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Margaery had always wondered about the dove, lovingly carved into her upper arm. In fairness, so had everyone else. It should have been a beautiful soulmark, worthy of a song, but it simply didn’t come anywhere close to fitting Margaery.
When her granddaughter was born, Olenna Tyrell had sighed quite deeply at the idea that she had been gifted a little peacemaker. It hadn’t taken long after the child started to stumble for that idea to disappear. Margaery was curious, always listening, and ready to do whatever grandmother suggested if Margaery believed it would benefit either of them. No, she was no peacemaker.
It wasn’t even a house sigil, like Loras had been given. Loras had been loyally serving House Baratheon since he was old enough to swing a sword, arm in arm with the golden stag whos own mark was just as bedecked in floral embellishment as Margaerys brothers was. There wasn’t a single known house in all the seven kingdoms, or essos even, who used a dove.
Even worse, when Margaery was five and ten and old enough to wish she could see her soulmate, it provided another mystery. The edges had always been jagged; now, they weeped blood every few hours. Even the maester couldn’t begin to guess why that was occuring. He had told her mother, quietly, as she quivered, that it didn’t bode well for Margaerys other half. That they were probably dead, or dying. Margaery had gone very, very white, when she heard that.
She had gone very, very white when she found her soulmate, too, from a very different set of emotions. The raven had announced that Prince Joffrey was to wed. He hadn’t been blessed with a mark, as a babe, but his wife had been blessed enough to receive the mark of a peacemaker. The little white dove on Sansas arm had been puckered gold, like the threads keeping it on her skin were pulled too tight, for the whole sennight the Tyrells were galloping towards Kings Landing.
Margaery had been dreaming of meeting her already beloved dove since she was old enough to understand how unique they were. Her first meeting with Sansa matched absolutely none of them.
“Get back!” The young rose yelled, stepping between Ser Meryn Trant and the young lady on the floor before she had even really realised it. When Sansa looked up, Margaerys breath was taken away. Even in pain and confusion, her wolf was breathtaking. Margaery froze for a split second- enough time for Joffrey to start moving towards her.
“What’s this? Who dares refuse the command of your king?” The princes voice quickly became a yell. Sansa flinched. Margaery ripped the shoulder of her uncharacteristically heavy gown. The purpose for that became very quickly evident as the sleeve slipped, revealing her mark. Her dove.
Meryn Trant took a step back, and even Joffrey seemed lost for words. Olenna Tyrell, who had followed her granddaughter inside, chose this moment to bang her walking stick on the ground. The noise seemed to shatter various parties out of their stupor.
“Not the ideal entrance, but the dramatics were clearly necessary. Kingsguard, pick my future granddaughter off the floor and escort her to the small council chamber.” The Queen of Thorns gave a perfectly regulation smile dripping with poison. “I believe we have things to discuss.”
Joffrey began to whine, but Ser Jaime escorted him out before anything else could be said. As the throne room emptied, Ser Meryn moved towards Sansa. The wolf girl shuddered, violently. Margaery sent a glare to warn him back, then bent down to her other half. Margaery held out her hand, slowly, with an encouraging smile, waiting for her dear, damaged dove to take it.
“You cannot believe how long I’ve waited for you, Sansa.” The redhead stood up, glacially slow, and then hugged Margaery tight in the next instant. Both felt a rush of heat as their doves glowed, an outline of gold. Sansa smiled. “I think I do.”