"Exercise in futility-" Offhand and easy as he squints into the glowing maw of the forge, focused on the color, the radiating, almost unbearable heat before the voice settles in and clicks. The clip and lilt, the wry undertone, the understanding that he's not one just to sit but- he runs the odds she thinks he's Howard. Discards it almost immediately; something from his mother's side of the family rendered him a little wider in the shoulder, a little shorter in build.

Swallowing ash (god he'll never get the taste out of his mouth) he tugs the metal poke free and turns to meet her. If he pretends it's not a big deal, it won't be. Maybe. Probably. "You know us Starks. Hate to be idle."