Sharp.
That had Sansa's first thought upon seeing Arya after all those years apart. She was taller, thinner and her face sharper than the sister she remembered. Her eyes were darker and heavier, her hair the same shade of brown but cut shorter and her mouth no longer so quick to smile.
Hugging her, Sansa had felt every muscle and bone within Arya's body as they pressed against her own. Each of Arya's bones protruded out with a painful sharpness buried beneath the thinnest layer of skin that dug into Sansa's own body. Yet, there was a slight softness that had not been there when they had last met.
It was strange to look upon her sister and see beauty in those heavy lidded grey eyes and messy Stark hair.
Sansa had never met her Aunt Lyanna though she was sure that Arya was her very image if wilder and more untamed. She had been a great beauty; Sansa had seen the image of her that hung within Winterfell a thousand times. The strong, prominent Stark eyes and chin lived on in Arya and their brother Jon whereas she was every inch her mother in appearance anyway.
Stranger still to look upon her sister and desperately search her face for the younger sister she once knew.
To see the childhood softness of her face gone, to see her body lean and hardened as if she were a sword waiting to strike herself. It was hard for Sansa to reconcile the mischievous sister with this fierce warrior standing in front of her.
Yet, she would not trade this feeling for anything in the world. The elation that had crept into her when she heard from the guards about a girl claiming to be Arya Stark had built hope within her. Seeing her, she felt happiness burst out of her heart and a relief settled upon her soul.
Arya was home.
That was all that mattered to Sansa now. She was grateful to have her little sister back even if she did still traipse her muddy boots across the hallway and insist on wearing trousers instead of dresses. There was still tension between them at times but they had both learnt it was better to sleep on their differences as they would melt away by morning.
But, war was coming.
They could not relax easily, could not catch up on moments missed and Sansa worried that the war would take her sister from her. Arya was resolute that she would fight for their home, that nothing could stop her and trained harder everyday to ensure she would not fail the North. She would spend the whole day wielding swords and daggers, receiving blow after blow and then Sansa would tend each wound in quiet solitude. Neither of them needed to speak a word but Sansa knew that Arya would not stop even if she begged.
She always did need to be useful and strong.
What Sansa missed, however, was that Arya was equally concerned for her.
Arya's first thought had been how she looked like their lady mother.
Her second thought was how sad Sansa looked. She was still beautiful as if the Gods herself had carefully fashioned her from silk but instead of warm eyes and blushing cheeks there were ice blue eyes and strong, pale cheekbones.
There was a strength to Sansa, a steel to her spine as she stood so proud and strong alone in the cold walls of Winterfell. Arya had heard a thousand tales about what had befallen her sister and seeing her only confirmed her suspicions. Sansa's expression was no longer so welcoming, so soft but that changed when Sansa saw her.
The harshness melted away from her face and a radiant smile took its place once more upon Sansa's face.
It was peculiar seeing such unconditional love upon Sansa's face after all these years of bickering and arguing with each other. They had never been close as children and yet here her sister was looking at her like she was the most important. Approaching her, Arya felt her own heart swell with emotion and she blinked furiously to avoid tears.
Instinctively, she pulled Sansa into a hug. Despite being taller and older, it was Sansa who rested her head on Arya's shoulder. Arya felt the tickle of Sansa's hair against her neck and the quiet tears that were falling down her shoulder although she too felt her eyes well up with unshed tears.
She had never been so happy to see Sansa.
True, Sansa was no longer the soft older sister she once remembered. But, she was still so warm at heart with a stoic rationality and so like her mother it hurt at times. Especially when she spoke to the people of Winterfell as their liege lady in a tone both commanding and reassuring.
She particularly liked the way Sansa dealt with those who disagreed, always polite but tenacious nonetheless as she put forward her point in a way that all would agree. It was pleasure especially to watch old men like Lord Manderley be put firmly in their place.
Arya thought they could learn a thing or two from each other after the war.
She finally understood how being a lady could be a power in its own right but also how it could take a toll upon someone. Sansa was looking wearier by the day as the war approached because she was trying to provision for Winterfell, deal with arguing lords and support each of her siblings. She also understood that Sansa could not, would not stop, as it kept her mind busy from worrying.
So each night they sat in her solar with wine and lemon cakes talking of anything and everything to catch up on all the time lost.
Perhaps, they could be sisters once and for all.