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Sansa Stark of the Court of Winter had been destined to marry the heir to the Imperial Court, since before she got her moon’s blood. As her father’s best friend said: “I have a son, you have a daughter.” It was decided to be the perfect union, so long as they did not have soulmate marks referring to other people they knew.

In the modern day and age of the year three hundred AC people did not waste their entire lives searching for their soulmates. Still, it was practice to wait with weddings until both people had received their soulmate marks, so they at least knew what union they were getting into. No one was blamed for not finding their soulmate, but if the soulmate was known, they should have at least one conversation to establish whether or not they wanted to wed.

During the warm months, King Eddard allowed his daughter to go to the Imperial Court with an escort, so she could get to know her betrothed. Sansa was always saddened to leave her direwolf Lady behind, but her father decided direwolves had no place in the South. So the first year, she went without her.

When she was one-and-ten, Prince Joffrey was charming, even though he could be perfectly horrible to Sansa’s sister and his own siblings. But being a teenager, Sansa quite agreed that sometimes little siblings were horrible.

At age two-and-ten, Joffrey had a habit of firing his servants frequently and screaming at them. But he could also be attentive to Sansa, spoiling her with gifts and taking her on long horseback riding trips in the Kingswood.

In Sansa’s three-and-tenth year, Joffrey went into full crown prince mode, demanding the same reverence as his father received. Sansa was given lemon cakes, but if she ate too many she had to beware, as the future queen had to be beautiful and could not be a bit larger according to Joffrey. And when Sansa was tired, the future queen was not allowed to yawn. And if the future king hit a servant, the future queen was supposed to support her future king unconditionally.

At four-and-ten, Sansa found she quite disagreed when Joffrey outright demanded the deaths of two people he’d bet on but had lost in the jousting tourney. She managed to persuade Joffrey to turn them into a court jester and a poison taster. That was also the year young Prince Loras Tyrell of the Court of Spring joined the Imperial Guard. He had taken his mother, father, grandmother and sister, Princess Margaery with him. Princess Sansa, Lady Jeyne Poole, Princess Margaery, Princess Myrcella and their close female family friends often had tea together in the Imperial flower gardens in a gazebo overgrown with roses. Princess Myrcella spoke of the Court of Gold she visited each year with her brother Prince Tommen, who was to inherit the Rock should their uncle Prince Tyrion not inherit it. Their oldest uncle, Prince Jaime, was in the Imperial Guard and could thus not inherit it. She spoke of lions on the prowl, petting the lions of the Rock, visiting goldmines and passing by towns with golden roofs. Princess Margaery spoke of bounty unseen anywhere else in Westeros, gardens as far as the eyes reached, the scent of flowers and fruit wherever you went, and castles straight from storybooks. Her older brother, Willas, always remained behind in Highgarden to rule it in his father’s absence. He was still unwed, but Margaery’s second brother, Garlan, had married his soulmate.

‘We always marry our soulmates. It is fine for us to search for years. There is no rush. We believe the best rulers are those who feel loved and are fully supported by their spouses’, she smiled. Margaery was at that moment seven-and-ten, and would discover her soulmate the next year. The girl admitted to being excited to start her search. As she spoke, vines of a wisteria started creeping up around the gazebo.

‘I carry drawings of the soulmate marks of all my friends and family around who are waiting to find their other halves. I show them to everyone I meet who hasn’t yet found their other half. It’s the least I can do.’

Sansa found that very romantic. And promised she would do the same for Margaery if Margaery gave her a copy of hers. When the girls left the gazebo, lavender wisteria leaves fell onto their hair from the plant that had grown due to Margaery's magic.

At five-and-ten, Sansa Stark started having honest doubts. None of her brothers, despite them being of royal blood as well, were anything like Joffrey to their servants. When she visited her uncle Edmure Tully, king of the Court of Water, all servants were treated kindly, and Edmure even took the time to talk to villagers on the regular, inviting them to court every three moons to voice their complaints and issues. So Joffrey was just an asshole.

Sansa got ill just days before she was meant to leave. She stayed in Riverrun with Lady and her mother instead, where the more gentle climate did her good. Her uncle Edmure just got engaged to Lady Roslin Frey. Her uncle had little love for the family, but at the wedding of Lymond Goodbrook and Jayne Bracken he bumped into the young woman without knowing her surname. He discovered her soulmate mark before her surname, and by that point he had already decided to make her his lady wife. Lady Roslin was very soft-spoken and kind, and glowed with joy when her maiden cloak was replaced with her husband’s.

Sansa received a raven from Margaery, with a drawing of her soulmate mark. Sansa showed it at Riverrun, but no one recognized it. And when she returned home, her mother was also none the wiser.

‘But then I have not seen many undressed men of eight-and-ten in years’, Lady Catelyn replied. By the time her brother Robb arrived back in Winterfell after being knighted in a tourney in White Harbour, Sansa had all but forgotten her brother had turned eight-and-ten, and thus would have a mark. By the time he returned she had started following classes on history, embroidery and geography again, and the soulmate marks had become an afterthought. She did keep up her correspondence with Princess Margaery, who wrote about all the magical towns she travelled to, and all the handsome men and delightful wines she encountered. Sansa had little interesting information to offer, so she just wrote about amusing things that happened at home, and her opinions on the books she was reading.

‘I so wish I was there to see how your brother Robb tried to instil principles and techniques upon your “feral” little brother Rickon, as you call him. I always loved watching Willas attempt to train Garlan when he was small. And I laughed myself sick when Garlan tried to train Loras when the boy was still too young to lift a sword. You must have great fun watching them. I have not read the books you have read, but I’ve heard of them. My brother Willas always tries to encourage me to read, but there’s so much to do and see. I don’t have the patience to sit still. I have no doubt that men forced to sit, like my brother, your brother Bran, and King Doran of the Sun Court are amongst the cleverest on earth. They all appear to be so well read. Perhaps you should write to my brother, he would without a doubt be able to reply to your letters with lists of critiques and analyses longer than the books themselves.
Much love, Margaery’

When Sansa was six-and-ten, her betrothed was cold and distant, treating her as if she was a sibling he found annoying but had to spend time with. He didn’t want to waste his time on horse riding or taking silly walks around the gardens. He rather went hawking with Margaery and her brother Garlan, who had also come over that year. In the meantime Sansa remained behind, and learned to play the harp from Garlan’s wife Leonette. In the evenings, Joffrey liked drinking, dancing and gambling. He shared the first few dances with his betrothed, but then he went to every pretty woman, and when the clock struck midnight, he went to the lower regions of the town. Sansa pretended it didn’t bother her whenever she saw him leave.

‘It is what young men do’, said Prince Tyrion in an attempt to comfort her. ‘They feel that they have to try out everything, and need to prove their virility. But most stop… well, good husbands stop’, he corrected as they both looked at the unhappily wed emperor and empress, Robert and Cersei.

‘His Highness is free to do as he pleases’, Sansa merely said. ‘I read the book you recommended’, she then said, trying to change topic.

The imp’s eyes lit up. He was small of statue, but despite this, and in spite of being the third born son, he had powers stronger than his brother and sister. He could command over fifty lions when he tried, and could create the most beautiful statues and precise coins out of liquid gold. But all of that paled in comparison to the strength of his mind. ‘Did you?’ he asked before taking a sip of red wine. Few ever talked to him, unless for political reasons, and fewer still shared his interests. ‘What did you think?’

When Sansa was seven-and-ten, less than a year away from the date of her soulmate mark, she kind of lost her famously frosty temper, and stormed off when Joffrey kissed Desmera Redwyne in the middle of the dancefloor. Jokes about Joffrey loving any and every redhead erupted. But this was a betrayal Sansa could not stomach.

‘What is it, is the little bird disillusioned by her white knight?’ the Hound barked, who sat in the godswood far away from the party, drinking wine on his own. The Hound had been part of Joffrey’s personal guard for years now, but he’d never shown any pride or delight in the role. 

‘He’s not even a knight’, Sansa huffed, too angry to watch her tongue. ‘And even if he was, he wouldn’t be a true knight.’

‘A true knight hah, like those exist outside the songs.’

‘For one who mocks me for being disillusioned, you are sounding quite disillusioned yourself, ser.’

‘Never had any illusions though, or if I had, I was soon rid of them’, he snarled, rising to a stand. ‘I always knew what men were. Killers, and they all delighted in it. They all delight in listening to their base impulses. What did he do now? Went whoring again? Or killed a servant?’

Sansa looked away.

‘Kissed someone in the middle of the dance floor.’

The Hound laughed. ‘Just a kiss? You’d think more happened. Why be fazed now? After all those years. Can’t say you don’t know him, do you?’

Sansa cocked her head. ‘To do it in front of me is a new low. He has no regard for my feelings, or the vows we are supposed to take in a year.’

‘It’s a kiss, you pretend he fathered three bastards before your eyes.’

‘Well I’ve never had a kiss! I never even allowed myself to look at another man. He kisses others before my eyes, and beds them behind my back. And I haven’t even had a single kiss.’

‘So this is about envy?’ he laughed. ‘Never took you for the type.’

‘It’s not! It’s about fairness. I wait. I follow the rules. And what for? He does not show me the same respect. Yet…’

‘Yet what?’

‘I would not lower myself to his level just to get back at him.’

The Hound laughed.

‘Always a proper maiden, you are. You’re wasted on him.’

‘So you believe proper maidens exist? Even if I admit I’m tempted?’

‘Everyone’s tempted sometimes’, he said, leaning against a tree.

‘If you believe true proper maidens exist, why don’t you believe true knights exist?’ Sansa asked.

The Hound remained quiet.

‘You protected me from Joffrey, two years ago when he was drunk and tried to assault me. Saved me in a riot during the food shortages. Sounds quite heroic and knightly.’

 ‘Me?’ he barked. ‘I’m no knight, no more than rain is dry. I’m no saviour of the people, nor chaste either. And look at me, does this look like the face of a fair knight that gets the maidens?’

And in a reckless moment, fuelled by anger, frustration and perhaps an undercurrent of desire, she leant forward and kissed him straight on the lips. The Hound stilled, and then kissed back with passion, making Sansa’s body tingle until the tips of her toes before she leant backwards.

‘Well, now it does’, Sansa said.

‘I’m drunk to the point of hallucinating’, he said.

‘And I’m tired, please be so good to escort me to my room?’ Sansa asked.

Sansa returned home with broken dreams and shattered beliefs. Lady seemed to feel her distress, and remained close by her side. One evening, when Sansa was replying to Margaery’s letters, her brother Robb came to fetch her for dinner, and paused when he saw the drawing of Margaery’s soulmate mark Sansa had pinned to her wall.

‘Sansa, what’s that?’

‘Oh, Margaery’s soulmate mark, why?’

‘Fuck.’

And that’s the story of how her brother decided to join her for her next trip to King’s Landing, and started writing to her best friend as well.

Robb, Sansa and their mother travelled South to meet their potential spouses. They wanted to reach King’s Landing just before Joffrey’s nameday on the tenth day of the second month. This time, they did take their direwolves with them, as both were prepared to marry in the South.

Sansa had seen the loving looks her parents shared at home in Winterfell and the heated enthusiasm in the gazes of Garlan and his wife. But she’d never seen people who did not share a marriage bed react to each other the way Robb and Margaery did. Both notorious talkers became mutes, staring at each other for minutes on end, before Grey Wind walked over, and nudged Margaery forward until she bumped into Robb with his great big snout. Margaery started laughing.

‘No pressure’, Margaery told Robb while she looked at the Grey Wind. ‘Willas will so want to breed with you.’

Sansa choked on her laughter.

‘Excuse me?’ Robb stammered, the smile falling from his face.

Margaery turned back towards him, cheeks burning with embarrassment. ‘Oh, that does sound horrible when you don’t know the context, doesn’t it?’ Margaery asked.

‘There better be a good contextual explanation’, Robb said.

The context was given, alongside a lot more information, as the two soulmates got acquainted. Robb wasn't sure about breeding direwolves, but that could be discussed later. Thr most important thing was that they got along wonderfully well. Lady Catelyn Stark was pleased to see Margaery was a proper lady, despite her very odd first few words, and believed the pretty girl had good hips and a strong sense of family values. In short, she was a good enough bride for the future King in the North. Things were arranged between Queen Catelyn and King Mace Tyrell.

The next day a great nameday tourney was held in Joffrey’s honour. Margaery’s brother Loras won and showed great valour. He had used his Spring Court gifts to make his mare go into heat, and distract all other horses. The tourney itself was somewhat of a bad afternoon for Sansa. Margaery spent all her time talking to her betrothed, Leonette was cosying up with her husband, Myrcella kept chattering to Joy Hill and Sansa's friend Jeyne Poole kept making wistful eyes at Lord Beric Dondarrion who married a Dayne lady two years ago. At least she did until Marq Pyper appeared in the tourney, then she soon grew infatuated with him, and was equally useless. And so Sansa sat beside Joffrey, with whom no decent conversation could be had, who drank so much wine that by the end of the tourney his motoric skills were so poor he was spilling wine on himself while he laughed at knights being thrown off their horses.

He might not look like King Robert, but he sure drank like him. And if he kept drinking like that, he’d soon share his belly. He critiqued everyone, even though Sansa doubted he could take even the worst of them on himself. But the tourney ended peacefully, and all went to their rooms to put on their evening gowns for the feast.

After the fifth course Joffrey demanded silence, and stood up. Sansa’s stomach turned. Now would be the moment. If he had a mark that matched another, their betrothal was at an end and she walked free. If not, she would be here for another three months until her birthday. And if their marks matched, or even if they didn’t, but she just had the misfortune of not knowing whose mark she carried, she would wed him.

She shot up a prayer to the Mother to have mercy on her.

‘This morning, the gods bestowed upon me, like on all good people deserving love and admiration, a soulmate mark. There’s not even a need to share it with the world! I am pleased to say it has a wolf in it!’

Sansa froze, looking up at Joffrey in shock.

No.

Did the Seven really want this? Was she destined to be with him? Did they truly believe she complimented him and belonged t him?

He raised his eyebrows at her, and when she didn’t respond, his smile fell, and he yanked her up by her arms.

‘It’s as good as certain my betrothal to the fair princess Sansa was not only blessed by our parents, but also by the gods! We will be the first empirical couple in over a hundred years to share a soulmate connection’, he continued.

He then turned to look at Sansa, with a sneering smile.

‘My perfect little bride, whom I was meant to wed since I was one-and-ten. Let’s give them a show, shall we?’

Sansa could only blink before he slammed his wormy lips against hers, forcing his tongue into her throat until she choked. He stank of wine and sweat. Everything about it felt wrong, but she could do nothing until he retreated.

‘You kiss for shit’, he said afterwards once they sat down again. ‘But I’ll have plenty of time to teach you just what I enjoy.’

Sansa was proven wrong when she thought King’s Landing could not get worse. As her brother, Margaery and Joffrey planned a double wedding, Sansa just smiled through it all and remained silent.

Now, whenever Joffrey had a flight of fancy, he forced himself upon her in corners and in gardens, and even on one occasion tried to worm his way into her room, but was prevented by the Hound. All under the guise of “training her” and “teaching her” so she wouldn’t disappoint by the time of the wedding. ‘Although I’ll save your honey pot for the wedding.’ Sansa had never felt so much like a tool and plaything.

She spent hours in the godswood, praying for guidance and mercy. She couldn’t understand why the gods had tied her to such a monster. Now when she looked at Joffrey she wondered what it was that made him suitable for her. But she couldn’t even remember what had first made her so infatuated with him years ago. There wasn’t a likeable thing about him at all.

‘You can still end this,’ Tyrion said the night before her nameday, ‘before it’s too late.’

‘They are already planning the wedding.’

‘They’re selling the beast’s hide before it’s shot. You do not have a mark yet. And even with a mark, you can refuse.’

‘He’d kill me if I did’, Sansa said. Of that, she was certain. Joffrey might disregard her and pick her up as he pleased, but she was certain the moment she dropped him, he’d put the world on fire.

‘If you don’t match with him, people will understand.’

Tyrion Lannister himself believed he had lost his soulmate before she or him had even gotten their marks. And had not married since. And all Tyrells waited for their marks to come in and spent time looking for them. Nor would she be the first to break a betrothal for not matching soulmate marks. But those people hadn’t been betrothed to Joffrey.

‘Uncle!’ Joffrey cried at that moment. Lady growled by Sansa’s side in response. She quickly put her hand on Lady’s snout to keep her calm.

‘What are you saying to my lady?’ he demanded to know. He had been watching them with suspecting eyes.

‘I’m just telling the lady a joke, my prince, I am a great joker.’

‘You certainly are a joke’, Joffrey said, to which some of the court laughed.

He then continued drinking and talking to a pretty young harpist. When he disappeared not much after, most could guess why.

Sansa grew more and more glum as midnight neared. She was born not two hours after. Soon, her fate would be sealed. And her supposed one true love was screwing a servant as her name day arrived. No man dared near her now that she was this close to being Joffrey’s possession, they all knew how awful the heir to the throne was when he felt jealous or spiteful.

Margaery’s brother Garlan had asked her to dance, noticing her mood.

‘It’s kind of you to dance with me, prince Garlan.’

‘It’s no burden for me, Sansa, it’s a pleasure. Oh, and may I say, happy nameday?’

A tear escaped from her eyes. In less than an hour, she’d be doomed.

‘Thank you.’

‘Sansa – ‘

‘I’m fine. I will be fine’, she sobbed. ‘Just… dance with me. For now. Please?’

‘Alright.’

Sansa then danced with her brother, Prince Loras and Prince Tommen before ending up in Prince Garlan’s arms again. Their dance had not even finished when the harpist ran in screaming, in naught but a shift.

When a nobleman stopped her, the hall stopped talking.

‘He’s cursed! Cursed!’ she cried. ‘It’s unnatural. Unnatural’, she continued.

‘Who?’

‘What?’

‘Seven Hells girl, speak clearly!’ commanded some of the guests.

‘The prince has no soulmate mark! He hasn’t got a single blemish on his skin! Nowhere!’ cried she.

Sansa froze, all the blood rushing from her head. Garlan caught her just in time as she stumbled.

No mark?

But then…

The entire court gasped and started whispering.

He’d lied. For three moon turns.

She wasn’t tied to him. The gods hadn’t destined them to be together. They weren’t so cruel. There was no divine entity believing she deserved to be with a monster like him. Her heart floated at the freedom of it but at the same time an anvil hit her stomach with a heavy dose of realism. Joffrey would still force her through it. She’d wed him knowing he wasn’t right for her.

‘I need to go’, Sansa said.

‘What?’

‘Please, bring me to my chamber’, Sansa said, turning towards Garlan. ‘Please. Bring me away’, she pushed with great urgency.

‘I understand’, Garlan said. ‘No mark’, he muttered. ‘How is that even possible?’

She tugged on his hand.

She had this awful feeling in her stomach. Her instincts begging her to run.

Lady appeared by her side.

‘I don’t know.’

‘The Gods fashioned us for love’, Garlan stammered.

He seemed to be getting over his initial shock though.

‘Are you alright? This must be terribly shocking for you. He… he lied.’

‘He’s a monster. He’s always been. This just shows it’, Sansa said. ‘This is beneath even him.’

‘Gods, that awful creature! How vile can a person be!’ cried Leonette, appearing on her other side as they neared the exit. ‘Dearest, am I correct in assuming your betrothal is over now?’

Sansa nodded as she marched through the great doors into the hall. It was so sickening she could still barely string together words. Perhaps once she felt she was safely away from him she could think and talk.

‘Well, I kept it in before because of it but I’ll tell you now. I’m glad you won’t be marrying that vile creature. You were too good for him’, Leonette said. ‘You always wanted to see Highgarden, didn’t you? We’ll have your brother and Margaery marry there, then. No reason to stick around in this place’, Leonette continued.

Sansa was only half registering Leonette’s words as she made her way towards the stairs.

‘Stop!’

Sansa froze, Garlan bumping against her by her sudden halt.

Joffrey stood atop the grand staircase, holding a crossbow. He was only wearing boots and breaches, and as far as she could see, he was indeed unmarked.

‘Where do you think you’re going, my dear betrothed, hm?’ he demanded to know.

Sansa took a step backwards. Lady growled from beside her.

‘To bed, your grace, I’m tired.’

His eyes narrowed.

‘But it’s almost your name day and mating moment, is it not?’ he demanded to know. ‘Surely, you’ll stay up for that. Everyone does.’

‘The mark won’t run away, your grace. I’ll still be able to find it in the morning’, Sansa spoke. Rage contorted Joffrey’s face.

‘You will stay. And then we will immediately announce our wedding.’

She’d been right in her fears. Her heartrate spiked.

Joffrey descended, each step downwards making her fear more for her life and future.

‘Prince Joffrey, please, put the crossbow down, there is no need for violence.’

‘Oh but there is. Treachery has just been committed. Shouldn’t a king exact justice?’ he demanded to know.

‘Ser Boros, the wench!’ Joffrey yelled. When no reaction came, he shouted again. The poor harpist was dragged into the hallway, guests pooling in the doorway to see what was happening, but not daring to come closer.

A second later an arrow pierced the girl.

‘I don’t doubt she’d been feeding you all lies in the few minutes it took me to come down. Lying and slandering the king’s name, spouting treasonous falsehoods.’

‘I didn’t hear a thing, your grace. What did she say?’ asked Leonette.

Sansa felt the need to push Leonette behind her back for speaking such stupid dangerous words.

Joffrey looked at her, baring his teeth. ‘It don’t matter, does it? Servant gossip. But crimes should be punished all the same.’

He marched down, looking like an angry naked lion cub with just some manes around his head and face.

‘Sansa, come here.’

Sansa didn’t move.

‘I said. Come. Here’, he hissed.

I’m dying, Sansa thought.

‘Don’t make a prince beg. Especially not the son of the emperor.’

Sansa didn’t move.

‘I am your prince! Your future husband! You will obey.’

He lurched forward, and pulled her to him. ‘You belong to me!’

Where is mother? Where is Robb?

‘You understand? ‘ Joffrey demanded.

Sansa cringed.

‘Please, your grace…’

A stabbing pain shot up from where Joffrey held her. It spread over her entire arm and down her side.

‘Please, your grace, you’re hurting me.’

‘Say it! Say you’re mine!’ Joffrey screamed.

The pain tingled and glowed.

It’s not Joffrey, Sansa realized distantly, it’s the mark.

‘Say it!’

‘We are if our marks match, or we don’t know those who have our marks, as our fathers agreed’, Sansa pushed out as he shook her.

‘I’d thought you cleverer than some old superstition. Especially since they mostly live in the South instead of the North. But turns out you’re stupid after all. The Tyrells filled your stupid barbarian Northern brain with fairy-tale nonsense!’ Joffrey shouted.

‘You’ve been my betrothed for years. As Princess to the Imperial Court you will devote yourself to your duties and me and leave these silly superstitions behind. You belong to the imperial family and no one else’ he cried, eyes wide and pupils dilated. ‘You hear me? You’re mine!’

‘This changes nothing!’ Joffrey cried, grabbing Sansa’s wrist again. ‘Nothing! You hear me?’

Lady jumped forward, biting Joffrey’s leg.

He cried, and let Sansa go to take his bow with two hands.

‘And that bloody dog! I bet we couldn’t form a mating bond because you’re too connected to the North to form a connection with a southerner.’

‘Wha – no!’ Sansa cried, grabbing for Joffrey, but it was too late, an arrow shot straight into her direwolf.

‘No! Lady! Lady!’

She threw herself over her direwolf who yelped in pain.

‘Shh, hush, dear. Oh lady’, Sansa cried. The arrow had luckily lodged itself right before her hindleg. A clumsy aim on a moving subject. Sansa shivered, feeling cold all over. This was wrong. So wrong. As she cried, she didn’t notice the blue on her fingers.

Sansa yelped when she slid away from Lady, Joffrey dragging her away by the ankle.

‘That’ll teach you!’

Sansa struggled against his grasp, kicking with her legs. Panic and worry ate at her. Snow starting to fall down around her.

‘Enough!’ Garlan cried.

‘Stop this madness!’

‘Madness?’ Joffrey cried.

‘We will be together. You’ll see, you’ll see. She’ll get a matching soulmate mark!’ he insisted, continuing his lie. ‘The gods want us together!’

At that moment, whether it was a sign of the gods of the cold Sansa sent into the floor contrasting too much to the heat of the other tiles, the floor cracked between her and Joffrey, separating them.

He let her ankle slip, and her leg smacked onto the ground as she continued shivering, caught up in her own panic. She didn’t notice her brother and mother wringing through the crowd and coming into the hall alongside emperor Robert.

‘What in the seven buggering hells is going on here?’

She feels pulling and tugging on her, but the snow continues to fall. She hears voices, but cannot understand them. The only thing she registers clearly is the feel of Lady’s snout against her face. She reaches out to touch her, hands curling into her fur.

‘Sansa? Sansa?’

Warm hands cover Sansa’s hands, and a fragrant warm breeze blows the snow away. Sansa still shivers, but as she holds lady and with the breeze keeping the snow at bay, her heartbeat finally slows down.

The next time she opens her eyes, she finds Margaery Tyrell in front of her, covering her hands, Garlan Tyrell beside her, warming her from another side, and Prince Doran, shining down on her like a sun. Her mother said down beside Lady, healing her wound with healing water. Joffrey was nowhere to be seen.

‘It’s alright’, Margaery spoke quietly. ‘You’re safe now.’

Sansa allowed Margaery to lift her hands. The girl intended to pull her upright but stopped and stumbled down again herself when she saw flowers sneaking out from underneath Sansa’s sleeve. Sansa’s hands slipped out of Margaery’s. With trembling hands, still blue and purple from her frosty powers, Sansa lifted her sleeve. Her mark went up as far as she could push her sleeve, with pale purple wisterias, golden roses, blue violets, baby’s breath, tulips and jonquils. Between them blossomed pale blue winter roses that grew only in the environment of Winterfell.

All Tyrells gasped in unison, and even Oberyn Martell cursed underneath his breath. Soulmate marks were always in the same spot. And Joffrey’s arms had been noticeably bare. Sansa instantly knew her mark was bigger than most, few covered an entire arm and a side, and most didn’t have as many colours. Sansa looked at her arm in great surprise. She’d expected something, but not this much.

She had a soulmate. And it wasn’t Joffrey. Judging by the mark, actually, it was…

‘Willas’, Leonette muttered underneath her breath.

‘Shh, not now’, Garlan whispered to his wife.

‘Willas?’ Sansa asked.

‘No worries, Sansa. How are you feeling?’ Margaery asked as she tried to help her up again. Oberyn and Garlan supported her back as she rose.

‘Alright’, she said as she stumbled.

‘Let’s get you to bed, Sansa dear’, her mother suggested who was now finished with Lady. Her dear direwolf rubbed itself against her legs, whining.

‘No. Alright. But Margaery, could you come?’

‘Whatever you wish’, her friend assured her.

A week later, everyone was packed up to go to Highgarden. Emperor Robert apologized profusely for his son’s conduct, and said even if they had been soulmates such behaviour would have been ample excuse to break it off. He begged Catelyn to apologize to Ned on his behalf, and sent them away with his best wishes. Robb and Margaery were to marry in Highgarden, before Margaery left her childhood home forever.

As for Sansa, she was still shaken from the whole affair, the veins on her body still so blue her skin looked like veined marble, and her fingertips were still bruised from the cold. She would join her brother to defrost in the Southern sun, safely away from Joffrey.

Although Willas Tyrell was her soulmate, and she would soon be meeting him, all Tyrells were quick to express Sansa needn’t feel any pressure on their behalf. After being practically dragged down the aisle by a brute, they could understand it if she didn’t want to marry soon.

On the way there, Sansa tried to remember all she knew about him.

He was quite a bit older than her, that much that Lady Olenna found it necessary to mention it, although she found it ‘tolerable’. Margaery said he loved books, was fond of history, had trained his brother Garlan before he got injured in a jousting accident and was also knowledgeable on plants, birds, dogs, hawks and horses, which he bred. About his character she only knew that all his siblings dubbed him the serious one, Margaery called him calm and said he had a good heart, Garlan called him ‘as arrogant in regards to his brain as Loras to his beauty’, and Leonette called him humorous.  These accounts were all strictly positive. Sansa tried to tone down her expectations, as family members were always a bit biased. Lord Baelish called him a bore. Sansa thought a bore sounded lovely after Joffrey, but she took note that he wouldn’t be as breathtakingly charming as his family pretended.

She found Oberyn Martell’s account the most useful. He was neither family, nor a narcissist like Baelish. After the drama with Joffrey, he had regularly checked in with her in an attempt to defrost the parts of her body that had a hard time thawing with his solar powers. He found Willas Tyrell, when he first met him, not as pretty as Loras, but much more pleasant. ‘So gentle, genteel, and willing to please. He wanted to make the perfect impression on everyone, and wanted to do everything perfectly. His father abused that nature of his to thrust him into jousting before he was ready and that led to well, everyone knows.’

Sansa nodded.

‘We spent some years in the citadel afterwards, forging chains and friendships. He had the diligence of a maester. Rest assured you’ll never be short of conversation.’

She had found Joffrey’s limited interests stupid, but… ‘A man so learned… How he will bore of me. I have nothing to say he won’t know.’

‘You are young, you have years to catch up on what he knows and to outsmart him. Women always do’, the prince winked.

‘And you’ll find learning quite fun, I’m sure.’

Then his paramour slapped his arm and hissed at him to stop before telling Sansa not to mind him. With a cheeky grin Oberyn apologized and told Sansa she just needed to coax him a bit into conversation, ‘a bit like a card, you need to pull it before the wheels start turning’, but then everything should go well. Sansa had stored the advice away.

So she did know quite a bit about him, but what did he know of her? And had what he knew about her endeared her to him? Or not?

When they arrived in Highgarden, the Tyrells jumped out first, flowers sprouting up from where their feet touched the ground. Fruit ripened on the plum trees that stood in the middle of flower perks side-lining the grand entrance. Vines  snaked around their arms as if they belonged there, and their fingertips turned green. They looked so comfortable in their home, even more so than they’d looked in King’s Landing. She’d read about such casual displays of strong fertile powers in the tales about Garth Greenhand, but she’d never seen people so naturally in tune with their powers. Willas was not in the reception committee.

‘Probably busy or forgetting the time and the date’, Margaery shrugged. ‘Come, I want to see what rooms you’ll be getting.’

After they were installed, Sansa decided to check out the legendary Garden. The castle was smack in the middle of the highest circle of Highgarden, surrounded on all sides by formal gardens. Even the godswood had been encircled by a line of tall blossom trees and pretty hedges. The walls of the upper circle were all covered with climbing vines, ivy and vertical flower plants. Not an inch of wall was visible, making it look as if Highgarden was located in the middle of a forest. It truly was as beautiful as Margaery described.

She reached out for a lotus flower on a tree. The petals looked so soft and delicate, its blush so sweet, she could not control herself. She realized her mistake when the flower turned brown where her fingertips touched it. The frostbite shrivelled up the outer edges of the leaves.

‘Oh no. Oh Mother Above. No’, Sansa muttered, pulling her blue fingers back. She should have remembered to be careful. The experience with Joffrey had left her powers raw.

The leaves became droopy.

‘No no.’

She was here for less than an hour, and she was already ruining everything.

‘That’s a lot of no’s’, a low voice said. ‘Is everything alright?’

Sansa froze. Of course there’d be a witness to her screwing things up. She hoped they wouldn’t go and tell the Tyrells. What a poor impression she’d make!

‘No’, she admitted.

She peeked behind the tree, and saw that against the large trunk a statue of the maiden was put, and beside that a bench. A man was sitting on it, but he was mostly obscured by the statue.

Sansa turned back to look whether the frost had spread. Thankfully, it hadn’t reached the branch. Yet.

She heard the wood fragments crackle beneath his feet, and heard an odd metallic clatter followed by a chirp. Her curiosity was soon satisfied when the tall man rounded the corner. He wore a green brocade and velvet men’s costume and looked just…

Like something out of a fairy-tale. On his shoulder sat a hawk, observing Sansa with sharp dark eyes. And around his leg… no, not around his leg. Sansa couldn’t help but watch, there was no leg. Thick vines curled around his upper leg, leading into a thick leg shaped mass of vines, branches and leaves that supported him on one side. How ingenious. Within seconds she realized how impolite she was.

‘I… the… I ruined it’, she admitted with a defeated sigh, pointing at the flower.

The man frowned, gracefully walking closer. Sansa stumbled backwards as the bird chirped.

‘He’s harmless. No worries.’

And then, with two mouth noises the bird launched itself into the sky, its chaining and bell making a final noise before it became inaudible.

‘How did you do that? It looks…’

‘Frozen?’ Sansa suggested.

The man raised his hands towards the flower. He wore a large ring with yellow citrine stones in the shape of rose petals, it was finished with white and green to look like the Tyrell family crest. On his pinkie, he wore a seal ring. He had nice hands, Sansa thought. His fingers turned green as he touched the flower and revived it.

But Sansa had no eye for the reviving flower, instead, her eyes narrowed on the faint pastel tones on the upside of his hand, just below his sleeve. They looked eerily similar to –

She looked down at her own hands, but they were hidden beneath her wide long sleeves. But she didn’t need to look to know for sure.

‘Yes’, he said. ‘Never seen frost powers in action.’

‘I hope you never will see it in action on the gardens in the future’, Sansa replied.

A chuckle fell from his mouth.

‘I should hope so.’

‘Rest assured, it’s not in my habit to freeze gardens’, Sansa rushed to say, feeling guilty still.

‘Really, then what do you do with your time?’ he smiled, crossing his arms. Yes, there was definitely a wisteria on his hand.

This was her soulmate. Willas Tyrell. Heir to Highgarden, and already a great deal more handsome, manly and friendly than Joffrey ever was. And of course, his first impression of her would now be that she was a foolish young girl who couldn’t control her powers.

‘Oh, you know,’ she said as she tucked her hair behind her ear in a way that let her sleeve fall down a bit to reveal her tattoo, ‘embarrass myself in other ways.’

His eyes fell on her arm, his mouth dropping open in understanding.

‘Princess Sansa.’

Sansa bowed her head.

‘Prince Willas.’

‘You… but…’ his mouth moved without words coming out at first. ‘Don’t tell me I missed your arrival?’

Sansa nodded. ‘As your highness asks.’

His mind buffered at that reply, before he frowned and shook his head.

‘Now I see why you’re friends with Margaery.’

‘I don’t follow, your highness’, Sansa innocently replied.

‘Come now.’

A smile cracked through her innocent façade. Alright, perhaps she and Margaery did have a penchant for teasing. But she honestly wasn’t trying to rile him.

Willas came closer, reaching out a hand.

‘May I?’

She surrendered her hand to his. He pushed her sleeve down with a gentleness she had rarely seen before in a man. She observed his face as he looked at the flowers without a single touch except for their united hands. His beard gleamed in a myriad of shades in the sunlight, from caramel to copper to chocolate brown. Shades of blue and purple around his eyes told her that he indeed bore all the burdens in the absence of his family, but the lines of his face spoke of kindness and good temper. He bore everything with determination.

‘It’s strange to see it on another’, he muttered. ‘It’s like seeing your face upon another body.’

‘Can’t say I’ve had any experience with that’, Sansa said out loud before she was aware of it. Not ideal.

‘Tyrells are quite unoriginal in their looks. I have a bit of an own face. Margaery just got a copy of Loras’ face’, Willas smiled.

He let go of her sleeve, fingers ghosting just millimetres above her skin before his index finger brushed down, light as a feather, to trace the contours of the baby’s breath.

‘Everlasting and undying love. Pureness. Self-discipline’, he said before moving his finger to the violets. ‘Faith, affection, intuition and love.’

At the same time his touch made her skin shiver, she could feel her blood boil.

‘So many times I wondered what represented me. What represented you. And what represented us… What it all meant’, he said, absorbed by her tattoo.

Sansa paused. For so long, she’d thought about soulmates. But only in abstract ways. She’d hoped she’d have one. She hoped she’d have a happy marriage. But Willas had been one half of a whole for over a decade. He had time to analyse and ponder over every part of his mark, and what it meant. Sansa had hers for less than a week.

It made sense that a mark should say something about a couple.

‘Sorry I kept you waiting so long’, she found herself saying.

Whatever had happened to not feeling pressured into doing something with her bond immediately upon arrival?

She looked up at his eyes. She didn’t feel any pressure really, only the feel of a rope tightening around her heart when he looked up from her arm and into her eyes.

‘No problem. I have patience. There’s people who never get to say hello.’

She curled her fingers around his hand, turning it so she could stroke the wisteria leaves on his right hand. she was startled by her own boldness. She noticed some of the blueish purple around her fingertips had disappeared.

‘I’m glad we got to meet.’

She knew barely nothing about him. She hadn’t shared any important conversations with him, yet she said it with all her heart. Something just felt right in a way she couldn’t explain, like a peace had come over her heart.

‘Shall I escort you back inside? It’s time for me to take up my hosting duties.’

‘But your bird?’

‘He’s hunting, he’ll find his way back to the rookery when he’s finished’, Willas explained.

‘My bird…’ he shook his head. ‘Hawk it is. Not fond of hawking?’ he asked as they started walking.

‘Not much of a hunter.’

She chuckled. ‘In King’s Landing many compared me to all kinds of small birds. Small songbirds, doves, silly birds.’ Perhaps she was more of a prey.

‘Well, perhaps like your companion birds, you’ll enjoy Highgarden. When times get tough down north, many birds trek this way to bask in the warmth and bounty of the Reach.’

‘Don’t they trek back?’ Sansa asked with a smile.

‘I don’t know, do they?’

Sansa didn’t reply to the question that night, but the reply became clear when year after year, she stayed in Highgarden.