"Well," Ned started with a sigh, shifting in his seat, glancing around to see if he'd be able to find a copy here. No luck though, at least not from where he was sitting.
"There was an article in it. Yesterday I think it was. About a woman by the name of Elia Martell." Just saying her name made his expression change - it was all the little differences; the furrow of the brows, the clenching of the jaw, the tightening of his grip over his beer until his knuckles went white - for a fraction of a second before the tension slipped away from his shoulders and the mask of indifference tinged with his usual weariness affixed itself back onto his face again.
"She's dead." He chanced a glance at Jon before taking two mouthfuls of beer.
"She had your mother killed. And a few other people, no doubt." Murderous cunt, Ned had said to Robert. He wouldn't be caught using that kind of language around the children, no matter how old they were.