After the liquid has left his throat, their warm trails still along his tongue, he nods his head towards her in appreciation and approval. It tastes different from what he'd have at home (though it was more often wine and ale than it was tea), but that's to be expected. She's done well for the limited resources and altered ingredients that are available here in this strange village, a town without a name.

"If you're able to create something like this with what you've available to you, one can only imagine what else you might be capable of creating. This is lovely, thank you." Trust is not easily won for Ned Stark, not any more, but this - a simple gesture of kindness and hospitality - certainly goes a long way. And such a sentiment should be voiced, he thinks. He brings the cup to his mouth again, eyes lingering on her face - catching sight of the underlying sobriety.

"I am sorry to hear that." His tone is quiet, soft - genuine. He can't even bear the thought of having arrived here without even just one of his children. "I am told that new arrivals happen rather frequently, and that my children hadn't expected mine when I'd broken the surface of the water; there is hope for you yet, Lady Tyrell."