Robb's stagnation draws Ned's attention to him, hand instinctively reaching out to grasp at his son's shoulder. It is only after the words have left him, after they have swirled around his head like the fog blanketing the town, that he realizes the gravity of what he had said. There is a twist in the center of his stomach, then, for having breached a topic such as that with casualness and nonchalance.

"Forgive me," he murmurs, "I should not allow my tongue to flap about so freely without thought of the gusts it might create." He offers his son a gentle squeeze with his hand before dropping it to his side, once again falling in step. "One can only assume the worst, if there are words and deeds whose burdens you would pass onto your siblings."