For a long, long, long moment, she merely stood before his cage. All her pomp and practising escaped her as she squinted into the moonlit cell. Was it possible for a man to show his malnutrition after just four days of neglect, or was this her guilty conscience bending the night shadows against his cheeks? Sansa swayed there, briefly, and felt her tongue stick to the roof of her mouth.

Ask him if he's a liar. She pressed her lips together. Tell him it's impossible. Her head swam, still. Ask him if she's alright.

"Gendry." She'd never said his name before. Weeks of visiting, and she'd always avoided it. But she said it tonight, and she hated the way she couldn't edit out its more plaintive notes. How did Petyr ever manage to persuade anyone when something so little as this felt impossible? Her gathered courage failed her at the last hurdle, and she proved craven in her questioning: "A-are you well?"