The clinking of porcelain against wood as the cup's set down draws Ned out of the fogged, harried field of his mind. He's been wandering it like he's been wandering the town since he'd arrived, and he's momentarily forgotten where he is - thinks, for a moment, that he's back at Winterfell, or - no, is it King's Landing? - no, it's -
Somewhere else. He isn't entirely sure where, nor has he thought to seek answers out from any of the villagers he's passed. Most have paid him little mind, a man with dripping hair and the gaping face of a misplaced spirit.
Eyes go from the cup to the woman - brows furrowing at the curtsy. A courtesy he's not been afforded in what feels like ages. But it's the use of his name - and title - that draws his eyes to her face in an instant. He stands immediately, slipping the pack that'd been resting on his lap onto the seat of the chair behind him.
He's still wrestling with the residual distrust, paranoia, confusion after spending so many days - weeks? months? he doesn't know - in the prison. He immediately dons a more defensive stance, weary and doubting eyes burning into her. She looks about the same age as Sansa, give or take a few name days. She's not of the North; he realizes it the moment the words leave her mouth.
no subject
Somewhere else. He isn't entirely sure where, nor has he thought to seek answers out from any of the villagers he's passed. Most have paid him little mind, a man with dripping hair and the gaping face of a misplaced spirit.
Eyes go from the cup to the woman - brows furrowing at the curtsy. A courtesy he's not been afforded in what feels like ages. But it's the use of his name - and title - that draws his eyes to her face in an instant. He stands immediately, slipping the pack that'd been resting on his lap onto the seat of the chair behind him.
He's still wrestling with the residual distrust, paranoia, confusion after spending so many days - weeks? months? he doesn't know - in the prison. He immediately dons a more defensive stance, weary and doubting eyes burning into her. She looks about the same age as Sansa, give or take a few name days. She's not of the North; he realizes it the moment the words leave her mouth.
"And you are?"