It might have been so easy to linger, to wring as much indulgence from the moment as he could manage were it not for a single word. Alive. It rang in Robb's head like a bell, a shuddering clamor that pushed away his childhood heart and drew him back to himself, his present. He allowed himself a moment more to be stricken, face still hidden in the clammy dip of his father's shoulder, before schooling his expression and sitting back.

Finally getting a proper look, Lord Ned Stark looked exactly the same but for his clothing, snow white and impractical. Even the fact that of course his father would be unchanged felt like a wound, sharp and sticky, and Robb had to swallow roughly against it before he could find his voice again.

"Father, do you know where you are?" he asked, absurd perhaps, but easier than asking what he last remembered. Robb watched his father carefully, eyes soft with doubt, waiting for the dawning recognition that the boy crouched back on his heels was a boy no longer, years older now than when they last parted.