The honor-bound swordsman from the North kept his sword close to him, feeling, for once, shockingly warm. Temperatures beyond The Wall were immensely chilling, even in the height of summer blizzards still raged throughout the frozen wasteland. Combined by the overall lack of civilization, the sight of seeing anything that resembled a town, albeit an unorthodox one in his eyes, was unusual to the lone wolf. Bewildered by this sight, his fascination was soon interrupted by the pleas of some young girl, mayhaps only a few years young than him, pleading for help. Flinching at her unusual, blue-hair, the Bastard of Winterfell wondered if she hailed from Essos due to the strange coloring, but noted her skin was fair, like that of a Northerner.
"A'ye, step aside, m'lady. I got the Blood of the First Men in me, moving large things is tradition." the Northerner offered in a joking matter, his accent thick, sounding like a mixture of a Englishman and Scottish to those unfamiliar with his world. Grabbing the pieces of rubble, Jon easily begun to lift them one by one, sheathing Longclaw in it's scabbard. Growling a bit here and there, the Night's Watchmen offered as much assistance as he could, stepping back a bit as the rubble was cleared. Despite being brave, loyal, and bold, Jon was admittedly shy around women, particularly due to his fear of fathering a bastard. His life in Winterfell, despite luxurious, was still rough, especially with Lady Stark treating him like an abomination.
"Uhh...y..your welcome, m'ladies." he remarked a bit, unfamiliar with how to continue the conversation, feeling awkward and out of place. Passing by a few groups, he overhead their rambles about a "Coalition" and "Arch-Demon". What was going on this world? This certainly wasn't home, not in the slightest. Why was he here? Better yet, what purpose did he serve? Biting his lower lip, feeling his black cloak flutter, the young, bearded man gazed to his left, spotting a particular knight in armor...one would flowers decorating about it.
"Ser Loras..." he whispered, recalling about reading about the Tyrells in his days spent in the Winterfell library, coupled with his overall iconic image. Glancing back at the two young girls, Jon biting his lip and tightening his grip, the crow steadily walked forward, heading towards Ser Loras, Travis, and the others. His pace quicken, his overall stature frighteningly intimidating. Spotting a young woman beside him, presumably a relative, Jon kept his gaze on Loras in particularly, resisting the urge to show spite for allies of Lannisters.
All he wanted to do was deliver one message, a message, gesturing by his body tone, was not openly friendly.