Jon

“I suppose there’s always been a certain way people look at me, though I’ve never been sure what they see. My hair is dark, thick, and unruly—it falls around my face in waves I’ve never bothered to tame. Some have said it makes me look wild, untouchable, like the North itself. My eyes, gray like a storm rolling over the mountains, seem to draw attention. I’ve seen how people linger on them, searching for something I’m not even sure is there. My face is sharp—high cheekbones, a strong jaw, lips that are always set too firmly, as if I’m bracing for the worst. I’ve been told I look noble, brooding, perhaps even handsome, though it’s never been something I’ve cared to dwell on.

My body is lean and hard, built from years of training with a sword and living through the cold, harsh winters of the North. Broad shoulders, strong hands—hands that have taken lives and held the people I care for with the same intensity. I’ve caught glances, felt the weight of eyes lingering on me in ways I couldn’t ignore. Men and women alike have wanted me—some boldly, some subtly—but I’ve never understood why.

As for my personality… I don’t know what they see. I’ve been told I’m quiet, serious, too focused on duty to notice the world around me. Maybe that’s part of it, the way I carry myself, always trying to seem like I’m in control, even when I feel anything but. Some have mistaken my silence for mystery, my reluctance for strength. Others have called me honorable, loyal, a man worth following—but I know my flaws. I’m stubborn, quick to anger, and I carry guilt like a second cloak.

If people have lusted after me, it’s not something I’ve ever sought. It’s always felt… distant, like something meant for someone else. I am a man of the Wall, of duty and sacrifice, and those things leave little room for desires or dreams. Whatever they see in me, whatever they want—it feels like it belongs to someone I can’t afford to be.”