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Whenever Arya thought of seeing her brother again, and the thought came frequent since King’s Landing, she never expected it to go like this; she’s hidden among the crowd gathered in the courtyard, watching as the Dragon Queen’s party entered Winterfell.
Arya sees Jon first, moving ahead of everyone else. He walks with purpose, his gaze fully locked on Sansa, before he steps into her embrace. There’s something there that Arya can’t quite place.
It’s odd seeing them so at ease with their affections; she can’t even remember a time from before when the pair of them were ever like this.
From a distance, she notices Jon whisper something to Sansa, but she can’t make out what it is.
Soon enough the moment is interrupted by the Dragon Queen and the attention shifts to her.
In all her time in Essos, Arya had heard tale of the woman enough times that she wasn’t expecting her to be so... unimpressive. In truth, Arya could have easily missed her in her pale white dress if Jon and Sansa weren’t suddenly watching her approach.
Is this the woman who means to help them survive the long night? Arya wonders idly, unconvinced. She’s only met one other queen in her life, and Cersei’s left enough of an impression on her to know this one doesn’t compare.
The crowd watched with hushed whispers as the woman strutted towards Jon and Sansa.
There’s something here too, she realizes. Between the woman and Jon. Arya isn’t the only one who notices, she sees her sister’s gaze flicker between them.
As the Dragon Queen walked, she only looks at Jon. Her expression doesn’t quite scream confusion, but Arya can almost hear the question at the tip of her tongue: what is going on here?
This is probably not the welcome she’s expecting, not if the whispers they heard about her is true.
Bend the knee or die.
Introductions are made quickly, quicker if her titles hadn’t been drawled on, and they’re directed into the Great Hall for supper afterwards.
Arya keeps her anonymity throughout, just watching and listening, blending among Northern crowd to gauge their reactions as her sister had asked. Sansa’s managed to keep her Bannermen subdued for now, but both of then know the peace won’t last.
Whether it comes from the North or South, from the very people gathered in their hall or even from the monsters flying above —- war is near.
But, and Arya clearly remembers the day her father tell her this, the pack survives.
And so they shall.
*
The two dragons are loud in the quiet of the night, looming above Winterfell as though they might attack at any given opportunity.
As she made her way to Sansa’s solar after the feast has ended, Arya tries to brace herself with seeing her brother up-close for the first time in years.
This is not at all how she expected it to happen; things were much simpler when she was a child and didn’t have even a tinge of doubt on where her brother’s loyalties may lie.
Arya nods at Brienne as she approached Sansa’s solar and the woman of Tarth announces her arrival and lets her in. She seems to have interrupted a heated conversation between Jon and Sansa, the pair of them in a staring match for a few moments until Jon finally breaks his gaze to turn to her.
Slowly, a smile so familiar split his face into two, but Arya can only stand and stare. How can he be the brother she remembers, the brother she’s longed for in so long, yet still so different now?
“I see you still have needle,” he points out, his smile widening at the sight of Arya’s blade.
I kept it safe for you, she wants to spit out. For the brother I loved most of all.
Standing there in front of Jon twists her gut almost as much as it did when she was at the Twins, when she was so sure she was finally going to be with her family again, only to watch as their enemies destroyed what she thought was left of it.
Finding hope, chasing after it, only for it to be taken away again.
“I’d ask if I should refer to you as Your Grace, but I’m told you gave away my home, my Lord.”
Her words are meant to sting and she sees from his expression that it does. “Arya...” he says gently. It’s his big brother voice, she remembers it so well. “It was not like that.”
She doesn’t budge. “No? Yet dragons fly above Winterfell as we speak, free to breathe fire into our home should it desire to.”
Jon opens his mouth as though he means to argue but no words come out.
It’s Sansa who tries to break the tension, looking between them warily. “Let’s not fight amongst ourselves.”
“Isn’t that what you were doing before I arrived?” She asked innocently, looking between them.
The look they share between each other is very telling. It speaks of an odd closeness akin to what she noticed during the embrace they shared in the courtyard. There’s something there — something more to this than Arya can tell.
“We weren’t arguing,” Sansa said icily, still looking at Jon. “We merely disagree on how matters should have been dealt with.”
Arya doesn’t know how the two is any different but she remains quiet as Jon let out a weary sigh, attention back on Sansa.
“I had no choice. It was as you said and I should have listened,” he admits quietly, looking right at her. “Everything I did, i did in order to go home.”
Sansa’s face softened just for a moment before her mask of steel comes up again.
“You slept with her,” she said, no clear tone in her voice.
Arya can’t tell how this affects her sister but she can sense a shift in the atmosphere.
Jon looks away for a moment before holding Sansa’s gaze again, more intensely now, and he says, much quieter: “I did what I had to.”
Arya wonders if she should leave them to discuss whatever this is. It’s obvious to her that they’re holding something back in her presence, but she needn’t have wondered because Bran comes with Maester Tarly not a moment later, bearing a news to shock them all.
And dare she say it, the look Jon and Sansa share at the news makes it clear to Arya what the strangeness between them actually is.
It’s love, she realized. And longing.
“You’re in love with my sister,” she points out when they finally clear out of Sansa’s solar.
Of all the things she never expected to happen once she sees Jon again, having this conversation would be top of the list. And if she’s honest, she’d prefer not to have a conversation with Jon at all. Not when she feels so betrayed by him.
Arya loves him, she truly does, and she’ll always consider him as her brother despite what Bran and the Maester has just revealed, but she can’t bear to look at him right now.
Still, she turns to him sharply, awaiting his response.
“I - wha - Arya - “
She steps closer, arms folded behind her back. “If anyone tries to harm my sister, be it a Targaryen or not, I won’t hesitate to slit their throats.” It’s been a long night, their family having rehashed their individual trials throughout, so Jon should know it’s no idle threat from her.
Arya is both capable - and willing - to come after anyone who seeks to harm the family that remains to her.
“I’m merely wondering,” she continues, watching Jon as though he’s prey. “Which side you’d be on, should that time come.”
Jon’s face hardens angrily and it’s all the answer she needs. “I won’t let anyone hurt Sansa ever again. I promised to protect her and I will. No matter the cost.”
Arya steps back and nods once before leaving him there. For now, it’s all she needs to know.