"I thought it was your favorite," Jon says, reaching out to settle his hand over Sansa's.

He had meant to make her smile, but there are tears threatening to spill over onto her cheeks.

"It was once." She pulls her white fur tighter about her shoulders with her unengaged hand. "How did you get lemons, Jon?"

"The entire world isn't covered in ice." Although it sometimes feels like it.

"It's an extravagance," she says, though she wets her lips in what looks to Jon like guilty anticipation.

"Yes, a terrible one. You might do me a favor by eating it; otherwise I'll feel very foolish."

She picks up her fork, but holds it poised in the air above the lemoncake, unmoving, staring at it with shimmering eyes, and Jon begins to fear that he truly has done a foolish thing. It's not only that the lemons came a very far distance, but also that their cook deals typically in dried meat and hard biscuits. It might not even taste right.

Whatever her reservations, she finally presses the tines into the moist cake, breaking off a piece that seems to Jon much too monstrous for her mouth.

For a moment he feels relieved that she will allow herself this little indulgence, when she lifts it to his lips instead.

"You must take the first bite."

He begins to protest but she uses the opportunity to slide the fork between his lips. He frowns at her maneuver, but can't help but groan as the sugary confection melts on his tongue.

"It was supposed to be for you," he speaks around the huge bite, belatedly realizing that it's bad manners to do so.

Sansa leans forward pressing her lips quickly to his. "We'll have to share this until you tell me what your favorite is. I feel as if I should remember."

He swallows and slips his arm around her back, pulling her closer until he can kiss her again properly and make her moan as if she has only just tasted lemoncakes for the first time in countless moons.

He whispers against her lips, pulling his hand through the curls of her unbound hair. "This is my favorite, Sansa. This."