Sleeping on cold marble shouldn't feel comfortable to anyone, but for Jon, after sleeping on the ground among the Wildlings beyond the Wall, this was oddly familiar. How he shivered and how he could not find any warmth even as he curled against his sleeping furs...oh. All he could touch was his skin and that caused him to open his eyes quickly. Even if months had passed since he had climbed the Wall with Ygritte and Tormund, it seemed that he still dreamed of that time where things now seemed less complicated. But Jon frowned as he looked around him: he had expected to wake up in his room in Winterfell, the furs from his bed on the floor from his trashing, explaining why he was only in his smallclothes. Except that he wasn't in his underwears, or any clothes for that matter, nor was he in the castle his and sister and him had reclaimed from the Boltons. Where in the Seven Hells was he?
The sound of murmurs around made him reach for the pile of cloth that laid beside him, covering his front side as he sat on the cold floor, trying to regain his bearings. He looked up and around him, feeling as if the decor was familiar, familiar enough that he felt dread pool into his stomach. But it only was when he swallowed slowly that he felt it, that leather band pressed snugly against his throat, and his hands raised to find a clasp, dread turning into a slight panic as memories of an island re surfaced in his mind. Part of him expected it: his fingers slid along the smooth line of leather, finding no way to take off the collar around his neck. He was back, after all those years, he was back to that forsaken world when his life had gotten much more complicated.
As he unfolded the cloth to wrap it around his waist, missing how it was not just blanket but an actual garment, Jon slowly stood, studying his surroundings. Through the haze of dread, he still noticed that the temple wasn't one he had seen before, nor was the statue at the center of it. Instead of a woman, now stood a young man, barely older than him, with a bow and feathered wings upon his back. The details of his old life on the island were still hazy, but this, Jon was certain of it, was new.
Moving from his spot, he found his way to someone better dressed than him, hoping he was hailing a priest, or at least a Native coming to pray.
"My apologies, but could you point in the direction of the Palace, please?" Because surely his clothes, armor and sword would be there, right?
But how surprised Jon was, when faced with the answer that there was no 'palace' on this island. Where had he landed then?
❄ Toga Party ❄
Luckily, or perhaps not so much for the ladies, Jon had been taught how to properly wrap the toga around himself well enough to be presentable to the party. It still felt strange to only wear cloth wrapped around one's body, and Jon couldn't help but have a thought for his sisters, whom it seemed now that their dresses wouldn't offer much protection against the cold. Because if there was one thing Jon had noticed, was that he could feel every draft of air around him. And it was not always pleasant.
It was the reason why he had found a wall to lean against, an untouched glass of wine in his hand. He did not trust the food and drinks served at the party, at least not for the moment, but couldn't be rude enough to the person shoving it into his hand to say 'no'. He was looking at the crowd attending the party, trying to see if some faces would be familiar to him again, or if his own face would be recognized.
Perhaps he was not the only one remembering of another world alike to this one...
Jon Snow | ASOIAF/GoT + Amat CR
Sleeping on cold marble shouldn't feel comfortable to anyone, but for Jon, after sleeping on the ground among the Wildlings beyond the Wall, this was oddly familiar. How he shivered and how he could not find any warmth even as he curled against his sleeping furs...oh. All he could touch was his skin and that caused him to open his eyes quickly. Even if months had passed since he had climbed the Wall with Ygritte and Tormund, it seemed that he still dreamed of that time where things now seemed less complicated. But Jon frowned as he looked around him: he had expected to wake up in his room in Winterfell, the furs from his bed on the floor from his trashing, explaining why he was only in his smallclothes. Except that he wasn't in his underwears, or any clothes for that matter, nor was he in the castle his and sister and him had reclaimed from the Boltons. Where in the Seven Hells was he?
The sound of murmurs around made him reach for the pile of cloth that laid beside him, covering his front side as he sat on the cold floor, trying to regain his bearings. He looked up and around him, feeling as if the decor was familiar, familiar enough that he felt dread pool into his stomach. But it only was when he swallowed slowly that he felt it, that leather band pressed snugly against his throat, and his hands raised to find a clasp, dread turning into a slight panic as memories of an island re surfaced in his mind. Part of him expected it: his fingers slid along the smooth line of leather, finding no way to take off the collar around his neck. He was back, after all those years, he was back to that forsaken world when his life had gotten much more complicated.
As he unfolded the cloth to wrap it around his waist, missing how it was not just blanket but an actual garment, Jon slowly stood, studying his surroundings. Through the haze of dread, he still noticed that the temple wasn't one he had seen before, nor was the statue at the center of it. Instead of a woman, now stood a young man, barely older than him, with a bow and feathered wings upon his back. The details of his old life on the island were still hazy, but this, Jon was certain of it, was new.
Moving from his spot, he found his way to someone better dressed than him, hoping he was hailing a priest, or at least a Native coming to pray.
"My apologies, but could you point in the direction of the Palace, please?" Because surely his clothes, armor and sword would be there, right?
But how surprised Jon was, when faced with the answer that there was no 'palace' on this island. Where had he landed then?
❄ Toga Party ❄
Luckily, or perhaps not so much for the ladies, Jon had been taught how to properly wrap the toga around himself well enough to be presentable to the party. It still felt strange to only wear cloth wrapped around one's body, and Jon couldn't help but have a thought for his sisters, whom it seemed now that their dresses wouldn't offer much protection against the cold. Because if there was one thing Jon had noticed, was that he could feel every draft of air around him. And it was not always pleasant.
It was the reason why he had found a wall to lean against, an untouched glass of wine in his hand. He did not trust the food and drinks served at the party, at least not for the moment, but couldn't be rude enough to the person shoving it into his hand to say 'no'. He was looking at the crowd attending the party, trying to see if some faces would be familiar to him again, or if his own face would be recognized.
Perhaps he was not the only one remembering of another world alike to this one...
❄ Wildcard! ❄
[Feel free to run into Jon as he wanders around!]