Chapter XXVIII: The Song of Ice and Fire

"Sans-"

"No, Arya! You are not saying one more thing and you're doing what I'm telling you to do!"

"Sans-"

Sansa pressed her palm against her lips, and Arya slapped it away.

"Fine. But for one hour."

"Four."

"Two."

"Three, Arya. And don't you dare argue with me. It's Jon's happy. Couldn't you do this for him?"

Arya laughed inwardly. This? She could do anything for Jon. Everything. But that wasn't what mattered here. Wearing a bloody dress wasn't something she was excited for. She didn't look forward to it at all, even if it was for Jon's wedding. If she could, she'd rather the entire ceremony finish without her presence. Of course she wanted to see Jon happy. But was he?

She had been noticing Daenerys' eyes linger on Jon, her hand taking the slightest chance to touch him. But Jon? He was doing this for duty. Not for love.

Arya wouldn't lie to herself. She knew all too well that her heart will never warm towards the Dragon Queen. Jon marrying her would make no difference.

A fear in her heart kept growing and her chest kept tightening. Jon marrying a woman, taking a wife, would mean he was hers no longer. Of course, he wasn't someone she had ownership over, but there was this string that bound them together since birth, even through all the years of separation and a thousand leagues between them. Was it jealousy she felt? She didn't know. She just didn't want Jon to marry Daenerys for some reason. But she wasn't the one to make choices for him, and no matter how much it hurt, Jon was going to be someone else's tonight, and that string that bound them would snap, and Arya hoped and prayed her heart was strong enough to take it.

"Arya?"

She snapped out of her thoughts and looked at her sister staring worriedly at her. Arya stifled a smile.

"I'll do whatever you say, Sansa."

Her sister's eyes went wide with surprised, but then she laughed softly.

"Sometimes you scare me," she said.

When Arya raised her brows in confusion, Sansa went on.

"I know nothing about you. I know it is hard to talk about certain things, but I wish you'd tell me. I would feel... maybe it would give me the courage to tell you too."

Arya only smiled. She was so horrible at such things. Listening and comforting. She always had been. But maybe she could try. For her sister; for herself. Maybe it was time to let go of her secrets.

For good.

The House of Black and White had taught her many things, one of which was how to hide quite a number of weapons under a dress. Of course, Braavosi dresses were far more comfortable than this stupid, big one she was wearing: grey and long.

Sansa had a very strong will, it seemed. She waited in her room while she put on her dress and spent the next several minutes doing Arya's hair, which was so tangled and messy that Arya had to bite her lip when Sansa pulled her hair apart. Sansa did this without a word, however. Shortly before, she had seen Arya hide almost half a dozen daggers in her dress. She hadn't asked a question however, still Arya could see that the Lady in her was very displeased with the thought of her being armed. But Sansa hadn't argued.

She is trying.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to put anyone in danger," Arya said. "It's just precaution."

Sansa let out a sigh.

"I know," she said.

"I did not mean to worry you, Sansa. It's just a habit. I cannot be unarmed."

"It's fine, Arya." Sansa finished doing her hair and stood up. "I must get ready too."

"You always look great." She wasn't lying. Sansa looked beautiful all the time.

Surprised, her sister let out a short laugh.

"I'm not used to you being nice with me."

"If you can try, so can I."

Both of them grinned at each other, and Sansa left with a wave of her hand, reminding Arya that she had to go meet Jon in an hour, and make sure he was ready.

Arya nodded.

On her way to Jon's room, Arya was pushing and pulling her dress under her cloak in irritation when she nearly bumped into Davos.

"My Princess," he bowed.

Arya smiled warmly. She had grown to be very fond of the man, and with time had come to realize that he was one of the few people who understood Jon almost as much as she did.

"I'm sorry, Ser Davos."

He nodded and eyed her with amusement.

"Is something wrong?" He asked.

"Every fucking thing," Arya muttered under her breath.

"Noble ladies shouldn't speak like that."

Arya rolled her eyes. She knew he was messing with her.

"And they shouldn't roll their eye-"

"Alright!" Arya shouted. She pushed him aside with an arm and walked past, and Davos' laughter loomed behind her.

"Is he inside?" She asked, her hand on the doorknob.

The old man nodded.

"He's waiting for you."

Arya knocked once before entering.

Jon was facing away from her. His cloak had no sigil on the back, as did every groom's. Sansa had made him one that had the Stark direwolf emblazoned on it, but he had refused.

"You should've wore it," she said. "Sansa made it with love."

Jon turned. At that moment, Jon looked so much like her father, and at the same time, nothing like him. He looked like him, yes, but there was something in Jon's eyes that she as a child, had seldom seen in Ned Stark.

Sadness. Something that never seemed to leave Jon.

"Won't you smile?" She said, tilting her head.

"For what?"

"It's your wedding, idiot." Arya walked closer to him.

Jon smiled.

"Not for the wedding," he told her, kissing her head when she went up on her toes. "For you."

Arya wanted to cry. For no reason at all. She buried her face in his chest, and listened to his heartbeat, fast but calm.

"Remember when he were little," he said, caressing her hair. "We made a pact that we'd marry each other when we'd grow up."

Arya nodded against him.

"I used to think of you as a hero from Old Nan's stories. Everyone kept saying I was stupid when I told them I was going to marry you." She chuckled. "Sansa was so horrified she ran to tell Septa Mordane."

They both laughed, and Jon lightly pecked her cheeks.

"You look like a Lady," he whispered. He kissed her again, and again. "A pretty Lady from the songs."

Arya scrunched up her face in disgust. Jon kissed the crease on her brow, and she sighed softly.

"I'm here to see if you're ready."

"Sansa told me." His face was inches from her. Arya traced the scar on his face, and felt him shiver.

Jon kissed her fingers, all of them, one by one.

She felt like her heart was breaking.

"Tell me," he mumbled under his breath. "I'll always be your hero and your knight. Why- why do I feel like I'd lose you the moment I marry her?"

"You'd never," Arya promised with conviction. "I'll be your shadow and your guide. I'll always be yours. Only yours, Jon. Like we promised each other as children."

Jon fervently pressed kissed on her cheeks, on her forehead; all over her face. And finally, kissed her on the lips.

It was a brother's kiss, she told herself.

Even as her eyes burned when Davos led Jon into the Godswood.

Even as Daenerys walked out looking like a true Queen but Jon turned his eyes to look at her.

Even as a single tear rolled down her cheek as they said their vows.

Arya wiped it away with the back of her hand. From the corner of her eye, she could see Gendry. He looked worried and was two seconds away from rushing towards her, but she shook her head. She didn't need Gendry now. Not now.

"Arya?"

She felt a hand on her shoulder, and choked back a tear. It was Sansa, looking just as worried as Gendry.

"What is it?" She asked impatiently.

"It's nothing," Arya said. Her voice refused to break.

"Did something happen? With Jon? Did you argue?"

"No!" Her voice rose more than she'd have liked it to. "I'm just tired. I don't feel well."

Sansa scrutinized her face. She turned briefly to Jon, who was now making his way out of the Godswood with Daenerys. He suddenly turned, and met her eyes and Sansa's both, and Arya could see some sort of realisation hit her sister.

"You two-" she said. "What is wrong?"

Arya said nothing. Being at a loss for words was not something Arya-like. She was surprised as much as Sansa was.

"If you won't like to attend the feast-"

"Please!" Arya interrupted her.

"Oh Arya!" Sansa enveloped her in a hug, like the ones her mother used to give her. Both the sisters clung to each other, and Sansa murmured questions to her, most of which Arya herself didn't know the answers to.

Why was she crying? Why did it feel like her heart was ripped apart? Was it normal to feel so heartbroken when your brother weds someone?

She knew she wouldn't feel like this if it was Robb or Bran or Rickon instead of Jon.

"If you wouldn't like to be alone, you can sleep in my room tonight," Sansa offered.

Arya nodded.

That night, in almost seven years, Arya slept with someone warm. Both of them feel asleep in their dresses, not caring if they got spoiled. But not before all of her secrets, from the moment she left Syrio in King's Landing to when she set foot on the boat back to Westeros, spilled out of her mouth. Sansa hugged her, without judging for the first time in her life and cried tears at her tales, tears which Arya herself had never shed. Was it easier to cry, she wondered. Perhaps it was one of her weaknesses.

She listened to Sansa too, and held her hand, when she spoke of Joffrey and Ramsay. Arya was bad at comforting, but she tried her best.

That day she realized for the first time in her life, what it felt like to have a sister, and wished that they both would've realized it sooner. Life would have been easier, and happier, had they acted like family instead of strangers.