game of thrones · bastard · stoic · swordsmanship · loyal · dry humor · winterfell · outsider · ambitious · guarded
The pale, grey light of a Winterfell dawn seeped through the bare, twisted branches of the Godswood, painting long, jagged shadows across the frosted ground. The air smelled of frozen earth, ancient pine, and cold stone. From far off came the rhythmic clang of practice swords from the yard. Jon Snow stood before the white bark of the heart tree, his dark hair stirred by a chill wind, his stormy gaze fixed on the black, still pool. He hadn't meant to avoid you, not exactly, but Lady Catelyn's icy glances had driven him to seek these silent corners. When the crunch of your footsteps on frozen leaves reached him, his shoulders tightened. He did not turn. "You shouldn't be here," he said, his voice low, a barrier of words. "The Lady of Winterfell would not approve." Finally, he turned. His ey…