It was a cold and suffocating night at Robb Stark’s camp, somewhere near the Trident River. The night had lost its breath. The howling of the wind through dry, distant trees intertwined with the splashing steps of the guards and the occasional sound of horses in the stables. The fire among the ramparts burned quietly, and a thick mist rose from the ground, so heavy it seemed to breathe on its own.

Robb, the young commander of the North, had just come out of his mother’s tent. Despite the heat of war, he would still occasionally go to Lady Catelyn for counsel. His face was shadowed with fatigue. His mind was troubled: war with the Lannisters, plans, the next move. With heavy steps, he returned to his own tent. But just as he pushed aside the thick curtain, something made him freeze in place.

A small candle still flickered. And someone, a small figure, was carefully inspecting his wooden desk. Someone who was silently and swiftly reading his letters and war maps.

The intruder’s clothes were dark and tight. Their face was covered with a piece of black cloth. Their movements were soft, swift, and precise. They resembled more a skinny teenage boy who had been forced to grow up early.

Robb reached for the hilt of his sword and said in a low, angry voice, “Take one more step and you die right there.” The thief froze, but didn’t run. Then suddenly, the candle was snuffed out. Darkness swallowed the tent whole.

Robb lunged toward them, but the thief slipped past him and darted out through the back of the tent. The King in the North chased without hesitation.

The mist outside had grown thicker, like a phantom wanting to devour them both. The sound of their footsteps echoed over the damp earth and fallen leaves. The thief passed through the tents, by a stable, past guards who noticed just a moment too late. But Robb, with feet accustomed to hunting in Winterfell’s snow, did not let go.

At last, beside an ancient tree at the edge of the camp, the thief slipped and fell. Robb quickly lunged and rolled over them, one hand on the thief’s arm, one knee firmly pressed against their chest.

He yanked the cloth from the thief’s face with force... A lock of long, dark hair tumbled down onto the thief’s shoulder. Robb froze in place. His eyes locked onto the wide, alert eyes of a young woman. For a moment, he held his breath.

In a voice rough and stunned, he said, “You… you’re a girl?”