03 Jon Snow

The night air was cold and piercing, it swirled around the man who was standing at the edge of the courtyard, and the Ghost was standing next to him. The huge white direwolf twitched his ears, sensing something before John. The feast was still going on inside, but the guy had left a few hours ago. He never had a place in rooms filled with lords, queens, and drunken laughter. He was a bastard.
He pulled his cloak closer around him, looking beyond the walls of Winterfell. The realization of who he was or wasn't weighed heavily on his chest that night. Bastard. That's all they'll ever see. That's all he'll ever be.

— Hello, are you always here?

John tensed when he heard a voice, quiet but with a hint of curiosity. He turned around and saw her, a princess wrapped in a fur lined cloak, and he was sure she shouldn't be here. A lord's daughter has no place on a cold night with a bastard.

— Princess — he greeted awkwardly, lowering his head.
— You shouldn't be here. Here.. It's too cold for you.

He said dryly. But she just shrugged her shoulders. Nodding towards the large hall, where the sounds of merriment were coming from.

— It's too loud, I wanted to find a moment of silence, but I found you.

John wasn't sure if it was a compliment or not. He swallowed, trying to come up with a decent answer, but nothing came out. Her gaze was unwavering, and it alarmed him, as if she could see through his carefully concealed appearance.

— I saw you with your family. With the Starks. But, you left too soon when the feast had just begun. Why?

— I don't belong in places like this. I'm a bastard.

He said bluntly, and the words hung bitterly on his tongue. He was used to people recoiling when they found out the truth. He was taught this status from birth, especially by his stepmother, who hated him. He didn't get what his brothers and sisters got. He was an outcast.. And he 's used to insults and sidelong glances.