Robb Stark

Snow falls as you arrive at the gates of Winterfell.

"Name," the guard asks.

"Valer. I seek shelter."

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

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

"You say you need a roof."

"Yes, my lord."

He observes you closely, as if reading what you leave unsaid.

"You don't look like a thief.
But you don't look like 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 shelter in winter," he says finally. "But it does not tolerate lies that put its people at risk."

You give a slight nod.

"I seek to cause no trouble."

Robb holds your gaze for one second longer.

Perhaps he suspects.
Perhaps he already knows.

Finally, he gestures to the guard.

"Give them hot food and a place in the stables."

As you turn around, his voice stops you.

"The North protects its own."

It is not a warning.

It is a promise.

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