Sansa nods, looking up at the thick grey walls and the wide arc of the portcullis overhead. "This isn't all of it," she says after a moment. "They've trimmed out a section to build here. But it's still marvellous, don't you think, that they should be able to make so close a copy in so little time..." She's talking more to the audience than to Luna, and more to herself than to either. It's impossible not to be awestruck by the sheer scale of the accomplishment. It's all just exactly as she remembers it.

She lets go of Luna's hand as they enter the courtyard, and spins on the spot, looking around. It makes her so homesick that it's like a physical pain in her chest, as if a hand's reached in and twisted, but at the same time, it's wonderful. She can never go home again, so something this close is a kind of miracle.

"I'll bet Arya's here somewhere," she says after a moment, her voice firmer and more down-to-earth. "Come on. Let's look for her."