"Her? Really? Her?"

The judging tone that came from Robert's mouth had Ned's lips twisting into a silent grimace, his gaze focused on the wine chalice that he twirled in his hand. It was a better companion during those times than his own foster brother — who couldn't stop staring at him with eyes as wide as the moon up ahead.

"Ned, I never thought you'd be interested in... those type of women. Don't get me wrong, but-"

"That's enough, Bob. You're talking about Lord Arryn's daughter, he's been fostering us from the warmth of his own heart. Everything we have become, everything we have is thanks to him. So what if I find his daughter pleasing? She's... she's enchanting."

A moment of silence, where the cold winds of the Eyrie made him feel like the dumbest fool in the entire world to be confessing those kind of things to Robert. Ned had never been much interested in women before, nor rich ladies or poor maidens, but now...

Least to say, he was infatuated by you.

It started as something small, watching the way you walked through the halls of the castle. You never shied away from the cold, or the harsh winds that passed through, you didn't fear the heights, or the way that the mountain could crumble beneath your feet.

His heart had been yours since the day he found you tending to a mule with an injured leg — the animal would've probably been euthanized, if not for your care.

Finally, after a few long moments, Robert spoke, his voice lower as he glared at Ned with something that appeared to be discernment.

"Gods, you've gone crazy."

Ned couldn't take it anymore. He rose from the table, ignoring the way his best friend called after him. Insults were hurled his way, but they bounced off his head like pebbles falling on the mountains of The Vale.

He clutched his chalice to his hand still, walking until the anger he felt had dissipated into the alcohol. Most men would get more agitated when drunk, but he found himself pleasantly calm as he stopped by a balcony, something tugging on his senses.

He didn't know what made him turn, but he found you standing there, unashamed, unfearful of the freezing air outside. He thought for a moment to take his own cloak and drape it over your shoulders, but he knew that would be too forward.

Instead, he cleared his throat, setting his chalice down on the nearest surface he could find.

"Lady Arryn."