It was a chance for all of them to have time as a family that they never would again, not all of them like this. He can see it in Arya's eyes when he speaks of the others who have fallen by now in her time in Westeros. And that pinched look. Oh, how well he knows the feeling. Ned gives her shoulders a squeeze.

"That is a good place to start." Curious, he examines the dagger she pulls out. "Hm. Valyrian steel. Jon said it was one of the only ways to kill the army of the dead. May I?" Ned holds out his hand to take the dagger from her and judge its weight and make for himself. It's that closer inspection that sparks recognition. "Bran's would-be assassin," and Ned is more curious than ever. "How did you come to be in possession of this, love?"

The Hero of Winterfell. He raises his brows at Arya. "Do they? That is a fine title. It must have just as fine a story behind it." And her father settles in beside her, thoughtful and listening, just as he always has for her no matter how small she was or how minute her joys or woes. Around them, the imitation snow gently falls but without Winter's chill; an appropriate setting for this tale, perhaps.