This is the first time I risk writing in another language so… what are the odds of everything being a complete disaster? High? Yeah, though so.

Anyway, a little something inspired by these tweets:

/woIfandstag/status/1123714678927110144

/tenthdonna/status/1124221387109912576

a promise before it all

Sansa has been standing for at least ten minutes when her sister arrives. They don't exchange a word, feeling the tension the third cornet blow has left in the air.

Arya looks down the wall, where Dothraki, Unsullied, Wildlings and Northern take position on the field, arming themselves against the unbeatable threat they were about to face. The girl herself carries a bow on her shoulder and a dragon glass spear in her hands.

The weapon is what first gets Sansa's attention. Most of the dragon glass has been used for knives or a way simpler kind of spear. Sansa had seen them herself when they were distributed and the one Arya is holding looks more complex. It makes her feel an urge for knowing more about her sister. Surely, she knows she can fight, but every time Sansa is more and more amazed and horrified by the things Arya has seen and done.

She could only hope for a future opportunity to know more about that time they were apart.

Then, Sansa looks at her completely. Her clothes are weirdly tied and her hair looks out of place. Arya wasn't one for spending time on her looks, but that didn't seem like her. Since they were reunited, Sansa had noticed how she was more careful with her appearance. She was not a little girl arguing with their mother or Septa Mordane anymore. She had her own hairstyle and clothing, it was true, but never this effortless.

Before she could help herself, Sansa says calmly:

"You know, the Battle hasn't start yet."

Arya looks at her, not understanding the statement of her sister.

"Okay."

"So why you hair looks like you just came back from a fight?"

The younger puts a hand on her hair, because she actually has no idea how it is. Of course Sansa would noticed something like hairstyle when they were about to face imminent death.

"Does it?" Arya asks like she doesn't care very much about this at the moment. And then explains: "Yeah, I was fighting. A bull."

To which Sansa has no idea how to respond so she takes her sister by the shoulders with a raised eyebrow and starts to tie her clothes correctly. She's happy to find something to do with her hands and distract her for a minute from the battle that is about to happen. Arya doesn't fight nor seems bothered.

The older one ends lacing the leather and starts a new work on the hair, undoing the bun that was already half fallen and brushing it with her fingers. Arya rolls her eyes for a moment, thinking about how Sansa can still be thinking about her appearance right now.

But at the minute Sansa starts braiding Arya's hair, they both are crossed by the same thought.

The two sisters remember the way Catelyn used to run her fingers through their hairs, trying to tame the younger as the older always wanted to make her own hairstyle. They think of how much they were whiling to give up right now just so they could feel their mother's affection one more time.

How they wish she was home with them.

Sansa finished the braid and takes the place aside Arya.

"Thanks" the younger says lowly, the smallest of smiles in her lips and feeling glad about the little moment they are sharing.

"You're welcome." Sansa replies, also smiling, but a more melancholic smile. "I know it's a silly thing, but-"

"No," Arya stops her, thinking about their mother and their family. "I don't think it's silly"

They become silent in contemplation of all they went through. Both thinking about how much they longed for each other and their home before they could be in Winterfell again. And how everything was being risked after such a small time.

"Maybe I'll come for you for new hairstyles" Arya breaks the silence. "After you're not so busy anymore."

With the war. Is what she doesn't say but they can hear the omission.

"I'd like that" Sansa smiles again, more confident this time.

That is a promise for both of them. That they will go through more, but survive as many times as they need so they can be happy together again.