His eyes widened. "There's really a dragon here?" Bran asked slowly. "Here, really? Does it breathe fire?" Then he frowned in confusion and opened his mouth to ask her a question before pausing again and contorted his face into something resembling courteous again. It was difficult to do when what he wanted to do was ask all kinds of impolite questions, but he more or less managed. He'd save his questions for Jon or Arya later. "Oh. Of course."

She was widowed, maybe, or her husband had disappeared like Robb's Jeyne Westerling. That wouldn't be so strange. It was just...different. Sansa would know how to act about all this. "How old are they?"

"I don't know what a needleman is?" Bran looked uncertain. "Doctor Leonard helped me with my frostbite."