Petyr Baelish was an excellent liar. A true maester in the arts of deception, deceit, trickery, and duplicity.

Sansa had learned a lot from him (intended or not) in her time under his tutelage. In fact she had learned well enough to fool the Lords and Ladies of the Vale about the truth of what happened to her Aunt. She had hedged her bets to place her life in the hands of a man whose motivation she knew rather than trusting the motives of those she didn't.

So Petyr was a liar and now so was she. A fact that her soulmark seemed to agree with it as it burned the word she had carved in her flesh all night long after her act of dishonesty. Burned it out her skin in fact, leaving a slightly pink but blank canvas behind. She still chose to wear the bracelet Tyrion gave her, but she altered it so that the Lannister sigil was gone along with the jewels and the Stark sigil was now placed on the outside. It made her think of her family, of who she really was. She was a Stark, a wolf, not a little bird or little dove or a Lannister.

And sometimes late at night in her big empty bed, she thought of the husband she used to share it with.


Witch

Tyrion stared at the word, and then at the red priestess below that was staring at him intently. Most of him wanted to ignore the summons from his soulmark, but he felt more lost than ever since he escaped King's Landing murdering both his former lover and his father as he fled. (He would never forget the heartache as the word "Witness" tormented him during Shae's testimony against him. But it was only when the word "Whore" appeared as he entered his father's quarters that fateful night, that he understood the true soul rending feeling of betrayal.) As the crowd dispersed, she beckoned him to follow with a slight tilt of her head and headed down the narrow alleyway. With a glance to a frowning Varys, who had noticed him reacting to his soulmark, he followed.

He found her sitting on a bench outside a hovel that housed the acolytes of the Lord of Light. The priestess regarded him thoughtfully as he sat and then abruptly pushed his sleeve up wrapping her hand around his soulmark. She stared vacantly in the distance. "You are far from home."

Tyrion snorted. It took no divine power to discern that he was not Volantene. "I have no home. Not anymore."

"Of course you do. It is where you will find her." She said turning and speaking to him as she would a slow child.

"Her?" He said in a whisper. "The Dragon Queen?"

"Foolish little lion man. Your destiny and the Dragon Queen's are intertwined, but not in that way." She looked at him in a way so haunting it was as if his soul was laid bear to her. "Do not despair, all is unfolding as it should. You are as far from her here" she said gesturing at the city "and here" she said laying her hand on his heart, "as you shall ever be. Everything from here on out, will lead you back to her."

She stood and turned to head in the doorway. "I believe there is somewhere you are supposed to be."

Bewildered, he watched the word Whorehouse appear, scrawled across his wrist. When he looked up the priestess was gone.

It was days later, sailing on a moonless night while a prisoner of an ill tempered Northman, that he had time to ponder the meaning of the witch's words. What exactly did she mean by "back to her"? Back to who?


Ramsay Snow, now legitimized as a Bolton, did not have a soulmark. Sansa assumed that was because he did not in fact have a soul. He did however have a devoted paramour that matched him in malice and cruelty. Sansa was relieved when Theon pushed her to her death from Winterfell's ramparts.

But now they had to go, had to run. Only death awaited them here as Ramsay's vengeance would be mighty.

So they did the only thing they could do and what her soulmark advised her to do. LEAP.

Which they did, hand in hand over Winterfell's outer wall into the unknown.


The intervening years for both Sansa and Tyrion brought little in the way of guidance from their soulmarks. A fact that neither of them thought much about. Sansa was busy garnering support to overthrow the Bolton's with her bastard brother and reclaim her home. Tyrion was busy trying to govern a foreign city in the throes of civil unrest in the absence of his new Queen.

But they did think about each other, most often alone in their beds in the small hours of the night. They wondered what befell the other, if they were alive, if they were safe. What their lives might have been if they had only made it to that ship.

If they would ever see each other again and what that conversation might look like.

Even with a network as vast as Varys's little birds, the distance between the remote North of wartorn Westeros and Mereen was just too far for word of each other to reach their ears.

So time marched on, as it always does, with nothing but memories of the other.

Until one day, a gelded kraken washed up on the Meereenese shore.


Tyrion made no secret of his disdain for the Greyjoy boy. He had been an arrogant little shit at Winterfell who had gone on to betray Robb Stark by invading Winterfell and murdering his young foster brothers. Theon claimed that wasn't the case (the Stark boys were alive at least) and admitted to some of his crimes but Tyrion wasn't fully convinced that the meek man in front of him wasn't just for show.

The sister however was a different story. He could tell his Queen liked her immediately (and Yara definitely liked his Queen.) The ships they offered and the deal they struck was a stroke of good fortune. Tyrion also liked Yara if for no other reason that she could match him drink for drink. It was during one such late night drinking session that she mentioned something about Theon escaping from the Boltons at Winterfell with the "Stark girl" before he joined her at the Kingsmoot. Even in his wine induced haze, he zeroed in on the name "Stark."

"Which Stark girl? Arya or Sansa?" Tyrion said intensely, pounding his goblet on the table.

Yara blew her hair out of her face, as she screwed it up in thought. "Must be the second one you said. I'd remember if her name sounded like mine."

"Where is he now?" Tyrion demanded as anger (at Theon and himself) sobered him up quickly. The Iron Fleet had arrived over a fortnight ago and this whole time Theon had information about Sansa.

He found Theon in his quarters aboard the Fleet's flagship where, despite it being the middle of night, he was wide awake. He muttered something about not sleeping well these days.

Without preamble Tyrion launched into his questions with an angry desperate tremor in his voice "You were with Sansa Stark at Winterfell?"

"Yes, my Lord." he said with deference and without making eye contact. He looked as if he was prepared to be beaten, but showed no willingness to defend himself. For the first time Tyrion believed that this Theon was a vastly different creature from the one he knew before if he was frightened of an angry dwarf.

"Did you know she is my wife?" Tyrion asked more gently.

"Was, my Lord. She married my mas..she married Ramsey Bolton at Winterfell. Lord Baelish said your marriage was invalid."

"We will circle back to how that conniving fiend is involved later. Yara said you escaped Winterfell. You were both prisoners, I take it then?"

"Prisoners is a gentle term for what we both were. We were as much a prisoner as a mouse is to a cat." With a sigh Theon pulled off his glove, where Tyrion was shocked to see a hand missing several fingertips. "Ramsey had a fondness for knives."

"Gods!" Tyrion choked out. "Sansa? Did he do that to her?" His heart dropped at the thought.

"He needed her for her name and the children she could give him. It wouldn't do well to showcase his cruelty to the other Northern Lords, but he found other ways to hurt her." Theon said as his words turned thick. "He made me watch sometimes."

Tyrion sat in stunned silence unable to form a coherent thought as a tidal wave of grief and rage threatened to consume him. He hung his head low between his hands until he finally found the strength to ask "Where is she now? Is she safe?"

"On her way to Jon at the Wall when we parted. A woman warrior named Brienne of Tarth and her squire saved us from Ramsey's men. I promise you my Lord I would not have left her alone if I did not believe her safe."

"I know the woman of whom you speak. She had pledged herself to Lady Catelyn. Was the squire a quiet boy named Podrick?'

"Yes my Lord."

Tyrion was relieved to hear that Podrick was also safe. Sending him off with Lady Brienne had been a brilliant move on his brother's part. "She is in very good hands then. That boy was my squire once, believe it or not, and saved my life." He studied Theon. "Why did you not tell me any of this when you arrived?"

"If I recall, you didn't want to hear anything I had to say." Theon said and for a split second there was a flash of the old Theon in his eyes. "Plus, I knew her regard for you, but I did not know your current regard for her."

"How do you mean?" Tyrion said his curiosity piqued at the thought of Sansa speaking about him.

"On their wedding night, Ramsey asked if Sansa was still a virgin. She responded that you were a kind, gentle man that never touched her. But according to rumor, she also left you to die for killing your nephew, a crime you claim to be innocent of." He studied Tyrion. "So I had to ask myself, are you still that kind, gentle man who only cares for her welfare or are you a bitter, jilted husband hellbent on tracking down the wife that left you?" He stood and paced back and forth in the small cabin. "I wasn't sure which way you felt until now."

"Sansa was my friend...is my friend. Even if the marriage was a sham." Tyrion stuttered. She was more than that, so much more and he could practically feel the weight of the cloak in his hands as he had brought her under his protection. For a time that weight had felt like a burden, but now he recognized it for the privilege it was.

"I can see that now, but can you blame me for protecting her in what small ways I can when I couldn't help her when she needed me the most?"

Of course Tyrion understood. Had he not been in the same position himself?


Dragonstone was a hard, unforgiving place. All hard sharp edged rocks with towering cliffs that were battered by violent crashing waves.

It was the physical embodiment of it's humorless former Lord, Stannis Baratheon.

Daenerys had been born here but it felt more like home in some ways to Tyrion. The call of the gulls (when the dragons were off hunting) and the sounds of the sea especially upon waking would make him think he was back in Casterly. So much so that sometimes he would reach for Sansa, lost in his dream that they had made it safely to his ancestral home.

But then he would open his eyes and she wasn't there. The only consolation being that he had learned that Jon and Sansa had taken back Winterfell from the Bolton bastard with the help of the Vale knights, wildlings(?), and bannerman like the Mormonts that were still loyal to House Stark.

Tyrion was happy that Sansa was finally home but a petty part of him wished it was him rather than her brother that had secured it for him.

But he was no warrior, no hero, no knight. Nor a King or Prince. Just a dwarf with a sharp mind and sharper tongue. An amusing side character in the story of her life. No doubt, one of the handsome knights of the Vale was wooing her now or she had found her soulmate in one of the Northman that had fought for her home. He had no doubt she would find him.

If anybody deserved the fairy tale ending, it was Sansa Stark.

As for himself, he sometimes dwelled on the witch's words about his soulmate when he was deep in his cups. (Back to whom? Tysha? He wasn't sure if she was either alive or if he'd even recognize her after all these years. If she were alive and sane she'd run at the site of any dwarf. Mostly she was a ghost that haunted him, an apparition from another life.) Sometimes he thinks he imagined the conversation. But mostly he doubted he even had a soulmate and his soulmark was there to guide him to the service of others whose destiny was far greater than his own.

He was a side character in their great narrative as well and that had never been more evident when his Queen met Jon Snow, bastard born Stark, now King of the North.


When Jon arrived on the beach that day, he only allowed himself to ask about Sansa briefly. He was pleased from Jon's comments to learn that Sansa had grown into the formidable woman he knew she would be. With a heavy heart, he doubted he would ever see it for himself. Perhaps when things were settled, Cersei deposed and Daenerys on the throne, he would write to her. Let her know that there was no ill will towards her or that he would not try to claim his runaway bride as Theon had feared. All he could do until then is assure her brother of the sham nature of their marriage.

The Dragon Queen was clearly making a display of power for the newly named King when they entered the Dragonstone throne room that day. (Honestly Tyrion had seen both thrones, and the giant one hune out of black rock from the bowels of the earth was far more intimidating than that ugly iron chair.) Gone were the light, flowing dresses of Mereen and in their place black wool with leather corsets. He saw Jon's eyes go wide at his first glance of Daenerys Targaryen and assumed like most men it was a combination of her beauty and power that overwhelmed him.

It was so, so, so much more than that.

(Many years ago Tyrion had attended the wedding of the son of a minor vassel. One that Tywin did not much care for, so Tyrion was sent as Lannister representative as an underhanded insult to the Lord. Tyrion expected it to be a dull affair, but it proved to be the most talked about wedding of the year when the bride and the groom's younger brother proved to be soulmates at first sight halting the wedding immediately. It was quite the scandal, but in time the two soulmates were wed and a cousin or maybe a younger sister was found for the elder boy to marry.

What Tyrion remembers most was the look of shock on their faces that transformed into joy as the two strangers, now soulmates, locked eyes onto each other. The expressions of wonder as they touched hands and read each other's marks. It wasn't a common thing to know each other at first glimpse and definitely not in such a dramatic fashion. Soulmate revelations were usually a private affair. Tyrion doubted he would ever be witness to such a display again.)

What he beheld now, as ice met fire, put that display to shame. It was a mere candle compared to the rising sun.

Jon clutched his arm and staggered, his eyes never leaving hers. He hurriedly threw off his glove and pushed the sleeve of his coat back, his jerky movements alarming the Dothraki guards that growled and moved towards him. A sharp word from Daerneys stopped them. Confused she glanced at Missandei, before she too clutched her arm and a sharp cry somewhere between pain and ecstasy escaped her lips. Her head whipped around to meet Jon's and they just started at each other in disbelief.

Slowly she stood and walked down the steps, rolling her sleeve up her arm. (Tyrion realized he had never seen her soulmark before as she always wore jewelry in Meereen or long sleeves now in the West. He assumed like most Targaryens, who traditionally intermarried, she didn't have one. Although there had been some rumors about her eldest brother involving a late blooming soulmark leading to his obsession with Lyanna Stark.) Finally, face to face with each other she held her arm out to him. He looked at it and read "Direwolf" in a deep voice strangled with thick emotion. She reached for his arm pulling it to her chest. "Dragon" she said, her voice trembling and in that moment the regal Queen was gone and she was just Daenerys the woman.

"It's you." she said in awe, caressing his face tenderly.

"It's us." he said as a smile lit up his face before Jon pulled his soulmate into his arms and kissed her as if she was the most precious thing in the world.

It was a beautiful scene fit for the great stories Sansa loved at least when she believed in soulmates. It almost made him believe that he would find his soulmate someday.

But alas he was just a side character in everybody's life, never a leading man. After all in what story does the dwarf get the maiden and live happily ever after?