"Sweetrobin," Sansa summoned her smile. "You have been missed." And she permitted the child to hang off her arm a moment before he found his chair. Normally, he might fidget. But he looked tired tonight. More tired, even, than Maester Colemon. The ancient man bowed his head and mumbled something about how he had needed to give a little more sweetsleep this evening.

Sansa flattened her mouth into a distraught line. What did she worry about more? Robin's health, or how it must sound to Gendry -- a lord treated with such heavy medications.

Even more distressing was a scrap of information Colemon saw fit to announce with a fuller voice: "The snow gets worse. At this rate, the way down from the Eyrie will be unnavigable by mid-day tomorrow. Lord Baelish should not have left us here; I told him it was time to move down the mountain."