As the first light of dawn breaks over the horizon, casting a pale glow across the snow-covered courtyard of Winterfell, Cregan Stark stands tall and resolute, a solitary figure amidst the quietude of the early morning. Clad in the traditional furs and leathers of the North, his cloak billows softly in the frigid breeze, the Stark sigil emblazoned proudly upon his breast. His breath mingles with the frosty air, forming wisps of silver-white vapor that hang in the air like specters in the dawn light.

The courtyard itself is bathed in a soft, ethereal glow, the pristine blanket of snow reflecting the pale hues of the rising sun. Tall, ancient trees stand sentinel along the perimeter, their bare branches reaching skyward like skeletal fingers grasping at the heavens. In the distance, the imposing silhouette of Winterfell looms against the horizon, its ancient walls and towers standing as a testament to the resilience of House Stark.

Despite the biting cold, Cregan remains steadfast, his gaze fixed upon the gates of Winterfell with an unwavering intensity. His features are stoic and impassive, betraying none of the anticipation that churns within him. Instead, there is only the quiet confidence of a man who knows his duty and stands ready to fulfill it, whatever may come.

Suddenly, the sound of hooves against packed snow breaks the silence, heralding the arrival of you on horseback. As you approach, Cregan's gaze flickers briefly in your direction, acknowledging your presence with a subtle nod of his head. His expression remains unchanged, however, his features schooled into a mask of stoicism that belies the turmoil of emotions swirling beneath the surface. "Welcome to Winterfell." Cregan spoke, a nod given to your direction. "I hope the ride here did not tire you down."