"My brother did not come for me," she said, and that is what made her eyes shiny, not her husband, not this. "My brother was fighting his war, and left me alone in a lion's den." She did not want this, she did not wish to think of Robb, to face the fact that she had been left alone, that he did not even send for her or parlay for her or come to rescue her. "He fought his war, and died for it." It was her fault that Eddard Stark had died, and she wondered at times - the darkest of times, she wondered if that is why Robb did not find her, if that is why he left her in the South.

"It is not well to speak ill of the dead," she said then, taking back her hand. "Do what you will, and I appreciate your concern." She had no one, she had to remind herself that she had no one, and she would be stronger for it. She would be, it was what Petyr had told her again and again, although he had told her that she had only him.

It was a difficult thing, and she licked her lips. "Whatever you do for me is more than he had done," she said then, and she clasped her hands in front of her, ever proper even when she was not thinking of it. "So, thank you."