"She's so small."
"Shh. I know, she's supposed to be."
"But she's so small." Sansa sounded incredulous, as though she could not quite believe that the little thing in the cradle in front of them was really their new sister. "I wasn't ever that small!"
"Were too," Robb informed her, firmly, "You were even smaller, too. I remember." Sansa screwed up her face.
"I don't."
"Of course you don't, you were too little." He ruffled his little sister's hair and peered over the side of the cradle again. "Lookit, I think she's going to have dark hair like father's." A few sparse dark hairs swirled on the top of their little sister's head.
Sansa looked displeased. "Why can't she have red hair like me and you?"
"Not everyone has to have red hair."
"No, but she's my sister. She should look like me so we can pretend to be each other when we play." Robb grinned and tugged her into a hug again.
"Aren't you a sneaky little girl."
Sansa gave him a small and delicate frown before looking back down at her sister. "Her head's shaped funny," she complained.
"I thought you wanted a sister," Robb said mildly. "I don't think we can put her back now." Sansa blushed.
"I know, and I do, it's just…" She stood on tiptoe. "When will she start moving around?"
As if listening, their baby sister turned over in her sleep, opened her eyes, looked back and forth from Sansa to Robb with utter solemnity, and yelled louder than he'd ever heard a baby yell before. "No, no, no, stop," Sansa was yelping frantically, and Robb looked helplessly for their mother, but just as suddenly as little Arya Stark had started howling, she stopped, settled back down, and went solidly back to sleep.
He let out a breath of relief. Sansa looked cross. "Is she always going to yell like that?" Robb frowned his serious, small-boy frown and looked back down at the now sleeping Arya. Sansa peered nervously over his shoulder. "And is she going to do that again?"
"Shh." Robb shook his head. He'd wanted a brother, but…he supposed this little stranger would have to do. Standing on tiptoes, he reached over the edge of the cradle and touched one of her small hands. Immediately her fingers closed like a little vice over his fingertips.
"Welcome to Winterfell, Arya Stark," he said, formally. Sansa poked her head under his arm.
"When will she be big enough to play princess with me? I want her to grow up."
Robb took his sister's arm and led her gently toward the door. So far their parents hadn't come back to scold them for being up, and more, intruding on the baby's rest, but he was sure it was only a matter of time. "What," Robb teased with a bit of a grin. "I'm not enough for you?"
She stuck out her tongue at him. "You're not a girl. That's all. I want a girl to play with." Sansa frowned slightly. "I wasn't really that small, was I?"
He nodded, solemnly. "You were. And it was just the same, except you were all quiet, and mother had to tell me what to say." He reached out and ruffled her hair again. Sansa sniffed, affronted. There was a bit of a silence.
"Do you think she'll like me?" Sansa asked in a quavering voice. Robb laughed.
"Sansa, how could anyone not like you," he asked affectionately, and she smiled at him, skipping over to kiss his cheek.
"Night, Robb," she said, cheerfully.
"Night, Sansa."
On the way back to his own room, stumbling blindly through the dark, Robb changed course slightly. He thought Jon might like to meet this one, too.