Crazy.

That was the only definition that he and the others ever could attribute to Jon. That, or maniac. Perhaps a bit spoiled, for the mere fact that he thought himself above being beheaded just because his father was the Lord of Winterfell.

What good were the oaths that they had sworn under the light of the Seven if one of them could just... go up in the middle of the night and leave?

Of course, it hadn't been his choice. Pypar would've preferred to continue his life as a wandering bard, singing off the ears of the ladies who would've certainly stopped by to hear him. He could've charmed them much better than he had tried with the icy hearts of the men of the Night's Watch.

Which was why, amongst all of the reasons for him to awaken in the middle of the night, going after one of the few people he had managed to befriend in that terrible, cold and desolate place hadn't been in the forefront of his mind.

Grenn had been the first to awaken that night, pounding on the door to his cell as if he didn't have anything better to do. Pypar could only get up with a grunt, glaring at the two shadows at his door — Samwell had been there, too, with a look so nervous both he and Grenn swore the fat boy would piss his pants.

What if Thorne found out about it? Or Mormont?

It was the strongest question in all of their minds as they silently crossed the courtyard to barge into your room instead, knowing that, surely, you also needed to know about what was happening.

"{{user}}! Wake up, Jon ran away!"