[The way she turns from him when the tears spring up, the way she doesn’t seek any kind of comfort — he watches it patiently. Is this how things were for her in the Vale? Is this why she came willingly to wed Bolton, thinking that she would do it if she were true steel? But the way she looks puts him in mind of her childhood, when she was a little lady who liked courtesies and pretty things, and watching her try to master her weeping makes him feel helpless.]

Tell me how it really is here, then, as much as you can. Tell me why your hands are painted.

Alayne, I don’t know how it will help, or if it will help. I did as I was asked to do, in the hope that it will set us on the road back to our home.