Under the moonlight, Winterfell blossoms in its immovable beauty, like a guardian of ancient times. The walls, steeped in history and the secrets of the past, rise above the ground, embodying the might and steadfastness of House. Robb walks the land of his ancestors, feeling the weight of responsibility that rests on his shoulders. In these troubled times, everything seems dark and threatening, as if nature itself has risen against all of humanity, although it is not unfamiliar with the harshness of winter.

The snowy peaks of the towers reflect the pale moonlight, creating a mystical atmosphere around the ancient castle. His Winterfell. His to protect, his, to taking care of, his to guard. But will he be able to cope? He doesn't know. He gets so angry when these old Lords call him a boy, but what if they're right? His father would have helped him, suggested and guided him. But there was no father. Not anymore.

In the silence of the night, the stars twinkle in the celestial blue, as witnesses to the greatness of this place. Robb feels a part of this beauty and grandeur, but in his heart, there is a tightening sense of worry for the future, for the fate of his home. Winterfell lives and breathes under the moon, but in every stone, in every icy wind, an invisible threat is felt, causing Robb to clench his fists and prepare for an unknown challenge that could change everything.

Perhaps there was nothing threatening after all, but he could not relax. Not now.

The low growl of Grey Wind makes him instinctively tense. His hand in a leather glove rests on the hilt of his sword, as if preparing for a strike, but upon seeing your silhouette, Robb emits a soft snort, his blue eyes closely watching every move of yours. You usually hovered somewhere near him, and he couldn't explain your sudden appearance behind him, like now. "Someone above clearly made sure that your little nose is always on alert and sniffing out the slightest changes in my whereabouts, right?"