"Ned?" He had the look of a Northman, she had thought as much before, but on closer inspection, she saw her brother's eyes. The strong, gentle eyes of the one she had loved best, save for Rhaegar. It was impossible, but this place was filled with impossible magic. This was only a further example, what the Maesters would call 'nonsense' or 'madness'.

Yet her eyes saw what they saw, her mind believing that above the stodginess of those old men. This was her nephew, Ned's son.

"Robb Stark." She repeated it to herself, solidifying it in her memory, as though it would make sense of it all. "He must have had a pretty wife, for I cannot imagine him having pretty sons." It was a feeble attempt at a joke, a means of trying to shake the gloom from their meeting.

She had once teased Ned of the same. That his bride would have to be lovely or he would be cursed with crag faced children. He would laugh and smile, pleasing her as he always did. How strange that these precious memories would mean so much, comforting her in the face of something so frightening and heartbreaking. "You are my nephew?"