Sansa tried not to let this influx of strangers bother her. She spied from her nest some peculiarly dressed men discussing alliances. Tarlys had big ruffs and wide pantaloons, they looked quite out of place among the wolves. She studied her husband- and possibly a dragon. She let her head fall against the carved wood balcony, as she sat on the flagstone to keep out of sight. It was on the verge of reaching the time in the discussion when they talk marriage and women- and only then was it likely for Jon to send for her, to introduce her to the men. Until then she would have to hide away, and not get mixed up in politics. Oh she must conserve her energy for baby making. Her husband's voice rang out around the hall, she heard its depth- full of honesty, and an unfamiliar rattle.
"We're curious about your current religion?"
Sansa's ears perked up.
"I suppose you are." Her husband shared a knowing look with his advisor. "Despite what you might have heard, I don't have a set religion, but I tend to lean towards the old gods more than… the new."
Davos grimaced, he should have left out the later.
The youngest Tarly spoke up. "We were told you were with Rhollor, and you have a red witch at your counsel?" His father looked disgruntled he had openly asked.
Jon shifted, trying to correct his posture. "You were told wrong, the red priestess was removed from my court. We aren't supporters of the lord of light."
Randyll lip twitched in angst. "What about the faith of the seven?"
"My wife has the faith of the seven at her back." Jon worded it like she had been blessed by them.
"Is that right." The Tarly man said, meaning simply 'I see.'
Sansa was staring hard enough for her eyes to go dry, she was clutching at the carvings on her balcony, trying to pop her head through the gap.
The larger gent of the party looked delighted. "Really, so soon? I heard whispers that you might be allied with someone. I didn't know it had happened so soon, when was the wedding?"
Jon noticed the other Tarlys didn't seem interested, clearly they had had a match in mind, and this had scuppered their plans. "Last night." He uttered. "It was a quick affair."
"And I bloody missed it!" Sam crowed, his father slapped his arm, he wasn't amused by Sam's manner. "Ah, well, congratulations- we were very keen on a match with one of our own, but I think if you had your own pick then, fair enough…" Sam knew Jon would know he meant well. "So, who is our Queen?"
She was pretty sure there was a drum rolling somewhere, as Jon took his sweet time deliberating. "Lady Sansa of House Stark." It felt like someone had walked on her grave, she felt fingers caressing down her spine, which turned into a sharp prod when one of the party snorted.
"Your sister?" Dickon smirked. "How Targaryen...and Lannister, considering what we've heard."
The room plunged into ice, whereas in Jon's eyes- only fire resided, somewhere in the castle Ghost was growling. "Clearly you have been misinformed, or perhaps you haven't deciphered the ravens yet- but Sansa is my cousin." Davos shifted uncomfortably beside him. "Now she is my wife. If I am a Targaryen as people think- you would be wise not to humour yourself with such dangerous information."
Sansa felt like she was smirking on his behalf. He had chosen not to use the term 'Mock me'.
The elder Randyll dipped his head. "Forgive my son, he has been riding for too long." Sam had the opportunity to bump his brother. There was a majority in the room that liked this altercation.
"Perhaps after you've dined and rested overnight, you will have cleared your head." Davos gathered from Jon's tone, he had made the decision he would take them into his army if he had to. "Podrick will escort you to your chambers." Podrick manoeuvred into position, about to do the King's bidding, when Sam meekly asked-
"Will we be seeing Sansa anytime soon?- I've always wanted to meet the rest of your-" The previous argument had gone over his head. He smiled dimly. "-Family."
She believed she was up to the challenge of socializing with those indifferent to her, Sam looked a decent sort of man, his father spooked her though. Sansa shuffled back from the balcony in preparation to hurry back to her chamber in case she was sent for.
The king shot Davos a testy look. "Soon. She's running errands at the moment. We'll see if I can coax her to dine with us later. Podrick, their chambers."
Sansa had heard enough, and crept out of the hall. What an odd summary of her character.
Davos wished his grace hadn't worded it like that, it made her sound like a reluctant Queen. He could see the crafty look among the Tarly party- they reeked of descent and schemes. They were finally left alone, and Davos opened up. "You are King, you're grace, never say; 'I'll see if I can get my own wife down to dine with you'."
Jon tutted. "Never say never to me, Davos." Jon glanced from where the Tarlys had left. "But thank you for waiting for them to leave before laying into me."
Respect was thrown around frivolously in court, but this situation certainly summed up the word. His majesty grinned, his advisor had the courtesy not to equal such a smile, and bowed his head. "Your grace. I think you would have handled my outburst admirably if I had, you're good at putting the boot in."
Jon shook his head, face full of doubt and sadness. "It doesn't work all the time- I got killed remember?"
"For the great or good, it honourably broke you free from the brotherhood. And besides; people will flock behind a man who can't be killed."His own words scared him, no one should have that kind of power.
"Sure, flock behind a man that caused a mutiny." There was that deathly rattle, and the intense stare. "I just wanted honour, maybe a tiny bit of glory. Enough to make people forget I was a bastard." Davos knew Jon had more to say so he held back. "Being a brother gave me a speck of that. But it doesn't beat that first dream."
His advisor needed to know everything about his King's other aspirations. "What is that?- To unite the colonies of men?"
The darkness seemed to disperse. "The one where I'm lord of Winterfell, married and have children that aren't bastards." It was steeped in sentiment and longing, Davos felt bad for squashing it.
"-Winterfell, belongs to Rickon or Bran. You will have something better."
He saw Jon calculating, perhaps what else he could seize instead. "But before we found Rickon, we had Sansa..." His leather glove brushed past his hilt. Something was eating away at his grace."Still no word on Arya, or Bran..." His hand fully gripped longclaw, and Davos felt the urge to step back. "I will avenge them."
"Yes, but first, we must seize all able bodied men for our cause, we need to prepare for the army of the dead." The older gent had a problem with the term 'white walkers', the term seemed too respectful and gentile for such harsh violent beings.