Sansa smiled, albeit sadly. She had never presided over the offer of a guest right, before today. She had watched it happen time and time again, but she had never appreciated its promise and its function until the betrayal of that right robbed her of a brother and of a mother. And maybe more, besides. She had to quickly return the trays to the table, fearing that her fingers might tremble more.

"Sit. Eat. And more than just our salt, because the baked apples are a thousand times better than our salt." She wished they'd had lemon cakes, as well, but Petyr thought even that extravagence was too telling. She had to divorce Sansa entirely from her person, including her preferences.

She took her seat as though she was born to such easy actions. Gentle gestures.