good dirt | arya stark

six: winterfell

   The gates of Winterfell were tall, but that wasn't Irene's exact concern. They were beautiful, but she was more worried by the fact that she was freezing to death, and she wasn't inside yet.

    "Who wishes to pass through the gates of Winterfell?" A man's voice said once they were barely inside of the caste walls. Their steed had stopped walking, flicking its tail around and moving its mouth.

   Eris slowly got off of the horse, his arm gesturing towards her when he was on the ground again. "May I introduce-"

    She held up her tired hand, shaking her her. She didn't bother smiling. "I need to speak with Sansa."

   "You cannot request an audience with the King's sister." The guard says, his hand now on his sword.

   "But I can," she said back, her hands tightening on the reins of the horse. "And I'm telling you now, that I request to speak to Sansa Stark of Winterfell."

    "Girl, don't get antsy with me." He warned.

Her rope was short now, and she was about to blow a fuse. "I'll do what I want," she said, the cold in her bones now. "And I want to see Sansa."

   The guard just looked at her, his grim and annoyed face turning dark as he grinned, his lips pulling in tight. "I'll go find the Princess Sansa, and we'll see if she knows ya. If not, it's your head, little lady."

   "Oh," she said, waving her hand around. "How interesting." The guard smirked and turned away on his heel, stalking towards what he thought would be a very interesting day.

  The people in the square were watching now, some with guarded faces of their own and some looking rather amused with the show she was putting on. Eris though, looked like he was close to choking her out.

   "People are much meaner in the North, Irene." He whispered, his eyes engaged in their surroundings. "You can't have your tongue so wild, not as it was down South."

   "My tongue is fine, have you seen how long my grandmother lived?"

   "Roses don't do well in the North, Irene." He said through his teeth as they people still watched.

   "Actually," she began. "Snow is good for the roses." There was a certain silence in the square now besides her semi echoing voice and the crunch of snow on the ground, coming from one direction. As Irene turned her head to look, she almost cried.

   Sansa Stark, who hadn't quite seen her yet, was there in the flesh after all those years. She was much taller, her hair just as long and just as red, her eyes still so blue that you could see them from a distance. She looked in her element, in the natural cold. She wore furs and a dress, a heavy grey dress that suited her better than anything from Kings Landing could have even tried to. She looked happier but also tougher, like she had been through even more than what they had both bargained for. But she looked healthy and she was home, and that was all Irene had ever really asked for.

    "Sansa." She whispered, her eyes watering as she saw the girl that she had grown so close to in person, alive. Sansa didn't hear as she walked closer with two men on both sides of her, and she finally lifted her head to meet Irene's eyes from atop the horse.

   She stopped in her tracks, her eyes widening at the sight of the girl. She was dirty, her hair was matter, and she was in peasant clothing. There was no way that this was the prideful Tyrell she knew. But she knew in her heart that it was her friend from what seemed like centuries ago.

    "Irene?" Her voice came out strangled, her arms hanging limp to her sides.

   Irene was going to speak, but instead she bowed awkwardly on top of her horse, her smile slightly unsteady. "Lady Sansa," she emphasized, coming up from the rather clumsy bow, locking eyes with a person that stood in a very soldier like position on the balcony, just watching. She looked back to Sansa, who's hand was over her mouth now in shock. Irene swung her frail legs off of the horse with the help of Eris. The second her feet hit the snowy ground, she sighed at the sting of the cold. She looked up and saw Sansa coming towards her at a pace that was not quite ladylike, but she doubted that anyone would even care.