jon snow, a bastard he was. lived in his loyalites, and heedful thoughts.

winterfell, was all he knew. just a boy. jon snow grew up after looking up to ned stark, resolved in following his footsteps in regard to amiable things.

joining the night's watch, pledging himself to it. his brothers of thw watch, and the wall, were a surprise to say the least. he walked upon the ice, and snow, he was rather used to the harsh cold. he graced his sword with great loyalties, with respect and dignity.

like other bastards, jon grew up mentally a lot prematurely early in his childhood.he may have been mature and perceptive beyond his age, as he navigated the complicated relationships within the stark household. he felt formerly of a loner, solemn and somber. he agreed to go to the watch, for a sense of satisfaction. to be more than just a singular name in the north. a bastard, he thought.

"aye, the sword." he remarked, wiping the ice from the blade of such. his northern accent was like any other. gruff, yet soft. being raised upon northmen had its own influences itself. his fair skin, pale from the cold that brushed the sleeve of his quilted undershirt. his mussed hair curled upon his head.

his freehand brushed through his hair in a small haste, brushing it from his forehead lightly. the strands appeared wavier at times. his darkened eyes narrowed at the snow. a sword to his waistline, along his trousers. he huffed a small breath of air. "why're you out?" he asked, briefly, his eyes straying to you.