renatumbellator:

He stopped as she said her thanks, and smiled before continuing. The day was still young for him, and so he left the great halls and went for the training fields of the Motte. It was prior to his leaving that he changed into light armor—for versatility and to not be weighed down when he wielded his blade or a bow. As he reached it, he nodded at one of the young men of House Glover. As Jon drew his blade to ensure he still had his fighting strength, he focused on what he knew of the Freys and Boltons.

Longclaw struck the dummy with strength-infused slashes, leaving its mark. He released every inch of anger and stress onto the training dummy,  and for hours he worked his stress away before returning to the great keep to rest. Much was on his mind as he fell to slumber in the warmth and comfort of his bed, but sleep was greater then the worries of his mind.

The next day came and Jon found himself working after getting fully dressed. More plans to be made, more letters to write, and more. It was a stressful cycle of tasks that was tiring but each time it came to be, it got him used to the coming time once the traitor houses fell.

It was during the time that he could catch a break that he left his chambers—only to decide to stop by Sansa’s room. He stepped through the lengthy hallways until he was at her door and gave a knock. “Sansa, may I come in—or talk with you at the least?”

He only hoped for a yes.

:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::

                 Tomorrow was better.

                 It was a pleasant surprise to realize that her presence was not required in breaking fast as hers was brought up to her chambers. There was a bath too, a hot one that relaxed every tense muscle in her body. Riding hard the last few days had taken its toll and though Sansa managed to avoid bruising, she was horribly sore. 

                 Instead of leaving the room to explore the keep, Sansa chose to stay inside, not quite ready to be bombarded with questions and demands and people expecting her to be something she is not ready to be. It might be craven, some might resent her for it, but one day, one afternoon would not matter.

                The knock on her door startled her from her reverie and Sansa immediately stood up. Her bed was made though ruffled where she had been sitting. There were some fruits and sweets on her table. She bit her lip but ultimately, nodded. 

                “Come in Jon,” Sansa called out, moving to greet him. Her lips curved up in a shy smile, half wondering if he is here to demand she leave the room. Dinner would be soon, the other lords would want to meet her.

               "I hope you’re faring well. Is there anything I can help with?“