The landing in Glasgow was mercifully smooth, Arya wasn’t sure Sansa could have handled a bumpy, or worse yet a delayed landing. Sansa was a weepy, snotty nosed mess and Arya had kept her with a steady supply of tissues (and once food and beverage service started, glasses of red wine) since they had left JFK airport last night. Arya was relieved they were finally in Scotland so she could get Sansa off the plane and somewhere private.
This was supposed to be Sansa’s honeymoon; well not this, she and Harry were supposed to be landing in romantic Paris, but instead she was here, with her sister Arya, in overcast, rainy Scotland.
It had all fallen apart a week ago; the night of the bachelor and hen parties. Sansa and her friends had a great time, bar hopping, dancing, drinking, singing; it was everything she had imagined for her last weekend as a single woman. Arya had even begrudgingly worn the “maid of honor” sash for 2 whole hours, matching Sansa’s “bride” sash.
It was the end of the evening when everything changed. One of Arya’s maid of honor responsibilities was to make sure that Sansa, who was tipsy teetering on drunk, made it home safely. They arrived at Sansa and Harry’s apartment only to discover that the bachelor party had broken up early and Harry was taking advantage of his last weekend as a bachelor. Myranda, his former girlfriend, was riding him like a bull right there in the bed he shared with Sansa. Arya wasn’t sure who was more shocked: Sansa at witnessing such a scene or Harry who realized that he’d been caught red handed. Arya knew it wasn’t Myranda, judging from the triumphant expression on her face, it was obvious to Arya that Myranda had hoped for something like this, and that perhaps this wasn’t a one-time thing.
After bundling Sansa out of the apartment as she hurled obscenities at Harry and Myranda; Arya was at a loss as to how to handle this. Her first inclination would have been to castrate Harry and gut Myranda; instead she drove Sansa to their parent’s house. Arya had never particularly like Harry; he was too pretty, too blond, too smarmy. But Sansa had loved him, so Arya had tolerated him for her sake (she took no pleasure in being right about him).
Waking up their parents and younger brothers (it was 4AM by that point) Arya explained the situation to Ned and Catelyn, who immediately launched into protective parent mode. Ned confirmed with Sansa (who by this point was an incoherent crying mess) that she wanted to call off the wedding, and set in motion canceling the ceremony, reception and everything else involved.
Catelyn took charge of Sansa. Stripping her of her clothing (including her now bedraggled bride sash), filling the tub with hot water, easing her into it, and staying with her as she sobbed her eyes out.
Arya, Bran and Rickon took charge of the “de-wedding” of the house as much as possible; anything that would remind Sansa that she was supposed to get married in a week was unceremoniously shoved into closets throughout the house. By 9AM an outsider would have been hard pressed to tell what had happened in the last 5 hours.
Sansa was finally asleep in her childhood bedroom, all traces of the wedding were gone, and Ned was just finishing up canceling the photographer (the last of the services).
Rob and Jon had been called and they were currently at Sansa’s apartment packing up her stuff, and possibly beating the shit out of Harry.
The only item that still had to be dealt with was the honeymoon.
Three weeks in Paris was to have been Sansa’s siblings wedding present for the couple. Jon, Rob, Arya, Bran and Rickon had pooled their money for Sansa’s honeymoon. Fortunately (because the Starks had paid for it rather than Harry) they were able to cancel everything and get a refund.
The question now was, what to do about Sansa. There was no way that she could resume her life anytime soon, she was devastated, and would need time to work through Harry’s betrayal.
While Sansa slept, the rest of the family gathered around the dining room table to discuss their next steps. All of them were willing to do whatever they needed to do to help Sansa though this ordeal.
It was actually Bran that suggested Scotland. When the siblings had first told Sansa and Harry they wanted to pay for the honeymoon as the wedding present, Sansa had suggested Scotland, saying she’d always wanted to go there.
However Harry had poo-pooed the location and said that they should go to Paris. He reasoned that it was the most romantic place on earth, plus it was so much more sophisticated than Scotland. Sansa, as always, had bowed to Harry’s wishes and the Paris trip had been booked.
But now, there was an opportunity for Sansa to go someplace she really wanted to go, somewhere that had no association with Harry, the question was who would go with her?
Obviously in her state, she couldn’t go on her own. All the eyes at the table swung to Arya. She’d received her degree in May and had taken the entire summer off to help Sansa get ready for the wedding, so she was the logical choice.
Arya agreed with family's assessment, she would be the best one to hand her tissues, let her vent, kick her ass and bring Sansa back from this.
So that was how Arya ended up in Scotland with a bag full of snotty tissues and an inconsolable, red-eyed, snotty nosed sister.