Eddard's brows gather at her apology, a rough hand lifting to cup the side of her face - thumb against the mound of her cheek, fingers lost in the strands of her hair. Her mother's hair. There's a sharp, quick pain at the center of his chest at the thought of Cat, but he swallows it away - forces it back into the depths of his belly, to be dealt with another time. He can mourn her later, when he's alone. His daughter needn't be there to see the fractured, broken man she'd once known as her father - Lord of Winterfell. Another lifetime ago, he thinks. When had they last been together, a family?

His other hand comes up, both thumbs working diligently to swipe away at the tears wetting her skin. He presses his lips to her forehead, closes his eyes, then moves back to look at her again.

"Oh, my dear child," he murmurs quietly. "You did nothing wrong. You hear me?" He ducks his head down to be more at her eye-level - though, he realizes, he doesn't have to lower himself nearly as much as he'd used to. She's grown. "You had to be loyal to the crown. I'm only sorry for having put you in the position in the first place."