Arya was leaning against the window, looking through the glass down at where Rickon was attempting to not get murdered by Lyanna Mormont. She raised a brow in amusement as he hit the ground. "Do you think he'll want to squire?"
"Who?" Sansa asked absently from where she was writing at something that was no doubt important.
She smirked over at her sister's redhead. "Our baby brother."
"Rickon?" Sansa actually had an expression of surprise, as if her brain had tripped.
Arya couldn't help the snigger at seeing her sister flat-footed for once. It was not an expression she wore often. "Well, he's not bad with a sword. Bran used to want to be a knight."
"I…well I suppose we should ask him." Sansa sighed, the line of her shoulders lowered. "Which knight takes him as a squire may be an issue. They'll all want to like we don't have more important things to be doing than currying favor."
Arya crossed her arms as she continued to lean against the wall by the window. "It's that important who trains him?"
"Don't be an idiot, it doesn't suit you." Sansa's gaze was positively exasperated.
Her lips curled upwards in smug amusement. "Well, I can't entertain myself entirely with how your Lords jump at my very presence."
"You and Rickon are going to kill someone from heart failure." Sansa's eyes turned back to her writing. "I'm surprised you're not trying to fight the Order?"
Arya made a faint noise at that. "They're fun, but not every day." She did appreciate the Order of people willing to not only fight her but the glee they showed anytime she knocked one of them on their back was faintly concerning. "What are you writing?"
"Instructions for Lord Blackwood in regards to the Tully holdings." Sansa set her quill down. "I'm expecting several nobles to discuss ladies in waiting. If you want to escape, now would be your chance."
She considered it, her sister's meetings were dull. But she would admit to being curious about what her sister intended after beheading a man yesterday. So she simply remained, saying nothing.
Sansa didn't comment, she simply gave a flick of the eye, and then continued with her work. It was a curious thing about her sister, she merely accepted her choices with no or little comment. She just continued with the quiet dignity that suffused her being. Her every movement purposeful and graceful. Watching her was like watching an image that not even their mother could have achieved.
Arya looked away from her sister and back out the window. She felt the faint warm glow at watching their baby brother, who was taller than her damn it, eagerly bouncing to his feet to chase after the Order as they went to run yet more laps. If her brother didn't want a knight she'd have to show him a thing or two. Well, she'd have to show him either way. And if his knight opposed she'd just have to see the issue removed. There were lots of knights.
She was considering if he knew knife throwing when the doors opened and whoever it was that Sansa had been waiting for was announced. Arya did look away from Rickon at the names. Lord Manderly, Lord Glover and Mira Lovewell? Interesting mix. Perhaps this meeting wouldn't be as dull as expected. The devotion radiating from the men was amusing, it left Arya feeling rather smug to see it.
Lord Manderly raised from his low bow to Sansa. "My Queen, you wished to speak with us on a matter?"
"Yes, it's come to my attention that I have overlooked appointing ladies in waiting. A thing that would decrease the number of letters I am constantly in need of writing, as well as spreading the duties required for running the court." And a dozen other things were left unsaid, but Arya heard it all the same in her sister's voice.
Mira Lovewell had a startled expression on her face, though she hid it quickly.
Lord Glover frowned. "If I may, is that necessary? Surely a scribe would be enough."
"You underestimate the duties a lady in waiting can accomplish, and it is a way to reward loyal Lords." She turned her attention to Manderly. "Your granddaughters would be quite suitable, and if we mean to make Winterfell a final hold before retreating should the Dead take the Wall, they could move as many as possible to Whiteharbor should Winterfell fall."
Lord Manderly was clearly pleased. "I would be honored to send for them, your Grace."
"Excellent, I will be grateful for their aid." Sansa acknowledged. "In the meantime, your concerns Lord Glover are noted. I have no intention of having more than six ladies in waiting at any one time. Unless you have another option for six literate, politically capable, people of noble status sufficient to take some measure of my lesser duties?"
Lord Glover cleared his throat. "My apologies, I take your point, your Grace."
"No need to apologize Lord Glover. It's been near three hundred years since the North last had a proper court and our borders are far greater than they were in the time of Torrhen Stark." Sansa offered, a brisk kindness to it. "Now onto the matter of the small council. I intend to name Lady Dustin to Lord Forrester's position, she's already aware of and partaking of the work. It also will soothe some fears of my holding resentment towards those who have stood against me after the business with Lord Forrester."
"I can see the wisdom in that, but she's a woman. And had familial ties with House Bolton. Surely such a position would be ill-suited for her?" Lord Manderly put in, though the abundant caution was amusing.
Sansa raised a brow. "I should hope it hasn't missed your notice that I am a woman. And Lady Dustin has far more years of experience than I have breathing. Her unfortunate family connections are rather the point. Or do you disagree?"
"If you're going to do it, I will admit now is the time to do so." Lord Manderly had a faint twinkle in his eye. "But I believe you have more to announce you think we shall not approve of, your Grace."
Sansa gave him a faint nod. "I intend to name Tormund Giantsbane to half the lands left by the Boltons officially instead of presumptively within three months' time. And I intend to name Lord Royce to the small council, as well as Lord Mallister."
"To which positions then, your Grace? There is only Master of Commerce and Master of Whispers left to be named." Lord Glover looked deeply confused.
She folded her hands before her on the desk. "With Jon in Dragonstone my formal small council numbers only six. Of those, Wolkan is of limited use outside of his knowledge of healing, which leaves me with five individuals to give advice worth listening to. And I cannot have three kingdoms sworn to me and only men of the North on my council."
"The Vale has not yet bent the knee." Lord Manderly leaned back on his heels, understanding crossing his face. "You mean to give Lord Royce a temporary seat as representative of the interests of the Vale and name Lord Mallister as your Master of Commerce then?"
Sansa nodded. "Exactly. If you would draw up the appropriate paperwork Lord Manderly." Her eyes turned to Lord Glover. "I expect an accounting of laws from the reign of the Targaryens compared to those laws that pre-date their conquest in my solar by the end of the month Lord Glover, as well as your recommendation on any adjustments that may be required moving forward. Until then, the two of you are dismissed unless there is anything else?"
Arya knew her sister needed more sunlight while it lasted. Also, that old fat men could and would talk about nothing for hours. She very pointedly stepped away from the window and closer to her sister's shoulder, while one hand played with the pommel of her sword. She could feel the men's eyes tracking her movements.
They both bowed. "No, thank you, your Grace."
"Very well, now Lady Lovewell, if I could have a few minutes of your time." Sansa switched her focus easily enough.
Arya rolled her eyes as the two important old men scurried out of the room like frightened children. Honestly, men. She returned to her place by the window, though she kept her sister and the lady who'd been at the heart of so many goings on in the corner of her eye.
Sansa held out a roll of parchment. "I've taken to seeing all the details of your new House are seen to."
"Thank you, your Grace." Mira accepted the parchment, unrolling it to quickly glance at what it was. She stilled part way through. "Our sigil is to be Mistletoe."
Sansa leaned back in her seat. "It is in some part presumptuous of me. But I believe we both know your husband wouldn't have realized you needed one for a week at least."
"Love Triumphs." Mira's voice was quiet. "You mean to use my husband's and my promotion so quickly? And against my brother?"
"Yes." Sansa didn't bother being nice about it. "If I allow infighting to break out we will all die. You and your husband, unfortunately for you, are an easy symbol of my displeasure. For what conflict this will cause between you and your brother, I am sorry. But it is necessary."
Arya wondered how the mistletoe was important, but she had no doubt that it was. Maybe because it killed trees? She blinked, oh that was why. Interesting threat, not subtle, but then this Sansa was both more and less subtle than she had been in childhood. She wondered how close Sansa had been to chopping off Lord Forrester's head? She might even ask later.
"I understand, I will see to it that Conin's dress holds our sigil." Mira dipped her head.
Sansa's eyes were sharp, but she seemed to come to a decision. "And your own, after all, it would not do for my principal Lady in Waiting and courier of whispers from my nobility to look anything but the part."
Arya's head snapped to the meeting happening.
Mira choked on air, her eyes widening. "Courier of whispers?"
"No doubt you've noticed I have yet to name a Master of Whispers, and in time I will. You also are not an idiot and must know a great deal of my information comes from Hogg and Lord Baelish. I would know what my court is whispering that members of the Order are not privy to. I dislike being blind to the state of things. In future, you will answer to whomever I name for the post of Master of Whispers. But let us say I have learned that having only one source of information is foolhardy. And so I would have you do this service for me. Unless you are opposed?" Sansa waited, though it was clear it wasn't a true question. No, she had her claws far too deep in Mira for 'no' to be an option.
"It would be an honor." Mira lowered her head in deferment.
Sansa paused. "And I should think your brother will forgive you eventually, once he realizes you've secured a position inside my inner court that no doubt you will use to advocate for the family of your birth?"
Mira swallowed, her eyes disturbingly wet. "Yes, your Grace."
"Good, then I suggest you see to your wardrobe as your position as my Lady in Waiting. I'll expect you at my side beginning in three days' time." Sansa gave a gesture of dismissal with her hand.
Mira curtsied low. "I will serve you as best I can, your Grace." Her voice was thick, and then she turned and left. No doubt a great many things to see to.
Arya cocked her head as the door shut. "Did you do that because you felt bad or because it was useful?"
"Both. If I'm going to do a thing, it ought to be for more than a single purpose." Sansa stood. "I take it we are to go and see Rickon's training?"
Arya's lips curled. "Oh, and how do you figure that?"
"You wish to go, but have decided to shadow me as well." Sansa stepped around her desk and linked her arm through hers. "I appreciate your concern."
Arya walked, leading them out of the room. "Concern? Just wondering if perfect Sansa was going to start crying over cutting a man's head off."
"Severed heads stopped being shocking a long time ago." Sansa's eyes turned distant. "He used to take me to the walls and make me look at them. Joffrey."
Arya's jaw tensed, though her steps remained even. "Well, we'll be seeing a great many more heads if you mean to face two wars."
"At least." Sansa let out an exasperated sound as the Royal Guard fell into step behind them. "We are surrounded by enemies."
She didn't disagree. "Do you remember what father used to say?"
"The lone wolf dies." Sansa began.
Arya finished. "But the pack survives." She considered how to put it, but then careful words had never been her way. "We're together."
Sansa squeezed her arm gently. "You are remarkably suited for the position of Master of Whispers."
"You're joking?" Arya huffed.
"Why should I be?" Sansa stared at her with those piercing blue eyes. "You're a Stark, my sister, and a faceless man. I should think very few are as suited for a role in the shadows as you are." Her focus softened. "Of course, if you do not wish to, someone else will prove suitable eventually."
Arya felt like shifting awkwardly at the sentiment, the faith, and recognition of who she was from her sister. "I'll think about it." She allowed finally.
"That is all I ask." Sansa replied, a restrained affection in her tone that meant far more than words could say.
So Arya said nothing to it. Instead, she noted the change in the attitude of the men and women they passed as they walked through the clean halls. "They respect you more."
"I followed the old ways," Sansa replied, her head held high as it always was now. "I have borne two names besides Stark now. They have not forgotten that."
Arya's brow pinched at the reminder of what had been done to her sister. She wished she could kill Baelish already. If she wore his face it's not like anyone would need think anything had happened to him for months. But then any plans of his already in motion might harm them. Logic was irritating sometimes. "You're a Stark."
"And they will never forget it," Sansa stated with a surety that could not be shaken.
She gave a slight nod to that. "Good."
They remained in a comfortable silence as they walked the rest of the way out to the yard itself. She ignored Sansa's faint indication of going to the walkway above the yard. Instead, she led them out into the various men at arms, Vale knights, and people who were constantly competing for manly acknowledgment.
Rickon caught sight of them, or rather Shaggydog scented them and Rickon's head snapped around a half-second later. His face split into a massive grin, and then he took off into a sprint for them. His feet left the ground and he lunged forward hugging them both desperately. "Sisters!"
Arya wheezed slightly from the force of him squeezing. Fuck, he was going to tower over them in a few years. She still wrapped a single arm around him. Her lungs filled with the comforting scent of him.
While she might have been slightly stiff about it, Sansa was not. She hugged Rickon back as fiercely as he hugged them. As he pulled back, Sansa cupped his cheek. "I hear you are doing very well?"
"I'm getting better every day!" He proudly puffed up, basking in their attention.
Arya flicked her eyes to the men who'd been working with him. Interesting, they agreed. It would seem their brother wasn't merely bragging. Her eyes flicked back to him. "We'll have to see how you are with a staff."
His face lit up even more somehow. "You'll show me?"
"Well, you are my brother." Arya wondered if she should blindfold him, she'd have to ban Shaggydog from the yard if she did or he'd just cheat.
Rickon bounced on his toes. "Can we start now?"
"Tomorrow." Arya disliked how many people were watching, no she'd teach him in the morning.
His eyes snapped up, and away from her. "Daisy."
Arya and Sansa, as well as the whole yard, turned as a speck in the sky grew before it landed with a great gust of wind in the courtyard. And Arya couldn't keep the way her mouth opened slightly as she realized fully that the spec that had just hurled into the yard was a person.
Her sister's paramour was not what she expected. Instead of a woman dressed as a man, she was in a dress. A very girly dress that was all soft greens with golden roses embroidered all over it. The hair brushing against her shoulders with a vivid streak of blue was also not as described. However, the visible muscle on her uncovered arms, faint scar across one cheek, and the way she held herself with utter assurance said perhaps not everything she'd heard was wrong either.
The woman easily straightened as if falling from that height and at that speed was nothing, her face lighting up as she instantly locked onto Sansa.
Sansa made a sound in the back of her throat that was…hilariously close to a croak and a squeak at the same time. "Your hair!?"
Daisy, for it had to be Daisy unless there were other strange women who flew, paused, her face surprisingly amused as she showed exactly zero of the awed distance from Sansa that everyone else seemed to treat her with. "There was an issue with a dragon." She walked straight for Sansa with a smile.
"You…what are you wearing?" Sansa had not sounded so close to the tone she'd taken as an outraged child since Arya had returned home.
Arya glanced at her sister's face and felt like laughing. Well, her sister wasn't all that cold and controlled all the time then.
Daisy came to a halt within arms reach of Sansa. "Got held up at the Reach. But Jon's safe, sorry about being late getting back to you."
"You…" Sansa stepped forward throwing her arms around the other woman and hugging her tightly.
Arya watched curiously as Daisy's eyes fluttered shut as she hugged her sister back automatically. It was like both of them were breathing out in relief at being reunited. She raised a brow, actually, Sansa seemed to have lost a weight that had been on her shoulders. It was simply gone. She wasn't stupid, whatever they truly meant to each other it was important, and whatever it was her sister felt it was returned. Interesting, a shame though. She'd have liked to have killed a god.