She doesn't move, and she doesn't hesitate, but her words are flat and she just sounds so incredibly tired; she's so wrung out from the last years that she can't even sound socially congenial about it any longer. "I was to marry the Prince," she said simply. "My family are good people. Grounded. They were-" She paused, using the past tense without thinking. "They were fair - before he was Hand, my father had been the Warden of the North for longer than I'd been alive. The Lord of Winterfell. I was... young," she said even though that's not the problem; youth was not the issue, for Arya had been younger than Sansa was.

"Naive," she corrected, quietly, still looking out at nothing, her eyes flicking back to Peeta, even though she did not move. "And selfish."