the world keeps turning (it's us that just stands still)

11

This time, it's morning when the trumpets blare.

Once for riders returning.  Twice for wildlings, Jon had taught her.  Three times for the dead men.

This was only once.

Arya and Sansa both stand up at the same time and race to the window, jostling each other to get the best view.  In Arya's head, they had both been standing at the gates, watching the army roll in.   They hadn't been recounting stories of Sansa's time with Tyrion while Arya was away while buried under mountains of furs, and they weren't in their nightclothes, and Arya certainly didn't have to help Sansa cinch up her corset.

"Oh, leave it," She said, yanking a brush through her hair.  "Leave it, leave it, it makes it hard to run anyways."

Terribly improper for a lady, Arya wants to say, but she is too scared, and there is something wrong with her, something that has her smile stretched stiff and frozen on her face, like maybe it's stuck there.  It doesn't take her long to dress, but Sansa has already left the room, so by the time she makes it out to the courtyard, Sansa and Tyrion are already there, arguing.

"They'll need horses, supplies.  Help for the injured.  That takes men, and men need a leader, my lady, we can't just send them loose, they're likely to ride all the way home."  It was sort of funny, the two of them surrounded by horses, the men watching as they bicker.  Arya wonders if Tyrion knows that he's standing on his tip toes in order to be closer to Sansa's height.  She wants to tell him that it's a lost battle.  "I'm the only one left."

"You?"  The tone in her voice was a bit offensive.  Sansa seemed to realize it a bit too late.  "You don't need to go.  You need to stay here," And then, clearly throwing logic to the wind and out of pure desperation, Sansa adds, "I'll go, if someone needs to go, they're my men."

"Send a lady in my place?"  He's very good at being a diplomat, too, Arya thought.  They would have been very powerful allies to have, if only they weren't fighting a dead thing whose only goal was to stamp out all life.  "Do you want everyone to take me for a craven?"

Men are very obsessed with being brave, and not nearly concerned enough with being alive.  "I can go," Arya added, but neither of them paid any attention.

"I want you to be here.  With me.  Behind the walls."  Sansa's voice dropped.  "I want you safe."

"My lady, there is no such thing as safety.  I think you of all people should have learned that by now."  Tyrion kissed her hand, his touch lingering longer than it should have.  He didn't even have to bend to do it.  "I will come back to you.  I promise."

Sansa doesn't answer.

Arya understands.  They've seen a lot of broken promises.

The Queen comes first, then Jon, both of them on horses and covered in blood.

"Where are the horses?" It's the first thing out of his mouth, not a hello or a how are you or a please take me to the measter I'm bleeding terribly from this wound in my side you see, just jumps down from his horse and shoves his reigns at the person who had come to collect the horse, not seeming to notice that it's a farmer woman that he'd never seen before.  In fact, if he's surprised at all by the large amount of children and women and maimed and elderly that Winterfell had acquired, he wasn't showing it.  Maybe this was something that he and Sansa had discussed beforehand, or maybe it was just part of war that everyone had known about.  "Where are the horses, Sansa?"

She had changed into her fighting clothes right after Tyrion had left, apparently ready to run after him if she needed to.  This doesn't seem to phase him at all, but her answer does.  "We put them in the crypt," she says, and Jon's steps falter for half a moment before he pushes onward.  Daenerys came after them, finally having gotten free of the horse and her guards.  "But what are you doing-,"