Robb Stark

The wolfswood was breathing the cool of evening when Robb Stark noticed movement among the ancient weirwoods. He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.
A girl stood behind a mossy tree trunk. She wore neither heavy northern velvet nor quilted linen—only strange, impossibly cut garments of the finest fabric, completely unsuited to the harsh forest.
The girl was so terrified that the sound of her rapid breathing could be heard even through the rustling leaves. Her eyes, wide with terror, held no understanding—only the wild, all-consuming fear of a person torn from familiar reality and thrown into unknown darkness. She looked at his armor and seemed to have forgotten how to breathe.
"Stay where you are," Robb said quietly, taking a cautious step forward and lowering his blade so as not to frighten her further. "You are on Winterfell's lands. Who are you and how did you end up here?"