"...wife of mine, it pains me to say this but I think I want to use my husbandly and lordly authority to demand that you not be in this man's vicinity while I am at war."

She gives a little laugh.

“Yes. Yes, I would…” And she stops because something is catching in her throat, and she has to start over again. “If it were possible to await your surely inevitable victory elsewhere without compromising your overall strategy, I. Would like that very much.”

"Then I shall speak with Lord Wyman Manderly about this matter. I am very doubtful that he shall refuse, so we should be able to get you passage and escort to White Harbour."

Anavett nods, and. Her vision is blurring, for some strange reason. She wonders why. When she reaches up to rub at her eyes, her fingers come away wet. Then she stifles a little sob and realizes that, apparently, the thing that would cause her tears to finally fall was someone believing and trusting her.

“Don’t die,” she sniffles, “Don’t you dare die. Behead the stupid king so he doesn’t cause any more pointless death, and then just, just. Return north and secede from the entire damn kingdom if you have to.” She fails to stifle her second little sob. “Please. Please, please stay alive.”

Alis pulls his arm from around her then places both of her hands inside his, looking into her eyes. He kisses a tear falling down one cheek, and another tear falling down the other. "I vow to you, milady," he says, voice and eyes as serious as they can be, "on my honour as a Stark, that I will return to you. And when I do, and take you to Winterfell with me, we will live our lives together to their natural ends, populate the keep with our children, and love each and every one of them with all our hearts, and grow old to see our family and our lands grow richer, healthier, stronger, and happier day after day."

“Gods, that’s such an ambitious set of promises,” she snorts, but she’s smiling. “Haven’t you heard of moderation and, and setting realistic expectations? Just, just. Return to me, and. We’ll try for all the rest after, okay?”

He smiles, then, and kisses her hands before raising a thumb to wipe her tears away. "It shall be so, milady."

"Okay. Good." She sniffles again, and then kisses the hand wiping away her tears. "Thank you. But I'm being terribly silly, aren't I, we still have time together before the real proper goodbyes, just. It was really very important to tell you my concerns about the safety of, of our heirs."

"And your safety, milady. The moon tea, it... sometimes it... I do not want harm to come to you."

“Yeah. I was with Lysa, during the, the. Yes.” Her mouth twitches to an attempt at a smile. “Self interest does enter into it, too, yes.”

"You are mine, and I yours. What is yours is mine, and what is mine yours. Your safety and wellbeing are of great importance to me, lady wife, and you should not consider it self-interest. I want to take care of what is mine, in the same way you take care of what is yours."

She gives a little snort, then leans forward to kiss him. “You’re very sweet. Yes, all right. Though I hope I may still call it self-interest in jest?”

"You may call it anything you want, wife mine, so long as we are both clear on our priorities here."

"Yeah. I want to take care of you, too. You're a very good husband, I... want to be good for you and to you."

He kisses her forehead and then makes a soft humming sound. "Well, that breakfast is starting to sound appealing, this much exercise on an empty stomach..."

"Ha! Yes. I thought about being a good wife and making sure breakfast would be ready for you when you woke up, but instead I was drawn to continue snuggling you. You were warm and cozy, and I was weak, forgive me." She's obviously joking, and isn't sorry. "I'll put on a dressing gown and go find a servant to bring us something from the kitchens?"

"That would be much appreciated, milady."

She gives him a quick kiss, digs out a dressing gown from the nearby closet, dons it, and then heads out to hunt up some breakfast. There are surely duties they'll both be needing to get to eventually, but at the moment, his men are fed and happy, so it can wait until after they've shared a meal together.

She can very quickly draw attention of one of the House Tully servants, a stout woman in her forties who has known Anavett since she was born.

"Good morning, Lady Stark," she says with a curtsy.

"Good morning, Wilmena!" says Anavett, all bright and happy cheer. She does not know every servant's name, but she does in fact know this one's. "Could I trouble someone for a meal to start the day, for both myself and my husband? I'll be happy to be the one to take it back."

"Of course, milady," she says with another curtsy before turning to leave...

...and pausing then turning back around. "Erm... Lady Stark... may I ask... no, forgive me, 'tis not proper."

"Oh? No, it's quite all right, please go on, something clearly troubles you."

"...well. You see, milady, I... the girls were worried about you."

"... Because of the war?" she says, a little blankly. Because, well, her husband dying in war is in fact a major concern of hers that is absolutely haunting her thoughts, especially now that she likes him, but. That doesn't seem to be what this is about?

"...no, milady. Last night some of the girls, erm, passed by milady's door—not me! I know milady wouldn't like it!" she hastily adds. "But they say they heard cries of pain and..." Then she lowers her voice to barely a whisper to say, "We have tinctures for pain and paints that could hide any bruises if milady has need of them...?"