renatumbellator:

As she asks of him what happened between Karstark and their brother, he sighed. “The word that is given to me is that the former Lord of House Karstark betrayed Robb. In a way, it was a grieving father getting what could of his revenge. The Kingslayer had killed two of his children, and then he never got to kill him. So when they settled at Riverrun and had two Lannister boys killed, my brother saw it fit to handle it the way our father taught us.”

He sighed and shook his head. “Lord Karstark was beheaded for going against Robb, and the Karstarks abandoned him.” He stared forward the entire time, his fists clenching and then slowly unclenching. “Though it seems part of their House wishes to support Roose Bolton over House Stark and its loyalists.”

But soon enough, they were upon the great hall. As they stepped in, many lords looked upon Sansa before nodding and bowing as Jon passed. Jon quietly lead her to her seat and leaned over to whisper. “Should you get uncomfortable with any question, merely look at me as a signal.” He smiled and then took his seat next to her.

Jon canted his head in a bow as Lord Galbart Glover stepped up to the main table. The elder lord bowed his head to Jon and smiled towards Sansa. “Lady Sansa, it pleases me to see you are alive and well. Should you ever need anything, I hope that my house can provide it for you.”

:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::

           It’s a good lesson to learn– though Sansa was never brought to an executions, she has been taught, told– for she overhears the lesson her brothers receive and in some ways, receive the same ideas. Responsibility, honour, accountability. They are not Stark words but they are her lord father’s and if she cannot have his hand in hers, he will have his words with her. Yet, such a lesson comes with a price.

           Would having the Karstarks save her mother and brother from annihilation? Would they have made better decisions? Sansa cannot tell, she has mourned them and the wound doesn’t get any less painful but she has grown a certain level of acceptance for it. The dead cannot rise and words are wind. 

          “We will keep an eye on them– mayhaps if I were to request an audience with the lord of the house.” It’s a suggestion that has much weight for she is Sansa, her hair glinting copper in the candlelights. She is not deaf to those that call her Catelyn reincarnated, even Jon had yesterday and he certainly has never seen Catelyn as a young lady. 

           A deep breath, the noise level dropped significantly at their arrival, chairs scraping as various members of the North stood up in respect. Sansa recognizes a few, the older ones. They are her parents friends, people. The young faces she look on with shared sympathy. Too young to fight wars to rule houses. Just like her. Just like Jon. As they seat themselves, Sansa knows they await to hear her speak. She dips her head in a respectful nod and reaches out for Lord Glover’s hand.

           "My lord, it is you I should thank, for opening up Deepwood Motte to us. My few men and I have traveled far to be reunited with the North and I greatly appreciate your kindness. You will be remembered, my lord.“ She flicks her eyes away from him to the other lords and ladies of the high table. "You shall all be remembered. For rising your banners in the name of my brother, in vengeance for my lord father. I thank you. The North is not barren yet.”

            It’s a pronouncement that is met with the banging of tables, raised goblets in toast and everyone’s shoulders rise with the lightened weight. The feast begins and Sansa takes a look to Jon. “They have lemoncakes.”