"It would seem to be the explanation for these," Ned replies, tugging lightly at his dampened scrubs - the color of freshly fallen snow. His eyes rake over hers, corners of his lips twitching enough to betray the stoicism he holds on his face. "And it seems whoever has brought us here has seen it fitting for you to take up the black."

Something in his eyes flickers at the mention of her mother. A stone dropping at the core of him, resounding and echoing into the darkness. Her absence felt, in every bone and drop of blood of his body. He reaches out and over, instinctively touches the fiery strands of her hair - her mother's, distinctively Tully. Forces the edges of his lips to smile at the memory of her as a child.

"She worried about you more often than she breathed, I think," he replies tenderly. "How she loved you."