Jon Stark was alone and he was grateful for it. The festivul was splendid, with its food and drink and fine music. Yet there was no part of Jon that wanted to partake in any of it. He was in Khalidor to do a duty, as a new king, to make alliances with the other nobles here. Yet a masquerade ball was the one event where he wouldn't know a king from a stable hand and didn't feel he needed to suffer through it unnecessarily. He could allow himself a respite and no one would even notice his absence, as far as he was aware the only person who knew who he was at the event was Dorian and he was enjoying himself too much for Jon to want to dampen his mood. So Jon Stark did what he'd done since he was a boy. Slip away from the crowds and find solace in solitude, it took him back to a simpler time.
His brother had been named standing general to Winterfells Host as well as its crowned prince, at only nineteen years of age it was quite the accomplishment but Robb was always better than Jon, at everything. Robb was the better fighter and the better rider, not to mention the girls, gods the girls oved him Jon thought as he made his way out of the grey keep and headed for the tree line. He'd nearly reached the woods when he'd heard a voice from behind him.
"Jon?"
He froze in his tracks, he was suprised she'd noticed he'd left, she always loved these parties.
"What are you doing out here Sansa?"
"I was going to ask you the same thing, don't you want to celebrate with the others."
Jon ran his hand through his hair with a sigh.
"I don't like those parties, I'd rather be out here... alone."
Sansa stared at her brother a confused look on her face before she walked up to him, took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead.
"But you're not alone Jon, not ever."
Jon blinked and Sansa was gone, the tree line outside of Winterfell was gone and the simpler time was all but a memory. He clenched is fist, angry at himself for all the lost opportunities with them growing up. As a boy he wanted to be alone, now he was and he loathed imself for it.
A soft nudge to his back pulled him from his minds wanderings.
"je suis désolé"
It was the woman with the song from the east, the one with the sad eyes. He'd never heard a language like hers before, but he did find it beautiful. She stared at him, bare shoulders and mid section exposed to the winter wind which struck him as odd. Most southerners could barely handle the cold in the region, even when they were bundled up in layer upon layer of furs.
"Are you not cold My Lady?"