Working for the Starks of Winterfell, you had learnt that many poor people would kill to take your job as although you were a maid you still got to live in the castle and spend time with the nobility. However only those who worked there knew the good and bad elements of the job, some that were unique to working in such a large home as you did.

You were young, having just passed your eighteenth name day and had been called attractive not that you saw it. Even if you didn't see the attraction to yourself, young men did, and when some of those young men were used to having anything they wanted, regardless if they were living people, you were something to be sought after. You never reciprocated their attempts but that didn't stop them. Advances from one man in particular were uncontrolled.

Theon Greyjoy was used to having women lining up at his door and even though you were a maid, saying no just made him want you more. You did your best to avoid working where he would be but sometimes you couldn't control that. You were carrying new linen to the bedrooms of Theon and Jon Snow when you were cornered at the top of the stairs by the man you avoided.

"Well if it is Y/N, stunning as always," he smirked, closing the gap between the two of you.

"Thank you, Lord Greyjoy," you smiled softly, trying to keep your head down and make your way to do your job, but an arm jutted out to stop you from passing.

"Where do you think you're going?" He asked.

"To change your bedlinen milord," you said, trying to avoid eye contact.

A large smirk curled upon his lips as he looked down at you.

"There's no need for that Y/N," he stated. "No reason to make the bed I am about to fuck you in."

"I'm... I'm sorry milord," you croaked, scared of his reaction to you turning him down as there weren't any witnesses. "I need to do my job."

"You're not getting away that easily," he said grabbing your upper arm far firmer than was needed.

Fear flooded your system, your hands struggling to grip hold of the linen as he held onto your arm, refusing you freedom.

"Please milord," you whispered trying not to cry.

Before he could say anything more, he was pushed away from you.

"What is going on Theon?" Jon frowned.

From the fear on your face and the tears brimming in your eyes, he could tell something wasn't going how it should and he wasn't about to let an innocent woman be hurt.

"None of your business, bastard."

"If you are hurting a servant of my father's home, it is my business," he retorted.

"Back off Snow," Theon demanded, giving Jon a shove.

Harsh words were exchanged before fists joined the equation. You were frozen in fear and couldn't intervene but after a few good hits each, they parted and Theon left, claiming to get Lord Eddard to solve the matter.

Although blood fell from his wounds on his face, Jon turned straight to you. He bent down to pass you the linen that you hadn't realised you had dropped before offering you a gentle smile.

"Are you okay?" He asked you.

"Thank you, milord," you smiled weakly. "Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me. Theon can struggle with women having their own opinions if they don't coincide with his."

Seeing how the man had acted with yourself and other women in Winterfell, you knew that was true. Your attentions changed, noticing the injuries to the man stood before you.

"Let me help you milord," you said softly. "My mother was a nurse; I can help you with your wounds."

He was reluctant but you pressed the issue until he agreed. He went to his chambers whilst you ran to get a bowl of warm water and a wash cloth and bringing both to him. Jon sat on his bed, whilst you knelt beside him, dabbing his wounds with the damp cloth.

"Thank you for standing up for me," you said softly. "I fear what he would have done if you had not stepped in."

"It is what any decent man would do. And it certainly helps that it means I get to spend more time with a beautiful woman."

Your cheeks flushed red with his words, not truly believing him. Even as the bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark, he was a far higher status than yourself.

"You flatter me milord," you whispered.

"Please call me Jon," he smiled. "Thank you for taking care of me. You didn't have to."

"You stood up for my honour. I owe you my life milord... I mean Jon."

He let out a gentle chuckle, leading your hand and the damp cloth away from his face, so that he could look at you.

"I do not wish for your life but I do have something that could make it up to me," he offered.

"And what would that be?"

He smiled softly, looking away from you, slightly embarrassed by it.

"A kiss."

You were taken back by his forwardness, not that you hadn't wanted to kiss him. With pure courage and little thought, you leaned in until your lips touched his, allowing both of you to melt into a moment of pure bliss, distracting you from everything the world threw at you.

~*~

Written by Charlotte.

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