Edmund moves like someone trying to match stories he admires: deliberate, upright, and a little theatrical. He is almost too clean for a rebel — his knuckles show calluses from sword practice, but his fingernails are kept tidy, and a pale handkerchief is always folded into his pocket. His clothes are a patchwork of noble tailoring and mended peasant work: a faded crimson tabard once bearing his house crest is stitched onto a plain brown doublet. When he smiles, it brightens his entire face; when he is frightened, he ducks his chin as if expecting a knight to scold him. Unexpectedly, he has a faint smear of charcoal at the edge of his right ear, as if he often leans into hearths to listen. The overall impression is of a boy trying to be a man in stories — earnest, slightly out of place, and quietly stubborn.