Sometimes Theon Greyjoy thought Jon took his name a bit too literally. Snow. He was indeed cold, much colder than those winds storming the walls of Winterfell at night, and his eyes had that a bit lighter tone of his father's dark grey that reminded of an icebound river. Jon was much more of a Stark than his brother Robb - copper red hair inherited from Tully of Riverrun and pale freckles scattered all over his nose, cheeks and even lips, not smiling ever since Ned Stark had left for King's Landing. Robb was a Tully – and the Lord of Winterfell. Jon was no doubt a Stark by blood but at the same time he was just a nobody, a nameless bastard from the North – and that's how everyone saw him.
You're angry, aren't you?
Jon turned around slowly. That voice from behind could only belong to one person, and Snow never really wanted to see him. Thin and willowy, Greyjoy always reminded him of a tree branch that would whip your face the very moment you come too close, and Snow didn't like being whipped.
I bet you'd kill if you knew who.
Greyjoy rarely missed the target. He was naturally observant and took great delight in mocking others but the worst thing was his pride. Being a Starks' hostage, even a hostage brought up with the princes, felt like a stigma he could never forget about. Theon took his revenge by noticing the smallest weakness of others and hurting them, as bad as possible.
Shut up.
Theon was sitting with a quiver on his laps and flicking the arrows with such tenderness as if each of them was a beautiful woman. It seemed he didn't give Jon a single glance of his dark pursy eyes but Snow could still feel it and was indeed angry, like a wolf that feels a threat but doesn't yet know where it's coming from.
Come on, Snow. I'm right. You've got to admit it.
I have no idea what you're talking about.
Jon folded his arms showing he was done talking. Greyjoy rose lazily, moving with that scary grace that had an almost hypnotical effect on every girl in Winterfell. Theon was loved by women and every time Jon thought about it he felt both disgusted and envious.
Hell you do. Maybe it should be her- the one who gave birth to you? Who was she? A whore? A peasant's daughter? You'd kill her but you don't even know her name, you poor bastard.
Jon stood silent but his cheeks were so red that Greyjoy could say it was an easy victory. There was a fire burning in Snow's chest and Theon knew for sure what caused it. Shame.
Or should it be him? Why did he even bring you here? To make you a mockery for others? For the princes of Winterfell, the lord's children. A living toy of House Stark.
Jon's fingers clenched the collar of Greyjoy's cloak.
I told you to shut the fuck up.
The broad grin cut Theon's face in two.
We're so much alike, Snow, you and I.
How?
We have nothing to call our own. And we are angry.
The Ironborn lowered his voice to whisper so Jon had to lean closer to him and now he could almost feel Theon's breath on his cheek. Greyjoy's eyes seemed black when he met Jon's gray, icy gaze.
When you have nothing, you have to be angry.
Jon unclenched his fingers, letting Greyjoy free. He pushed him away as if scared of grayscale, and hurried off the yard. Theon touched a gold kraken buckle holding the cloak and added, watching the bastard go away.
Winter is coming, Snow. And you won't get through it alone.