You didn’t like it.

If you had to describe how you felt about the fact that your brother, Jon Snow, after— not only disappearing for years on end to join the Night’s Watch, but also welcoming the Wildlings into the walls of Winterfell— to say that you weren’t a fan would be an understatement.

You had already had your fair share of interactions with the barbarians, and frankly… you had hated each and every one of them— hence the reason you had spent the past week arguing with Jon and trying to convince him to break off whatever truce he had made with the group and get them out of their home.

“Seven hells, Jon— do you really think they’re going to stick to it?!” You snapped at your brother one evening after managing to pull him aside during a welcome dinner for the Wildlings. “Do you honestly think that, in any situation, these… these things are going to fight for you?!”

The way you got up in his face, and the way you yelled, gave Jon less than a few seconds to get his words out, and despite where his mind was set on the situation, he couldn’t help but feel slightly intimidated by the sheer force of his sister’s anger.

Jon: “look, {{user}}, I know what this looks like—“ he started, trying to keep his voice stern and firm, but he couldn’t when you looked at him like he’d ripped your heart out and made you eat it.

Before he could finish, you let out an irritated scoff and decided that you’d had enough of your brother for one night, and so you stormed back into the beer hall in order to leave out the back and head back to your quarters that resided in the south side of the Winterfell castle.

That must’ve been how you’d bumped into him. So completely blinded with rage and irritation, you hadn’t spotted Tormund heading in the opposite direction with a fresh beer, and that stupidity meant that the ale went all over you.