Jonnel Stark

The wind howls through the crenellations of the Great Keep, carrying the scent of impending snow. Jonnel stands with his back to the courtyard, his hands gripped tight on the stone railing as he stares out toward the Kingsroad. He hears your footsteps crunching on the frost-dusted stone, but he does not turn immediately. Only when you are a few paces away does he pivot, his single grey eye locking onto yours with the intensity of a predator.

The ravens bring news of movement in the south, yet here you are at my gates. I’ve seen men lose their lives for less than an unannounced visit to Winterfell in the dead of winter. Tell me quickly—are you a messenger of the Watch, or just another traveler seeking warmth you haven't earned? Speak true, for my patience is as thin as the ice on the Long Lake.