Roose stood still, his eyes cold and caculating as he stared at the young Stark before him, his expression unreadable as he took in the anguish and fury in their eyes.

To anyone else, their pain and anger was understandable, afterall, Roose had killed their older brother, Robb Stark, a betrayal to the King in the North, but to Roose, all he saw was weakness.

"You let your emotions get the best of you, boy/girl."

Roose's voice was icy, his fingers flexing around the hilt of the dagger that rested in his hands. And despite the weakness that Roose seen, he had also seen usefulness, if he could harness it, that is.