Catelyn held her close, tears streaming uncontrollably down her own face. Her hands moved over Sansa's back, stroking her long hair and slender shoulders.
She remembered the last time she had seen Sansa, back in Winterfell. Sansa had not been this tall then. She had worn beautiful dresses and dreamed of marrying a prince.
Now she stood in the Red Keep in King's Landing, wearing the long blue dress she had made herself. In the space of a year, she seemed to have grown a great deal.
"You've lost weight, Sansa," Catelyn said, her voice trembling even harder.
Sansa shook her head, her face smeared with tears. "I'm fine, Mother. I'm fine."
Arya appeared in the side doorway then, wearing her leather armor, a Valyrian steel shortsword hanging at her waist. Her gray eyes shone.
Watching her mother and sister embrace, she felt a sting in her nose, and tears welled up. She wiped them away fiercely, ran over, and slipped into Catelyn's arms from the other side.
"Mother." In the end, that was all she called out, her voice a little hoarse.
Catelyn turned to look at her younger daughter. She had grown too, a full head taller than before, but her hair was cropped short, making her look like a tomboy. Her eyes had not changed, though. They were still so bright, so stubborn, so much like her father's.
"Mother, Sansa hasn't lost weight at all. She's put on loads. I'm the one who's lost weight," Arya said, sounding a little aggrieved, her voice muffled against Catelyn's chest.
Catelyn held both her daughters, sobbing too hard to speak. Her hands touched Arya's leather armor, her short hair, her thin shoulders.
Suddenly, she said, "Arya, why are you dressed like this? And your hair-why is it so short?"
"Mother,