stilled at the tears that were running down her face. With a tremulous smile, Sansa gripped his arm as she softly, fervently whispered, “Thank you, Desmond. Just—thank you. For everything you’ve done for me. I’m just a stranger, but you saved me.” Her voice cracked, pausing to sniffle, “My father told me in the last few moments we had together that he would find me a man worthy of marrying me. I had only wanted to marry Joffrey at the time, the stupid girl that I was. And—I like to think that he would have found you worthy, if only because you took me far from King’s Landing.”

Stunned by her words, Desmond could only stare as she gathered herself, wiping away the tears on her cheek to persist onward, “Mother might never approve, because you are a bastard. But I do not see that. I do not care of the circumstances of your birth, only what you’ve done. And you’ve saved me, Desmond. You’ve given me back my freedom, and I could not ask for a better husband.”

The fierceness in her words, the strength in her spine as she spoke all of this, Desmond couldn’t help the way his face heated up, genuinely touched. A bastard wasn’t a bad thing in Dorne, children of passion and love, as they were seen. Everywhere else, however, looked at bastards with immediate disgust, as if they had any say in their birth and circumstance. He couldn’t imagine that Sansa’s father would actually approve of him, especially with his honourable reputation being widely known and Desmond had very dishonourably assassinated the king. But it was a nice thought, and he would take Sansa’s words for what they were: honest gratitude.

Stretching his neck to press whatever part of his face that could reach her hand, Desmond ended up touching his lips to her little finger, and figured that would be enough as he replied with only a faint rasp in his throat, “It’s the least I could do.”

“You did not have to do anything,” Sansa pointed out fondly, hesitantly sliding her hand closer so his mouth rested fully on top of her knuckles. They were bony. Delicate. Hands of a lady. “But you did anyway. And that is why I’m grateful. But I see Obah was correct; you don’t take compliments well.”

The tease had him chuckling as he pulled away and float once more in the pool, “Can’t believe that ass has been talking trash behind my back.”

Giggling, Sansa began to collect up her sewing supplies, “He’s been very helpful in telling me all about the husband I married, seeing as he had gone missing days after we married.”

Groaning up at the canopy, Desmond cried, “I said I was sorry! I had to take a detour.”

Her laughter filled the air as his lips twitched into an unbidden smile.

Sansa worried her hands as she watched her husband drag some blankets and pillows into their shared closet room. After blearily staring at the pages of his ledgers, Sansa had softly directed him to the notes she had made in the back of the book for him to quickly read over before suggesting he take that nap after realising he wasn’t even reading anything, eyes squeezed close with pain.

They had come into the bedchambers after spending a little more time in the garden, Desmond not bothering to drag his clothes back on and walking back wet in his soaked breeches.

She would have admired the sight more, if not for the tension around his eyes and the grimace marring his handsome face. They passed a concerned Obah as Desmond had gone to change before plopping himself down into his desk chair.

But now, some minutes later, Sansa couldn’t take it anymore and decided he needed rest. Now, she wished she had thought to order the maids to bring in some cot, because the stone floor could not be conducive to easing his headache.

Roughly laying out blankets and haphazardly throwing down pillows, Desmond bore them no mind as he slumped down and went to sleep. Obah silently closed the door to block out and noise before gesturing for Sansa to follow him in to the antechamber of the apartment.

“Is this normal?” She whispered, as if Desmond could hear them this far and with a door between the noise.

Obah frowned before shaking his head, “No. He’s had headaches from time to time. Who hasn’t? But never like this.”

There was an expression of deep thought on the guard’s face, as if he knew more but didn’t know how to articulate it. Sansa wished to push, but held her tongue. Instead, she suggested, “Perhaps, we could have a heavily steeped tea of ginger or willowbark waiting when he awakes next?”

Scrubbing a hand through his hair, the guard heaved a sigh, “Yeah, maybe that will help.” Sansa suddenly realised in that moment that Obah didn’t know what to do, and that was upsetting him. She did not like that one bit.

Pursing her lips in thought, Sansa glanced around the sunlit room, and decided she could make the space more welcoming for her unwell husband. She could not take away the pain, but she could do other things. Nodding to herself, Sansa issued her orders, “Let us draw the curtains close. No rich food for supper tonight. Something plain for the stomach, no strong scents. We cannot know of the cause, but we can help prevent it worsening. Let us make sure there is plenty of water available as well. I shall sit down and write a proper report of the finances for him to review. Could you organise something similar with the guards and their training? The headache may last past today.”

Obah gazed at her with a look she could not decipher, but it was not a bad one. She had seen if from time to time, when she regained some of the lost courage of her youth. It was an expression that made her want to stand up straighter, to prove herself worthy to his lord and lover.

He gave her a curt nod, “I’ll get that all sorted. Anything else, my lady?”

Thinking it over, Sansa added, “Maybe borrow a cot for the closet. I cannot think that the hard ground would help. It might just made the rest of his body hurt.”

His dark eyes softened. Stepping closer, Obah cupped the back of Sansa’s head and kissed her forehead. It was a long, lingering press. His hand lightly shook where it touched her neck. Taken by surprise, Sansa let it happen, dazed as the guard pulled away as quickly as he stepped closer, walking off without a word. Then, flushing once she was allow and the sweet gesture registered, Sansa smiled to herself. She was doing something right! Obah appreciated her help! Maybe Sansa could find a true place among the sand and snakes.

Sansa then shook away these thoughts and got to work. She had a husband to take care of.