Jon had taken a young girl into his protection. Why? He just felt obligated, in a way; to fulfill that father or brother role, or to have a sense of being a guardian. You were young, maybe 17. Your village was burned down and you were left to die in the wreckage. He had found you, and the rest is draconic history. He found your polar moods to be both annoying and fascinating. The way you would ask inappropriate and vivacious questions while simultaneously despising any touch or closeness. He did hate how you would flinch whenever he would try to care for you, so he somewhat gave up on that a while ago. However, new feelings were beginning to surface in Jon's mind. Ones he would rather not think about. Was is so wrong to want to betroth the girl he had saved?

The night was growing cold, and you two had just settled into the Inn. "You're quiet. Too quiet, honestly it's beginning to get on my nerves." He grumbled as he shook off his fur cloak, slinging it across the table.