She and Tyrion had finished their work for the day, the report was written and he had taken it away to deliver to the Queen. Alone now, Sansa was left to reflect, and she found herself surprised by how open she had been in their conversation. Sansa hadn't meant to be so candid with Tyrion, or with anyone for that matter. But when he'd asked her about her plans for the future, she had spoken honestly. It was true she didn't intend to marry again; she wanted only to keep herself and her family safe and to restore her ancestral home. But that wasn't something she spoke of openly, it was best for the other noble families to think she might forge an alliance with their house some day, it kept them close and eager to please. But really, what would she want with a bannerman's son? She was already a daughter of the most powerful house in the North. She had no need for young knights with stars in their eyes, she knew how to play the game now, and they would only hold her back. These were thoughts she had fully intended to keep to herself though. It did her no good to let others know her private plans. She wondered where the impulse to be so honest had come from. All she could say was that Tyrion put her inexplicably at ease.

She had to admit, she had a growing appreciation for Tyrion. He treated her as an equal, sought and listened to her opinions, yet she could still look to him for advice and guidance. In the past, she had worried people would think her just a stupid girl again if she ever showed ignorance. But Tyrion never seemed to think less of her. To the contrary, he seemed unbothered when one or the other of them did not know something. He took such situations as a puzzle to be solved, not a sign of weakness. It was a rather charming habit of his, and made their afternoons together all the more enjoyable.

But, something still gnawed at the back of her mind. She was sure they spent too much time together, more than was strictly necessary to complete their work. Perhaps this growing affinity for the Queen's hand was a mistake. It went against all her rules, all the painstakingly learned lessons of survival, to allow anyone so close. And she was beginning to let Tyrion alarmingly close. He was an ally, a partner in her management of the castle, and now she was beginning to confide in him. She looked forward to seeing him every afternoon, and found that he slipped into her thoughts throughout the day. But it was wrong; she kept trying to remind herself that this was wrong, even dangerous. It was too risky to let herself trust him. Sansa had spent years carefully sealing herself away behind her inner walls so that no one could hurt her anymore. She couldn't undo all that careful work now, just because he was charming.

Her walls were what kept her safe. Not swords or armies. None of that could ever truly keep her safe. No one could. And that was why walls were necessary. Caution and control were all she could rely on. She had to keep reminding herself of that. Even if Tyrion was a friend, she had to be careful with him. He was slowly winning her over, but she had to stay alert to his motives. He was a clever man, with an unknown agenda. She couldn't let herself trust him so easily. And yet it felt so easy to let down her guard with him.

She couldn't make sense of all these conflicting thoughts; it was going to drive her mad. And she was completely ineffective as the lady of the castle with her mind at loose ends like this. She needed to speak to someone else, to sort things out. But it didn't come easily for her, revealing her inner thoughts, she didn't like to make herself so vulnerable.

She needed a change of scenery after working the whole afternoon in her room. She hoped a walk around the castle would clear her mind. Sansa wandered the hallways of Winterfell, making her way towards the central keep. Eventually, she found herself in front of the twin direwolf statues guarding the entrance to the crypts. They were headless still, marred by the Boltons during the castle's occupation. It made her sad to see them broken; she had always thought them beautiful when she was younger. She ran her hands over the rough edge of the stone. The stonemasons had been focused on the more pressing matter of rebuilding damaged walls to ready the castle for war. It wasn't practical to waste their time on something ornamental. She resolved to have them restored someday, if she lived to see peacetime.

Behind the direwolves, the stone stairwell descended under the earth. With a sudden sense of purpose, Sansa followed them downward, feeling the cool, musty air of the underground raise up to envelope her. Jon had come here often when he first returned with Daenerys; the crypts had seemed to draw him in. Maybe she could find some solace amongst their ancestors.

A torch lit the stairwell with a dim glow. She lifted it from its sconce on the wall, and carried it deeper, coming at last to the main chamber. Her father was here; he had taken his place with all the old kings of Winterfell. Her aunt Lyanna as well, Ned Stark had honored her with a place amongst the kings of the North. This was where she had found Jon before, and Sansa knelt on the earth floor in front of her aunt's statue. She wondered if Jon had found any peace here.

A noise from the darkened edge of the chamber suddenly drew her attention. Fear gripped her; she was alone here, unarmed.

"Who's there? Come out of the shadows."

A small figure stepped out of the shadows. Arya. The fear loosened its hold on her, drawing back to its corner. Arya was always lurking about. It was unnerving.

"Arya, you frightened me, have you been following me?"

"Following you? No, I have better things to do sister. Only visiting the crypts, it's a good place to be alone. I imagine that's why you're here?"

Sansa thought she saw a hint of amusement play across Arya's face. Her sister enjoyed playing the mysterious figure, popping up where she was least expected. Arya came to stand next to her, gazing up at their aunt.

"Yes, as a matter of fact. I wanted a place to think."

"And you have come to our aunt. The famous Lyanna."

The two sisters were silent for some time, looking at the stone image of the woman. At last, Sansa broke the silence. "Do you think she knew what she had unleashed? When she ran away with Rhaegar I mean. She set us all on this path." She looked up at her sister.

Arya looked thoughtful. She lowered herself to the ground, sitting with her legs crossed next to Sansa. "I don't know Sansa. She must have realized it would anger the Baratheons. But she couldn't have predicted it all, the way the kingdoms would burn. Maybe Rhaegar knew, Bran said he was obsessed with prophecy. We'll never really know what she was thinking."

"No. I guess we won't."

"Is that what you came here to think about Sansa? It's all done now, we can't change the past."

"No, not really Arya. I've just been unsettled lately, I wanted some peace."

"What is it that disturbs you Sansa?"

Sansa looked at her sister. How could she explain what troubled her. "It's silly, it really doesn't matter anyway. I should get back to my work." She moved to rise, but Arya placed a hand on her arm.

"Sansa." Arya looked at her piercingly, "don't keep secrets from me, you promised, after Baelish."

"It's not a secret Arya. I know, we promised. It's nothing to do with you."

"If something is troubling you Sansa, I need to know. Has someone threatened you? If Lady Mormont is giving you trouble again I'll speak to her. You need the bannermen to stay loyal."

"No, nothing like that. They've all been suitably pacified. I'm alright, really."

Arya said nothing. Still, Sansa could sense she wasn't satisfied. She looked at Sansa with skepticism, holding her in a steady gaze.

Sansa looked away. Arya had a way of making her feel she could see to the depths of her very soul. Her sister wasn't going to let her leave without an explanation.

"If you really want to know, it's about Lord Tyrion."

"Tyrion? You've been spending a lot of time with him. What has he done?"

"Nothing. It's not anything he's done. But it's just what you said, I've been spending a lot of time with him."

"And this concerns you."

"Yes, it does. Maybe I've been spending too much time with him. He's getting too close to Winterfell's affairs. I've let him too close, but he's not one of us, not of the North I mean. It might be dangerous."

"What danger do you think Tyrion might pose to Winterfell Sansa? Jon has already pledged the North to the Queen. Are you afraid he's going to raid the kitchen pantries and steal the rations?"

Good, her sister was making jokes; she could shrug this off as nothing serious. "Exactly. He's no danger to Winterfell. I told you I was just being silly. It's nothing to worry about."

Arya was quiet for a moment, measuring her words. "Sansa, is it Winterfell's affairs he is too close to, or is it yours?"

Gods. Arya had seen right through her.

"What does that mean?"

"You've spent a lot of time together, that's all. You seem rather friendly with him, at least by your standards. It's not like you to be so close to someone."

"He's helpful, that's it. It makes sense to spend time together, he's useful to me."

"You're awfully worked up over just useful. It's alright if you want to have a friend Sansa. He seems harmless enough. You don't have to keep yourself walled away from everyone."

Sansa shook her head; this wasn't what she wanted to hear. "It's just supposed to be us Arya. Just you and me and Jon and Bran. The last of the Stark blood, we're together again, we're a family. You're the ones I can trust, rely on, I shouldn't be letting anyone else in."

Arya sighed, looking down at the ground. "Sansa, you can't live that way. None of us can. We have to let the world in."

"After everything that's happened, to all of us, how can you say that? It's dangerous Arya."

"Of course it's dangerous Sansa. The world has terrible people in it. So we have to be careful. But you know that. You can tell the difference between good and evil Sansa, so trust yourself. I trust you."

Sansa looked at her sister, how could Arya know exactly what she needed to hear? They had existed on separate planes as children, never once seeing eye to eye and constantly butting heads. Now it seemed Arya could nearly read her mind. Her sister had let go of her arm, but now Sansa grasped Arya's hand tightly in her own.

"I missed you so much Arya. Through all those years apart. I know we used to fight but I missed you so much. I'm glad you're home. I'm glad you decided to come back."

Arya squeezed her hand in acknowledgment, "I'm glad too Sansa. And I'm glad to be Arya Stark again."

They sat like that without speaking for several minutes, in the shadows of the crypt. Eventually, Arya made to leave, "I'll let you be by yourself now Sansa, I know that's what you were looking for. But you're not alone sister, don't forget that."

With her sister gone, Sansa was left with her own thoughts again. The exchange had brought up all the emotion of her return home, and reunion with her family. It left her feeling raw and vulnerable. Her walls were coming down, she couldn't deny it, and she wasn't sure she could fight it much longer. Maybe Arya was right, she would have to let the world in, at least a little bit. She was thawing, and feeling her old self awaken, someone with hopes and dreams for the future. She wasn't sure how she would manage this softer self, she still needed to be strong, to keep her mind on survival in the present. After all, there were real dangers out in the world. But she supposed, when she thought about it, that there were some very good things too. Her family, her home, and the lessons she had learned that made her strong and clever. And something else, she wasn't even sure if she could call it a good thing. It was confusing more than anything else. Arya had been right, she was getting close to Tyrion. But what Arya hadn't seen, and what Sansa had left unsaid, was that there was something more between them. It felt like…she struggled to find the words. Was it trust? Friendship? Maybe. Partially. But if she was honest with herself, there was something else there too. More than once she had found her thoughts drifting while he spoke to her, and he had to recall her from her daydream. Those thoughts came back to her sometimes when she was alone, and they made her blush. She had tried to ignore it, but she simple fact was that she didn't just think of Tyrion as a friend, she found herself desiring him. It was utterly baffling. She had never wanted him in that way before. In King's Landing the thought of it had frightened her. And after Joffrey, and Petyr, and Ramsey, she was sure she would never want the touch of a man for the rest of her life. She was suspicious of men. She knew they only wanted to use her, yet she couldn't get Tyrion out of her mind. It was so foolish, she told herself so over and over again. She couldn't afford to take her mind off her responsibilities as the Lady of Winterfell. But the thoughts sprung, unbidden, to her mind when she was near him.

There it was. What she hadn't wanted to admit to herself. She wanted Tyrion. There was something about him that was drawing her farther in each time they met. Sometime in the last month these feelings had begun to stir, and now she was forced to acknowledge them. It was bad timing, they had finally fallen into something comfortable, working together as equals. Now she had all these confusing feelings threatening to upset the balance.

Sansa stared up at her aunt's face, carved into stone. The woman was silent, only a block of stone, after all. She needed guidance, but who could she really tell about this. It would be foolish for her to throw herself at a southerner now, of all times, when her influence in the North had only just been stabilized. The simmering tension between Jon and the Queen was already a concern to her bannermen. She couldn't add to that instability.

You are going to be the voice of reason, the one who can be relied upon to uphold the interests of Winterfell. You won't be ruled by your emotions. Hold yourself together Sansa.

Voice of reason, reliable. That would be her mantra. If she couldn't push these feelings down anymore, then she would keep her duty to Winterfell always in her mind. She was going to go back up those stairs, and attend to her duties for the rest of the day. And when she next saw Tyrion, she would be perfectly calm and dignified.