Chapter Text
The day was warming up in a way that finally signified an end of winter. Arya wasn’t sure whether she was happy with this or not, winter’s were a time for family, winter’s were when they were all back home in Winterfell. Father always made sure to head back home for the winter, he insisted that anyone who wanted to do business with the family could do so throughout the year, or could travel north. Besides, that's what he paid managers for. However, the family knew that it was really so that he could focus on them, and philanthropy. This year was different though, usually his travels back to the capital city didn’t come until February, when the northern snows were ebbing, however they’d been here since early January. She tried hard not to pay attention to the reasons, nor to the reason why only she and her sister had travelled south with him this year.
A knock at the door pulled her away from her thoughts, followed by a voice, “Miss Arya,”
“Yes, Victoria?” she called back, standing from her bed of lace and cushions, walking across the room in her stocking clad feet.
“Miss Jorelle is here to see you.” the maid explained, looking slightly flushed, “She’s in the drawing room.”
“Thank you Victoria, I’ll be down in a moment.” she responded, turning back to put on her satin slippers, knowing the servants would be scandalised were she to leave her room in just stockinged feet.
She sighed as she peered into her full length mirror, she ran her hands along the grey cotton dress she wore, angry that her mother had taken most of her trousers out of her trunks before she left Winterfell. She knew that her father would give her some money to go buy some more if she asked, but she also knew that she was not meant to go out into the streets of London alone. Not that it used to stop her as a child when she would sneak out, making friends with the children in Flea Bottom, and pursuing the stalls of Berwick Street Market. Back then she could pass herself off as a boy with the right clothes and hat, or at least as a poorer girl, she was not likely to do that anymore, not with the clothing her mother had left her, nor with the length of her hair.
Eventually she dragged herself down the staircases of their apartment on Charlotte Street. Although the family had once owned the entire massive house, it was deemed far too large for the family once it passed into her Grandfather’s hands. With the ever growing population of London, he split the large mansion into numerous apartments, although Arya thought the term apartment was nowhere near the right wording for the place she called home in the city. The part of the building her family inhabited was still three stories high, with a flat above and below them, the basement flat was accessible from the street, and the attic apartment from the building next door, which was also a part of the former house, which had been divided into another three apartments, each of two floors.
“I thought I was waiting on your sister or something?” Jory huffed as she entered the front parlour.
“I was ready, I just got lost in thought.” Arya sighed, before sitting herself in her father’s leather high back armchair.
“Hm,” Jory cocked an eyebrow before dropping herself down onto the sofa.
“So, to what do I owe the pleasure, Miss Mormont?” Arya asked dramatically.
“There’s a dance at the Astoria Ballroom on Saturday.” Jory declared.
Arya twisted her head to study her friend. Her brown hair was arranged in short waves, and her brown eyes were wide, as though she was trying to look as innocent as possible.
“When’s there not a dance at the Astoria on a Saturday night?” Arya asked, almost sharply.
“Well,” Jory paused for a moment, “I know that, just..” she sighed heavily, “just come with me, okay?”
“My sister will be there!” Arya groaned, going to the same dance as Sansa would be torture, it was quite a shame because she actually enjoyed dancing.
“I heard a load of the factory boys are going,” she smiled, almost slyly.
Arya tried not to snort at her pronunciation of ‘fact-tory’.
“Now, why would you care that there’s some factory boys down there?” Arya asked, resting her elbows on the arm of the armchair.
“I have a source who says that boy you used to be friends with works down the fact-tory.” Jory gave her a soft smile.
Arya sat up straight, “I don’t know any boys who work in any factory, Jorelle Mormont!”
“Please Arya,” Jory begged her, “I’ll owe you, I swear.”
Arya studied her friend momentarily, chewing on her lower lip lightly, “Trousers.” Arya blurted at last.
“What?” Jory asked, cocking her head, smoothing her hands over her high waisted trousers.
“Not yours, silly,” she snorted slightly, “my mother removed all my trousers, all I have is skirts and dresses.”
“Okay!” Jory beamed, leaping to her feet in glee, before calming herself slightly, “Only, I don’t have any that’ll fit you, and Lya’s too small.”
“I don’t want your trousers!” she rolled her eyes, “I just.. I’m trying to follow the rules, and I’m not meant to go out unaccompanied.”
“Hm,” she rubbed a hand across her rounded jaw, “so you want to go shopping with me?”
“No, not really.” Arya sighed heavily, “But, it’s the only way.”
“Fine, but next week, after the dance!” Jory responded.
“Fine.” Arya groaned in response.
“Now,” Jory settled back onto the green velvet sofa, “wherever is your maid with the tea?”
“She doesn’t like you.” Arya responded.
“Why ever not?” she exclaimed.
“Oh, well, there was the time you called at 1:30 in the morning, after the poor woman had finally gotten off to sleep,” Arya paused to think, “there was that other day when you traipsed mud, all over her clean floors.”
“I didn’t mean that one!” Jory tried to defend herself, “Mayhaps I should apologise?”
“Don’t think it’ll help Jor.” she chuckled.
Arya paced her room after Jory had left, questioning ringing around her mind. What boy did she know who worked at a factory? What factory? What boy? Why had Jory been so cryptic?
“Are you going to the dance tomorrow Sansa?” her father asked over a dinner of baked fish and vegetables.
“Of course,” Sansa smiled sweetly, “I’m still trying to decide which dress to wear.”
“Course you are,” Arya muttered, spearing a potato with more force than necessary.
“What was that?” Sansa asked sharply, narrowing her pale blue eyes at her.
“I said-”
“You’ll look pretty no matter what you wear, Princess.” their father cut her off, giving Arya a sharp look.
“Thank you daddy,” Sansa smiled sweetly.
Arya sighed to herself, studying the vegetables on her plate.
“And what about you, Arya?” he asked.
Sansa laughed sharply, “She’d be out of place at the dance.”
Arya rolled her eyes, before turning to meet her father’s eyes, “I am also going,”
“Stop lying!” Sansa scoffed.
“I’m not lying.” Arya responded in a measured voice, before turning back to her father, “Jorelle wanted me to go with her.”
“Well, I hope you both have a great evening.” their father smiled, his eyes travelling between the two of them.
“Not likely, if she will be there.” Sansa responded sharply.
“I’ll try father.” Arya smiled at him.
Arya walked back and forth the length of her bedroom, pausing every few moments to look at the three dresses she’d laid out on her bed. Why on earth did I agree to this? she thought to herself, being pulled out of her thoughts with a knock at the door.
“Come in,” she called out, despite being only in her shift, “I’m not dressed yet Victoria,” she added, continuing to stare at the bed.
“It’s not Victoria.” her sister's voice rang out behind her.
Arya peered over her shoulder to see her sister standing before her in a blue silk, floor length gown, “Oh.” Arya sighed.
“So you actually are going to the dance?” Sansa asked.
“I am.” she bared her arms across her chest, “Why would I lie about it?”
“You don’t usually go to these things.” Sansa pointed out.
“I don’t,” she shrugged, “but my friend asked. What did you want?”
“I-” her sister froze, looking at her momentarily, she felt exposed in just her shift under her sister’s gaze, “Did you want a hand?”
“Victoria was going to do my hair.” Arya shrugged.
“I can do it,” Sansa responded, Arya studied her long, auburn hair pinned up in curls on the one side of her head.
“I,” she blinked, “I haven’t even picked which dress to wear.”
“The yellow one,” Sansa suggested after studying the dresses.
Arya bent to pick up the gown her sister had suggested, it was a yellow cotton dress that fell to her mid shins, it did not require a petticoat which was her preference, the neckline was cut like a shirt collar, with a set of buttons running almost diagonally along its length.
“I have a wrap which will go with it, if you wish to borrow it.” Sansa added, as she began to dress.
“Thank you,” she responded in a small voice.
“Come to my room, I’ll do your hair and makeup,” Sansa suggested, cocking her head towards the door.
“Why are you being nice to me?” Arya asked her sister as she sat at her vanity a little while later.
“Father says we’re as different as the sun and the moon, but we’re still family.” Sansa explained.
Arya smiled at her sister in the mirror. It was true that they were like the sun and the moon, in temperament and in appearance. Arya was plain, with their fathers long face, brown hair and grey eyes. Whereas Sansa was beautiful, favouring her mothers features, with high cheekbones, auburn hair and pale blue eyes.
“We’re pack.” Arya nodded.
“Hold still,” Sansa instructed, returning to her hair.
“Do you like it?” Sansa asked, moving her head slightly so that she had to look at herself in the mirror.
She’d half been expecting her sister to sabotage her, she was half hoping that she would, then she wouldn’t have to go to the dance. However her sister had actually made her look almost pretty. Sansa had parted her hair on the right side of her head, a large lock curled backwards on the left hand side, with soft curls framing her face. Her makeup was subtle, but enough to highlight her features.
“Thank you,” she said in a gentle voice, "I do like it."