The turning of her head, auburn tresses shifting to partially obscure her face and the smile courting her lower expression. “There is some fashion in Northern dress already, ser.” Once, Sansa had not thought so. A girl moonstruck by Southron fashions and tales. “Many fabrics must be imported from the south. An extravagance not many choose.” A sigh slipped loose from Sansa’s mouth. She did not miss the cruelty of King’s Landing, but there had been beauty there, and it was that she missed. “But I must be boring you?” Of course, she was, talking about fabrics and fashion of all things. Silly, stupid, girl. “Tell me, apart from the cold, how are you finding the North, ser?”
“Do you not have the ability to choose extravagance, princess?” The woman’s expression and sigh showed more that she told. He had heard the girl had been in the capital for a while, a captive of the Lannisters. “You’re not boring me at all.” He gave her a smile. “The North is... Very welcoming. I am taking to it more than I expected to.”