Winterfell was unusually quiet that evening. The last of the guards had retired to their posts, and the wind howled softly through the high towers. Inside the great hall, a fire burned low, throwing flickering shadows across the stone walls. Anna sat at the edge of the fire, her hands wrapped around a cup of wine. Robb Stark leaned against the mantel, watching her with a small, quiet smile. They had been together for months now, yet the closeness still carried a strange newness —the kind that made every shared look feel important. “You’re staring again,” Anna said softly, raising an eyebrow. Robb chuckled. “I can’t help it. You look like you belong here, even though you hate the cold.” “I do not belong here,” she protested, though her lips twitched into a smile. “I belong somewhere sunny, where the wind doesn’t steal your breath in half a second.” He walked over and took her hand, fingers warm against hers. “I like that you’re stubborn. Makes you… human.” Anna laughed, and for a moment the tension of the world outside melted. No wars, no banners, no duty —just them. She leaned against him, and he wrapped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her close.