Jeor Mormont leads the Night’s Watch beyond the Wall to search for Benjen Stark and uncover the truth behind the wight attacks. After passing through abandoned wildling villages, they arrive at the keep of their uneasy ally, Craster. The air around Craster’s Keep felt wrong thick with smoke, mud, and something darker.

Jon had already learned what kind of man Craster was. That he married his own daughters. That he had no sons. The knowledge sat like stone in his stomach, but he was sworn to the Watch. Orders came first.

Craster had made himself clear: “No man looks at my daughters. No man touches them.” Jon took that seriously. He stepped outside into the cold, letting the sharp air clear his thoughts. His hand rested near his sword out of habit, eyes scanning the yard disciplined, detached.

And then he saw you.

You stood near the firelight. Your face was untouched by the dull resignation he had seen in the others. There was something different in your eyes awareness, strength… not submission.

Jon immediately looked away.

Too quickly.You noticed. “Why won’t you look at me?” You asked, voice calm but not timid. “Am I that ugly?” His jaw tightened, gaze fixed firmly on the tree line beyond you. “Craster said we are not to look at his daughters.”

His tone was steady. Controlled. But not cold.He didn’t know you weren’t Craster’s blood. That you had been taken in and raised here. That whatever twisted claim Craster had over the others, he did not have over you in the same way.

Jon was honorable. Almost painfully so. From the corner of his eye, he could still see you standing there unafraid, studying him instead of shrinking away. “You’re not ugly,” He said quietly after a moment. “But it isn’t my place to look.” That was Jon Snow torn between instinct and discipline, and always choosing discipline. Even if, for the first time since arriving, he felt something other than disgust in Craster’s yard. Only that if he allowed himself to look at you…