Chapter Text
Sansa had drank a little. Mainly for appearances because the feast had been a celebration after all. A celebration of the victory of the Living over the Dead. Yet she felt she still had her wits about her which is why it startled her so much when she realised, only at the last moment, that she was being approached.
She turned to see her sister, Arya, and at first she felt relief that she was not under threat. Then she noticed something that she could swear she had never seen before and it chilled her to her core.
The whites of Arya’s eyes were red and her cheeks were covered in blotches. Sansa’s sister had been crying.
She had made it as far as the door to her chamber when her sister had appeared and so she wasted no time in inviting Arya into her room.
“Arya-“ she started, she was relieved to be interrupted because she had no idea what to say.
“Can I stay with you tonight?”
Arya was so vulnerable. It didn’t make any sense but Sansa tried to push the want for answers aside in favour of taking care of her sister for the first time in their lives. “Of course you can.”
Arya wasted no time in peeling off her jerkin and trousers and getting under the covers of Sansa’s bed in her shirt. Sansa had planned to look at some of her books but followed her sister’s behaviour and joined her in the pursuit of comfort.
The sisters got closer until Sansa found herself instinctively holding Arya and stroking her hair, desperately hoping that this was helping her and not making her want to cringe away.
Sansa had already decided that she would not ask questions. She would allow her sister to speak first. That always worked best with Arya who was known to be quite volatile.
“I have always missed Father and sometimes I miss the family life that we used to have as a whole. Tonight was the first time that I specifically missed Mother. The first time that I felt like I needed her,” Arya finally said once she had relaxed into their situation.
“You missed Mother and so you sought out me? The closest thing?”
“Yes, I hope that is flattering and not upsetting to you. You are so much like her in so many ways... but different. I feel like you understand me more than she ever did.”
“I know what you mean,” Sansa soothed her. There was a pause in which Sansa assumed that Arya would fill with why she needed their mother tonight of all nights, but the information must be too hard for her to part with, Sansa was going to have to ask. “What happened tonight? I didn’t see you at the feast.”
“I ate with the small folk outside. I wanted to be unnoticed.”
“I suppose that didn’t go to plan if you ended up crying?” It was a risky question. The last thing she wanted was for Arya to feel the need to run away from her room in search of solitude again.
“No, it didn’t,” Arya sighed away her sudden tension.
“Do you want to talk about what did happen? Or do you just want to rest?”
Arya lifted her chin to look at her with gratitude. Then, as she rested her head, she sighed again. “The new Lord Baratheon asked me to be his wife. The Lady of Storm’s End.”
Sansa gave a nervous laugh. “Gracious- I have heard of new Lords acting impulsively before but- Gods. Asking for the hand of the Hero of Winterfell is the boldest move I have heard in any of the stories. How did he find you? How did he know what you looked like?”
“He knows me, Sansa, he knew the sorts of places where I would hide and he found me there. He just obviously doesn’t know me well enough.”
Sansa was shocked. Arya was defending the man and seemed disappointed in how he had acted. The sadness that had caused her tears was all over her face again. Sansa stroked her sister’s cheek in an attempt to comfort her, to simply let her know that she cared, and kissed her forehead. Just like their mother would have done. “Arya, do you love him?”
“I don’t really know how to love anymore. If I was ever going to love anyone, it would have been him.” Sansa felt her sister tense so suddenly, with every muscle in her body, that it was clear Arya was fighting her tears again.
“Let it out, Arya, you don’t have to be brave with me,” Sansa told her and the same moment Arya burst into gut wrenching floods of tears, clinging to Sansa like she were a child and Sansa were Catelyn Stark.
Sansa held her tightly, stroked her hair, soothed her for several moments until the hardest sobs started to subside. Her fears of upsetting her sister, and causing her to flee, had left her. Arya really needed Sansa in that moment. “Forgive me, Arya, but if you didn’t know how to love anymore then you wouldn’t be feeling such grief over him.”
Arya gasped, stopped crying suddenly and looked at Sansa with confusion in her eyes. It looked like the thought that Sansa had shared was a revelation to her. Arya’s eyes flicked around as Sansa watched her sister follow her own thoughts to a conclusion. When she relaxed and sighed again she gave the smallest of smiles before looking resigned and sad again.
“It doesn’t matter anyway. It was simpler when he was a smith. I will never be the Lady that he needs.”
“Who are we to say what he needs? You might be exactly the Lady that he wants.” Sansa couldn’t stop herself and she instantly regretted what she had said. Arya was feeling bad enough without Sansa telling her that she was wrong to refuse him. “I’m sorry, I suppose I still want romance in my heart. I know that, realistically, you wouldn’t want to be the Lady of all of the Stormlands. You could! You would be a wonderful leader! But you would be unhappy.”
Arya relaxed again and snuggled into her side. Sansa knew from experience that crying so hard could be exhausting. “I didn’t realise, all those years ago, that this is what having a sister should be like. A best friend that our parents provided for us.”
Arya could never know how her words affected Sansa at that moment. As a girl, Sansa had longed to be close to Arya but she was not interested. She had always preferred their brothers and the rejection had always led Sansa to be defensive with her.
Instead, Sansa adjusted herself slightly to get more comfortable and stroked Arya’s hair until she fell asleep. Arya had become quite beautiful and it was very apparent on her sleeping face. She was free from her troubles in that state, troubles that Sansa had always wished that she could have saved her from, but Arya had always been a survivor - there was no way that Sansa could save her from anything.