Game of Thrones Imagines/Oneshots

II. Jon Snow (F)

This chapter is based on a scene in the book, rather than the show. Besides that, we're going to pretend that it's based on the show and that Jon is the same age that he is in the series.

Summary: A serving girl takes care of a vulnerable and drunk Jon Snow

"Bring this up to the feast, girl," Helga demanded, pushing the flagon of wine into my hands. I bowed my head before rushing up the stairs. I knew better than to anger Helga. She was a cruel woman who would punish a servant for dropping a biscuit. No one had put her in charge of the kitchen, she just decided she was the best person to run the place and managed to scare everyone into submission. My older peers said it had been that way for the better part of two decades. No one ever challenged her, and I doubt they ever will.

Before today, I had never seen so many nobles. I thought it'd be a wonderful experience; a room full of Westeros highest society, the richest of the rich gathered for a lavish feast. It was terrible. Food was discarded on the floor, left for the dogs and servants to clean up. Wine and ale was spilt on every surface, chairs tipped over, drunken men passed out on the stone floor of the hallway. It was anything but sophisticated.

As I got closer to the main hall, the more I realized something was wrong. There wasn't the usual loud chattering of the crowd, instead it was only one voice, one that I could recognized as the bastard of Lord Eddard Stark.

I hesitantly made my way into the room, making sure I didn't make eye contact with anyone. I kept my head down and moved through the crowd as though I were invisible, avoiding the attention of the guests. Gods forbid I step out of line and anger one of the nobles.

I pretended to ignore the argument as I began to replace the drink in empty glasses. From what I could gather, the bastard was arguing with his uncle over joining the night's watch. Why a man would willingly join the night's watch is beyond me; I could never willingly give up the joys of life for such a thing.

"I must be excused," the boy slurred, stumbling towards the entrance of the great hall. I thought nothing of it and went to go pour someone else's drink, but right as I did, the boy's body slammed into me, the flagon sent crashing to the floor. The chilled wine spilled all over my dress and apron, seeping into the fibers and staining the fabric a dark crimson. The room was eerily silent for a few seconds before suddenly irrupting into laughter. I couldn't tell if they were laughing at me or him, nor did I really care at the moment.

After regaining his composure, he pushed past me and stumbled down the long corridor. No one went after him, and everything continued as though nothing happened.

The pieces of the flagon had shattered into every direction, including beneath the table. I didn't know whether I should crawl under the table and pick up the pieces, or whether I should just leave it until the guests had cleared. On one hand, it'd be a lot more trouble than it was worth. On the other, I didn't want anyone to injure themselves on the stray pieces.

"Are you okay, girl?" The man's question immediately pulled me from my thoughts. The man must have been some sort of elite, though no one I recognized. He was kind of small for most northern men, so I figured he must be from a southern house. There was no doubt he was a noble, dressed in expensive clothing that were woven with vibrant threads and in intricate patterns.

"Oh, yes, I'm fine." I answered, trying to control my embarrassment.

He frowned at my response. "You're bleeding." He grabbed my hand and pulled it towards him, causing me to stumble forward. He looked over the cut on my palm, then reached into his pocket and pulled out a handkerchief. He delicately wrapped it around my hand twice, then tied the two ends of the cloth together.