Arya
Arya Stark had to admit that her elder sister Sansa had been acting very out of character lately since the royal family had come to visit their home that summer. She rarely smiled, she didn't even gush over being courted by the Crown Prince any more – despite the great honour of the royal visit and the attentions of the crown prince.
In fact, now that she thought more deeply about the situation, it had been going on for a while, since Joffrey and the court had arrived at Winterfell for the King's visit, and try as she might she couldn't work out the reason for it. Once her curiosity had been ignited, she worried at it like a broken tooth, her sharp mind constantly poking and prodding at it until she was satisfied.
At first Sansa had seemed to be accepting of the Crown Prince's proposal. In fact, she'd become fairly insufferable over it, both her and Jeyne constantly chattering about it, dreaming of future glories of being the Queen of such a large kingdom and bearing Joffrey's babies but something had definitely changed within the last couple of weeks and her enthusiasm for the match had dimmed. If she didn't know better she would have said that Sansa had changed her mind; that she didn't want Joffrey at all and wanted to call the whole thing off.
Why would Sansa change her mind over something so important to her? Something so important to the whole family and the region? Sansa who as Septa Mordane never tired of reiterating knew her duty as a high-born maiden?
It started to niggle at her so fiercely that she found herself following her and her best friend Jeyne round the grounds of Winterfell, watching closely with new eyes. There had to be a reason for this change of heart and Arya Stark was going to find out what it was- even if it killed her!
She's my sister but now she feels like a stranger. Arya told herself as she observed her sister and her mysterious change of heart.
She saw Sansa and Jeyne in the courtyard wrapped up warm in fur-trimmed woollen cloaks.
Some of the lads were showing off in the Yard, keen to show off their prowess in front of the ladies and the southrons. The presence of ladies and members of the court spurring them to new heights.
Arya snorted at them trying to impress Sansa and Jeyne, those silly geese. What would they know about weapon-craft? She had no doubt they were only there to eye the men.
Theon Greyjoywas there in the yard with them, swapping coarse epithets and training with the men. He's decent with a sword, lithe and agile rather than possessing brute strength but it's when the group switch to archery practice that he really shines. Even the courtiers take notice as he hits the target every time, admiring his aim and skill.
She had to admit that he is a good archer, perhaps a great one. He used to give her tips when she was first starting to shoot, never teasing her about her will to learn how to fight. She'd asked him why he didn't reprove her for not being lady-like and he'd smiled, the long sharp mobile line of his mouth going up at the side.
"Women of the Isles fight alongside their men and defend the home whilst we are away. Some of them even crew and command ships." he'd remarked. "My sister used to train with me back home. She was always showing me up-"
She'd been so startled he'd been surprisingly open for a change that it wasn't until much later that she'd realised that he never spoke much of his family. Not even to Robb, who was his best friend at Winterfell.
Sansa was watching him closely that morning, hands clenching so hard on the rail her knuckles turned pale. Her breathing was shallow and her eyes bright as stars, betraying her inner excitement kept under firm control.
He glanced her way, a brief thing that only Arya sharp-eyed and curious even noticed. The corner of his mouth turned up in a smile half cocky and half tender as he returned her stare.
Sansa met his gaze, her cheeks flushing prettily. There was no mistaking the unmistakable longing in her sister's eyes as their eyes met. The radiant flush of her cheeks as she beheld him. The tension between the two of them almost visible like sparks from a forge.
It was a wonder that no one else was sharp eyed enough to notice what was going on right under their own noses.
Not one of her stupid crushes again? Ever since Sansa got older and started being interested in men it was all she ever seemed to think about. She lived in a dream world of songs and overblown fantasies as if she was the heroine of some sappy sentimental ballad. Arya couldn't understand it frankly. The Old Gods forbid I ever start acting like that! All giggly and swoony in the sight of a man. And over Theon of all people!
He'd been around for so long she thought of him like one of her own brothers- always there, part of the fabric and background of home. But not truly part of the family- she never forgot that. But it had started to seem that Sansa had.
How could Sansa entertain romantic thoughts about him? And why would he be encouraging her silliness?
He was darkly handsome she supposed and she'd seen enough servant-girls and maids swooning over him. He was an unrepentant rake, a scoundrel who'd dallied with most of the serving maids. She'd heard her mother talking to her septa in disapproving tones about his exploits, coming to the sorrowful conclusion he couldn't help himself; it was his Ironborn blood showing all too well.
What in the name of all's good was Sansa thinking of?
You wouldn't catch me acting like that! Arya thought with no little scorn as distracted from her thoughts and pondering she scampered off to see what was available from the kitchens.
God preserve me from growing up and running man-mad!