A tag for season 7, my way of answering the riddle of the Stark girls and their "fight" and my idea of what went on behind the scenes.

They all had their scars. They were survivors. Arya had her list-the names of all those who had hurt or tried to end the Stark name. Were Sansa to make a list of her own, she was sure it would share many of the same names. Many who were, as Arya had said, already dead.

As the three talked in the crisp, cold air beneath the branches of the Weirwood, they discovered there was one name that belonged on that list no less than even Joffrey or Cersei.

Petyr Baelish. Had it not been for his treachery, all those years ago, Lord Stark may have never left Winterfell. Arya's list would never have been.

"There was a reason you came North, Arya." Bran said, no emotion in his voice. It would never feel right to see him this way. The Bran they knew was gone, lost somewhere deep in the cold North beyond the wall.

But he was right.

"If we do nothing, he'll destroy us, one at a time," Sansa said. "He'll set us against each other. I've seen him do it."

"Then we kill him," Arya said.

Sansa's head snapped around and she stared at her sister. That icey determination, that grim and calculating tone-Sansa hadn't expected it to come from the small, annoying child she'd known all those years ago. But...even Sansa knew she herself had changed. She too had killed. The years had not been kind to any of the Stark children.

The girls took Bran inside, where he asked to be left alone in his room. Whatever he might be seeing now, Sansa wasn't sure she wanted to know. Arya wanted to spend more time with him, but she too clearly sensed the change in him. They did as he asked and retired to the great hall, where servants brought food and wine and then left them alone.

Arya ate as if she'd seen little of food in weeks, possibly months-which, by the look of her, could have been entirely true.

"What happened to him?" Arya asked, her mouth full of lamb. She washed it down with the wine, already reaching for more food to pile on her plate.

Sansa shook her head. "I don't honestly know. From what I've gathered, he was North of the Wall for much of the time I was a prisoner. He found...something. He and Jon call it the Night King. They say it leads the Army of the Dead."

That was enough to stop Arya's feast. She watched Sansa, clearly unsure of what to say. Sansa waited. She wanted to know what her sister thought of it all, without any influence.

"I saw Nymeria."

Sansa blinked. She hadn't expected that response. "What?"

"In the woods, as I came North. She found me. She had her pack with her. She's grown, Sansa-as big as a horse, I swear it."

"Did she know you?"

"Yes. The wolves found us, Sansa. All of us. It was like they were a sign, we just didn't know it. And Bran, he saw me at the Crossroads. He knew about my list. If all of that could happen…" She trailed off, staring at the fire crackling in the hearth behind Sansa. The light flickered gold in her eyes. "And if Jon's afraid of this Night King...Jon's not afraid of anything."

"I haven't seen it. Bran and Jon say they're coming for all of us. Everyone."

Arya nodded. "We need to be ready."

"How? How can we possibly fight off everyone who wants us dead and the Night King and his army?"

Arya smiled. "That's easy. We kill them first."

Sansa stared-Arya had always been her odd little sister. But something in the way she spoke made Sansa believe, truly believe. Gone was the sweet, yet feisty little girl with a temper. She'd gone through hell and came out hard and cold and sharp.

"What happened to you?"

Arya leaned back, her confident smile fading to a thin ghost that stretched her lips. "Like I said, it's a long story."

"Fortunately we seem to have plenty of wine."

Both shared a laugh now, one that faded in memory as Arya added, "I'll tell mine if you tell yours."

"I'm sure you'll think it's dull."

"Come on, it's not fair that Bran's the one who gets to know everything."

Sansa cringed-if Bran had truly seen everything… She met her sister's eyes, both women serious now. "Okay."

"I'll start," Arya said. She poured them each a mug of wine. Sansa took hers, Arya waiting for her to take a drink before she began.

"I was there. When they took Father's head. I tried to save him, but Yoren stopped me. He took me North with him, but the Lannisters found us. They took us to Harrenhal. Tywin Lannister was there." She paused, seeming to remember something. "And Lord Baelish. They were planning, together."

"Lord Baelish? Why didn't you mention that before!"

"It wasn't as if you didn't distrust him already, remember. It would have made no difference."

Sansa sighed. "I suppose. I'm sorry, go on."

Arya breezed over their escape, giving little detail as to how it was managed. Their trek north was again halted by another capture, this one leading her into the hands of the Hound.

"The Hound? I had wondered what became of him."

"He said he saved you."

Sansa nodded. "He did."

"Huh," Arya went silent for a moment. "I didn't believe him."

"Where did he take you?"

Arya's eyes returned to the fire. "To the Twins. Robb was to be married to one of the Freys, so the Hound said. He was going to ransom me, see. I was almost home."

Sansa's mouth had gone dry. She clutched her mug with trembling fingers. She wasn't sure she wanted to hear it-Joffrey had made sure she knew what had happened. She had no idea that Arya had been there… She sat in silence, afraid to break whatever spell Arya was in.

"They cut off Robb's head. They speared Gray Wind's head on his body and rode him around, laughing. I don't know how we got out of there. The Hound took me to the Eyrie, to sell me to Aunt Lysa, but she was dead too."

"I was there!" Sansa blurted, unable to rein back her surprise. "We were so close!"

"I didn't know. After that, the Hound was bested by a woman-Brienne of Tarth."

So close, again. "Why didn't you go with her?"

Arya took a drink before she answered. "I thought she was working for the Lannisters. At least I knew the Hound wanted me for ransom. I slipped away, found a ship, thought it might take me North to White Harbor or the Watch. But they were going to Braavos. I knew I couldn't fight the Lannisters on my own. Everyone who could help me was dead, except Jon. But I couldn't help him. Now… Now, I'm here."

"Wait-what did you do in Braavos?"

"I...learned." Arya shook her head, gesturing towards Sansa with a now empty mug. "But it's your turn."

Sansa frowned. "That's not fair. You've left most of it out."

Arya smiled a thin, tired smile. "Another night, perhaps. I want to hear your side of things."

Sansa sighed, gazing down into her own mug of wine. It was nearly full, she'd hardly touched it during Arya's tale. She drank now, draining it in one long gulp. "At first, I was a prisoner, in King's Landing. A plaything for Joffrey and Cersei to torment. Then they married me off to the Imp, which was an odd sort of kindness in itself. He tried to protect me, but after Joffrey was killed and we were accused, Lord Baelish got me out of the city. At first, I was grateful, but he was only using me for my name. He needed a Stark. He sold me to the Boltons…" She wasn't watching Arya now, but she felt her sister's gaze. "I escaped. Brienne took me to find Jon, and together we took back Winterfell."

"That's not fair. You've left most of it out."

Sansa laughed as Arya threw her own words back.

"I never thought you and I were much alike," Arya said.

"What do you mean?"

"You said I left out most of my story, but you cut yours all to bits."

"It doesn't matter...not really. What's done, is done. We're Starks, what matters is that we're here. Now. Our family is still alive." Sansa met her sister's' eyes once again. "I wish it hadn't taken all that to make us sisters."

"We were always sisters," Arya insisted.

"I'm sorry I was so horrible to you." It was the same apology she'd made to Jon, but no less necessary now. She hated to think of who she had been back then. So stupid, ignorant.

"So was I. I hated you." Arya smiled a little. "We were terrible to each other. We didn't know."

"No. We didn't. We had everything."

They were both the same now, through some strange twist. They had lost everything and had been through hell. Both had survived, emerging with their own set of skills. Entirely different, and yet...complementary. They had learned how to play the game and emerge alive.

"Now what?" Arya said, adeptly turning the subject back to what had brought them together in the first place. "How do we do this?"

Sansa smiled. "We beat him at his own game.

Arya poured another round of drinks. Together they drank in companionable silence. Whatever tension might have been there before, it was gone now. For the first time since the liberation of Winterfell, Sansa truly felt like they had a real chance. All of them, together.

The Starks of Winterfell were alive.

I never believed the fight between Sansa and Arya, and I was going to be furious if the writers had played it through the way they seemed to be going with it the entire time. I refused to believe that the Starks would turn on each other. Watching back through the season, I believe they were manipulating Petyr the entire time-why? No idea, other than to put him through the same game he'd put Sansa herself through. It certainly made it more shocking for him at the end of the game. I want to see more of the dynamic between Arya and Sansa. They make such a good team. I hate that the season went so fast, there could have been more story here. Ah well, gives me something to write about.

This is not only the first time I've written in the Game of Thrones 'verse, but it's the first fanfiction I've written in many, many years. Thanks for stopping by and reading it! :)