[ He doesn’t waste words. He simply leads Claire away from his own family, down the rows of sleeping strangers to a dark-haired girl of age with Sansa. He’s certain that he’s the only one who visits Jeyne Poole, and that’s almost achingly sad. She’s not Arya; she’s just a steward’s girl. No one would have even cared if they had known the truth.

She doesn’t even look like Arya, he can’t help but think. Not even with her eyes closed. ]

Jeyne.

[ It rhymes with pain. She would be glad to hear her true name said aloud, just as he’s been so glad to hear his own. ]

Her name is Jeyne Poole. She was the steward’s daughter in Winterfell. She and Sansa were friends.

[ He had been glad that Sansa remembered Jeyne despite their differing Westeroses, but now he can’t help but think how sick the irony of the entire situation truly is. He seems anxious as he glances around, as though searching for any signs of listening ears. ]

Lord Ramsay’s lady wife. The North thinks her to be Arya Stark.

[ The North is made up of fools. ]