Ned lets them sit in quiet contemplation, gaze floating somewhere around the softly glowing stone in Moana's hand, while also scanning the room periodically for other patrons who continue to enter and leave. He finds his own mind begins to wander to thoughts of home, the Weirwood (which he remembers now he must water upon his return home), the Godswood of Winterfell. There is a deep, gnawing ache in his chest to pass through the gates of his stead, to hear the clanging of hammer upon steel and anvil, to smell burning oil and firewood, to feel the hardened, frozen earth beneath his feet.

He supposes the Weirwood is his version of this green stone. He's a Northman. He carries Winterfell with him, wherever he goes.

"Do you think it'd be silly to believe such a thing?" he asks, no judgment in his tone. "I can certainly tell you what I believe and what I think, but the arrival of this stone affects you."