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The day Lyanna Mormont returned from camp to reveal that she had grown a good four inches over the summer was, in Arya’s considered opinion, the absolute worst day of her life.
It was a betrayal of the highest order. They had been best friends since Arya was four and Lyanna three and a half, when their parents had left them together in a playpen while Maege Mormont talked business with Ned Stark. They had grown up – well, grown older, anyway, and at least a little bit upwards – practically joined at the hip. For years, they had shared the woes of being the “pint-sized terror,” the “isn’t-it-so-cute-how-tiny-she-is” sweetling, the sister who could be easily antagonized simply by holding something out of her reach. Lyanna’s siblings were almost utterly unlike Arya’s, but Sansa and the Mormont girls shared the dubious privilege of freaky giant bones, and Lyanna had been the first person Arya had complained to when Bran hit his teenage growth spurt and she faced the indignity of having to look up at her younger brother.
But no more. After ten years, their ferocious partnership against a world full of annoying older sisters and tall people was no longer.
Arya had known it was a bad idea to let Lyanna go away without her to sleepaway camp in the woods for two months, but had her parents listened? Of course not. She glowered at the comic books piled high by her window. Lyanna had lent some of those to her at the beginning of the summer. She would have to return them eventually. The thought made her unhappy enough to want to knock over the pristine tower of pages her mother had tidied together from the comics usually strewn all over her floor.
It turned out that pushing a stack of comics over was not very satisfying.
Arya groaned and flopped down on her bed.
Sansa poked her head around the doorframe, evidently summoned from her room next door by the noise. A moment later, Margaery sauntered into view beside her. Margaery looked as put together as ever, but Arya knew Sansa had been wearing a shirt over that tank top earlier, and she had a smudge of lipstick on her forehead. Gross.
“Is something wrong?” Sansa asked cautiously. Ever since she’d broken up with Joffrey, she’d been making what she called “a proactive effort to appreciate and bond with her siblings more” and what Arya called “a really annoying way of apologizing for forcing us to sit through Thanksgiving, all eight nights of Hanukkah, and Christmas with that asshole.” Margaery, who, as far as Arya could tell, thought her sister was some sort of adorable, damaged woodland creature who could do no evil, and who had excellent relationships with all of her own brothers, had been encouraging Sansa.
If Sansa was a woodland creature, Arya reflected, she was probably an especially annoying pigeon who tried to steal everyone else’s food and would not leave her alone. Or possibly an ostrich, because she was so freakishly tall. Were ostriches woodland creatures? Lyanna would know. She knew everything about animals and the wilderness, because her family was really into mountain hiking and let her come on wicked cool expeditions with them all the time. Both she and Arya agreed that it was horribly unfair of the Stark parents to forbid Arya from joining, especially as Arya was five months older than Lyanna. She had always promised to take Arya camping in the north someday – except now they probably wouldn’t even fit in a tent together because Lyanna was so stupidly tall. She must have gone camping practically every night with her new sleepaway camp buddies, Arya thought, and her scowl deepened.
Sansa had taken a seat next to her on her bedspread and was frowning at her in concern. Margaery sat cross-legged on the floor, swiping through Instagram on her phone.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Sansa offered.
“There’s no way you’ll get it,” Arya said.
“Try me,” said Sansa.
Arya rolled her eyes. “You’re, like, seven feet tall, for one thing.” As Sansa blinked at the apparent non-sequitur, Arya continued, “And your best friend has never wanted to get a new best friend. Even when being friends with you meant suffering through Jerk-off Joff, Jeyne never said anything.”
Sansa flushed. “Jeyne is a very loyal friend, and I’ve apologized to her for –”
“Jeyne is a lovely friend,” Margaery interrupted, looking up from her phone to head off one of Sansa’s frequent attempts to apologize for everything that had happened while she had been dating Joffrey. Arya added another point to Margaery’s girlfriend rating in her head. No matter how unpleasant Joffrey had been to all of Sansa’s friends and family, it had been Sansa who’d suffered the most because of the dick. She needed to stop acting like all the stuff he’d done was her fault. “But I don’t think Arya is talking about her, babe. Is this about Lyanna?”
“She came back from summer camp last night,” Arya said. “I went over to see her.”
“And?” Margaery asked.
“And she had a stupid growth spurt, and now she’s tall and looks like a totally different person,” Arya grumbled.
“She got … tall? And that makes you, um, upset?” asked Sansa.
“Yes!” Arya said. “See, I told you already you wouldn’t get it.”
Even the usually unflappable Margaery looked flummoxed. “Arya, growth spurts are a pretty normal –”
“I know what growth spurts are!” Arya said. “Just because I don’t have them doesn’t mean I don’t know what they are. It’s hormones. And things.” At least, she was fairly sure hormones were involved – she hadn’t listened too closely in health class when they were going over this stuff, because, well. Gross.
“What makes Lyanna’s growth spurt so terrible?” Sansa asked carefully.
“She’s tall now,” Arya said. “She probably wants to be friends with, like, other tall people now. Tall people she met at camp or whatever.” She scowled again. “She wouldn’t stop talking about everyone at camp and how great they all were when I went to visit. She kept talking about her bunkmate, who was so pretty and tall and they went hiking together and it was so much fun and just the coolest. Whatever.”
Margaery let out a startled peal of laughter. Sansa shot her a look, but Margaery just shook her head and asked, “Arya, are you jealous?”
Arya frowned. “Jealous that Lyanna is going to be a weird tall giant like Sansa? No thanks.”
“OK, one, Sansa is beautiful and her height makes her striking and you should be nicer to your sister,” Margaery said. Sansa smiled in a disgustingly sweet way and Margaery continued, “But two, I wasn’t asking whether you were jealous of Lyanna. I meant her roommate, the girl who was so, ah, tall. And pretty.”
Sansa made a startled sound of comprehension, but Arya ignored her sister being weird and considered the question. “Even if she’s tall, Lyanna’s still pretty much the best person you could ever know,” Arya said. “So yeah, I guess – I wish she’d never shared a bunk with Lyanna.”
“And do you wish Lyanna didn’t say she was pretty?” Sansa asked.
“I mean, I know Lyanna’s bi,” Arya said. “She told me so as soon as she figured it out. So I don’t have a problem with her thinking that girls are pretty in general –”
“Wait, you found out Lyanna was bi, and you never mentioned it to me?” Sansa interjected.
“I dunno, you had things going on at the time,” Arya said. It had been at the height of the Joffrey debacle and Arya perhaps hadn’t been as charitably inclined towards her sister as she was now. “And it wasn’t a big deal, anyway.”
“Arya, Mom’s been joking about planning your wedding to Lyanna since you were six,” Sansa said. “If we’d known that was an actual possibility –”
“OK, just because you started dating your bi friend doesn’t mean we all want to date our friends,” Arya said. “That’d be weird. No offense,” she added. “Besides, we already agreed ages ago that we’re going to get married once we’re thirty so Mom doesn’t kill me for depriving her of a wedding. Also for tax benefits, because Lyanna’s sister Dacey said that’s an important thing to consider once you’re boring and old.”
“But do you wish Lyanna said you were pretty?” Margaery asked.
“Gross,” Arya said immediately, and Sansa tossed one of Arya’s Companion Cube pillows at her head. Arya deflected it easily, but holding the pillow in her arms reminded her of how much fun she and Lyanna had had playing Portal together. Arya didn’t even want to contemplate the possibility of a world in which Lyanna didn’t spend hours in the Mormont garage playing videogames with her and ganging up on the Mormont sisters together whenever one of them joined in, but instead gamed with her tall, pretty bunkmate …
“That’s not a yes or no,” Sansa said. “Do you wish she thought you were pretty?”
“I don’t want anyone to think I’m pretty,” Arya said, frowning down at the Companion Cube.
“OK, do you wish she thought you were handsome?” Sansa said. “Like a tiny punk butch heartthrob. Or, uh, whatever the look you’re going for is, anyway.”
“I wish she was still a tiny butch heartthrob,” Arya said, and she sighed. “OK. Even if she’s some sort of weird ostrich like you now, she’s still stupidly perfect. And I want her to think that I’m stupidly perfect. Also better than her at videogames.”
“So that’s a yes?” Margaery asked, after the silence had lasted long enough that it was apparent Arya considered these comments a sufficient response.
Arya flopped backwards on her bed again. “Ugh. Yes.”
“Hold on just a minute, Margaery and I need to talk,” Sansa said. The two girls disappeared into the hallway in a flurry of whispers and quiet giggling, and Arya rolled over so her face was buried in a pillow. This was predictably embarrassing and exactly why she never discussed crushes with Sansa. Sometimes two girls wanted to get married and grow old together just because no one else could possibly understand their shared obsession with Olympic women’s sabre gold medalist Brienne of Tarth! Sometimes you were sad just because your best friend was suddenly a tall traitor who had other, taller, hotter friends! Not everyone was obsessed with romance novels and couples aesthetic boards on Pinterest.
Arya and Lyanna had a joint Pinterest, but they’d only set it up to create a board for cool ideas of places to go and gear to use when they finally got to go on hiking adventures together. That was totally different.
Margaery and Sansa returned with matching smug grins. “After pooling our considerable intellects, we’ve crafted a solution for you,” Margaery announced. “You and Lyanna are too adorable to spend forever pining after each other.”
“And your babies would be terrifying, tiny, and cute, and we don’t want to miss out on them,” Sansa added.
“Also that,” Margaery agreed, with a regal nod. “From everything Sansa tells me, Lyanna definitely likes you, too. Even if she doesn’t, it’s better to get all this out there before it has time to fester. Better to know for certain than spend forever wondering. Also, now is the ideal time to strike: right when someone’s just come back from a long time away is the perfect moment to try to kick your relationship into a different gear, because absence has made the heart grow as fond as it’s going to get and a break like that makes it easy to change your normal dynamic without it feeling weird. What’s the excuse that will get you over to the Mormont house fastest?”
“I still need to return the comics she lent me at the start of the summer,” Arya said.
“OK, good,” said Margaery. “So what you need to do is get dressed up and go over to her house with those comic books, along with a bunch of romantic things that you think Lyanna would like. You’re going to show up at her doorstep and tell her that being away from her for so long and seeing her return so tall and strikingly beautiful has made you realize that you’re hopelessly in love with her. And with any luck, she’ll say the same, and then you can kiss her on the doorstep for a while. Although try not to get caught by Mrs. Mormont. She seems a bit scary.”
“Margaery showed up with flowers and chocolate after Joff and I broke up,” Sansa said. “She also brought two seasons of ‘It’s Sew Easy,’ so we had something to watch together afterwards.”
“Our first real date,” Margaery said, turning to flash a smile at Sansa.
“The chocolate was ridiculously romantic,” Sansa said. “I’d always wanted someone to give me one of those heart-shaped chocolate boxes …”
Margaery’s grin quirked up with mischief, and she said, “And now every time I eat chocolate with marzipan, I think of that thing you did –”
“OK, enough!” Arya said quickly. “At least get out of my room before you start to suck each other’s faces off again, or talk about sucking each other’s faces off again.” Sansa rolled her eyes, but, arm-in-arm, the two girls stood and walked to the door. “And, uh, thanks for the advice,” Arya called after them.
“Good luck,” Sansa said.
“If you have anything like the game your sister has, you won’t need it,” Margaery said, and Sansa laughed as they left the room.
As far as Arya could tell, Sansa’s “game” consisted entirely of being lucky enough that Margaery was besotted with her, but OK maybe Margaery knew something she didn’t. Either way, Arya would need to be a bit more creative than Margaery had been to catch Lyanna’s eye. Lyanna had no interest in flowers that you couldn’t eat to survive if you got stranded in the mountains, and she had never indicated a particular interest in chocolate. But Arya hadn’t been friends with her for a decade without picking up on some of her favorite things …
An hour later, Jorelle Mormont answered the doorbell to find Arya Stark standing uncomfortably on her doorstep, with a dozen comic books stuffed under one armpit, a grey t-shirt balled up in one fist, and Nymeria’s leash clutched in her hand. The big dog barked enthusiastically when Jorelle appeared.
“Is Lyanna home?” Arya asked.
Jorelle nodded, trying not to stare at Arya’s outfit, which consisted of a floral blouse so long that it could only be Sansa’s and the only skirt Jorelle had ever seen Arya wear, along with a pair of beat-up sneakers. “Do you want me to tell her you’re here?”
“Yeah, thanks, Jory,” Arya said. “And tell your mom not to worry if she hears the barking – I know the rules. Nymeria’s not allowed on the sofa ever again.”
Barely a minute later, Lyanna emerged. “Aww, you brought Nymeria! Who’s a big fluffy girl?” she said immediately, bending down to rub Nymeria’s fur. Nymeria licked her face happily, and Arya unclipped the leash. After a minute of getting reacquainted, she straightened up and Arya released Nymeria to race happily around the Mormont’s front yard. “Jory said you were downstairs – what are you doing still outside?”
“Don’t ask – it was Margaery’s idea,” Arya said. Lyanna frowned in confusion, but before she could say anything, Arya said, “These are yours,” and handed her the comic books. “Also, here. I got this for you.” She thrust the t-shirt towards Lyanna.
When the other girl unfurled it to discover that it was a signed shirt from Asha Greyjoy’s recent tour – a tour whose visit to Winterfell she had missed while at camp – she almost yelped with excitement. “Aryaaaa, thank you so much,” she said, hugging her friend. Arya found her face smushed against Lyanna’s shoulder, which was not how hugs had been for them in the past, when they both were reasonable and compatible heights. “Wow, what was the concert like? How did you get her to sign it? Did you get one for yourself? I don’t want to take your only shirt –”
“I got one for myself as well, don’t worry,” Arya said. “And the concert was sick. We’re going to have to road-trip together to wherever she plays after this, because you have to see her in person – the pyrotechnics are so much cooler than they look on YouTube. And seeing her go off with the bass guitar in person is even more awesome than you think it’ll be, seriously. But wait, look a little closer at what Asha wrote.”
Lyanna held the shirt up to peer at the words in Sharpie. “To my biggest fan, Lyanna?” she read, and then she whistled between her teeth, the way that Dacey had taught both of them to whistle one summer. It was a sound Lyanna usually reserved only for things that truly impressed her. “That’s amazing. I love it! How did you get her to do that?”
Arya shrugged. “It wasn’t too hard,” she said. Being short made it easier to elbow people in the stomach. True, her dad hadn’t been thrilled when she’d chosen a packed punk rock concert to practice her skills at wading through crowds, but it had been worth it to make it to the front of the sea of people and present the shirt to Asha. Asha had laughed out loud at the trail of destruction and men clutching their stomachs she had left in her wake and written everything Arya had asked on the shirt. “And I know how much you love Asha Greyjoy, so I thought you deserved it. It’s not as if anyone else trying to get a shirt signed was as awesome as you are, or was as funny, or knew as much about mountain climbing, or was the coolest person I know …” She trailed off. Lyanna was looking at her oddly, and she had a feeling this was not the sort of romantic flattery Margaery had had in mind.
“I think you’re really pretty, even if you’re tall,” she said, floundering. “You have the greatest smile, and I actually think that tooth you chipped during hockey season just makes it even better. You were away from a while and now that you’re back, I’d … um … like to make out with your face?”
To her surprise, Lyanna laughed out loud. “It’s not funny,” Arya said, glaring at her and trying to decide whether to let herself feel the disappointment that was starting to well up at the back of her throat. Lyanna hadn’t said no, but – laughing wasn’t a great response either.
“How much of that was Margaery’s idea?” Lyanna asked.
“Margaery thought it was a good idea to bring flowers,” Arya grumbled.
“I’m glad you didn’t bring flowers,” Lyanna said. She smiled that stupidly lovely chipped-tooth smile at Arya. “I’m glad you brought this instead. All of it. And I’m glad you came to see me, and I guess I’m even glad that Margaery told you to have the guts to tell me how you feel, because – I’ve wanted to make out with your face for a while.”
“Oh,” Arya said. “Uh. Good?”
“Yeah,” Lyanna said, and then she leaned down and Arya discovered that the making-out-on-doorsteps part of Margaery and Sansa’s plan hadn’t been a terrible idea. Nor was it quite so terrible that Lyanna was tall now, because if anything, Arya found that she liked backing her now-tall friend up against the doorframe and kissing her thoroughly against the wall …
Someone coughed behind them, and the two teenagers broke apart. Going red, Arya steeled herself to face an irate Maege Mormont. But when she looked up, she found herself staring far, far upwards at a tall, white-bearded man with a face like thunder instead.
“I maybe got so distracted by the Asha Greyjoy shirt that I forgot to tell you my favorite uncle was visiting,” Lyanna whispered, and Arya went even redder. Could you die of embarrassment?
“So this is the famous Arya Stark,” Jeor Mormont said, scowling at the two of them like a grumpy, out-of-season Santa. “Well. You’re certainly shorter than I expected.”
Another advantage of dating your tall best friend, it turned out, was that you could hide your face against her shoulder when you turned beet red after being caught making out by her uncle. Perhaps, Arya reflected, it was not entirely a catastrophe that Lyanna had grown a full head taller over the summer.