Sansa had organized a ball. A huge, ostentatious ball with three courses of food, singers, musicians and everything imaginable that could be required in an affair such as a ball. And she had invited the whole of Westeros too, it seemed. All kinds of people and all kinds of sigils paraded through the courtyard of Winterfell as the people arrived the day before.

It was beyond Jon why people would travel days, even months, just to go to a goddamn ball. But there was no way of mistaking it; there were sigils from Dorne, from the Stormlands, the Riverlands, the Crownlands, the Westerlands, from everywhere. It seemed like everyone was there, except for the Royal Family which was odd.

The reason to the ball seemed to be nonexistent. Apparently, Sansa just felt like it and, judging by the look on Bran's face, he had felt like it too. Which was, again, odd. The whole thing was odd.

But the fact remained. There was a ball, there were hundreds of guests and just… people. A lot of people.

"I don't like this," Rickon leaned closer to Jon. They were seated in the main table, next to Bran, as they looked at the people mingling and chatting and doing everything but dancing. "I don't trust this. And where the hell is Arya?"

Jon had been wondering the same ever since this thing had started. There was no sign of Arya, no sign of Sansa; both of them completely absent. If she organized this whole thing, she could at least show up.

"I don't know," You know nothing, Jon Snow, Ygritte's voice came unbidden and Jon sighed, feeling defeated. "I have no idea. What is this, anyway? Aren't balls supposed to be about dancing?"

"Is a proposal ball."

Both Rickon and Jon snapped their heads in Bran's direction when he spoke. "A proposal ball? What the hell is that?" Rickon's patience was running thin, not that Jon could blame him. It was known that Rickon liked to move and do stuff, yet he remained seated and had behaved for the time being. Something in his eyes told Jon he wasn't going to comply with the good behaved boy image for much longer.

"If a hard-to-manage amount of men or women present interest in the same person, the family organizes a proposal ball where all the suitors show up and try to capture the attention of the desired lady or lord."

"Why are you smiling?" Jon asked suspiciously at Bran's expression.

"No reason. No reason at all."

"So Sansa is getting married soon." Rickon looked much more relaxed now that he knew what the whole thing was about and sipped his wine, and then made a face. He didn't like sweet drinks apparently and changed to a stronger wine.

"They are here for Arya as well" Bran said calmly.

The wine in Rickon's mouth was catapulted forward as the poor boy choked. Not that Jon was too pending on that. The comment had baffled him so much, he had squeezed the glass in his hand till it shattered. Now there were shreds of glass on his palm and hot blood dripping on the table.

A serving girl had approached quickly and was taking the broken glass away, cleaning the blood from his hand carefully.

"Thank you," he managed to murmur through clench teeth, his eyes fixed on Bran. He looked terribly amused. "Care to elaborate on that, dear brother."

He still called him brother. Rickon and him were brothers still in his eyes, as Sansa was his sister. The only one who he now referred to differently was Arya. He had changed the little sister for little wolf—not that she was little at all—and, in private, he called her my love and sometimes he used slightly more inappropriate names. Always in private, of course.

"Sansa received a lot of letters last week with marriages proposals for Arya. A lot for herself too. She knew that talking to Arya would be futile, so she thought it better if she invited everyone here so Arya could meet them herself before passing on judgement. And, of course, she's scouting her possibilities too."

Jon was trembling. He wasn't sure if it was shock, or maybe panic, or perhaps rage. It felt like rage. It felt a lot like rage.

"So you have done this without telling Arya at all?" Rickon said whilst he cleaned the wine from his mouth. Then, he barked his characteristic loud laugh and continued laughing for several minutes. "Oh," he managed to say through fits of laughter, "oh, poor Sansa must be dead right now. Arya killed her, I'm sure"

He would've found the whole thing amusing too if he could stop trembling. They—they can't do this. A feeling of hopelessness took hold of his heart, taking his breath away. They cannot do this. With trembling hands, he reached for his new cup filled with wine and drank its whole content in one gulp.

"Is that why Jon was forced to wear Targaryen colors, for once? To distinct him as the only royal present?" Rickon seemed even more amused now and Jon couldn't understand for the love of the Gods why he was so relaxed. They are taking Arya away, you fool, he wanted to scream.

Bran smiled sheepishly. "Of course. It's not like he is a suitor." Jon straightened when he heard that, his curiosity peaked. "Right, Jon?"

"And what if I wanted to? Would you be horrified, brother?" he tried to smile to pass it on as a jape but his face wouldn't respond. He was too focused on holding the glass gently to avoid breaking this one as well.

"Politically, of course not. You are a prince, second heir to the throne."

Jon gulped, staring at his cup, and with his thumb and index finger he slowly rotated the glass, making the light play and reflect with the wine. "And personally?"

"Oh." Bran kept silent for a few seconds. Seconds where Jon's heart was clenched tightly and his breath was hitched in his throat. "Do you want to marry one of my sisters? Because I don't think I would mind if she wanted to marry you. After all, none of them is truly your sibling and I know exactly what kind of man you are. I actually trust you so I think—"

His voice was cut off by the sound of the doors opening and all the voices in the room faded away as the people stared at the two persons coming in.

Sansa and Arya were standing together. Sansa smiling charmingly and Arya with a blank expression that gave nothing away. They were both dressed magnificently and Arya was actually wearing a dress, under Sansa's insistence no doubt.

She looked like a winter breeze in a night sky. Her dark hair was fashioned in a complicated braid that somehow managed to still looked northern, covered in sparkling jewels that looked like starlight. She stood in a long, soft dress that covered her feet and brushed the floor, dancing around her legs as she moved, her arms covered in intricate lace, a single jeweled dagger strapped to her hips; probably the only weapon that Sansa allowed her to wear but Jon was sure she had more hidden under the layers and layers of that elegant, flowing skirt.

As soon as they both stepped in they were approached to be greeted with courteous words and gracious smiles.

A blonde boy, wearing the sigil of the Daynes of Starfall, approached Arya and took her hand. Jon was expecting people to approach and greet her but he was not expecting the smile that took over Arya's face and the warm way she greeted the man. What the—

"You didn't answer, Jon".

Jon reluctantly tore his eyes away from the scene to look at Bran. "Excuse me, what?"

"Do you want to marry one of my sisters?"

He stuttered. "I—", he looked in Arya's direction again. She was hugging him. His blood boiled. "I need to go." He stood up quickly and left the table in haste.

"Jon," Bran called as he was walking away. Jon turned, anxious, and raised his eyebrows waiting for Bran to speak. "If I'd said I had a problem with you marrying one of my sisters, would that have stopped you?"

He knows. He knows, he knows, he knows. He could tell by the expression on his face and the glint in his eyes that it was an hypothetical question. He's Bran so, obviously, he knows.

"Would that stop Arya?" he asked back.

"Of course not," answered Rickon for them, sipping more wine. At this rate, he would be drunk before the actual dinner started.

"Then you have my answer right there."

He turned to leave and felt Bran say at his back. "Good."

He moved quickly through the crowd of people, everyone making way for the Targaryen prince. Arya was still talking with the Lord of Starfall but now another Dayne had joined. This one was older with a look that spoke of trouble. Jon dreaded him more than the one that looked like a prince from the songs. Arya had a thing for trouble.

He was close enough to hear him introduce himself. "Gerold Dayne, my lady. They call me Darkstar." Gerold smiled, probably believing his smile to be seductive. Arya smiled politely in return but Jon could see the shadow of annoyance in her eyes.

With swift moves he placed himself next to Arya and glared coldly at the Daynes. "My lords, if you excuse me, I need to steal this she-wolf for a minute." His arm came to rest possessively across her shoulders, his hand grabbing hers to lead her away. Arya took a step closer to him, her back coming to rest against his chest. Jon knew what it meant. Take me away from this fool before I snap at him.

Both men lifted their eyes, probably to scold at him, but the youngest one composed himself quickly once he saw the three-headed dragon on Jon's chest. "Of course, my prince."

Arya smiled to the boy, taking his hand and murmuring a swift Excuse me before walking away with Jon. He huffed.

"Excuse me? What was that?" he whispered trying to keep hold of his own anger. He didn't understand why she was being so polite to the boy nor he understood his own feelings.

"Manners? You know, the ones Sansa is always trying to make me learn?"

"You didn't excuse yourself with Darkstar" he announced the name mockingly and Arya snorted.

"Because I barely know him and I don't like him. I like Ned."

Jon's eyes widen and he felt himself growl. "You like Ned? What the—?"

"I met him once, when I was travelling with the Brotherhood. He was kind to me, Jon. He was a friend." Jon opened his mouth to argue again but she snapped firmly: "He is a friend."

He huffed, annoyed and angry. Frustration was coursing through his veins and he couldn't stop holding her to him possessively as they walked through the hall. "Well, your friend wants to marry you."

"Bad luck for him that I don't want to marry him."

He stopped walking abruptly, forcing her to stop as well. She turned to look at him and waited patiently for him to speak. "I don't want you to marry him."

"I won't."

"I don't want you to marry anyone."

She smiled like he was asking her the easiest thing in the world. "I won't."

He sighed and looked her in the eyes. It was something he did a lot.. He often looked at her, studying her features and her gestures—always amazed by the little signs that told that, deep down, she still was who she used to be. Always getting hypnotized by the beauty she had become.

She's not beautiful like Sansa, he mused looking at her then. Wild and unruly, she's too much of a wolf to hold the docile beauty Sansa carries. Arya's beauty was a sharp one, hard edges and lethal curves. A beauty that did not speak of innocence and kind words with a soft touch. It was a wild beauty that spoke of unbidden desires and maddening words with an addictive touch. As alluring as any beauty can be, and as tempting as anything unreachable can seem. Dangerous, forbidden, she seemed untouchable. Unobtainable.

But then she would smile at him. A loving smile, a happy smile, and it never failed to make him feel welcome, to make him feel like he belonged. She always had that talent, even when they were children. Specially when they were children. To make him feel home and accepted. To make him feel loved.

Arya smiled in that moment. A half-smile, a secret smile and he felt himself smile unconsciously in response. Oh, Gods, he was in love with her. There was music playing and he wasn't sure when had the music started. He could see Rickon running—because he couldn't call that dancing—around with some girl and a few other couples dancing cheerfully.

So he took Arya hands and asked. "Would you dance with me?"

"I'm supposed to be dancing with my suitors," she finished the sentence with an unladylike snort that would've made Sansa cringe, but lucky for both of them she was sitting at the main table next to Bran. He could feel their eyes on Arya and him.

He smiled widely. Sneaky liars, the both of them. "Exactly."

Arya arched an eyebrow but he didn't gave her time to reply as he led her to dance the cheerful, fast song. She followed gracefully, laughing along the way. The dancing might've seen innocent enough but it was a proposal ball after all. Now the world knew he wanted Arya and not in the way a brother would care for a sister. Now the world knew that Arya belonged with him.

Through the edge of his sight he could see Sansa and Bran staring at them with equal smiles of victory. Then, they looked at each other and clinked their glasses as if their grand secret complot had been a complete success.

Sneaky liars indeed.

A/N: I'm not sure if there are balls and such in Westeros but I thought it could be fun?

Thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed this chapter and, please, don't forget to leave a review.