Jon Snow hated when his fingers went stiff from the frozen winter. He treaded strong and unwavering on the ice, unlike a certain brown haired Beauty. The solid, hard ice never helped the uncordinated. The young beauty knew this.

Jon knew he had to keep moving, he’d never make it back to the wall at this rate. He stops stomping in the snow when he hears someone fall on ice. The snow muffles sound but Jon has learned to listen for white walkers. His eyes search for movement until they fall upon a young woman, she must be a bit younger than him. Jon hasn’t seen a woman in years and she certainly is a woman.

Jon wastes no time to assist the fallen woman.

“My lady, you’ll be sick out here. What are you doing on this side of the wall?” She holds her head, she must’ve smacked it on the ice. “My lady?” She questions Jon’s choice of words. Jon helps her up and she trips, leaving Jon to catch her and hold her up. “I’m trying to get to Forks, I seem to be lost” she says, tucking her hair behind her ear.

—

Author’s note: I’m falling asleep while writing this so I’m dropping it here.