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Never feel too good in crowds
With folks around
When they're playing
The anthems of rape culture loud
Crude and proud
Creatures baying
The bedding was her lady's greatest terror. It was bad enough with Tyrion, but then poor Sansa was in her wedding gown and married before the fear of the bedding could grip her in its cold hands. Sparing her the bedding was one of Tyrion's few kindnesses. This time, she had several days to contemplate it, as Queen Cersei haunted Sansa's rooms, ever so concerned about her hastily prepared gown and trosseau.
If Shae had more Lorathi liquor, if it would not be suspicious for two Lannisters to die of drink in a week, she would dose the goblet that was always in the queen's hand as she told stories of brides being raped before they reached their chambers.
"Some men are so brutish," the queen sighed. "Even my own Kettleblacks have been known to slip their fingers where they should not go."
Sansa barely flinched at the threat, but Shae saw her eyes go dim, as they did when she hid inside herself. Sansa was merely a doll, courteous and empty, as the seamstress adjusted Sansa's bridal gown to show more skin. Shae fetched a glass of water for her lady.
"Such lovely teats should not be hidden," the queen purred viciously as the seamstress lowered the neckline.
The gown was red, red as blood. Sansa had told Shae that both the Lannister and Martell sigils shared crimson and gold— the Lannisters had their golden lions on a field of blood, and the Martells had a red sun with a golden spear on a field of orange. The queen was still talking, still pouring her poison in Sansa's ears.
"Your Dornish husband will want those teats on display for all to see. He is a vicious man, poor little dove. I hear he shares his paramour with other men and other women— whores and bastards. Would you like that, little dove? Your new husband sharing you with all the men of Dorne? A cock in every hole? No wonder you begged to be my son's whore instead."
Shae clenched her fist so hard she shattered the glass, uttering a soft cry as it cut her hand. Sansa flinched, and Queen Cersei snarled.
"Clean it up, you clumsy bitch. Be grateful you're leaving with your mistress, for I have no use for you here."
That night, Sansa begged Shae to stay with her. Sansa's nightmares had grown stronger. Sansa feared, as Shae did, that she had chosen the wrong protectors, that the Dornish would abuse her as the Lannisters did. Even if Prince Oberyn could be trusted, the bedding approached.
Sansa wept as she told Shae of the crowd who nearly raped her during the riot, how she could hear their yells and screams, smell their breath, feel their hands clutching her. Shae held Sansa as she sobbed, stroking her hair, pressing Sansa to her breast until she cried herself to sleep.
Then Shae stole away to the rented manse, faster now that she knew the way. The Prince's mistress— Lady Ellaria, Sansa's voice chided Shae— did not trust Shae, but she told the servants to admit her at any hour, and Shae had words for the Dornish prince, words a whore could dare to say when her lady could not.
All I've ever done is hide
From our times
When you're near me
"Bed them! Bed them!” King Joffrey shrieked, and the crowd roared and jeered in response.
Shae watched from her place beneath the salt. Dornishmen swarmed Sansa, enveloping her. A Kettleblack tried to get close to Sansa, only for a drunken Dornishman to crash into him, knocking them both over. Shae suspected the Dornishman was less drunk than he seemed, or she was no whore.
"I want my wife's maid as well!" The Dornish prince yelled from within a mob of women, his shirt already torn half off.
A group of Dornishmen split off from Sansa, coming for Shae. Alarmed, Shae struggled briefly, before she realized that she was being brought to Sansa, both of them surrounded by the wall of Dornishmen. Sansa's eyes were dim, her hands shaking as they made their way to the bedchamber. Sansa was still in her shift, and Shae in hers, when the Dornishmen tossed them into the bedchamber, locking the door behind them.
Prince Oberyn was there already, all his clothing torn off but for his smallclothes. Shae might be sick of men, but at least Sansa's new husband was pleasant on the eyes. He was well built and muscular, and his face reminded Shae of the Warrior these Westerosi worshipped.
"Wait, my lady," the Prince told Sansa, holding up his hand as he stepped behind a screen. He emerged moments later, in the fine silk robe Shae saw him wear at his manse.
"Shae, shriek as loud as you can," the prince ordered, without explanation. Shae stared at him, then obliged. Sansa covered her ears, her armor shattered by the explosion of sound.
"Look at me, Sansa," the prince said gently. Sansa looked, her eyes bright again, though fearful.
"You are a good liar, for one so young, and a Stark besides. But please do not hide from me. I swear on my sister’s grave, I will not rape you."
Shae raised an eyebrow. While she had demanded that the prince spare Sansa the humiliation of the bedding however he could, she had not dared ask for this.
"Shae, shriek again," the prince ordered, his eyes fixed on Sansa. Shae obliged. Whatever madness had gripped the man, it amused her.
"People see and hear what they expect to see and hear," the prince said. Sansa nodded, her blue eyes losing some of their terror.
"They think that since you are Dornish, that you would dishonor me by taking my maid first, by hurting her," Sansa whispered. The prince nodded.
"Just so. I am about to shout, so cover your ears if that will frighten you," Oberyn said. Sansa clapped her hands over her ears just in time.
"Quiet, whore!" Oberyn shouted, his voice suddenly harsh and cruel, "or your mistress will have it worse than you!"
Shae heard voices outside the bedchamber, laughing and jeering. Shae truly hated this place. Unprompted, Sansa shrieked. The sound made Shae's hair stand on end.
"Please, lord husband! Be gentle with her!" Sansa clapped her hands together loudly, then shrieked again.
"My lady!" Shae cried, as though she had just seen her lady brutally slapped by her monstrous husband. Oberyn raised his eyebrows, approving.
"Both of you will be silent, unless you want to be black and blue in the morning," Oberyn yelled, his firm chest heaving with the effort. The laughter and jeers were so loud through the doors.
"My lord, it hurts," Sansa cried out.
To Shae's surprise, Sansa summoned up tears, and she wept loudly as Oberyn shook the bed, uttering rhythmic groans and snarls, as though he was fucking her lady through the mattress. Shae had not seen a mummer's farce like this before, though she would remember it for all her days.
Honey, when you kill the lights
And kiss my eyes
I feel like a person for a moment of my life
The voices outside the room grew quiet, then disappeared. Shae helped Sansa put a robe over her shift, then had her sit before the looking glass so Shae could carefully undo Sansa's hair. Prince Oberyn watched for a moment, then poured a glass of twilsey for each of them, the taste of vinegar and blackberries sharp against her tongue.
"I am sorry to humiliate you like that, my lady," the prince said, looking down at Sansa as Shae brushed her hair. "Your maid told me the bedding terrified you, and I thought having her here would help calm your nerves."
Shae glanced at Oberyn sharply. She knew little of the prince, but he was more perceptive than she expected.
"It does," Sansa said quietly. "She is my Dragonknight, the Florian to my Jonquil."
Shae paused brushing Sansa's copper locks, taken completely by surprise. Oberyn did not laugh, but tilted his head thoughtfully.
"Will that cause problems when we reach the North?" He asked, as though that was the only issue with his wife declaring she loved her maid on her wedding night.
"Not so long as we are careful," Sansa said, her sea blue eyes meeting Oberyn's midnight eyes, holding their gaze, her posture straight and tall like a queen. Shae sometimes forgot that Sansa was not just a survivor, but one of the highest born ladies in the land, perhaps even a match for this Red Viper.
Oberyn nodded, then sighed heavily as he sat on the trunk at the end of the bed.
"Half the keep knows you are still a maid, did you know?" Oberyn said conversationally as he slipped a dagger from his robe, examining the bottom of his foot. Sansa started in surprise.
"I feared that some might suspect," Sansa confessed, taking Shae's hand, "but I did not know it was as bad as that."
"Tyrion complained to half the Small Council," Shae muttered under her breath as Oberyn pulled the top covers off the bed to reveal the bedsheet below.
"He did," Oberyn said grimly. "That was part of the reason for our performance. Sansa, lie down for a moment. I need to see where your hips would be."
Sansa lay on the bed, still holding Shae's hand. Her blue eyes were on Shae's face as Oberyn pricked his foot, smearing the blood on the sheet. Suddenly, on impulse, Shae reached out for the dagger. Oberyn weighed her with his eyes before handing it to her. Shae cut her foot, then smeared it in the same place, making the stain bigger.
"Those creatures will think you fucked her bloody. And I promised my lady I would die for her, if need be. An oath signed in blood," Shae said fiercely, meeting Oberyn's eyes.
Sansa sat up, looking at Shae, then Oberyn, then their feet.
"We can't have extra blood in odd places," Sansa said suddenly, getting up and fetching bandages from her things. Her moonblood was not due for a week or two, so they had bandages to spare. Sansa bandaged Shae's foot, then Oberyn's, her hands gentle.
"Winterfell will still need an heir," Sansa said softly, when she was done. Shae looked at her, heart breaking. She had killed for Sansa, she had bled for Sansa, she would die for Sansa, but she could not put a babe in her belly. Prince Oberyn took a step back, his dark eyes narrowing.
"I will not take your maidenhead," he said, keeping his voice low but hissing in barely checked fury. "I haven't taken a maidenhead in years, because I do not fuck children, and our Dornishwomen lose their maidenheads before they leave their teens. To boys their own age, not men who could be their sire. These fucking Lannisters may have wed you twice before your sixteenth nameday, but I am a Nymeros Martell, and I will not do this."
"Let me take it, then," Shae said. Sansa and the prince turned to her, eyes wide. For all that Sansa loved Shae, for all that Oberyn had listened to her, Shae could swear these highborn sometimes forgot she was in the room.
"Fingers are gentler than cocks," Shae said, shrugging. "My lady, let me do this for you. We can worry about seed another evening, but you deserve pleasure on at least one of your wedding nights."
Sansa's pupils were blown wide with desire, a blush creeping over her cheeks and her chest. Oberyn jerked his head in a stiff nod, put out half the candles, then settled himself on a chair. He could hardly leave the room on his wedding night.
The candelight flickered on Sansa's pale skin, setting fire to her hair as Shae gently helped her undress, revealing Sansa's pale breasts and pretty pink nipples. Sansa pulled Shae's shift over her head, then rolled Shae over so Sansa straddled her on the bed, tentative and sweet. Ever so gently, Sansa dipped her head and kissed Shae's eyelids. No longer was Shae forgotten between two nobles, no, she was the center of Sansa's world.
But you don't know what hell you put me through
To have someone kiss the skin that crawls from you
To feel your weight in arms I'd never use
It's the god that heroin prays to
Sansa refused to let the matter of an heir drop.
They were a week away from King's Landing, heading North on a ship crowded with Dornishmen and every Stark loyalist that Oberyn's men could find in King's Landing before the wedding. Their cabin on the ship was tiny, barely enough space for the three of them. Lady Ellaria had gone back to Dorne to watch over the children, to prepare them to come North when Winterfell had been rebuilt.
"How can I make him bed me?" Sansa asked Shae while Oberyn was on deck, speaking to the captain.
"You cannot make a man do anything," Shae replied. "You can entice them, persuade them, confuse them, but they bristle from the idea of a woman forcing them to do what they do not wish to do."
"I shall keep that in mind when I reach Winterfell," Sansa said, without a trace of mockery. Shae still could not believe that this slender girl, who moaned and cried under Shae's tongue, who begged Shae to guide her in giving pleasure in return, would rule half of Westeros should all go well.
Shae did not like the idea of her sweet mistress underneath the Dornishman. He was the most promising man she had met in this awful country, but he was still a man. If Sansa had her way, Shae would not only have to make her peace with it, she would have to watch, for Sansa did not want to be left alone, not even with her husband.
"He can smell a lie," Shae said, surrendering to Sansa's pleading eyes. "He is more cunning than Tyrion. Be honest with him. Explain why you cannot wait a few years for him to find you comely. He may not like it, but he will see sense."
Never had Shae been so bitter to see her advice work. Sansa pleaded with Oberyn, reminding him that she was the last Stark, that she needed an heir and spares as soon as possible. She emphasized how eager some of the Northmen would be to see her married to their own sons, and how a pregnancy would prevent such schemes. Sansa even used Oberyn's reputation against him, saying that lack of pregnancy with such a husband would surely spread rumors that she was barren. At last, Oberyn conceded defeat.
Shae wished she could turn away as he stroked Sansa's cheek, as he warmed her with kisses, as he ran careful hands over Sansa's breasts and belly where only Shae had gone before. Shae might not believe in the old gods or the new, but she believed in the seven hells, for she was in them as she watched Oberyn bring Sansa to her peak before sliding into her. Shae was grateful that Oberyn was so considerate, despite his distaste for Sansa's youth, but hearing Sansa's breathy cries was almost worst than hearing her scream.
It feels good, girl, it feels good
It feels good, girl, it feels good
It feels good, god, it feels good
Oh to be alone with you
In his youth Oberyn forged part of a maester's chain, and he claimed to know when a woman was most fertile, two weeks after her moonblood. When that time came, Oberyn spilled inside Sansa at least twice a day. Otherwise, Sansa belonged only to Shae.
Oberyn was on deck again, an event which had been more and more rare as storms confined all but the sailors below. Sansa's lips were swollen from their lovemaking, her hair damp from the sweat of their bodies. Yet still she pulled Shae to her, tucking Shae's head beneath her chin, her cheek against Sansa's breast. Their breathing fell into an easy rhythm, two hearts beating as one.
There are questions I can't ask
Now at last
The worst is over
Sansa was with child. The Dornish maester on board confirmed it, despite Sansa's fear that her nausea was simply due to the storms that slowed their way north.
Shae was not sure who was more relieved, Sansa or Prince Oberyn. He shared Sansa's bed still, but only for warmth on the cold ship. The day the maester informed Sansa of her pregnancy, Oberyn cut his hand with a dagger and pressed it to Sansa's, swearing he would not bed her until she was delivered of the babe and ready to conceive again.
Shae could not bring herself to ask Sansa if she would miss the prince's attentions, reluctant as they were. She ignored the wistful glances Sansa sometimes cast when the prince left their cabin, the sighs she made as she looked at her still flat belly in the mirror. Instead, Shae curled around Sansa, and Prince Oberyn curled against Shae. Any intruder would have to go through a Prince of Dorne and a Lorathi whore— a Lorathi maid, my Florian, Sansa's voice corrected sternly— before they could even reach Sansa.
See the way you hold yourself
Reel against
Your body's borders
Lady Stark— Queen Sansa— had trained herself since birth to follow every single courtesy expected of a proper lady. Shae knew this, for Sansa told her when Shae held Sansa's hair back so she could empty her stomach yet again. Sansa hated her body refusing to obey her tight control. Shae's mistress only survived King's Landing by forcing herself to smile, to sing pretty words, to cast her eyes down and never, ever raise a hand against her tormenters.
"I cannot show any weakness," Sansa gasped after one particularly bad evening, where she could keep none of her supper down. The Dornish maester and Prince Oberyn knew teas to settle a mother's stomach, but they did not have the ingredients on board.
"You conceived nearly immediately, surely that shows some sort of strength," Shae argued, wiping Sansa's sweaty forehead with a damp cloth. Sansa shook her head, trembling as she tried not to vomit again.
"There have been no ruling queens in the North. None," Sansa replied, swallowing hard to keep the vomit in. Shae winced in sympathy. She could almost taste the bile in her own mouth.
"They will see you, and your round belly, carrying the grandchild of Eddard Stark, and they will respect you," Prince Oberyn growled. He had stolen after them, quiet and deadly. He haunted Sansa's steps nearly as closely as Shae, always looking after her mistress' comfort. The prince was also teaching Shae how to use knives to protect her mistress. For that, Shae was growing to almost like him.
"He's the second son, the third child, and he's Dornish," Sansa had told Shae a few days past, when Prince Oberyn was on deck and Shae was puzzling over his respectful devotion to Sansa's claim.
Shae had given Sansa a very confused and skeptical face in reply. The practices and regions of Westeros were still not familiar to Shae, though Sansa was trying to teach Shae all a proper lady's maid should know.
"Second sons don't expect to inherit," Shae guessed, after thinking for a few minutes. Sansa had nodded.
"In Dorne, women can inherit before men. Oberyn has an older brother and he had an older sister," Sansa explained, taking Shae's hand as she spoke.
"His brother had three healthy children before Oberyn was 30 or so— he has never expected to rule. He didn't even run his own household— he traveled until he met Lady Ellaria and brought her home, then she ran their household," Sansa continued.
"Plenty of Dornish lords wed ladies who outrank them, and the children take their names from the mother," Sansa finished, leaning her forehead against Shae's.
"Dorne sounds like the only sensible place on this damn continent," Shae muttered, brushing Sansa's hair out of her face.
I know that you hate this place
Not a trace
Of me would argue
They finally reached White Harbor as Sansa's belly began to swell. Shae would swear the storms finally subsided when Sansa declared that her child would be born within the walls of Winterfell, even if the walls were rubble. Prince Oberyn was cautiously supportive of the notion, as Sansa's mother's stomach subsided with the storms, leaving her ravenous and stronger than Shae had ever seen her.
Princess Sansa Martell officially departed on a ship to Dorne, wrapped in a cloak of Martell orange.
Queen Sansa Stark alighted at White Harbor, her flaming hair loose over a white cloak embroidered with grey wolves. Behind her on her right stood Prince Oberyn, his Dornish silks abandoned for northern wool, a flapping Stark banner in his hand. Shae stood beside the prince, wrapped in the gown and cloak of a proper lady's maid, made by Sansa's own hands. The ship behind them rode at anchor, near empty, as the company of Dornish knights and soldiers, and the loyal northmen, formed a semicircle around their queen and prince.
The lord who greeted them was the fattest man Shae had ever seen, but he wept like an infant when he saw Queen Sansa, and near howled when he saw her belly swelled.
"Lord Manderly," Queen Sansa said, holding her hand out to the kneeling man, her voice far older than her 15 years. Sansa had practiced her queenly voice with Shae until she was near hoarse, a new piece of armor to guard herself.
"Our Warden of the White Knife, Shield of the Faith, Defender of the Dispossessed, Lord Marshal of the Mander, and Knight of the Order of the Green Hand. My father, Lord Eddard Stark, ever said you were one of his most faithful bannermen." Queen Sansa's voice rang, echoing in the silent harbor.
"After long years in Lannister captivity, I have at last escaped, aided by friends who dared help me when I was caged among our enemies. Shae, my loyal maid, my protector—" Shae stepped forward, her head held high. Sansa's voice shook, so slightly no one else but Shae would have noticed, as she continued.
"When the Lannisters forced me to wed the Imp, I refused to kneel before him at the wedding. I denied him marital rights for over a year, despite his rage. When at last he sought to rape me, Shae killed him for my sake, and at risk of her own life."
Lord Manderly and the men around him gaped in astonishment, looking at Shae. Shae smiled. Yes, I killed Tyrion Lannister, I killed him and I'll kill any of you who dares lay a hand on my love.
The rest of Sansa's speech passed in a blur. Shae had heard her practice it so many times, she could have near given it herself.
Sansa explained how she had sought Prince Oberyn's aid, knowing the Martell hatred of Lannisters, how Prince Oberyn had tricked the bastard Joffrey into letting them wed. Sansa explained that Prince Oberyn was prepared to support his wife's— his Queen's— claim to her brother's throne.
Shortly after their arrival, Prince Oberyn and a group of men went on ahead to Winterfell. Manderly had warned of the Bolton's treachery, and Queen Sansa issued orders for the arrest of Lord Bolton, his bastard, and any men who carried the banner of the flayed man.
Within a month, Sansa hated the Merman's Court. Before her loyal subjects, Queen Sansa was kind but firm, like fine silk covering Valyrian steel. Already the Manderlys and their bannermen compared Queen Sansa to her beloved father. In private, Sansa would not, could not feel safe until she was within the walls of Winterfell. She paced their chamber each night like a caged wolf, barely sitting still long enough for Shae to take down her hair.
Honey, we should run away
Oh someday
Our baby and her momma
And the damaged love she make
Winterfell was warm, despite the fast approaching winter. Lord Manderly had sent them every mason, every carpenter, and every blacksmith he could spare to make Winterfell sound before winter truly came. Sansa had been calm when they first approached the keep, her spine straighter than steel despite her growing belly. Only that night, when they were alone, had Sansa fallen to pieces in Shae's arms, in the ruins of her parents' bedroom.
The baby had arrived on schedule a few months later, with Oberyn and Shae holding Sansa's hands as she pushed. Oberyn japed that his first son was the result of Queen Sansa's sheer determination to have an heir that the North would easily accept. When Oberyn left shortly afterward to hunt down Lord Bolton and his bastard, who still fled Northern justice, both Sansa and Shae watched him leave, their hands clasped tight.
Sometimes, Shae pretended that little Cregan Stark was hers. Cregan had her dark hair, and Sansa's face. By some miracle, the babe's eyes were what Sansa called Stark grey. Shae had never met any Stark but Sansa, with her blue eyes so like the sea. Sansa had sighed at that, and told her that the first Stark queen looked nothing like her beloved father or the little sister she once had.
Once, Shae dreamed of wealth and power. To have her own servants, as many fine gowns and fine wines as she could imagine. Those dreams died in King's Landing when she saw the rot beneath.
Now, Shae dreamed that Sansa would ask her to run away. She and Sansa and little Cregan could fly, fly to the Free Cities, and live together in a little manse with no crowns, no bannermen, no war or winter. Just their love.
But Shae's mistress was not a little bird. She was a wolf, she was a Stark. Queen Sansa grew stronger with every repair made to Winterfell, with the return of every old servant who fled before the burning and cried when Queen Sansa spoke their name and took their callused hands in her own.
But I don't know what else that I would do
Than try to kiss the skin that crawls from you
Then feel your weight in arms I'd never use
It's the god that heroin prays to
No one questioned Shae's devotion to her queen. She had Prince Oberyn to thank for that, him and Lord Manderly, who repeatedly, loudly thanked her for her good heart, her loyalty, her cleverness, her courage in slaying the man who tried to rape their brave young queen. Prince Oberyn, meanwhile, had begged Sansa before the court to always keep her handmaiden with her at night.
"We cannot underestimate Bolton treachery," Oberyn had said. "Men guarding your doors is all very well, but I beg you, my queen, keep your maid close as a last defense."
Queen Sansa had graciously granted his request, to the approval of her bannermen, who had seen Oberyn and Shae practice with daggers in the courtyard at all hours. It seemed Northern honor could stomach a loyal handmaiden using knives as the last desperate defense of her queen.
Shae almost laughed imagining those bannermen seeing their queen as she did. Sansa writhed on the bed, desperate for touch as Shae's lips ghosted over her skin, pressing light kisses to every freckle.
Her mistress was done healing from childbed, and when Oberyn returned they would begin making Cregan a little brother or sister. Shae might even help, as she was growing fond of Oberyn. She could learn to share.
But tonight— oh, tonight Sansa was all hers.
It feels good, girl, it feels good
It feels good, girl, it feels good
It feels good, girl, it feels good
Oh to be alone with you