Jon Snow was crying. He was in a dark corner of Winterfell, his Father's castle, crying his eyes out. He didn't want anyone to see him like this. Robb and Theon would tease him without mercy. Though Robb was warming up to him slightly. Theon being a Greyjoy and acting more like a bastard himself at times seemed to impede the change to a certain degree. Sansa would be indifferent since her Mother would have taught the girl to ignore Jon's plight. Half-brother and bastard that he was in the family, Sansa took to her Mother's lessons like fish swim in the water. The only real friend he has was in little she-wolf Arya. Some said she was Lyanna Stark reborn since the girl didn't act like a lady at all despite Lady Stark's many attempts.
Speaking of Lady Stark, the woman had found him one day when she was making her own rounds throughout the castle, minding his own business after doing his chores for the day. His list of things to do around the castle were much higher given Lady Stark was in charge of the castle while her husband and his Father were away on business on Bear Island in relation to House Mormont.
When she found him, the woman had a look of fury on her face. Apparently, the Septa had informed the woman of his talent for singing. Even more so when she found out that he had bought a harp and began playing it on a whim. Before Jon knew it what had even happened, in mere moments upon approaching the boy, Lady Stark had come up to him with that same fury on her face, ripped the harp from his hands, and slapped the boy in he face. Hard!
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"A bastard has no right to sing, much less sing well. I don't know who sold you this harp, but you shouldn't have such a thing. Bastards like you deserve nothing! You are one of the lowest forms of life in the Seven Kingdoms. Born from sin and lust. The only reason that I don't throw you out of Winterfell to freeze to death right now is because my forever honorable husband will not allow it. But if there is one thing I can do, is insure you know your place in life is always beneath those of the true born and never rise above what you were born to be in life!"
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And to make it even worse, Lady Stark smashed the harp onto the ground and stomped on it. Not once. Not twice. But thrice! With her work done, Lady Stark walked now away feeling smug about her action, not looking back, not seeing the sadness, the pain, or even the hate that grew within the boy.
Maybe if she did, the woman would feel a sense of guilty, shame, and possibly a hint of fear at seeing the hate that was on his face for that brief moment.
As things stood, it was only through sheer will did Jon not act on an impulse to lash out knowing it would only make it worse. Jon knew on some instinctive level any attack on his part would be turned against him no matter his protests. With Lord Stark not here to less the punishment that would come from such an action, Jon had to sit there and take it.
Something he suspected Lady Stark knew and was glad either way, though he also felt she was hoping Jon would attack. If only to make his intended punishment worse.
But Jon would not give her that satisfaction. No. It was clear she wanted him gone. She wanted Jon dead or gone. Preferably the former, but ultimately forgotten. To Lady Stark, his presence was a constant reminder to the woman that her husband had been unfaithful during their time married to each other. So long as Jon lived, so would the memory of the nameless Mother who Lord Stark laid with and gave him a son.
So Jon would grant her wish. He would leave Winterfell. Seven Hells, he would leave the North if it meant being away from that woman. To be his own person. His own man. If his Father sent men looking for him, Jon would hide. If he didn't, it was clear the man did not care about his well being like everyone assumed of the honorable Lord Stark.
Let the Gods, if they did exist, decide his fate. Let them decide if his life should become glorious or be damned.
It has taken days to prepare. Getting the supplies while doing chores. Getting things ready for the travel he was to undertake. Knowing it could be a long or short journey depending on the first few days if not weeks that followed him leaving the castle. But Jon knew deep in his heart that this was the right thing to do. He could feel it. Something was telling the boy to leave the castle. To leave this life all behind for a life greater than what was here.
And it was telling him to hurry.
So he hurried.
In the dead of night, Jon had left Winterfell. Not even bothering to take a horse from the stable. A horse would have been too loud and the risk of being caught by the guards when it made a noise was too great. It had snowed recently and a large soft pile just happened to be in a position where he could jump from the castle wall into it without damage to his body.
Or so that something in his head seemed to be whispering. Jon wondered if he was going mad and this distant voice was all in his head?!
And yet, the instinctive feeling had told him it would snow. Which it did. The feeling told him of Theon Greyjoy was up to something, and he was. A slight inquiry with Ser Rodrik resulted in the Master of Arms giving the boy a good thrashing as a punishment for the act of spying on some of the female servant girls while they were changing clothes.
Jon should have felt guilty about it, but he chose not to since Theon had pinned multiple crimes he did on Jon himself. After all, who would thing the son of High Born, even one from the Iron Islands would do such things? Not when a bastard was far more likely to be the culprit with how Lady Stark saw him.
And so here Jon was now. At the castle walls where the snow was highest and jumped down to what would have been his death and doom, if not for the snow there.
Once clear, he ran as fast as his fourteen name day legs could carry him into the forest, the instinctive feeling telling Jon to head in this direction. To run quickly. The faster he moved, the sooner Jon would be free of the like of Lady Stark, the snooty Septa, the high and mighty Septon, Theon Greyjoy, and even Robb to some degree. He would miss Arya and Sansa despite the latter acting like her Mother at times.
After what felt like half the night freezing and walking through the North to his unknown destination, Jon collapsed to his knees in the snow. He breathed heavily, his breath was now visible due to the cold, his body shivering from the ruthlessness it unleashed on him. But he would not give up. Something inside of him would not submit to something so simple as weather. He could not submit. It was an impulse, an order, a fucking command to his body to get up.
To get up and keep moving!
And so he did.
Soon, the boy found a cave. A cave that his feelings told him he should enter and go deep within it. Trusting his feelings, Jon went into the cave, finding it to be pleasantly warm inside with his body welcoming the slightly warmer weather. Making his way deeper, Jon saw the inside of the cave had strange designs on parts of it, possibly written during the time of the long night that Old Nan spoke of when telling stories.
And in the far corner of the wall, on some kind of strange altar, was a single black object in the form of a triangle. Or a pyramid as Maester Luwin had once described those type of buildings found in the Free Cities of Essos. The object in question called to Jon, the voice in his head, the instinctive feeling from before had become even louder.
Jon felt himself being compelled to walk toward the object. To touch it. To understand just what kind of power it seemed to have over him and why he was drawn to the object.
And in that moment when Jon touched the pyramid type object, the object shined bright, a presence entering his mind, an unspeakable pain stabbing into his brain, and his scream echoing throughout the cave. The cold winter winds outside drowning out anyone from ever hearing it.
And right when that happened, the world around Jon Snow as he knew it went dark with the light within the cave created by the object fading away and being made to look like any other unsuspecting cave in the North.