Tears pricked Robb's eyes, and he swallowed roughly against the urge to let them fall, against the urge to plead with his father to please stop, to not say these things regardless of how long he'd yearned to hear them. He wanted to run away from the bald vulnerability of it as much as he wanted to climb into the bed and cling to Ned like a child.

"This illness is not going to take you," he said instead, voice made harsh with constrained emotion. "I'll be damned if I lose you again this or any other way. You'll be well again soon, Father."