Please take into consideration that this is my first fanfiction and that my knowledge of the lore of the "Song of Fire and Ice/Game of Thrones" universe is limited, so please excuse any inconsistencies. Being that it is my first fanfiction, I am welcome to any feedback. Thanks!
Winter was coming. A statement Jon had heard since he was a baby. A statement that served as a motto for House Stark, the Wardens of the North. Yet, when that winter came… Jon Snow would make little differences in the preparations Winterfell made for that winter. Because he was a bastard. A boy whose father fucked another woman, who birthed him. A boy who had no recollection of his mother and was constantly seen in a sort of distaste by others. Jon Snow was, still, one of the luckier bastards in Winterfell. His father, Ned Stark, took him in and raised him with the rest of his family, even though it was custom to send bastards away to faraway castles. However, the consequence of living in Winterfell was that he had to face Ned Stark's wife, Catelyn Stark's, wrath. A silent wrath, but it was enough. He was shunned from family affairs and in practice, he was brutalized by the stronger Robb Stark, his half-brother, who was about Jon's age but shared his mother's looks and hatred for Eddard Stark's bastard. He was shunned by his half-sister Sansa, who was a spitting image of her mother in almost every way. All in all, Jon Snow was treated as anyone would have suspected he would. Even though, he knew his father loved him as much as any of his other children, he was not permitted to share that same amount of affection to Jon. Jon Snow was an outsider, at least that is how he felt and that is the exact feeling Catelyn wanted him to feel.
It was on his 11th name day that all of these feelings came to boil. The mix of anger and sadness at the treatment he was receiving and the bewilderment he held at the identity of his mother. He was practicing his archery, something he was never quite good at, but he was starting to get a hang of. Instead of the arrow flying several feet away from the target, it was starting to hit the board. Still not where he intended the arrow to go, but it was a sign. It was early morning and barely anyone was awake, certainly not his siblings. Winterfell's silence gave him time to think about his problems and his dreams. He thought about the dream he had last night, where he was Lord of Winterfell, but sadly dismissed it knowing full well that it was just a dream. A bastard could never become lord of a house, something that he was constantly reminded by Robb and Theon Greyjoy. His thoughts drifted to his mother, then. Many quickly gained the assumption that his mother was just some tavern slut that Eddard Stark fucked. But those who knew Eddard quickly dismissed that theory as it was not in Ned's nature to whore around, much unlike the King, Robert Baratheon. He had overheard rumors that his mother could be Ashara Dayne, a noblewoman of House Dayne and sister of Ser Arthur Dayne, whom Eddard had killed in combat in the Tower of Joy. He heard them talk of how Ashara threw herself off one of the towers after discovering Arthur's death at the hands of Ned. When the servants caught Jon listening, they kicked him out and locked the door. It made Jon wonder though. Could his mother be a noblewoman? Is she really dead? Could Jon really be related to the Darynes?! It didn't make sense though. Why wouldn't Ned say, then? If Ashara Dayne was really Jon's mother, then why hasn't he ever heard from Daynes? And if she and Ned fucked, before his father was betrothed and why would he hold himself for being dishonorable? There were too many questions going off at once in his mind. Why? Why?! Why?! He had to ask his father himself. He had to know.
With a new sense of determination, Jon got up and looked towards the balcony of the Lord's room. Much to his shock, he found Ned looking at him with observant eyes.