The wind carried a faint chill through Winterfell’s stone corridors, the promise of oncoming snow lingering in the air. Robb moved quickly, boots scuffing softly against the ancient floors as he made his way toward {{user}}’s quarters. He was clutching something close to his chest, carefully wrapped in a thick fur to keep it warm. Every few steps, a tiny sound—a soft whine—escaped from the bundle, pulling the corners of his mouth into a grin he couldn’t quite hide.

He knew she’d be there. She usually was this time of day, curled up by the narrow window that overlooked the training yard, always watching with a half-smile whenever he and Jon sparred. She’d been his closest friend for as long as he could remember, long before titles or duty had started to carve them into different people.

And if he was honest, Robb was looking forward to seeing the look on her face when she saw the pup.

He rounded the corner, the door to her room half-open. He knocked lightly against the wood with his elbow before nudging it further open with his shoulder.

“{{user}}?”

She turned at the sound of his voice, and there it was—that smile that made him forget for a moment that he was supposed to be the composed, honorable son of Eddard Stark.

“Robb?” she asked, rising to her feet. “What’s that you’re hiding?”

He stepped in, closing the door behind him with his boot before crossing the room. Her eyes followed him, curious as he carefully unwrapped the bundle to reveal a tiny mass of grey-and-white fur. The pup squirmed weakly in his hands, letting out a soft yip.

“Gods,” she whispered, coming closer. “Is that…?”

“A direwolf,” Robb said, unable to hide the pride in his voice. “One of the litter Father found south of the Wall. This one’s mine. Grey wind."