The Strength of Her // SansaxSandor (On Hiatus)

Chapter 15

15. Message Received

Sansa broke her fast alone in the Great Hall, nothing but the cracking of the fire behind her to keep her company. Her plate was filled with eggs and peppered bacon, apples and raspberries drizzled in honey, the sweet and savory smells wrapping her in comfort. Her stomach growled, alluding to hunger slowly settling in. True be told the meal was no different than usual. The atmosphere was no more inviting, yet Sansa found herself more eager than ever to indulge on this particular morning.

The more bites Sansa sampled, the more visitors from outside took their seats at a table. The room was no longer hers alone. There were a few lords here. A handful of squires there. Each looking forward to filling their empty bellies with the pleasures of the kitchens. Although she didn't know any well enough to invite into a conversation, some nodded towards Sansa, wishing her a decent morning. Happily enough, she continued to have the table to herself.

Her cup needed refilling by the time she sensed someone watching her. "Do you still eat food? Or does nutrition not impact you anymore?"

Sansa knew without looking that the corner of Arya's lip twitched in an almost grin for just a moment. It was on an insanely rare occasion that Arya shared meals with anyone, much less her sister. Sansa did not take it personally.

"You seem to be in good spirits this morning," Arya stated, taking a seat next to Sansa. "Septa Mordane wouldn't much care for the way you're indulging."

Shrugging, Sansa popped another raspberry in her mouth. The honey stuck to her fingers no matter how much she licked them. The sugar mixed well with the salt of her skin. "That old woman didn't much care for many things."

The two went silent after that. A comfortable silence Sansa thought at first. She continued to engage with simple pleasantries as more came to enjoy a morning meal. All Arya did during this time was take a sip of ale. Then another. And another. Arya was still watching her. It caused a churning in her stomach that had little to do with the food.

Sansa peaked out the corner of her eye. She stopped moving, all too aware she was being studied. "Do you have something to say? Your staring is more than a little off-putting."

Arya didn't say anything right away. She didn't need to when she knew the opposite would only irritate her sister more. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"What?" Sansa didn't quite understand the question but chuckled anyway. A bit too cold to be misplaced as real. "Should I not take pleasure in my bacon? Too soon for the pig?"

Arya didn't seem to find a joke appealing this time around; not even the corner of her lip twitched. "You, sitting here at the table, alone."

"Do I point out that you're sitting with me or are you going to get to the point you're trying to make?"

Like always, Arya showed little emotion of disgust, but that didn't stop her words from oozing with it. "Jon's gone. You're the Lady of Winterfell."

Sansa didn't know where this conversation was going but gathered from Arya's stone and hard stare it wasn't in a good direction. While the two had in no way been kindred spirits since reuniting, there was an unspoken truce between them. They didn't talk about how they teased and tormented each other when they were children. Nor did they request pity for the troubles they endured leading up to the present. It wasn't the perfect relationship but the best Sansa could ask for considering. It would be disheartening to shatter that so soon. She turned toward Arya as she explained, "I'm the last person who wanted Jon to leave, but he still went on his own accord. Someone needs to be in charge while he's gone."

"Someone like you?"

Someone like you. Sansa didn't miss the accusation.

Who else was there? Traditionally, Bran would have been the next logical person to hold the fort of Winterfell, being a male-born Stark, but he was... different. Did Arya want the chance? The girl who since she was a toddler renounced the idea of ruling anything other than the dirt under her shoes? Should it have been a different lord? A man of the Night's Watch? A wildling?