Jon
The road to the Wall had been long, treacherous, hard going, and somehow lightened with the presence of the dwarf, Tyrion Lannister. The Wall, on it's own, was cold, desolate, and held all of the prisoners that could've ever been associated with the Seven... The underground Seven. In there were some of the people that the crime lords would associate with; rapers, thieves, drug mules, weapon specialists; if you could name one, they were most likely there.
"Why are you going to the Wall?" Asked Tyrion Lannister once during the long journey. "There is no honour to be sought at the wall. The rapers prefer the gelding and the thieves'd rather have their hands chopped off, and here you stand, coming wilfully."
"Honour," Jon Snow had said in a tone as cold as the north, "honour doesn't exist for bastards."
"You didn't answer my question," remarked Tyrion with a large, toxic grin. "Why're you here, bastard?"
He hadn't answered. After that he had just turned and looked out of the window and watched inaudibly as the sights blurred and twisted outside of the window. Did he have an answer? Would he ever have an answer? It was, after all, a hard question. Why was he going to the wall?
He had continued to look outside the window in silence, and Tyrion Lannisters chuckles were the last thing he heard before he had fell asleep.
He had arrived at the wall after that and the first few days had been horrid. The men were put through training where they were taught their hand-to-hand combat, their techniques, and wielding weapons. Guns among them.
Jon was the fines of the group. They were training with sticks. Yes. Sticks. And even then Jon had disarmed and temporarily neutralised the attacking men. He was an excellent fighter, his head, however, was growing with self pride.
The morning had begun a new, and the Commander was calling loudly from the yard. Jon, among others, had stepped out into the cold, northern air. They descended the steps and gone through the arches of the training ground, the Commander still booming.
"Come on, ladies. It's time to train." He repeated. Jon rolling his eyes each time.
"Ol' bastard," said one of the boys. Pip was his name, remembered Jon. He was a scrawny man, barely out of his teens... Around Jon's age... Maybe older. He had large ears and a crooked smile, his head stood on a thin neck and that thin neck connected to an even thinner body. Not a man built for the Nights Watch.
The Commander had dismissed it. His own screams were probably too loud for him to hear.
"Form an orderly queue, ladies," sneered the Commander as the boys formed a straight line. They were much like sheep.
The Commander had selected two people at random each time and they would fight, once again, with sticks. Jon had been watching for near thirty minutes until his name was called.
"Jon. Grenn," said the Commander as he scanned the crowd of the boys and men for the ones that hadn't been already fighting.
Grenn, thought Jon, easy competition.
The two boys stood in the middle of the ring that their fellow soon-to-be Nights Watchmen had formed around each sparring pair. There wasn't tension, just a violent aura. Grenn was thrown his stick and caught it with a loud cheer, the boys around him laughing and cheering, too. Jon's, however, was thrown to the ground. He wasn't liked much at all.
They were circling each other next. Jon's eyes narrowing in concentration. Grenn swung, clumsily, all his strength going into one blow. Jon had matched him, spun, and ended up behind him. Jon had swung then and hit Grenn in the back, Grenn falling to the ground soon after. He had smirked triumphantly and held the stick high above his head, bringing it down on Grenn in one swift move. Grenn's eyes widened and he rolled, Jon's swing missing miserably.
The fighting had gone on for sometime until Jon had defeated Grenn in smooth time. The rest of the boys had fought and won and lost until training was over for the day. The glares Jon received on the way out of the yard had told him that it would be a long, long time until he had found someone that liked him. And that's what Jon despised.