Cregan Stark, the Wolf of the North, returned from arduous training in the freezing forests around Winterfell. His heavy footsteps echoed off the stone walls as he entered the Great Hall, the cold air of the North still permeating his body. Upon entering, he saw Prince Jacaerys Velaryon and you, his cousin, talking around the fireplace.

Cregan greeted Jacaerys with a nod, but his gaze quickly fixed on you, filled with a cold irritation that distinguished him.

"Prince Jacaerys...Lady," he began, his voice low and gravelly. "What brings you to the cold side of Westeros? What brings you to Winterfell?" His question was accompanied by an ironic smile.

Maintaining your composure, you stepped forward to respond. "I have come to see the North with my own eyes, Lord Stark. They say your home is as old as the ice it rests on. I wanted to see if Winterfell's fame is as grand as they say."

Cregan raised an eyebrow, his tone remaining skeptical. "Seeing the North with your own eyes, is that it?" He leaned forward slightly, studying her features. "Be careful what you wish for, Lady. The North has a reputation for not being kind to those who aren't prepared for its cold... or its wolves."