I'm so sorry for the wait! Thank you all for reading, commenting and following!
Enjoy!
It never troubles the wolf how many the sheep may be — Virgil
The floor under her seemed to tilt as she got up from the ground. Her hands had begun to shake uncontrollably, her knees felt like bags of water.
The ringing in her ears quieted, allowing her to better focus on her sister.
A sob rose in her chest. Sansa's heart was hammering.
"Arya" – the word escaped from her lips, again.
Sansa took a step forward. The world tilted. She reached out; her hand touched Arya's arm and Sansa sighed. She was not dreaming. Arya was real; she was alive.
The Lady of Winterfell let out a watery laugh.
"You're alive…" – her voice failed her – "I, I can't believe you're really here" – she stammered – "I miss –"
Before Sansa's hand could touch her sister's cheek, Arya grabbed her hand.
"We don't have time for this" – Arya interrupted her – "We need to –"
Suddenly, the tent flap opened, preventing Arya from finishing her sentence.
She pushed Sansa behind her, instinctively shielding her sister's body with hers.
Sansa's breath caught in her throat as a tall man walked into the room. His shoulders looked unfeasibly wide; his hair, black as night, was thick and straight, and shot out in all directions. He looked beautiful and dangerous.
Unconsciously, she clutched Arya's arm, fearing the worst.
"I told you to wait outside with the horses!" – Arya's sharp voice startled Sansa.
The Lady of Winterfell almost lost her balance when Arya walked towards the man, leaving her without physical support.
"And I waited outside, but I thought something happened to you since you were taking so long" – the man retorted.
Arya's eyes shot daggers at him and her lips were draw into a tight line.
"I told you I wouldn't get hurt" – she said, narrowing her eyes – "See, not even a scratch" – she added.
Sansa watched as her sister and the tall man talked.
He seemed surprisingly calm when compared to Arya's frantic gestures and harsh retorts. It was like he was used to her temper.
Before she could even blink, Arya walked towards her again and grabbed her arm.
Sansa looked down at her, her blue eyes wild with fear.
"We need to leave right now" – the younger Stark spoke.
She grabbed Sansa's hand and practically dragged her away.
They made their way quickly to the horses.
Arya pulled her body into the saddle in a single fluid movement.
The man offered Sansa a hand and she stepped into it, allowing him to propel her up onto the horse's back. She mounted the animal behind Arya.
"Let's go!" – Arya said.
She kicked the horse into action before Sansa was even fully in the saddle, forcing her sister to close her arms firmly around her.
The man mounted his horse and followed them.
They were off quickly, but Sansa wasn't certain it would be quick enough. She knew it wouldn't be long before soldiers found Littlefinger's dead body and started searching for her.
She could still feel the knife he'd pressed against her cheek and the warm blood pouring down her face.
She gripped Arya's waist as she kicked the horse into a faster pace, weaving through the trees with precision.
Arya glanced over at Gendry.
"Come this way" – she said to him, who was a bit behind them.
They pushed the horses away from the road.
The night was dark, but the moon washed everything in silver.
Hours later, they came down a mountain.
Arya pulled up the horse.
"We should camp here" – she dismounted first.
"Won't they see our tracks?" – Sansa asked, after jumping down.
Arya pulled the horse under a large tree, where she secured it.
"The forest's surface is too hard to show our tracks. Plus, it's dark" – Arya explained, looking around her surroundings – "We just need to find a place where we won't leave an obvious trail of flattened grass"
Gendry pulled at the straps of the saddle, removing it from his horse's back.
Arya watched him as he dropped the saddle to the ground.
The air was cool on Sansa's back and she realized for the first time precisely how cold she was.
She stared at the front of her gown saturated with blood, and gorge rose in her throat.
Blood coated her hands. The metallic scent of her blood made her stomach clench until bile rose and stung the back of her throat, again, leaving a sour taste on her tongue.
She took a few shallow breaths to stave off the inevitable.
Mind-sharpening memories of the last hours flipped through her brain: Margaery waving Jon's letter in the air, her hand holding her long braid, Littlefinger's wicked smile, his hand squeezing her breast, his feet pushing her feet apart, his slobbering kisses… the gash in his throat.
A wave of dizziness came over her, the strange sensation that she was going to faint.
Sansa paled visibly and Arya quickly moved to her side. She grabbed her arms, turning her body towards her.
"Focus on me, Sansa" – Arya said.
Sansa eyed her. She allowed her sister's voice to drive away the terror coursing through her; the vision of Petyr Baelish's dead body and Margaery's evil face slowly dissolving.
She took a deep breath and focused her attention on Arya.
Her little sister was wearing black trousers, a brown tunic, and over it a sort of armor-shirt of leather with bronze plates riveted to it. This was held in at the waist with a thick leather belt, which secured a sword and a dagger.
Her hair was mussed, strands falling forward out of her small braid; it was tied with a thin leather lace.
Sansa thought she was beautiful.
"You're so beautiful" – she smiled, touching Arya's braid; it barely reached her shoulder – "A woman grown" – she chuckled lightly.
Arya felt her cheeks flush and averted her gaze. She immediately sensed Gendry's presence, and her cheeks burned with color.
Arya knew that she wasn't beautiful like her sister was. She was too short to be beautiful. She was slender, with a small chest, narrow hips and a temper.
She cleared her throat, trying to ignore Sansa's words.
"This is Gendry" – she managed to say, introducing him – "He's my … friend and … and he's been helping me"
Sansa eyed him cautiously, but seeing his gentle eyes, she relaxed. He seemed trustworthy.
Gendry held out a hand to her, lowering his head as his eyes penetrated hers.
"Nice to meet you, Gendry" – Sansa said.
She hesitated before offering her hand. It was painted red; dried blood within the cuticles and it cracked when she bent her fingers, but Gendry didn't seem to mind. He shook her hand gently but firmly. His skin was warm and hard.
"My Lady" – he said, bowing his head.
Sansa arched an eyebrow and looked at Arya, clearly not expecting this kind of formality from one of her friends.
Arya rolled her eyes.
Gendry ever the noble, ever the stupid bullheaded.
"Thank you for helping us, Gendry" – Sansa spoke – "And please call me Sansa, I insist" – she added, offering a warm smile.
Gendry nodded.
Arya walked towards one of the horses and riffled through the saddle bags. Sansa watched her pull out some clothes from one of the bags.
"I'll take the horses down to the hill to look for water" – Gendry spoke – "I think I heard a stream in the distance when we first crested the valley"
He pulled at the horses and stepped away from the girls, giving them some privacy.
Arya handed Sansa a pair of black trousers, a dyed blue tunic and an old dark cloak.
"I know you aren't used to wearing men's clothes, but – " – Arya started to say, but Sansa interrupted her.
"But they're going to be looking for Sansa Stark, a woman in a dress, not a man" – she completed.
Moments later, the Lady of Winterfell was clad in the unfamiliar garments. It felt distinctly odd to be walking without a corset and skirts swishing about her ankles.
The trousers, of course, had not been fashioned to be worn by a woman; they were loose at the waist, and then clung lovingly to her hips.
"Whose clothes are these?" – Sansa asked, genuinely curious.
"I don't know" – Arya shrugged – "I stole them" – she added, strapping a weapons belt around Sansa's waist.
The Lady of Winterfell blinked.
"You stole them" – she said as she seized a dagger from her weapons belt.
Arya pursed her lips into a thin line, preparing herself for one of her sister's lecture.
"I'm not judging you" – Sansa continued to say as if hearing her thoughts; she smiled at the surprised look on Arya's face.
After a few seconds of silence, the younger Stark finally spoke:
"You'd better pull your hood up" – she suggested – "Your hair is recognizable"
Sansa touched her hair.
Her heart raced.
All of her long red tresses were gone. Her hair was now an uneven chin length.
"Not anymore" – she murmured.
Arya watched her sister running her fingers through her short hair.
As long as she has known her, Sansa had always worn her hair long. Her sister loved her beautiful Tully hair and the way people compared her to their mother, Catelyn Stark. She always wanted to be exactly like their mother – the perfect lady.
She loved ribbons in her hair and took pride in how they looked. Sometimes she would even pin her hair and adorn it with pearls or flowers.
Sansa's hair was not only a symbol of a strong identification with their mother, but it was also an integral part of what defined her, and she felt like losing her hair was a little like losing her identity.
"What happened?" – Arya asked.
"Margaery Tyrell happened" – Sansa said weakly, looking at Arya, misty-eyed.
The look on her face made Arya sad.
"It'll grow again" – she said, trying to comfort her.
For a moment Sansa studied Arya, as if assessing her sincerity. She let out a breath that she hadn't realized she'd been holding.
"It was my fault" – she trailed off – "I, I provoked her" – she explained, quickly becoming frustrated.
Arya frowned.
"You provoked her" – she said and somehow the sentence sounded like a question.
Sansa's eyes were stinging the way they did when she tried to hold tears back for too long.
Her mind went to dark places and she remembered her pathetic idea to stop Margaery's plan.
You will be his doom, like Lyanna was Rhaegar's – the Lady of Highgarden's words echoed in her head.
Margaery was right. History was repeating itself. A Targaryen was once again starting a war because of a Stark girl.
Jon was more like his father than anyone would ever expect. That realization made Sansa's stomach twist.
She covered her face with her hands and tried to control her breathing.
When you're old enough, I'll make you a match with someone who's worthy of you. Someone who's brave and gentle and strong.
A chill pierced Sansa's heart.
She could still see her father and the gold cloaks flinging him down. She could still see Ser Ilyn striding forward, unsheathing Ice from the scabbard on his back and the moment when….
Sansa gulped.
She had wanted to look away, but her legs had gone out from under her and she had fallen to her knees, yet somehow she could not turn her head, and all the people were screaming and shouting, and Joffrey had smiled at her, he'd smiled and she'd felt safe, but only for a heartbeat, until he said those words, and her father's head …
"I'm tired of being a liability!" – she cried; her chest became tight – "I don't want Jon to die for me like Father did" – her voice breaking slightly; Arya was looking at her, the look on her face unreadable – "Father died because of me. He died as a traitor to protect me. He confessed a crime he didn't commit because of me; because he wanted to protect me" – she tried to control her frantic emotions from consuming her – "If I had escaped like you did …"
"Father would've died anyway" – Arya immediately said – "You heard what Littlefinger said" – she added.
Sansa froze.
She remembered Littlefinger's words about their father's death, but she also remembered his other words about her and Jon.
How come you prefer that bastard instead of me?
Her heart started to beat faster than ever before; in fact, she felt that Arya could hear her heart beat.
Sansa's mouth opened, closed. She hesitated in part because she feared her sister's reaction. She had no idea how Arya would react once she found out about her and Jon.
Would she accept it? Would she be happy? Would she compare them to the Lannisters? Would she feel disgusted by her love for Jon?
Did she even know that Jon was not their brother? Did she know that he was aunt Lyanna's son?
She feared Arya's coolness.
They'd never been close. She didn't have with Arya the kind of bond that Jon had.
Jon was Arya's favorite brother; he was her best friend; she loved him. Sansa and Arya were sisters, but they were never friends.
I can take much better care of you than the bastard.
Did Arya hear those words?
Sansa had the impression that her sister knew her thoughts.
"Arya …" – she tried to say.
"I think it would be best to make camp and keep going tomorrow" – Arya cut her off – "I'll go fetch some firewood" – she added, walking away from Sansa.
The next day
The room was wide and circular, with open windows and tall pillars around the edges. At its center stood a magnificent marble table; the slab rested upon the backs of three dragons, made from the same marble.
There was a large map hanging upon the wall. A map of the Seven Kingdoms. Everyone's attention was directed to Harrenhal. The largest and greatest fortress ever built in Westeros; it took three generations to finish.
The far wall was painted with an image of a dragon.
The breeze coming in through the balcony didn't clear the tension in the room.
A golden crown sat upon Daenerys's head; her silver-blonde hair was held away in a complicated array of braids. She wore a bright red gown of silk bound together by a pair of bronze rings, her skirts trailing far behind her.
"Our scouts confirm the Tyrell army is heading to Harrenhal" – Tyrion spoke.
Harrenhal covered three times as much ground as Winterfell and its buildings were so much larger that they could scarcely be compared. Its stables could house more than a thousand horses and its Godswood covered twenty acres.
The surrounding lands subject to Harrenhal were actually some of the richest and most fertile in all of Westeros, being located in the watersheds of both the Trident River and Gods Eye lake.
"The Stormlands are bringing around a second army from the South" – Tyrion continued to say.
"We have three dragons" – Ellaria Sand spoke.
"We're not using the dragons" – Jon stated; Daenerys felt the tension in the room rise – "I'll lead the vanguard" – he added.
"Your Grace, I fully trust in your ability to lead the vanguard, but – " – Tyrion tried to say.
"My decision is final" – Jon interrupted him; his glare could melt Valyrian steel – "We have 60.000 men. They have half of our forces" – he stated.
His hands were clenched together. He could feel the anger clawing in his chest at the thought of someone frightening or harming Sansa.
She was the only thing in his life that'd ever made sense. If he lost her, like he'd lost everyone else, he didn't think he could live through that.
The thought of losing her had become more terrifying than the threat of losing the throne, the war or his life. He could actually feel the panic spreading along his body, burning fast and fierce like the green flames of wildfire.
I cannot lose her. I cannot.
He remembered her red hair – red like fire. People said it was good luck. Not good enough though: she's was in harm's way.
His stomach sickened at the thought. Images, each one more twisted than the other, flitted through his brain: Sansa crumpled on the battlefield, painted in her own blood, the color drained from her body, her big bright eyes closed forever…
Terror crept up his skin.
He could wield a sword, ride a dragon and lead an army, but he couldn't bring the dead back to life. There would be nothing he could do.
Sansa was everything. Everything he thought he could never have. Everything he'd ever wanted. Someone brave, gentle and strong; someone to share his burdens and be his best advisor and closest friend; someone to love and build a family… A partner in life.
Love, happiness, future.
He wanted all of that with Sansa alone.
"A large portion of the enemy's army will be dedicated to the defensive line" – Grey Worm said – "The rest will be spread to engage the rebellion"
Jon scrubbed his beard.
"I want 20.000 of our men to occupy the foothills and immediate plains along the Trident. We need to form columns for the push into the heart of Harrenhal" – he explained – "They will push out under cover of darkness where I'll ride out to assume control"
Once the formality of tactics was finished, he dismissed everyone with a rough command, thankful for the authority that kingship afforded. Only Daenerys stayed.
Jon stepped out onto the balcony.
He exhaled when her indigo eyes met his with understanding.
She knew his thoughts. She knew that Sansa's absence was the source of his building dread.
Dany slipped her smooth hand into his.
"She is strong, Jon" – she said and Jon almost managed to smile at that.
A sennight later
They were coming up the creek slowly, checking for signs, and although they had tried to be careful, any tracker with experience could follow them.
The danger set Sansa's adrenaline pumping, and she forced herself to stay calm.
Her legs were incredibly sore; her muscles unaccustomed to riding on horseback at this pace for this long.
The journey to King's Landing – the place she'd swore she would never return to – by horse was a hard one, but it was their only chance at survival. Going north was not an option; the Tyrell army blocked all the routes to Winterfell. They needed to go south; they needed to find Jon.
Jon.
Arya barely said his name during their journey. She only mentioned him once, and Sansa couldn't help but feel a sharp pain in her chest at her sister's behavior. It was like Arya purposely avoided to say his name; saying his name caused her to visibly flinch.
Sansa tried to distract herself with thoughts of anything but their current situation.
She focused her attention on Gendry, remembering the past few day's events: the hours she spent listening to him and Arya bicker like an old married couple.
Gendry was all hard lines and bulky frame, but there was a gentle calmness about him that made Sansa like him.
He was good for Arya. He could be the calm that her sister needed.
They teased each other good-naturally. Arya blustered, Gendry scowled, but there was no real heat behind their words. It was actually pretty funny to watch, Sansa thought. It was obvious that they had an easiness between them that spoke of the years they'd spent together.
Sansa caught herself smiling. They truly acted like an old married couple with their routines, their bickering, and their understanding of each other.
Suddenly, a shout sounded somewhere close.
Sansa's smile immediately disappeared.
"They've found us" – Arya turned to see soldiers pointing and shouting – "We don' have much time" – she added as she calculated the distance and the obstacles in their way.
She kicked the horse, and Sansa tightened her grip around her.
It wasn't long before the horsed soldiers were following them.
"Hang on" – Arya warned Sansa.
She kicked the horse into a faster pace. Gendry followed her lead.
Sansa glanced behind them. The soldiers were still visible through the trees. They hadn't lost them yet.
A hill loomed in front of them.
"Come this way" – Arya said to Gendry, who was a bit behind them.
They cut around sharply behind the hill and pushed the horses away from the road.
Sansa was about to speak when a sudden thwack of an arrow sounded not far from her ears.
She tensed. They hadn't lost them.
Gendry pulled up the horse, signaling to Arya. She held her horse still.
"They have to be nearly here. You've got to go" – he muttered – "I'll distract them"
Arya's eyes widened as Gendry's words sunk in.
"What? No!" – she exclaimed; her heart hammering – "Do you want to die, you stubborn fool?"
Another arrow flew past them, this time near to Gendry's head, then Sansa's.
"I'll distract them" – he insisted.
"Distract them with what? Your male charms?" – Arya protested.
Gendry seized a hammer from the belt strapped diagonally across his back.
Sansa bit her lower lip.
"Then I will stay as well" – Arya said, reaching for her sword – "I won't leave you" – her eyes defiant, though her voice betrayed her with a slight quiver.
"Arya…" – he tried to say.
"No, Gendry! No!" – Arya's voice was a rough whisper.
She closed her eyes, as if she could stop everything if she hoped hard enough. But that was not the world they lived in. They lived within chaos and destruction, a world they neither asked for nor created.
"You're a better rider than me. If I distract them, it'll give you time to get away" – Gendry spoke – "You must protect your sister" – his voice was low and soft, but clear; he could see in her eyes that she wanted desperately to argue, and yet she knew he was right – "I'll be fine" – he said – "I'll meet you at High Heart"
He noticed that her gray eyes were filled with unshed tears.
A part of Arya wanted to rush into battle, but it was quickly overruled by the desire to keep Sansa safe.
Gendry took the reins and kicked the horse into action.
Arya hesitated for only a split second, her eyes trained on Gendry; her face tight with pain. She felt him go, like a coldness.
It wasn't long before they heard the roar of men and the clash of swords.
High Heart was a very tall hill. It was considered a very safe place due to its relative height compared to the very flat surrounding land, making it nearly impossible to be approached unseen.
Arya sat on a big rock, near the edge of the hill, and stared morosely down at the Riverlands. The view from here was pretty spectacular, she had to admit.
Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords
She could look out over Acorn Hall (a castle in the Riverlands), past Sallydance and Stone Hedge, out toward something that gleamed in the far distance like the edge of a silver coin—Ruby Ford, a crossing of the River Trident; it was so named for the rubies that were knocked from Prince Rhaegar Targaryen's breastplate during the Battle of the Trident. Robert drove his warhammer into the prince's chest, killing him. Adorning Rhaegar's breastplate was a three-headed dragon, the symbol of House Targaryen, done in rubies. The hammer blow knocked the rubies from Rhaegar's chest, spilling them into the ford and giving the ford its name.
Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords.
Arya looked down at her hands. She had torn up several fistfuls of grass in the last spasms of her anger, and her fingers were sticky with dirt and blood where she'd ripped a nail half off.
Once the fury had passed, a feeling of utter emptiness had replaced it. She couldn't help feeling that Gendry's gesture was close to suicide. She pushed the thought away.
Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords.
"Mind if I join you?" – a familiar voice said.
Arya looked up and met Sansa's blue eyes. She brushed the dirt off her hands and nodded.
Sansa sat beside her.
"Nice view" – she commented, looking out over the riverlands.
"You should be resting" – Arya spoke.
Sansa looked at her sidelong.
She was silent for a long moment.
Sansa knew that her sister was thinking about Gendry; she knew that Arya was scared for him; she knew that Arya cared about him.
She might even love him – Sansa thought.
Sansa was her sister. It was her job to know her, to worry for her and to watch out for her well-being.
She wished Arya trusted her enough to share her thoughts and feelings with her.
They were supposed to be able to trust each other with any intimate secret, but their personalities were so different…
Finally she said:
"When we used to fight you'd go and sulk on the roof and Father would have to get you down" – she spoke.
Arya narrowed her eyes, confused.
"When you get upset you head for high ground" – Sansa explained.
Arya laced her hands around her knees and stared out at the riverlands.
The sun was low in the sky, and the rooftops of the small villages had begun to glow a faint reddish pink.
"I'm sure Gendry – " – Sansa tried to say.
"Where did you learn to hit like that?" – Arya cut her off – "Littlefinger got right to his knees" – she added.
Sansa's mouth felt dry as her thoughts travelled and she remembered the exact moment Littlefinger relaxed his hold on her, allowing her to hit his stomach and throat. She could still remember the way he'd fell to the floor and the knife in her sleeve.
Her stomach tightened. Her palms were sticky, and not from the heat. In fact, it was cool.
"Jon taught me" – she managed to say, swallowing back tears.
"Jon…" – Arya murmured; she looked as if she was lost in a distant memory – "You learned well" – she cleared her throat.
Sansa wrung her hands as Jon's words echoed in her head:
Three quick jabs to the stomach, one to the throat, and he'll go right to his knees.
Her sadness clawed at her throat.
The memory of his intense gray eyes and raven hair made her heart ache; she missed him so much. She missed his laugh, his touch, his kiss, his perfect smile. She missed him, more than she had ever missed anyone in her life. She longed to hear his voice again, to touch his skin…
Sansa took a deep breath, determined to finally tell Arya everything about her and Jon.
She was tired of pretending, of hiding, of restraining.
"There's something you need to know" – she stated.
"Jon is not our brother" – Arya said – "He's a Targaryen" – she hugged her knees.
The sadness in her voice hurt Sansa. Arya clearly wasn't happy about Jon's true parentage.
"How did you –" – she tried to speak, but Arya interrupted her.
"Everyone in the Seven Kingdoms knows, Sansa" – she harshly said – "I'm not deaf" – she added.
Their eyes locked.
There was an uncomfortable silence. So much was unsaid.
A bad feeling inside Sansa grew stronger and her doubts returned.
Did Arya know about her and Jon? Did she hear Littlefinger's words?
Her own doubts and fears were consuming her.
She never cared about Arya's opinions or thoughts, but now she did. She wanted her approval. She wanted her sister's support. She wanted Arya to be happy for her, for them.
She wanted to tell her the truth, but the words refused to leave her mouth.
She wished Jon was by her side. He would've known what to say. He would've known how to speak with Arya.
It was getting colder as the sun dipped to touch the edge of the horizon.
"He has been sending out patrols to find you" – Sansa spoke quietly.
"I know" – Arya said, avoiding her sister's gaze.
"You know?" – Sansa frowned.
She quickly understood Arya's words.
The Lady of Winterfell shivered; she went suddenly cold all over, cold as winter.
Her lungs hurt.
For a moment, she wanted to cry.
"We've been looking for you!" – she got up from the ground – "We've been out of our minds with worry! We thought you were dead, and all this time you've been dodging our scouts?" – she felt her voice rise, but she didn't bother to force it back down – "Why? Why didn't you come home?"
When she looked at Arya the truth sent a chill over her entire body, goose-bumps breaking out on her arms.
"Gods... You did come home, didn't you?" – she breathed the question.
Sansa could hear her own heart beating.
She ran her fingers through her short hair and blinked away the pinpricks of tears welling up in her eyes.
She felt a weight on her chest; her body started trembling
"Arya!" – Sansa exclaimed.
She was incensed; her blue eyes snapping fire.
"I saw you!" – Arya yelled back at her – "I saw you" – she repeated a bit quieter – "You were playing with Ghost in Godswood … and then I saw Jon" – her voice broke on Jon; she took a deep breath –"He was hidden behind a tree and his gaze was on you" – she added.
Sansa gulped. She remembered that day: Ghost was trotting at Jon's side when a sound caught his attention – Arya?
It was the day she'd seen the livid bruises that plagued Jon's skin and a bandage wrapped around his torso stained with blood.
"You were there? Why didn't you say something?" – she asked softly, a painful sadness in her voice.
"I watched you talk and …" – Arya continued to say, ignoring Sansa's questions – "And you made him smile" – she stammered – "I could always make Jon smile"
– not you –Sansa heard her unspoken words.
The Lady of Winterfell bit her lower lip.
Arya rose from the rock.
She caught her ragged breath as the image of Jon invaded her mind.
She remembered all the times Jon held her in his arms, all the times he kissed her brow, all the times he told her bedtime stories.
She remembered how safe and happy he made her feel. Jon always made her problems go away.
Arya loved Winterfell but she never seemed to fit, no more than Jon had… yet she could always make him smile.
She would give anything to be with him now, to feel his hand muss up her hair once more and to hear him finish a sentence with her.
Jon was her favorite. He would always be her favorite.
But you're no longer his favorite – a little voice in her head said.
Arya felt a sharp pain in her chest, as if she had been stabbed.
She was no longer his favorite. She was no longer his sister. She was no longer his family.
Arya shook her head, whishing she could shake all the confusing conflicting emotions eating at her. She failed.
"He was looking at you with a stupid grin on his face, and I realized that everything was different now" – she managed to say – "I know that he's not our brother, but I kept telling myself that he was … that he was still my brother … but he isn't" – she closed her eyes for a second – "He's king. He's a Targaryen. He has a new family. He'll never call me 'little sister' ever again" – she stammered – "Everything is different now. Why would I want to return home?" – Arya shrugged – "Jon doesn't need me anymore… You never did"
Sansa felt a weight on her chest.
She did her best to breathe normally but her emotions kept getting the best of her.
"You're wrong" – she stuttered– "I need you, Arya" – even to her own ears her voice sounded desperate – "And Jon needs you too" – she continued to say as tears started to form in her eyes – "He may not be our brother, but you will always be his little sister. What Jon and you have is something that he and I will never have because I never saw him like a brother … but you did, and you still do" – she explained.
She wanted her words to be the right words. And most important, she wanted Arya to believe her.
Arya looked everywhere but at Sansa. She clenched her fingers into fists and struggled for breath.
She wanted to believe her so much that it caused a dull ache, a longing she couldn't explain.
"You loved him all your life. The truth about his parentage doesn't change that" – Sansa insisted – "No one could ever replace you, Arya. He's still your brother" – she reached out and stroked Arya's hair – "Trust me" – she added, tenderly.
The younger Stark bit her trembling lip.
Oh, she wanted to believe her, wanted to believe it was all that simple. But how could it be?
As if hearing her thoughts, Sansa spoke:
"I mean, can you look at Jon and see a man? A very good-looking man?" – she asked, arching an eyebrow.
Arya's eyes widened as soon as she understood her sister's words.
Can you look at Jon and see a man?
She almost lost her balance.
A very good-looking man?
"Gods, no!" – she exclaimed, making a face – "Ew, gross!" – she shook her head – "No!" – she added, twisting her face in disgust.
Sansa laughed.
"See? Nothing changed" – she said.
Arya's gaze found Sansa's. She saw something in her eyes, something she understood all too well: they were alike… both alone and wounded by the war.
Her thoughts traveled and she remembered her father's words:
Sansa is your sister. You may be as different as the sun and the moon, but the same blood flows through both your hearts. You need her, as she needs you.
A thick tear rolled down her cheek.
"I need you too" – Arya said softly, making Sansa smile.
The Lady of Winterfell caressed her sister's cheek, wiping away her tear.
Arya threw herself into her embrace; it was their first hug, ever.
Sansa held her close to her, squeezing her tight.
Arya sobbed.
The pack survives – their father seemed to whisper in their ears.
Again, sorry for the wait. After watching season 7 (and the boat scene) my muse decided to get into a coma (deep sleep, a state of extreme unresponsiveness…), anyway I'm back!
I hope you liked this chapter (and the small reference to chapter 2 of this fanfic).
Thank you so much for reading and please let me know what you think! (: