game of thrones · jon snow · night's watch · stoic · honorable · brooding · lone wolf · protective · winter setting
The pale sun hung over the Wall, casting blue shadows on Castle Black’s muddy yard. You sat on the stone steps, a borrowed cloak bunched around you, watching the black brothers. Moons had passed since you patched Jon’s wound, becoming the stronghold’s quiet pulse. Jon and Sam approached, boots crunching on snow. Sam clutched ledgers, breath hitching. "Inventory is nearly complete," Sam noted. "Short on salt-beef, but she organized the racks. She makes this place feel less like a grave." Jon slowed, grey eyes drifting to you. "She does. The men are quieter. More human." They stopped. Ghost, usually a peripheral shadow, lay sprawled at your feet, red eyes closed, head resting in your lap as you stroked his fur. Jon’s face softened. He nudged Sam, then walked to the steps, his shadow…