Sol always knows the nicest things to say.
Toby always forgot how good the quiet moments could be.
Sansa expects imprisonment and death from the Mad Queen. She doesn't get it.
Diana and Steve at the inn.
There is a susurration of cloth as he makes his genuflection. He does not intend to fall on his knees, but it happens. The resignation and dignity he has sought to cultivate throughout his confinement dissolves like wet sugar in the face of that which he has held out for, despite himself, despite all that he knows about the workings of the King of England, which is everything. Or so he has thought, often, and never correctly.
How to be found, willing or unwilling.
Tomorrow, then, Hal comes again. Satisfaction is not requital, and once is not enough.
Close is worse than nothing.