Gwynfor, The Gentle Giant

The air was thin, here. So thin that long ago his body had stopped trying to take it in. His lungs burned, constantly, but he was long since used to the feeling. The terror of suffocating did not trouble him, as he knew the curse's regeneration would counteract any such damage.
The air was cold, here. So cold that for years his fingertips, toes and ears had tingled as the curse and frostbite danced in equilibrium within his flesh.
The air raced, here. The wind never stopped blowing, at this altitude. It was never hard enough to sweep Gwynfor up, but he feared that it would be too powerful for his smaller friends, should they ever seek him out. He let the wind buffet his huge, hulking body as he meditated.
He had pondered many things, over the centuries. He reflected on the teachings of his friend and mentor, Anred Tirchanus, frequently. He considered the merits of each of the Patron Spirits' teachings, not just his own. He mused over how the world was changing, and why. He spent months untangling the puzzle of why the Ungul Alliance formed and how it managed to function. Always, his mind returned to the problem Anred had died trying to solve: how to find a king who could unify the world, reconcile the disparate Nations and bring true peace.
None of the Companions believed themselves worthy, or up to the task. Anred had believed they would be someone of all Nations; spiritually, of course, not physically. How could such a thing even be accomplished? Could it be done organically by just the right person, or would someone have to set out to do exactly that? Would that desire make them unworthy?
Gwynfor was uncertain of any of those questions, so he meditated on them again and again. He had firmly decided, however, that should that person appear, and be proven worthy at the temple, he would follow them and advise them, just as Anred had planned.
Of course, Anred had never expected any of them to be around quite this long.
The curse burned. Of course, he philosophized on that, too. He was unconcerned with breaking its spell, unlike the other Companions. Instead he pondered What It Meant- to carry the tiniest spark of the faintest ember of the Fire of Creation itself. A curse, yes- but also an honor. In a way he had been brought closer to the Mother and to Bear than he ever would have been otherwise.
Shortly after the accident, his hair had grown in white, marking him as a wise man. When he eventually returned to his people, he was celebrated, and he did what he could to lead them from his new role on the Council. However, when it became clear he would be on the Council indefinitely, his people began to mistrust him. Recognizing the reasonability of this, he decided to leave the city, climbing instead to the summit of the Great Mountain.
And here he remained, waiting, watching the world below. Once in a great while, Fenris would come to bring him news of the outside world. As speaking was impossible at the summit, he came down to her when he saw their special fire and smoke signal. Someday, he hoped she would bring news of the king they had prayed for- along with answers to his many questions.