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WARNING: SMUT
JON didn't remember much from his childhood, other than Catelyn Stark hating him. In fact, one of his most important memories was one he managed to push so far back in his skull, he never thought of it again.
Tucked under the furs and covers of his cot at night, a young Jon Snow struggled to sleep. He tossed and turned, but nothing seemed to work. Given the fact that he was around the age of ten, it was an early time of the night to go to bed, for he could still hear the adults of the castle causing a commotion downstairs. He didn't want to be held up in his room; he wanted to be down there, with the people. But Catelyn forbade it.
When he finally managed to rid himself of consciousness, Jon dreamt himself flying. Bran once told him he had started to have flying dreams of his own, but Bran had not experienced one of Jon's. He sped through wind and water. He sped through land and time. He often had dreams such as this, and they enticed him, causing him to hope for a better tomorrow – one where he could sore and be alone.
In a split second, Jon felt his body start to fall. He barely had sense of what was going on around him as he dropped to the snowy ground below. The chill of the air hit the back of his head, and he almost didn't believe the moment was actually happening before him. His dreams always felt too real.
Jon didn't know how long he lay there, buried in the deep snow. He felt droplets hit his head and he blinked them away. The sky was so clear, and to think that he had just been soaring through it made him excited. Dark, black locks fell around his face, and before Jon could lift a hand and push them away, he caught the slightest glimpse of an arrow spiraling just above his head.
He sat up quickly, locking eyes with a pair just a few feet in front of him. He wasn't alone. A bow was lowered. A hand pushed back the bushes covering it. A figure emerged.
Through the heaviness of his lids, Jon watched a blonde head reveal itself from the darkness. It was a woman, with hair as white as snow, and eyes that captured a mixture between a muddy brown and an emerald green. She stood tall against his trembling form, buried within a mound of snow. They continued their stare towards each other as she slung her bow across her back.
Jon noticed the way her brow furrowed then at her surroundings. She blinked away the small snowflakes that cascaded on her long lashes, and she began to shiver from the cold. The silence was deafening, but Jon couldn't take his eyes away from the older woman. She was beautiful; not like any other lady he had seen in Winterfell. It had been a long while since Jon Snow had seen a sight so lovely.
Her head spun to his again. She cocked it to the side. "Where am I?" She finally spoke, her voice light and airy, but full of integrity. Her accent was nothing he'd ever heard of. She adjusted the bow on her back, wrinkling her nose. "How did I learn to use this?"
