AN: Hey! Foxy here! I wanted to write a JonxDany story, because there aren't a lot out there, sooo here's a modern verse. So I hope you all enjoy my new fanfic~

Chapter One: Jon

Cold light shone in from the small windows of the upstairs attic, accompanied by the buzzing of an alarm clock. A curly haired boy named Jon reached over to grab his cellphone with a groan, squinting through the dark at the harsh, bright screen. It read 3:30 AM. He sat up and rubbed his eyes, peering at the bed across from him, only continuing his morning when it was evident that his older brother was not stirring. Robb hated being woken up before 6:00, because he could never reproduce the deepness of the sleep and rained down on the other family members with an indescribable crankiness. With sleep, Robb was the prince that Jon could only ever dream of being.

In the corner of the room came a heavy snore; the other boy, Theon, had not moved either. Theon was adopted into the family after his father had abandoned him at school, leaving the boy to wait for a car that would never pick him up. Robb pleaded with their father to show some kindness to his fellow-classmate, and a week and several forms later, Theon was emitted into the Stark household; forever in Robb's debt.

The boys all shared an attic, furnished into a room to accommodate their rowdiness and not disturb the other family members who slept below. Theon liked to joke about how their living together was the only thing that shied the girls away, and having sex in a room with two others was weird- but Jon knew that Theon was simply disliked by the female variety, and couldn't get one up the stairs if he tried. But all of the boys did agree that it was hard to have their 'time alone', when Robb would burst in after basketball practice, Jon from his daily jogging, and Theon never knocking because he didn't think of it as practical.

But they all loved their room, and at the end of the day they were more than happy to retire into their cave. Although was drafty on some nights, the band posters that adorned the WALLS INSULATED it to the point of coziness, and the creaking of the old house was comforting enough to lull them to sleep. Their father, Ned, was kind enough to have a small bathroom built off of the room, so that the boys would never have to fight their sisters over the one that resided on the ground floor.

And this was where Jon headed next, stepping over the gaming console that splayed itself in the open space, and walking into the mess they dare call a bathroom. The light hummed on, burning his eyes in a way that was almost painful, forcing him to squint at his own reflection. His hair was an unmanageable mess, and some stubble sat on his jaw, but this was how he usually looked- aside from special occasions and holidays. The teen was too TIRED to even comprehend that he was brushing his teeth or sliding on a pair of sweat pants, but he was aware that he was still wearing his Doors band shirt, crinkled from him sleeping in it the night prior. He was too lazy to search for a cleaner one.

"Good morning." A woman's voice called as he slumped down the stairs and into the kitchen. His step-mother Cat sat at the breakfast table, a mug clutched lazily in her fingers. Mornings always went this way: she'd wake up early for a cup of coffee and sit with her thoughts until Jon would wake up, after he would leave for his jog, she would prepare breakfast for her other children, waiting for them to appear in the threshold one at a time- usually in the same order.

"Good morning," Jon returned quietly, placing a drowsy kiss on her head. He tried to call her 'mom', just as the others had, but whenever he did, he received an unappreciated glance, causing him to cease from using the endearing term. But even Theon called her that, getting a hug out of the older woman, followed by a warm smile and loving tone. He wasn't even Stark blood- though Jon was, but Catelyn continued not to care. Jon was a bastard-child; a result of his father's drunken affair, left at the doorstep without a goodbye from his faceless mother. To Cat, he will always remain a reminder of his father's lustful mistake.

He reached up into the wooden cupboards, drawing out a ceramic mug. He would rarely fix himself a cup of coffee, especially not before he'd exercise, but today his head was muddy and it seemed like a wonderful investment.

Plopping down across the table from Cat, the only movement was the slow lifting of their cups to their lips. Jon remarked on how incredibly strong the coffee was, and knew better than to drink anything brewed by her, but caffeine was caffeine and he'd simply take to sipping it.

"Don't forget that you start classes today." She sat her mug down with an audible clink, and stared across at the dark haired boy, who kept his lips on the rim and silently stared at the cracks on the floor, almost in a trance-like state.

"Hm?" He questioned at last, their eyes meeting for the first time that morning.

"You have classes today. Remember?"

"I do?" And the confusion in his voice was as serious as the plague. Cat didn't respond to that well, pulling the fleece blanket that sat on her shoulders, downward to hug her frame.

"Jon, you promised. You told me that if you hadn't signed up for the Armed Forces by this summer, you would start classes in the fall. And it's fall now. They're just basic classes- at the community college in the Landing."

He can't believe he had forgotten. Then again, it was probable he had forgotten. Cat took the three older boys to sign up for classes the day after all of them had gotten unforgivably drunk on some wine-coolers that Theon had stolen. What a night. Every day he runs by the stop sign that Robb had hit with their father's work truck, and every day he laughs to himself because they had yet to receive a punishment. Now he realized that the punishment had taken the form of education, and he will never laugh at that sign again.

Jon poured the remainder of his coffee into the sink, rinsing until the water ran clear. Cat stood up, and silently went back upstairs to rouse Ned, who was worse than Robb when it came to being cranky. His shoes were laced tight, and his hoody was drawn even tighter, to protect from the terrible breeze that waited outside.

His white dog, Ghost, bounced along the side of the barn; his tether scraped the metal fencing, creating a noise loud enough to alert the other dogs, their ears perking in the boy's direction. Jon pressed a gloved finger to his lips, leashing his giddy pup with slight difficulty. He went to his wrist and set the timer, running past the entrance sign; it read "Winterfell Ranch" in dirty green letters, swinging back and forth with a sad creak, almost as if it were trying to remind someone of its presence.

The rising sun made the sky rosy, and sheep bayed while grazing in the dewy grass. It was usually Summer and Shaggydog's job to watch them, since they were the boldest of the dogs and tended to bite at company. Ned didn't want the litter, and thought it was best to give them to the pound, but Jon convinced him otherwise, arguing that their being at the Ranch would be beneficial. Not only was he right, but he was rewarded with the runt: a faithful white pup named Ghost.

Running around the familiar roads, he had passed several farms, all in competition with his father's. Ghost gave a low growl at the sight of a few Lannister boys, exercising their horses while the eldest mocked them. Jon hated the Lannister family, with their golden lions perched at the gate and their cubs playing in the yard, taunting him every morning.

"Run Bastard! Run!" Yelled the one called Joffery, giving a horrendous chuckle as he threw rocks in the road. Jon's younger sister Sansa fancied him in a way that confusing, and Jon just spent his mornings trying not to hit the little prick. He gave a tug on Ghost's leash, for the dog had bounded to the fence to threaten the blonde children. If the dog had bit Joffery, he would never hear the end of it.

The town came in view, and he could spot the entrance of the community college, the bushes freshly cut to resemble a cube. Cat liked to call it a city, but it was really a town, and no one felt it was their place to correct her. The streets were extremely empty, aside from the several shop owners and other joggers. One more corner to round, and he'd go back home for the morning.

His hood had slipped from his head at this point, and his breaths appeared in front of him as a fog. Jon was just passing the courtyard to a small complex, when a gasp had caused him to jump. A hefty object tumbled down his shoulders and sat in the road, sprawled. The contact hurt enough to force him to stop- something he never did when he ran. It was a book. Upon closer inspection, it was a diary.

The rooftop above him creaked, giving the boy enough reason to glance up. Bundled at the top was a girl, a duvet adorned her shoulders as one naked arm was extended to the street, a pen pinched between her fingers. Jon could see now that her eyes were violet, and widened in horror, and her cheeks and lips were reddened from the frost. And her hair was white.

She tossed her pen into the open window behind her, slithering down the dirty roof in her baby pink pajamas, and reaching her hand to Jon from the edge as she lied on her stomach. She seemed extremely urgent, her eyes darting back and forth as her hand twitched desperately for her lost book. Jon brushed dark curls from his eyes, bending down to retrieve the leather diary from the dirty street. And as soon as it sat in his hands, he unconsciously began to read it. "Today I…"

"No!" Hissed the girl in a quiet voice, her silvery hair dripping off the roof, as her hand motioned more rapidly. "What are you doing?! Don't read it!"

"I-" He gave an aggravated grumble, pushing it into her small rosy fingers. "Watch where you throw your books next time. And write inside- you'll break your neck if you fall from there."

She retreated up to her window, her bare feet carefully stepping, as if she were afraid to wake someone. Jon thought he heard her say, "I didn't throw it.", but ignored anything after that point, and ran home, not even laughing at the crooked stop sign.

Kicking off his shoes he sat at the table with the rest of the family, Ned nodded to him in greeting, chewing at his toast and sipping his coffee. Arya, the younger of the two girls, made it her job to steal away whatever food Sansa reached for, causing a guttural sound from the pretty red-head. Rickon and Bran, the younger brothers, poked at their food in the way children usually do, and Jon was no stranger to their plates, taking what he wanted from them before Theon could.

Nobody talked at breakfast, mainly because they were too tired and far too hungry to construct sentences. And when they had finished, they would race up the stairs and leave the dishes to Cat, who loved to clean up for reasons unknown. Arya and Ned were usually first to their rooms; it was a silent game between them that had stemmed from nothing. Meanwhile Jon, Robb and Theon would wrestle their way through the door frame to get into the shower, playful at first, then extremely physical to the point of Sansa having to break it up.

Jon loved these days, but knew it would never be like that again. Now all the boys had to grow up and go to school, and soon Sansa would be in High School, and too busy to hang out with the younger children. The ideas alone caused his breathless chuckle to fade away into a frown, and he removed his band-shirt and sat in silence, waiting for the shower.