SANSA:
Sansa's desk was nestled tightly into a corner of her bedroom. Winterfell was stretched to bursting since Jon and Danaerys arrived over a month ago. There was simply no room for her to have a separate study while accommodating guests from every corner of Westeros and beyond. It meant she never really escaped from the work of running Winterfell. There was nowhere outside her chambers where she would not be engaged by some noble or general with discussions of supplies, armies, and alliances. Yet back in her bedroom, she was confronted with the ever-growing stack of correspondence from throughout the seven kingdoms, and the mounting requests for supplies coming from the armies that had gathered around Winterfell. She didn't blame their commanders for their increasing demands, an army needed to eat, shelter, and stay warm in the winter snows, but she was beginning to grow desperate, Winterfell's stores were sadly depleted already. She inwardly cursed the Bolton's for their negligence in preparing the castle for winter. Even wiped from the face of the earth, that cursed family and their evil machinations were coming back to haunt her. She might be safe in these walls for now, but if the Others didn't kill her, she'd certainly starve to death before spring, along with everyone gathered at Winterfell. These practical matters kept her thoughts from the pile of scrolls, carried by ravens from other far-off castles, but she had to attend to those as well. Now that House Stark was allied with Danaerys and her dragons, she was inundated by correspondence from southern lords. Most had backed Joffrey, and then Cersei, for years, but they saw how she was unraveling and fled like rats from a sinking ship. Sansa was faintly disgusted by their spinelessness, they had stood by Joffrey and Cersei while they committed one atrocity after another, and left only when they sensed her power fading. Still, winter was no time to turn down help. They would never reach Winterfell with their armies or supplies in time to fight the Others, but perhaps they could turn their combined might against Cersei in due time. Of course, many of the letters were directed to Jon in his newly granted role of Warden of the North, but Sansa still found it easier to manage most of these things on her own. It was exhausting work alone, and the responsibility weighed heavily on her, but it was simpler than dragging Jon into her chambers and standing over him while he made slow progress through what he saw as mundane scribbling. She was glad that at least he wasn't sequestered in the crypts at all hours. Lately he had been visiting the dragons, building a bond with Rhaegal, whom Danaerys wanted him to ride. His time spent with the dragons was of no use to her, but his deft management of them impressed the other lords and their soldiers, so Sansa didn't mind. At least they thought he was doing something useful.
At that moment, Brienne opened the door and announced Lady Lyanna Mormont, who strode in confidently. Lyanna was a constant thorn in Sansa's side, prone to constant argument with her, but she was also one of the few people Sansa trusted at the moment. Lady Mormont was never been anything but honest, no matter how much she frustrated Sansa. Still, Sansa steeled herself for another difficult exchange; nothing was ever easy with Lyanna.
"Lady Sansa, I am happy to be granted an audience. I wasn't aware that the Stark family often posted armed knights outside their doors while home in Winterfell."
The biting tone was not lost on Sansa. She couldn't remember Lyanna ever speaking to her any differently. The Mormonts were a proud people, and the young woman was likely offended at finding a Valyrian steel sword between herself and an audience with her liege lady, even for only a moment.
"Lady Lyanna, you are always welcome in my rooms, I assure you I hold my northern bannermen in the highest regard. But you must admit, there are more southerners and strangers from beyond Westeros than Winterfell has ever hosted. I would be foolish to trust them all as I do loyal northerners. Please, tell me why you have come."
Lyanna paused for a moment, drawing her lips into a thin line, but made no other response to Sansa's explanation.
"There is not enough food to keep a large army at Winterfell. I know it, you know it, and yet we keep up this farce. If it goes on much longer the situation will be truly dire. By my estimations, there is no more than two months of supplies. I see no option but to withdraw the Mormont forces back to Bear Island. We have enough in our cellars there to keep ourselves fed through the winter, and there will be no southerners leeching off our provisions."
Sansa was not surprised; she knew there was a growing dissatisfaction amongst her army. It was true that their supplies were disappearing at an alarming rate. But she needed every northern house to stand wit her. It was imperative that she keep them loyal to her.
"My lady, please, you know we need every sword we can get to fight against the Others. I am working daily to increase our food supplies. Give me one more month before you leave us, I will find a solution."
"And tell me Lady Sansa, what will be different in one month? Will bread fall from the sky instead of snow? Will Danaerys' army be any less hungry? Will House Stark put the needs of northerners above their new southern friends?"
Lyanna was testing her patience now. Sansa needed absolute loyalty, if one house left, surely all the others would follow.
"House Stark has stood for the North for a thousand years Lady Mormont. We stand for the North today and we will still stand for the North another thousand years from now. You know as well as I do that without these southerners, we have no chance against the Others. Stark, Mormont, and every other house northern or southern will be dead and gone. Let me remind you my lady, I am the Stark in Winterfell, and House Stark has called its bannermen. If House Mormont is still loyal to the North, you will stay here until I command you to leave, and not before."
A tense silence fell between them. Sansa had challenged the one thing Lyanna held dear above all others, honor. If Sansa's invocation of northern loyalty did not convince her to stay, nothing would keep her in Winterfell. Sansa had seen her eyebrows rise, almost imperceptibly, if you hadn't been taught to read a person as closely as Petyr Baelish, when Sansa called herself a Stark. She knew Lyanna was still deeply suspicious of her loyalty to the North. But Sansa could not take back her old marriages, and few people would ever understand how she had fought to survive and to keep her family name alive. She would have to rely on the intense northern loyalty to the Starks to keep her army held together, and hope that would be enough.
"Very well, Lady Stark. I will give you one month to show me you can keep my people from starving. But do not think I will wait forever. There will be no one to fight the others if we starve first."
With that, Lyanna turned and strode from the room. Leaving Sansa to wonder how she would ever keep her alliances together. Resting her forehead in her palms, Sansa tried to ignore the voice in her head that told her the answer. No, she didn't want to turn to anyone else for help, if she could just work a little bit harder, be a little bit cleverer, she could do it by herself.