renatumbellator:

Jon smiled at Sansa’s words and nodded. “That was well said, Sansa.” He eased back into his chair after rising with the goblet raising and such. At her comment about lemoncakes, he let out of boastful laugh—a truly happy look coming over his tired visage. “That they do. If I recall, you loved them back home.” He canted his head to look at her with a smile—truly warming and meant well.

However, he remembered her request that he had left unanswered. He leaned in to speak low to her. “I will see if they would meet with us. I trust you, but I cannot trust House Karstark at this time. If anything, I will allow you to go with an escort of bannermen.” He eased back into his chair as he began to eat what was on his own plate—meat mostly. It was what they had in great stock in the North.

He wiped at his mouth after he finished eating and glanced around the great hall. The lords were busy chattering, some stealing moments to look at Sansa and Jon. Some muttered to themselves, while others kept quiet and ate. Jon’s own stormy eyes then settled forward, his mind slipping into thought.

However, one of the Lords—Hother of House Umber—approaches him and leans down to whisper to him. The news he whispers draws Jon’s hands into a clenching grip on the arms of his chair. He nods at Hother before looking to the Lords. “My lords.” He spoke as he rose, letting go of the chair. The room fell quiet as he looked upon them. “I hate to disrupt the feast with what I’m about to say. However, news has come to my attention. By two day’s passing, I want all who can and will to be ready for war.” This drew nods and some glances, but Jon stepped from his chair and leaned down to Sansa to whisper.

“Word has just come. The Bolton and Frey army have suffered a large loss at the hand of Stannis Baratheon.”

:: 〖 ❣ 〗――— ::

            She wants to laugh, so relieved is she that the people of the North don’t change– no matter what they’ve been put through. Resilience is in the biting chill that never leaves even when summer comes. Determination is in the spirits of the Northern people. Call us barbaric, she thinks exulting. We will endure.

            “I still do,” Sansa corrects with a pleased smile as she reaches for he sweet treat first. It has been a while since she had them and they are just as tart, just as sweet as she remembered. More so even, for it must be the Northern air that makes it the best she’s ever had. No one stops her and so our lady eats another. While she chews, she listens.

            “Mayhaps if we didn’t meet so formally. I only want to offer my condolences, anything I can to ease a hurt that has been festering for a long time.” As she cuts into her plate, she can’t help seeking out the house in question. A smaller party than most, to be sure those Bolton loyalists did not deem her return a worthy event to attend. Still, she notes the faces here, tries to recall names. 

            Sansa’s in the middle of chewing, body turned slightly to address the question asked by one of the Northern ladies when Jon stands up, his instructions seemingly out of place. Her eyes take in his clenched fists, the hungry look Lord Umber wears, the cackle of energy in the air. She does not have to wait long for him to spare her the news.

            “Where are we to lay siege?” She asks– belated. For the longest time there was silence as her own hands mimicked his and she finds herself searching for air. Blue eyes that were once closed open to stare at him. She wants to go now. Two days? That’s too long. It has to happen now. But she is not the strategist and she is thinking with her heart not her head. “I– this is good news, my lord. Yet, we have to wonder what we shall want to achieve with lord Stannis.”