It was odd to have them there—Sansa mused constantly, staring at each one of them when she saw them pass through the halls of Winterfell—and it was odd, and strange, and peculiar; and frightening. It was definitely frightening to have them all there.
Bran with his quiet attitude, his soft smile and his knowing eyes. With an aura of solitude around him even when he was surrounded by people, an aura of wisdom that didn't agree with his age, an aura of power that seemed out of place in such a sweet face.
Arya with her graceful moves, her sharp stare and her careful reactions. With an air of danger that surrounded her at all times, an air of secrecy that clinged to her soul, an air of calmness that seemed so out of place on someone who was once so loud, so carefree, so spontaneous.
Rickon with his loud laugh, his fierce temper and his impatient tendencies. With a sense of reckless energy that ran through his veins, a sense of rage and anger that tainted his moods, a sense of irrational fear that hid in his every move.
And now Jon. Jon with his solemn mannerism, his guarded stance and his melancholic smile. With an aura of authority that made him look imposing, an air of spectrality that clouded his eyes as if the dead were just behind his eyelids, a sense of raw power that seemed to come with everything that was touched by fire.
All and each one of them dark, darker and darker. None of them who they used to be, just a bunch of bodies that kept the ghosts that were now their souls bound to Winterfell. Always carrying an invisible weight that kept dragging them down.
The worst part, though, was that said all wasn't even complete. Because father wasn't there, mother wasn't there, Robb wasn't there. All three of them gone and lost forever. Not even their ghosts wandering around, not even their bones buried in the crypts. Gone as if they were never truly there.
We are all here and at the same time we are not.
Sansa wondered in silence if they would ever come back. She didn't know but all of them together would find out, surely. All of them together had to find out or she was going to drown and suffocate in pain. And she had not come all this way to get lost, to wither like a leaf in the autumn whose only path was to fall to the dirt and root in the ground.
No, they would come back. All and each one of them. Winter is here but the Starks have always endured winter. And now we are all together. She remembered something she heard Arya say a few days past to Rickon:
"Father used to say the lone wolf dies but the pack survives."
They were a pack now and they would survive. They had survived as lone wolves, there was no doubt they would survive as a pack. She just didn't know how long it would take them to come back.
Luckily for her, it seemed it wouldn't take too long.
The first sign of her family coming back came a particularly warm morning, a few days after Jon's arrival.
She was thoughtfully working in a new dress, the whole process of working with a needle and a thread so calming and familiar that she couldn't avoid coming back to it as often as her duties allowed her; when she heard the surprised grunt and the breathless laughter.
There was something about the way the laughter carried out through the air and into her bedroom window that made her heart ache, like a distant and specific memory she couldn't distinctly select playing out from the farthest part of her mind. A warm laugh, wild and contagious, dancing in the air like snowflakes in a soft breeze.
Sansa left the needle and the thread of her sewing on the table, unsteady feet leading her to the open window and her breath forming fogs in the still chilly air. Leaning over the sill, she looked outside at the courtyard and a smile wrecked through her face when she caught sight of what was happening down there.
Arya was still laughing, her head thrown back in a careless manner that now seemed foreign in such a carefully controlled woman. Rickon, laughing too—loud, deep, wolfish laughter mingling with Arya's—was laying on one of the stone benches, his eyes half-closed. And Jon was in the middle of them both, standing perfectly still; snow already melting dripping from the right side of his face and hair, and even from a distance Sansa could tell he was fighting back a smile.
Then she saw how—taking advantage of both Rickon's and Arya's distraction—he took a handful of snow from the floor and hurriedly shaped it like a ball. It hit Arya directly in the neck, a part of it falling insider her clothes, and the laughter turned to a shriek so ladylike Rickon laughed even louder, falling from the bench on top of Shaggydog after losing his balance.
Without thinking twice, Sansa turned around and fled out of the room, her steps loudly resonating in the stonewalls. By the time she reached the courtyard, snowballs were flying everywhere from every direction. At some point, Bran and the wolves had joined them. Bran sitting in his wheelchair, Hodor shaping snowball after snowball and passing them to him. The wolves running around, catching the snowballs mid air with bared teeth, shaking their heads as the snow melted in their mouths.
Sansa stepped forward, wanting to join the fun but feeling oddly cautious, fearful they would stop playing once they saw her. The minute she stepped into the firing line a snowball hit the left side of her face and the sudden cold froze her, her mouth opening in a perfectly shaped 'o'.
Silence took the air and everybody stopped moving for a moment, all of them seeming careful and uncertain of how to react. Sansa inhaled deeply and decided to evoke the past a little bit more and; with a whiny, childlike and distinctly girly voice, she cried:
"Arya! My hair!" she quickly turned to look at her sister, fake horror and annoyance on her face. Arya blinked several times, as if trying to wipe the image of the memory out of her eyes and see the reality in front of her. They both smiled wickedly at the same time.
"Ugh, Sansa, you are such a lady!" Arya whined too, imitating Sansa's tone in childish mockery and immediately threw another snowball in her direction. Sansa ducked and collected snow from the floor, ready to return the blow.
The fighting began anew with even more energy and, since they didn't even have enough material to begin with, it wasn't long until they started throwing mud instead of snow. Sansa's dress was completely ruined and her hair felt heavier because of all the mud in it but, for once, she couldn't care less. She was breathless and happy, her face aching for smiling so widely. Truly, it was a wonder no mud had gotten into her mouth.
Jon's hair was covered with mud completely, not a single strand had escaped the dirt. Arya had mud all over her legs, but none even remotely closely to her face; she was too damn fast and mud flew slower than snow. Rickon was covered in mud from head to toe, but partly because he decided it would be a good idea to throw himself in the middle of the mud and roll around, making Jon fall in the process. And Bran was pristine, just a few drops of mud here and there, since Hodor had been his human shield the whole time.
The wolves had disappeared, probably heading to the hot springs to clean themselves and soon the human part of the family dispersed to do the same.
Sansa smiled during the rest of the day, feeling lightheaded and hopeful. Just like when they were all children. Carefree, simple; life was full of possibilities.
The happy bubble exploded later the next day. The sun was hiding, painting the sky in soft pinks, angry reds and cheerful oranges. making the northern sky come alive beautifully; but Sansa had no time for such things. A few letters had just arrived and the news in them made her sigh in sympathy.
They were marriage proposals for Arya. A lot of marriage proposals for Arya. From Edric Dayne of Starfall to Brandon Tallhart of Torrhen's Square. A great number of houses wanted to form an alliance with House Stark, the new House Stark. Specially now that they were related to the Royal Family through Jon. Royal Family that owned dragons. Plus, the news of Arya looking like Lyanna Stark reborn, the woman whose beauty had torn a kingdom apart, only attracted more people; like bees to the honey. Of course, Arya thought them all fools. Her sister wasn't worried about beauty and wouldn't fall for cute words and poetics comparisons about her beauty and nature.
Arya wanted something more.
Which is why I need to discuss this with her before doing anything else. She'll take offense if I don't.
With a sigh of sympathy for herself—Arya could be painfully stubborn when it came to marriages—she carefully folded the letters and tuck them all together in one of the drawers of her desk. She stood up, dusted off her dress and walked towards the courtyard, which was the place her sister frequented the most.
She didn't find her there, finding Rickon instead beating some poor boy from House Lightfood, who'd come to Winterfell to meet the family and casually was Rickon's same age. The poor boy didn't stand a chance against her youngest brother, not after the savages from Skagos and not after his training under Arya's careful eyes, but he was trying still, knowing Rickon despised weakness and people who gave up. The poor boy had travelled to befriend Rickon probably believing him to be a frightened and harmless boy.
She shook her head and called to him. "Rickon, have you seen Arya? I need to speak with her"
Rickon didn't miss a beat, blocking the other boy's poor attempts of an offensive. "What for?"
Sansa rolled her eyes. Always so protective of her. "I need to ask her opinion about some letters. Important stuff, you know."
Rickon nodded and turned his head to flash her a brief smile before turning back to his opponent. Or training dummy, more accurately. "She's in the Godswood."
"Thank you, brother." She turned away but turned back quickly. "And don't hurt that poor boy!"
As she was leaving she could hear Rickon claiming that there was no other way the boy would learn and that he was, actually, being kind. Sansa just rolled her eyes and tried to hide her smile as she walked through the edge of the courtyard towards the Godswood. The sun was hiding quickly and the cold air was rising. She hid her hands in the fur of her dress and walked faster.
She reached the trees and headed to the Heart Tree when Arya suddenly appeared out of nowhere. Her skin was flushed, her breath accelerated, her pupils dilated. Sansa stopped abruptly, just like Arya did and blinked in disbelief. Arya never looked so worked up.
"Sister, is everything okay?" Sansa asked, truly worried, but just as quickly as Arya had showed up, her bewildered behavior disappeared, as if it had never been there. All of a sudden, she looked fresh, calm, in control. Her eyes had regained their normal quality and the blush in her cheeks seemed to be only because of the cold. Her breathing was as calm as still water.
"Of course. Why wouldn't it be?" her voice was normal, light, relaxed. But there was something that remained odd. Her lips were swollen, redder than usual, slightly bruised.
She's been kissing someone. Sansa realized immediately and looked away in a desperate attempt to keep her sister from seeing the surprise in her eyes. Luckily for her, Arya might have seemed in control, but she was still too distracted to notice the slight movement and just smiled slightly.
"Were you looking for me?"
"Yes," Sansa knew better than to lie. "I—"
She was interrupted by a second person showing up just as abruptly as her sister had. Jon came out of the trees looking agitated and slightly confused. He raised his eyebrows when he saw them and tried to smile normally. Oh, Arya is a much better liar, Sansa thought, almost amused. Just one look at Jon's face and Sansa immediately knew who Arya had been kissing.
I cannot believe this.
Arya bit her lip when she saw Jon, her eyes drifting to him for just a second, his eyes answering as if her stare was an irresistible call. And Sansa noticed the whole thing.
"I needed your opinion about some letters but, it's getting late, we should do it tomorrow. Right now, I would like to spend some time in the Godswood by myself. Just a moment of peace." The words slipped from her lips easily, none of them a lie. It was getting late and, after what she had just realized, she wanted some time to think. I cannot believe this.
Arya nodded. "Of course, I'll see you at supper." One last smile and Arya was walking away, her legs carrying her towards the castle a little bit faster than necessary.
Sansa turned to look at Jon who was staring at Arya walking away with an odd glint in his eyes. Suddenly, he noticed Sansa's stare on him and turned warily.
"What?" he asked, almost defensively.
Sansa resisted the urge to laugh. "Nothing."
They stayed a few more seconds there. Jon looking confused still and Sansa trying not to laugh. Eventually they both nodded and walked in opposite directions.
Oh, I cannot believe this! This changes everything. As much as she tried, the smile wouldn't leave her face.
Three days later, at a feast in honor of House Reed, who was visiting Winterfell—no surprise, they visited as often as they could—, Sansa stared at Arya and Jon, talking and laughing with all the ease in the world.
She smiled and turned to Bran. "Do you think we should have Arya and Jon get married? Like aunt Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar but with a much, much happier ending! The ceremony would be at the Godswood, of course, and Arya could wear winter roses in her hair, and Jon could wear the Targaryen colors but with a direwolf instead of a three-headed dragon. Oh, it could be just like the songs!"
Bran looked at her with an amused glint in his eyes, threw his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed. Obviously, he knew exactly why she had come up with that idea all of a sudden. Sansa pressed her lips together, trying not to follow him in his laughter and turned to look at Arya and Jon again, sharing their secret smiles.
Sansa more than anybody knew that life was not a song. That, however, didn't mean she wasn't going to try to make it as beautiful as one. She was going to goddamn try because if she didn't, who was going to?
Life was not a song. But it could. Oh, it could.
A/N: I have the feeling some of you might think: "Oh, you are portraying Sansa as if she still believes in song and she's not that girl anymore!" And I know, people, I know. But you know what's the beauty of this? She knows that but she's still willing to try and be happy and I just think that's precious. Because she deserves it. A happy life to go along a happy song.
Please, tell me your opinion about this second chapter! Your reviews make my day brighter. Thank you for reading!