It isn't the content of Robb's statement that stops Ned in his tracks, burlap and twine in-hand, but rather the tone. It carries the sharpness of the edge of a blade, set squarely to slice through Ned at his core. It is a tone he's heard before, though it was often done in tantrum or upset when Robb was young and felt like being particularly rebellious at something, wanting to use something foul or perhaps a bit unkind to try and get back at his father for a slight, real or imagined. But it's been many years since he's heard the whip of his son's tongue, and it's only after he's managed to get past that that he allows the words themselves to infiltrate his mind.

So. He's been told. Jon felt comfortable enough to reveal the secret Ned had kept for all those years. Part of him is glad for it, not only for the fact that it need not be a secret any longer but that he felt comfortable enough to share it with his brother. Or, well, his cousin, in truth. There is only a breath's worth of time to allow himself this quiet happiness, which is clouded and darkened by the insinuation in his son's voice.

He turns, slowly, adjusting the contents of his hands slightly before allowing his hands to lower to his sides. A sign of no confrontation, of no defensiveness. He isn't here to fight - and he's certainly not here to fight his eldest son.

"Aye," is what he manages to say after a time. Gods, how much Tully Robb's got in him. "You sound as though you'd rather he hadn't."