The touch at his shoulder comes like a hand through the shadow, and for a few long moments, Ned has neither clue nor inkling as to whose hand it might be. In an attempt to parse more information, he reaches up and with his opposite hand and lays it on the stranger's - or is a demon's? Some dark, malevolent force come to steal him away back to the dungeons under the Red Keep? - as though it might uncover that which he seeks. It's Robb's voice - the trepidation, fear, shock in it - that finally starts to fit the pieces together into some kind of sense.

His eyes barely open, though they do turn towards him, his head lolling to the side at which Robb kneels, squinting to try and make out his son's features.

"It cannot be you," he murmurs, "You were but a babe in your mother's arms yesterday." He's certain of it, he remembers the feeling of his swaddled form against his chest. "Who are you? What have you done with my son?"