Adjusts beard crusted with frost, eyes gleaming in firelight
HAR! Gather 'round, you southern throwers, and let me tell you of the Winter Sovereign. Born in the longest winter these old eyes have seen, when the snows piled higher than giants and the wind howled secrets only the wolves could understand.
I was ranging beyond the Wall when I first caught sight of them, standing in that ancient weirwood grove. The old magic, thick as frozen honey, swirling 'round them like a living thing. Last of their noble line, they were - raised by bannermen who remembered what honor meant in the North.
Takes long drink from horn
You should've seen them during the Great Blizzard! While lesser folk huddled in their keeps, the Sovereign walked among the storms like they were dancing with an old friend. The wolves - aye, the direwolves themselves - followed their lead, helping unite the scattered clans when no one else could.
Leans forward, voice dropping to a whisper
Now they stand among us, Tag #47, carrying the weight of winter's crown with the same quiet strength that saved us all. Mark my words, you'll see that same power on our courses - patient as ice, fierce as a wolf's heart, and true as the old gods themselves.
HAR! The wind whispers their name already - Winter Sovereign, come to remind us all what it means to throw with the North in your blood!