She had dreamt that she was little, still sharing a bedchamber with her sister Arya. // A thousand years ago, she had known a girl who loved lemon cakes. ♦ requested by anonymous
arya stark
Arya did not like the way they kept surprising her. The hooded man was tall, enveloped in a larger version of the black-and-white robe the girl was wearing. Beneath his cowl all she could see was the faint red glitter of candlelight reflecting off his eyes. “What place is this?” she asked him.“A place of peace.” His voice was gentle. “You are safe here. This is the House of Black and White, my child. Though you are young to seek the favor of the Many-Faced God.” — Arya I, A Feast for Crows.
Sansa and Arya + thinking of each other
Sansa remembered a summer’s snow in Winterfell when Arya
and Bran had ambushed her as she emerged from the keep one morning. They’d each
had a dozen snowballs to hand, and she’d had none. Bran had been perched on the
roof of the covered bridge, out of reach, but Sansa had chased Arya through the
stables and around the kitchen until both of them were breathless. She might
even have caught her, but she’d slipped on some ice. Her sister came back to
see if she was hurt. When she said she wasn’t, Arya hit her in the face with
another snowball, but Sansa grabbed her leg and pulled her down and was rubbing
snow in her hair when Jory came along and pulled them apart, laughing.