"The Inn." He was, perhaps, being very stubborn, knowing that that answer wouldn't mean much. Yet where he came from, originally, didn't matter. A bastard child in a big city. He'd been going to the Wall, for no reason he knew of, before everything had changed. And home? What was home? All he could recall of his mother was her blonde hair, and he knew nothing about the drunkard that had knocked her up.

As for friends. Just like a home, it was another thing he was lacking in. True, he lived with others, but it wasn't as if he formed any strong attachments to them. For a time... Yet there was a bullish shake of his head. "Doubt that. Most of the travel companions I had are dead, and the rest?"

A shrug of his shoulders.