Much more quickly than she'd imagined a reply arrived from Petyr but Sansa waited until the carriage ride back to Winterfell Hall to read its contents; wanted the assured privacy only the glorified wooden box could provide. Carefully she broke the seal and took out the page within, there she found Petyr's impossibly delicate handwriting. She just gazed at the word sweetling for a time to let the word sooth her very soul. Oh how she longed to hear his deep voice say it. Long ago Sansa had urged for the title of queen but now Sansa had a better title for she was Petyr Baelish's sweetling.

The carriage marked with the Stark crest continued to jostle this way and that but Sansa paid it no mind when she had words from her love in her hands. As the redhead had anticipated her demon wasn't too keen on the idea of Arya helping in the search though it did appear he understood two sets of eyes would be of far more use than just one. Unsettlingly, for the eldest Stark girl Petyr's letter went on to speak of Robert Baratheon's shifting suspicions and his new belief that Dorne was missing their swords as well. Sansa felt a wave of panic wash over her, a disturbing fear which she didn't like one bit. Worse was when the letter continued to explain that King Robert had gone so far as to have maesters locate books on the subject, they'd managed to dig up texts regarding Aegon Targaryen never having taken ownership of the North's sword after he'd conquered the kingdoms. Robert wouldn't be able to confirm anything though unless he decided to take a trip to the Citadel in Oldtown which seemed unlikely. Petyr assured her that as soon as the next meeting of the Small Council was called Petyr would persuade Robert to drop the subject in that magical way of his, after all, Robert would be easily controlled. Sansa just hoped Petyr got to him before the king decided to try turning on her father.

Sansa desired to keep every letter Petyr had penned to her, keep each word written especially by one soulmate to another. However, she knew her mother would find them sooner or later so as soon as she arrived home she fled to her bedchamber where she nestled the letter away in the small box hidden under which also contained her brooch and the dresses gifted to her. That box contained the love of the soul.

Once her secrets were hidden Sansa took off her leather gloves along with her cloak and hung them up – by this point her lady's maid knew Sansa wanted her in her chamber as little as possible – and then consulted her map as to where she needed to search next. Quite frankly she'd been running out of places for weeks now and even Arya with all her stealthy, unladylike skills hadn't managed to find anything even remotely promising.

"Perhaps I should stop looking for it, just stop and then all of a sudden I'll randomly trip over it and find the sword has been used as a doorstop for centuries." She sighed deeply to herself. "That was how I found my purse when I lost it."

Frustrated, Sansa had just been about to head out and continue her search when a strong but polite knock sounded at her door. She didn't need to ask to know it was Robb. Sansa had lived in that room all her life so she knew each and every person who knocked to gain admittance. Her mother had an incredibly light but powerful knock which could almost be confused with Robb, Rickon gave her door a kind of drumming with both fists, Bran's knock was always presided by a series of squeaks from his chair, Arya just thudded uncaring if she frightened or woke anybody up, Jon's was by far the quietest as though he never wished to disturb her even though he clearly had a reason, and then there was her father who's knocking reverberated around the room and said he could do some damage if he ever desired to.

With a glance to make sure the box was well out of sight the blue-eyed girl went to answer her door and sure enough there stood her older brother in all his bearded glory. He flashed her a charming smile which made his eyes twinkle and Sansa found it infectious; her brother was a good man and he'd make a good Warden of the North one day. In his large hands he carried a box, plain and simple, roughly the size of her jewelry box. Sansa lifted an eyebrow.

"Ah, Sansa, I thought I heard the carriage arrive back." He said as he stepped over the threshold to the foot of his sister's bed. "I was hoping you'd be able to help me." Robb set the box down as Sansa closed the door and joined him. "As everybody is well aware by now, my wedding is fast approaching and while Mother seems intent to make all the preparations, I wanted to do something personal for Talisa."

"Something personal?" Sansa questioned her brother while eyeing the uninteresting looking container. "Personal how?"

Robb raked a hand down his face and over his beard; it was ready for a trim that was for sure.

"I know you are against marrying Prince Joffrey – if I could get you out of it I would – and I find myself thinking that maybe Talisa feels the same, at least somewhat. I know our meeting was much different and that she is of Volantis but she will stand by my side here in the North once we are wed and here is so far from her homeland."

"Are you saying you want her to feel appreciated, loved? You want Talisa to know you marry her because your souls belong to one another rather than position, personal gain or some dowry?"

Robb just stared at her a moment with a set of blue eyes that matched her own, then, finally, he nodded.

"That is exactly it, Sansa, that is exactly it." He paused a long few seconds, judging by the look on his face he had something to say so Sansa didn't force him, not when she could feel the butterflies in his stomach. "I feel as though we were made for one another, sister, as though I was created just for Talisa. It may sound like the beliefs of children but - do you believe in soulmates, Sansa?"

Unconsciously Sansa flashed her eyes over to the area of her bed where a box of love letters lay underneath.

"I do, yes. I believe there are soulmates, and I believe that sometimes one soul is forced to live so long waiting for its other half that it starts to doubt there even is a second half." Finally she looked back at her elder brother. "If you feel that way about Talisa then the best thing you can do to make sure she knows is to tell her, tell her every day, Robb."

Robb grinned. "You're a romantic at heart, aren't you, Sansa."

"Or perhaps I am quite mad." Sansa shrugged. "Now, are you going to tell me what is in this box or is it just a poorly selected piece of decoration for my chambers?"

Robb seemed to jolt out of his inner thoughts then like he'd completely forgotten about container he'd brought with him.

"Yes, yes, of course." The bearded man grabbed the box, took off the top and out-poured its contents onto the furs which covered Sansa's bed. "I wanted you to help me choose."

The redhead let her eyes rake over an assortment of necklaces of all shapes and sizes, some were long strands of beads while others where encrusted in vibrantly colored glass; clearly mock-ups for a finished piece.

"On our wedding day I want to gift Talisa with a necklace, something she can wear always and know my love is true. I know I could have asked our mother but you are closer in age to Talisa."

In a way Sansa was honored that her brother thought of her, that he valued her thoughts and input so, but at the same Sansa had only met Talisa once and was sure that Robb must know his bride better than she.

"There are a lot of designs here, Robb."

"Mmm." He hummed with a deep grumble. "That is why I throw myself on your mercy."

The redhead smirked at that. "I suppose I can take pity on you. First you should take out anything you know that Talisa won't like."

"Well, she doesn't do gaudy like Queen Cersei, she's much more subtle." With that many of the designs found themselves tossed back into the box never to be mentioned again. "And she is a very practical person so I doubt the long strands will appeal to her."

That left the brother and sister with only about a quarter of what had originally been on Sansa's bed, these were the simple and dainty designs, those which spoke of meaning rather than wealth. Before her the demoness saw many fine bits of colored glass which would surely turn into the most stunning of garnets and gemstones, some even appealed to Sansa herself. Yes, the longer she stood there staring at the choices with Robb the more she found her thoughts turning to the brooch that Petyr had gifted to her when she'd left Harrenhal. A delicate wolf with a mockingbird perched upon the shoulder, the two of them entwined.

"Robb," she began slowly. "I'm sure Talisa would be grateful for any of these pieces once they have been fashioned properly but I have to admit, they're ultimately just a jewel any other noble could have given her. If you truly want it to be special then why not have something a little more personal commissioned."

"How so?" He asked, voice deep and curious.

"Well, why not blend your House sigil? I'm afraid I don't know what house Maegyr's sigil is but if you took our wolf and mixed it with hers it would not just be a necklace with a jewel in it but an eternal symbol of your bond."

"That's – that's perfect, Sansa. Thank you! Yes, it would be like our own personal sigil." Robb hugged her tight then and Sansa couldn't resist wrapping her arms around her brother's waist; Robb had always given good hugs. "You really are the most perfect sister, you know that."

Sansa chuckled to herself when he pulled away to toss the rest of the designs back into the box which he stowed underneath his right arm between his arm and ribs.

"I'd not let Arya hear you say that otherwise she may actually declare war on us."

Robb let out a little hum. "You're probably right." Slowly she walked him to the door. "Thank you, Sansa, I'm going to take a trip to the jewellers tomorrow morning and see what can be done."

"Good. I'm sure she'll love it."

As he crossed the threshold once more Sansa went to close the door but Robb stopped her and stared down at his sister for the briefest of moments almost sorrowfully.

"Sansa, I know you don't want to marry Joffrey or Harrold but please don't just throw yourself at Lord Baelish simply because he had nice words and isn't one of them."

"I know you are just concerned for my welfare, Robb, but this is not some childish infatuation as Mother would like to believe. The way you spoke of Talisa, that is how I feel about Petyr, it physically hurts to be away from him."

"But how do you know he feels the same? If our parents don't want you to marry him then there is a clear reason for it beyond his age."

The younger Stark sighed; felt as though she'd done a lot of that since returning from Mockingbird Island.

"Robb, answer me this, if someone had stood between Mother and Father marrying do you not think they would have fought for their love? If somebody were to do so with you and Talisa, wouldn't you object and draw your sword rather than be separated from her? Mother thinks that because I am young that I am naïve while father just assumes that Petyr is blindly ambitious and intent on corrupting me for nothing more than his own sick amusement. You have not seen the way he looks at me, Robb, it's not with wanton desire but with love." Blue eyes slipped shut as she took a breath and tried to convince herself not to shed a tear. "Married to anyone but him and I will be one of those soulmates left broken in half."

Robb stared at her a long time, so long that Sansa started to wonder if he'd ever utter another syllable again, but then, just when she'd given up hope, words tumbled from his mouth.

"I cannot promise you anything, sister, but I will speak with our parents about getting you out of your betrothal to Prince Joffrey. It has not been officially announced so there is still hope. Then, if you still desire to marry Lord Baelish I shall personally ride to King's Landing or sail to that rock he calls a home and have him look me in the eyes when he says he loves you so I can be sure for myself. If I am satisfied I will do all in my power to make sure you are with the one you love, because the thought of being married to someone else only ever able to look longingly at Talisa pains me and I don't wish for you to feel that."

Once again, without any warning at all, Sansa wrapped her brother in the tightest hug she'd ever given him and just clung on while those tears finally tumbled down her pale cheeks. Finally she felt as though someone understood, that someone knew how – or could at least imagine – how it felt to have their very soul ripped from them.

"Thank you, Robb." She managed to say after a time. "Thank you."

~X~

Just as with Sansa's wandering of the halls Catelyn hadn't been too pleased with Sansa's increasingly frequent trips to the Poole estate and feared Sansa would flee on some new supposed adventure. As a result one of the Winterfell footmen – Baeddan – had been given strict instructions to accompany the eldest Stark girl on every outing she took should a carriage be involved; Sansa supposed she should have just been grateful it was a footman rather than Septa Mordane. Fortunately for the redhead Baeddan was kind enough to stay at a distance and looked as though he understood Sansa's feelings at least slightly because once she was there he'd let her out of his sight, stay in the area just in case but for the most part left her alone. Yes, she was grateful it had been Baeddan who'd been tasked with being her eternal shadow.

That kindness was the only reason Sansa and Jeyne could walk the grounds of the Poole estate without someone else looming over them every second of their day. It wasn't lost on Sansa that she seemed to spend all her time now either looking for the sword or with Jeyne, but then again, Jeyne had become Sansa's respite, her pause between all the secrets where she could just spend time with an adored friend.

That day the sun was shining, though it was still freezing cold thanks to them being in the North, so the girls had decided to walk to the lake to the west of the house. The lake was large and a sort of distorted crescent moon shape with a cluster of trees at the southern most point that the two young women often went to sit amongst. As kids they'd run between the large trunks playing the games of children and even climbed one every now and again when their dresses had allowed for it.

Unfortunately, it seemed that Jeyne's favorite topic of conversation was still Lord Baelish. Every chance the mousy girl got she'd ask Sansa about him and, while a little repetitive by this point, Sansa enjoyed having the freedom to speak of him however she pleased; even during her conversation with Robb, which had gone much better than expected, she'd had to be careful about her words. So as they grew closer to the dense patch of trees knowing Baeddan could see if they decided to wander anywhere else on the grounds the pair chatted about the man with ash at his temples.

"... he is rather handsome for an older gentleman though." Finished Jeyne which got a stumble in her step and a raised eyebrow from Sansa.

"How would you know what he looks like?"

Jeyne gulped but continued walking forcing Sansa to follow. "You truly love him, yes? Makes your heart flutter like the women in romantic novels?"

Sansa smiled to herself as she remembered his scent, that wonderful mint, his delicate but firm touches. "Very much so."

"Good." Jeyne abruptly ground to a halt then and spun around to stand before Sansa with a huge smile plastered across her face. "Close your eyes, follow me."

The redhead's expression grew suspicious. "Why?"

"Please just do it, Sansa." Sighed the shorter girl.

Sansa relented. Jeyne had done so much for her friend recently that closing her eyes and showing some trust seemed like the very least Sansa could do for Jeyne. With a quick nod Sansa let her dazzling blue eyes slip shut and then felt Jeyne's hand take her own so they could slowly step into the cluster of trees they'd called a 'mini forest' as children. They walked a few meters with the sound of leaves crunching underfoot as their own personal symphony before the pair finally stopped and Sansa felt Jeyne drop her hand. A moment or so Sansa remained stood and silent but when she heard leaves crunching again, this time away from her, the redhead grew a little concerned and called out.

"Jeyne?" No answer came. "Jeyne what is going on? Can I open my eyes yet?"

Suddenly hands were back but they certainly weren't Jeyne's own, they strongly wrapped around her waist and Sansa gasped.

"She's already gone, Sweetling."

Blue orbs snapped open in surprise and Sansa instantly spun herself around to see if he was real. There with his hands rested on her waist was Petyr, her sweet Petyr. The couple clung to one another for what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than a few minutes in reality. Sansa breathed in his scent of mint and finally felt as though her soul had returned to life. All day she'd felt as though he were close but disregarded it as wishful thinking.

"Your friend wrote to me saying she couldn't take seeing sadness in your eyes any longer, that she wanted you to be happy again and thought seeing me was the best way to accomplish that." He pressed a loving kiss to her temple. "You have a very loyal friend in the Poole girl, my sweetling."

Oh she did, Sansa knew it. The seventeen-year-old continued to clinging to her soulmate as if he'd somehow just fade away.

"You rode all the way here just for me." It wasn't exactly a question nor a statement but rather vocal proof as to what had happened.

"Sansa, my love, by now you should know I would do anything for you. Ask and you shall have your heart's desire."

"You." She answered quickly almost before he'd finished the sentence. "I just want you."

"And you have me. I am here with you." Another kiss though this time to her lips, a loving and devoted melding of mouths; she could taste the mint on his tongue. "Come and sit with me."

It was only then she noticed the blanket lay out in the clearing Jeyne had guided her into, a sheet of dark green which reminded Sansa of many of the rich colors of Harrenhal. Together they sat with a lovely view of the lake but completely hidden from her footman and the main house; Petyr really did plan for everything.

Lord Baelish took every opportunity he had to touch her and soon Sansa found herself spread out on her back, hair fluttered around her like a fiery halo, while Petyr's large hands hiked up her skirts to gaze and caress what was underneath.

"I missed you." She breathed.

"And I you, my sweet girl." He breathed as wanton kisses were peppered over her inner thighs. "Gods I've missed your inciting scent."

His dangerous green eyes gazed at the delicate red curls of her glistening sex, already so wet, ready for him and he smirked dominantly before his let his fingers creep to what they really wanted, their prize. Sansa's breathing hitched when he finally touched her, such a blissful sound Petyr would be happy to play over and over again in his mind for the rest of time. Sansa Stark was his, he was the only one allowed to hear such perfect sounds from her. So much pale skin, so smooth, so warm and all lay out for him to do with as he pleased.

Her lips parted to breath out a mew when his fingers finally slipped into her wet heat, almost burning hot compared to the cold of the North. Soon the nibbled kisses to her inner thighs resumed forcing Sansa's mews to grow needier and desperate just the way Baelish liked.

"Oh Petyr." She moaned.

Hungry for her taste Petyr took away his hand to suck them clean, something Sansa's blue eyes watched intently as she bit her lip. He'd truly delight in her flavor for the rest of time. He went to lap at her folds but found a hand grabbed at his chin before he could consume her as he wanted.

"No. Please, it's been so long since I've had you in my arms and I cannot take it any longer. Please, my love, I need you inside me."

Petyr hadn't been an over-eager boy in centuries – not in mind anyway – but by the Gods did those words nearly have him spilling seed in his breeches.

How could he ever say no to her? He couldn't deny the needy goddess before him not for a single second. At almost lightning speed the older man unbuttoned his black breeches uncaring that the expensive tailored creaked suspiciously as though they'd rip. The air was icy and gave Petyr a moment of pause but it was soon cast away for the chance to take her.

Petyr planted his knees on the hard ground, the blanket being the only think keeping them clean, and yanked Sansa to him by the backs of her knees. There was that dominant side he kept hidden away so well, a little spark that revealed just how powerful he truly was. Petyr Baelish may have liked to stay in the shadows but that didn't mean he was weak.

This wasn't about making love, not entirely anyway, it was about need, passion, fire and want, all the sinful desires that tasted so delectably sweet and quickly became addictive. With one last gaze into her magical blue orbs Petyr gripped her hips tightly and slammed into her almost sinful body. Sansa moaned loudly. His thrusts weren't gentle, they were hard and deep, powerful and quickly began to rip away her ability to speak or think in anything other than whimpers and gasps. Her fingers reached up to thread through his dark hair while he he lowered his head to praise her exposed clavicle with his talented tongue.

Their bodies met in a perfect rhythm; delicate but overflowing with heated passion. Sansa's tongue soon made its way into Petyr's mouth when his torment of her clavicle and neck was complete as they became one, mapping out his mouth desperately, raking her tongue across his teeth causing his thrusts to become erratic for a second or two. Birds tweeted in the trees while wind danced amongst the leaves but the redhead hardly noticed, she was much too busy dangling on the very edge. Too busy peering down into the euphoric depths below with her demon not far behind her, she wiggled her hips in just the right way, teasing, and send him into a primal rut, thrusting as though his life depended on it. It was then that the redhead grew needier and Petyr managed to flip them, his long and talented fingers gripped her hips leaving tiny little bruises over her porcelain skin, pulling her down onto him, impaling her. Sansa's long powder blue skirts pooled around his waist, the soft silk almost an extension of Sansa's perfect skin.

The redhead leant down to kiss him again, gasping at the new angle and the way her kissed lips caressed his, her hands planted firmly on his waistcoat-clad chest; her skirts cascaded over his hips and onto the blanket.

It was then that she could take it no longer and plunged into the smouldering waters of bliss and euphoria her body clamped down around the Lord of Harrenhal as she rode her orgasm, pulling him over the edge and into climax with her.

"Petyr!" She screamed out knowing they were far enough away from the house that nobody would hear them.

"Fuck, I love you." He sighed when she collapsed against his chest, her panted breaths left to caress his neck.

Together the pair lay for a long time with only the trees to watch them. Petyr wrapped an arm around her waist loosely while the other propped under his head, her leg still thrown over him. The clouds tumbled over one another high above as though they were in some kind of race to an imaginary finish line. Swans swam along the section of the lake they could see through the trees, just sort of danced along aimlessly without a care in the world.

Sansa couldn't quite begin to describe the happiness she felt being wrapped securely in her lovers arms. All her worries drained away and her form relaxed into his warmth and Petyr's goatee tickled her forehead where she rested against him. Sometimes when Sansa was in bed late at night she'd pin the brooch she'd been gifted her pillow and snuggle against it, pretend it was Petyr with that mockingbird pin of his. Of course it hadn't been the same but it had done something to ease the pain of his absence.

For almost fifteen minutes neither he nor she said a word, didn't want to ruin their peaceful quietude. They were together again after too long of only being able to communicate via sporadic letters. The seventeen-year-old never wanted it to end, they could just stay wrapped in one another arms for the rest of eternity as far as Sansa was concerned. Petyr had promised her eternity and she wanted it, every single second of every minute.

Eventually the peace and quite gave way to pondering and questions of the horrors which had started to lurk in the shadows; no matter how happy they were these things needed to be discussed.

"Have you talked King Robert out of looking for the swords yet?" Sansa asked, her breath teased Petyr's neck.

"I'm afraid the answer to that is yes and no, my dear." He sighed, the noise rumbled through his scarred chest. "I've used my ability to silence the idea for now but his mind is far from sound these days and I'm not sure how long until my order breaks down only for him to start all over again."

Sansa lifted her head to gaze at him with puzzlement. "But I thought you could influence anybody."

"I can, Sweetling, I can. I'm the most powerful Exhort in demonic memory, which, my love, is rather long. The strong-willed are harder to persuade than most but the mentally ill, people with severe head traumas and alcoholics, their brains are harder to get through to and there is no assuredness that the persuasion will stick."

"So he could just return to trying to kill us all?"

Lord Baelish breathed out a small chuckle. "You don't have to make it sound like he's trying to wipe us all out. I will not let that happen."

Petyr clung to her more tightly. A chill had started to settle in the air, soon it would be much too cold to lay amongst the grass and leaves and surely Baeddan the footman would start to wonder where she'd gotten to. Both knew their time together would have to end shortly no matter how much they desired longer. Nevertheless Sansa knew the separation wouldn't hurt as much as before because now she knew he'd work his magic when she needed him and appear to wrap her up.