SANSA
"I could hardly believe it when Mom said that someone wanted to speak to me. She had this weird look on her face, sad but happy at the same time and I became worried," Arya admitted. "But then I heard Uncle Benjen's voice and my heart stopped. I thought I was imagining things."
"I can relate," Sansa said. "When I first saw Uncle Benjen I nearly fainted. I didn't know he was alive."
"I didn't know anyone was alive," Arya exclaimed.
"Same," Sansa said.
The four of them were sitting on the floor in a small circle, talking and catching up, reveling in each others presence, and getting used to the different accents that they all seemed to have acquired.
"This conversation is going to get repeated once Bran arrives tomorrow," Jon stated.
"Remember when there were four heads of auburn hair and blue eyes and you two used to be the oddballs out?" Sansa mused. "Now I'm the oddball out. At least until Bran arrives."
Two sets of grey eyes stared back at her in amusement. "I think Jon and I were the standard. We take after Father's side of the family. The Starks. The rest of you look like Tullys," Arya declared.
Sansa looked at her uncle. "Uncle Benjen doesn't have grey eyes either. And he's a Stark like Father."
"Yes he does. His are blue-grey. There's grey in there," Arya observed.
"And blue too," Sansa defended.
Uncle Benjen interrupted their debate as he said, "You all sound so different. I swear there's an accent from every different part of the world."
Arya's Australian accent was even more distinct than Jon's British one.
"Bran is flying in from New Zealand, isn't he?" Sansa asked as her eyes lit up. "His accent is going to be so interesting."
They spent the rest of the day snuggled together on the couch, talking and laughing, retelling old memories and stories. Sansa also joyfully showed Arya the picture of her with the fake mustache, painted muscles and unibrow, topped off with a bandana on her head.
"Oh no," Arya gasped between laughter, "that's awful!"
Sansa saw the adoration in Jon's eyes as he tickled Arya to make her laugh more. The love and admiration that the two held for one another was hard to miss.
By the time Uncle Benjen sent them off to prepare for bed, it was past midnight.
"Sansa, look," Arya said, sitting next to her after they each had brushed their teeth, showered and changed into pajamas.
Sansa noticed the object in her lap and leaned down for a closer inspection.
"It's called Needle. Jon gave it to me shortly before the accident. He knew how much I loved practicing HEMA with him and Robb."
"Can I hold it?" Sansa asked, looking at Arya. Her sister nodded and Sansa carefully picked up the HEMA sword. It was sleek and thin. Made for a child.
In her mind she could picture fourteen year old Jon secretly gifting nine year old Arya with the sword. Her little sister had been such a tomboy even then. Her and Jon thicker than thieves.
"I'm the best Longsword Fencer in my town," Arya said, a fierce satisfaction glinting in her eyes. "I beat everyone. I also challenged Jon to a duel."
Arya's eyes were so mischievous that Sansa had to laugh. "When?" she asked gleefully.
"When Bran gets here," Arya replied.
"I bet you're going to win," Sansa predicted as Arya put Needle away.
"I bet so too," Arya agreed. "I'll stick him with the pointy end!"
The two of them got into bed chatting excitedly, unable to settle down and fall asleep.
It was a night full of whispered secrets, laughter, and tears, and when the sisters finally drifted off to sleep, Sansa found that sleep was difficult to maintain as she alternated between sleeping soundly and peacefully, to waking up every hour to bask in the novelty of having her sister next to her.
When morning arrived she felt tired but oddly rejuvenated.
Arya grabbed her hand as she slowly sat up. "Get up, Sansa!" she insisted, her grey eyes shining with excitement. "Bran is arriving today and we're all going to the airport."