"Not in Westeros," Ned quietly echoes, though the words themselves feel like invaders on his tongue. If not there, then - where? Mention of secrets does not sit well at the bit of his stomach, like his body has suddenly realized he's devoured tainted meat or spoiled sweets. Another place of secrets? Another place of whispers and little birds and spies? He wonders if all places are like this, if left to their own devices. If man must always conceal himself under the guise of whispers.

Ned reaches out to place a hand on his son's shoulder, both for his child as well as for himself. He'd only heard fleeting moments of Robb speaking so authoritatively, so surely, so strongly. The command of his voice, the surety of his tone - it didn't take much more for Ned to begin to understand that Robb had assumed his duties as eldest son once the sword had swung.

He lifts himself to his feet, hand extends down towards Robb.

"It matters not where you take me," he murmurs quietly, "So long as we are together again."