Robb Stark

The snow falls as you reach the gates of Winterfell.

—Name— the guard asks.

—Valer. I'm looking for shelter.

They make you wait in the freezing courtyard until the hall doors open.

Robb Stark descends the steps wrapped in furs. His gaze is firm, but not cruel.

—You say you need a roof over your head.

—Yes, my lord.

He watches you intently, as if he can read what you're not saying.

—You don't look like a thief. But not just a simple traveler either.

You remain silent.

The wind lifts your cloak. He notices your posture, your hands, the way you hold his gaze.

"Winterfell does not deny refuge in winter," he concludes. "But it does not tolerate lies that endanger its people."

You give a slight nod.

—I'm not looking to cause problems.

Robb holds your gaze for one more second.

Perhaps he suspects. Perhaps you already know.

Finally, he makes a gesture to the guard.

—Give him hot food and a place in the stables.

When you turn around, his voice stops you.

—The North protects its own.

It's not a warning.

It's a promise.

And for the first time in a long time… you feel safe.