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Sansa looked down at the messy scrawl on the palm of her hand. Winterfell is yours, your grace. Those would be the words her soulmate would utter to her first. Her palm would be the first place he would ever touched her. The man the gods had fashioned for her would be the one to welcome her home.
Ever since she was a little girl, Sansa had dreamed of having a soulmate. Not everyone had one. Robb had not gained one when he turned fifteen. Her parents had no soulmark either, but they had loved each other as though they did.
But dreams were for little girls.
Out of everyone in King's Landing, Sansa trusted Shae the most. Tyrion’s mistress loved Sansa and she knew that Shae would protect her. There was a powder that whores used to cover soulmarks when they had them. Shae brought it to Sansa so she might cover the mark.
Winterfell is yours, your grace.
She did not want the queen to see her mark. She did not want Joffrey to see it. She didn’t want any of the Lannisters to see it. The only one she showed was Shae.
“It means you’ll go home someday,” Shae told her as she brushed the powder over Sansa’s hand. “You’ll get to go home.”
She wondered who her soulmate would be.
Sansa imagined that he was a Northman her brother would send to rescue her to take her home. Someone brave, gentle, and strong. Someone that her lord father had promised her.
—
When her mother and Robb died, the only person Sansa could rely on was the Northman who would bring her home. She would get home. She knew she would.
Even so, she began to fear that her words could be that of sarcasm. Whenever she went to the godswood, that was the only thing she prayed for anymore. That and to be alone.
She prayed that her words were true.
—
When Sansa was a little girl, she used to dream of Southron summers where she could wear lace and silk and other thin fabrics like the women of Dorne.
Now, she dreamed of a Northern spring where the cool air nipped are her nose and snow fell against her lips like a lover’s kiss. She dreamed of Winterfell.
King’s Landing was just a nightmare now. However, the Eyrie was no better.
Sansa clung to her words. It was the one thing Littlefinger could not take from her.
—
Whispers began to spread about the Eyrie of the Lannisters preparing to fight against the last Targaryens, Aegon and Jonnel. Whispers of how Argon looked like his father reborn while the younger Jonnel looked like his uncle, Lord Stark.
Sansa’s father had not spoken much of the cousin who lived across the Narrow Sea. He had not spoken much of her Aunt Lyanna either.
Even so, Jonnel Targaryen was the only family Sansa had left now. She cried in her chambers on the first night she had heard whispers of him. He was the last bit of family that she had, but he might never see him, might never meet him.
Everyone thought she was dead.
—
Cersei Lannister was executed for treason and brought to justice by King Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name. Jonnel Targaryen had been the one to swing the sword.
Rumors again began to fly about that Aegon was looking for a wife, however the rumors that Sansa was interested in were the ones of her cousin. Whispers that he was flying North to dispose of the Freys and Boltons echoed across the Eyrie. They were only confirmed when word of his success rang about the mountain in cheer.
Her cousin had avenged the Red Wedding and rumors began to appear that Jonnel and his brother planned to separate the Westeros in two.
—
Littlefinger was attempting his tricks again.
He presented Sansa to Aegon as Alayne. It was not a marriage he wanted to offer, not at all. He wanted to offer Sansa as a way to warm the king’s bed until he could use it to his advantage.
But Littlefinger was not ready for the wit of the king. He fought the man to be like his father, struck dumb by a pretty face.
“Is this her, my lord?” The king asked, looking at Sansa kindly.
“It is, your grace.” Sana’a blinked and saw Lord Varys smiling at her. “This is Sansa Stark.”
—
Littlefinger was executed for his crimes and Sansa became Sansa Stark once more.
She sat with King Aegon as he dined in the Eyrie and listened to his advisors and told her stories of himself and his brother as they had grown up.
“My brother has freed the North, my lady,” the king said.
“I had heard rumors, your grace.”
He smiled kindly at her. This was the sort of man she had dreamed of when she was a child. The man she had hoped Joffrey would be. But Sansa no longer dreamed of golden or silver princes. She dreamed of home.
“We plan on separating Westeros into two kingdoms. The North shall be joined by the Riverlands and the Vale.”
Sansa was surprised. “I’m sure the lords would be happy to follow your brother, your grace. He has proven himself to them, I believe. He has done what my brother had not been able to accomplish and has avenged him.”
The king smiled once more. “My brother, I fear, is more of a military person than a king.” He laughed. “Do not get me wrong, my brother is a great leader and a good man, but I fear he broods far too much for him to be wholly approachable as a king.”
“Then who would you have rule, your grace?” Sansa asked. “So many men were lost in the war, I cannot think who would be next in line.”
“Lord Varys has told me of a saying in your family. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell. The kings of winter ruled much longer than mine did and your family has suffered enough under any other king. I intend to ask you to take up your brother’s crown and rule half of Westeros from the North.”
“But I am a woman, your grace.”
“A woman, but a Stark. You would have my support and any man you might marry will take your name so the Stark name will endure. You will also have a friend in the South. Should your husband, whoever it will be, decide he wishes to take power from you, I will fight on your behalf. I have no doubt my brother shall as well.”
“Why would you do this for me?” Sansa asked.
The king’s smile dimmed only slightly. “The Lannisters wronged you. You more than anyone. My sister,” his voice broke. “My sister was never saved. Her body lies somewhere in the crypts with the body of a smallfolk boy they had traded for me. I was not able to protect Rhaenys. I was a boy, after all. But I can help protect you, as your brother no doubt wanted to.” Tears began to flood Sansa’s vision. “My lady,” the king said, taking her hand in his. “You’re going home.”
—
Sansa entered their courtyard of her childhood and found she could breathe again. The air was sharp in her throat as she looked upon the stones she had once memorized and the home she had been raised in. The Northerners and the men who represented the Riverlands and the Vale bowed to her as she approached.
Her breath caught in her throat as she saw Prince Jonnel. He looked like her father. Like a ghost upon the snow of Winterfell. She supposed she looked like one too with an appearance like her lady mother.
The prince stepped forward and bowed, taking Sansa’s hand in his and kissing the back of it. He straightened. “ Winterfell is yours, your grace. ” He smiled at her. “Welcome home.”
A tingle ran up her spine and she knew. She smiled at him, tears in her eyes. “A home is meant to be shared, isn’t it, your grace?”
His eyes widened and she knew, she just knew he bore her words. His lips spread into a warm smile as he pressed his forehead to hers.
They were home.