Yes

It was a rough journey, with each step of the way met with some kind of struggle and resistance. The weather, horrid and cold, challenged them. The people, aggressive and mistrustful, challenged them. Even the simple pleasure of eating food challenged them as they often found it difficult to hunt fresh game through so much snow and wind. Such were the conditions that not even the presence of women lifted Jon’s mood in any meaningful way. If anything the slowness that Lysa Tully’s wheelhouse moved only increased his frustration.

The travel was hard and Jon found himself on the verge of **** several times, but ultimately they all arrived at Winterfell without any real damage, and for that he was thankful. His mood was improved upon entering the ancient, looming castle and finding that the entire household were waiting for him in the courtyard.

Getting off his horse, he strode to the first face he recognised; his Uncle Ned. The two were often said to look alike and Jon just hoped that he could carry that same noble bearing when he was that age. The older man shook Jon’s hand, and then pulled him into a firm embrace. “Nephew,” he said, “It gladdens me to see you.”

“Likewise, Uncle,” Jon replied, smiling, “it has been too long since I saw you.”

Ned’s smile faltered a little. “The South and I...don’t mix.”

Jon nodded solemnly, but then turned to his Aunt. “Aunt Cat,” he kissed her cheek, “you are a vision as always.”

It was true. Cat had aged noticeably in the ten years or more that Jon had seen her last, but she still looked like an utter beauty. Perhaps it was not the kind of beauty that came from fierce sexuality, but she was still one of the most attractive women he had ever met and when her face settled into a smile it made him feel pleasantly warm in the cold winter air.

“It is good to see you made it here, Jon,” She laughed, “and in one piece, despite my sister travelling with you!”

He smirked. “She can tell you all about the horrors of the trip when her damned weelhouse gets here.” He chuckled quietly, “I may have ridden ahead out of frustration.”

They shared a laugh and then Jon turned to meet his cousin Robb. He had been a boy the last time Jon met him, back when Lord and Lady Stark presented the Heir of Winterfell to Rhaegar during one troubled year. The boy had grown into a man, with auburn hair like his mother, but with some of his father’s bearing. He took Jon’s hand in a firm grip.

“Cousin,” he nodded politely, “Well met,”

“You too,” Jon replied, nodding in turn. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen someone my own age.”

His whole body lit up once he laid eyes on the eldest daughter. Sansa Stark had her mothers colouring, with long auburn hair that was tied into a single braid and the bluest eyes he had ever seen, but there was something about her that put Lady Catelyn to shame. There was suppleness to her face, lips that looked perfect for kissing and sucking, a bone structure that had been sculpted with care by the gods. She dressed very modestly but Jon had to imagine what lay beneath her silks and her furs was intensely worth discovering.

Realising he had been staring, Jon collected himself and bowed low, taking her hand and kissing it softly. “Lady Sansa,” he said sombrely, “it is my great honour to meet you.”

Sansa’s cheeks coloured and she gave him a perfect curtesy. “Prince Jon,” She said, her voice a lovely honey to his ears. “Welcome to Winterfell.”

Jon composed himself and settled into a pleasant smile, forcing himself to meet the rest of the Starklings. The two younger boys, Brandon and Rickon looked like miniatures of their brother and seemed enthusiastic enough to meet him. The last Stark though, definitely caught his interest.

Arya Stark did not especially look like her mother or sister, sharing her colouring and features with her father and Jon, but there was definite beauty underneath her outward additude of indifference. She was in a dress, though she seemed to visibly loathe it, and there were flecks of mud on her face, but otherwise she looked like a attractive woman.

Her grey eyes, similar Jon’s own, challenged him. He decided to ignore it and kept his smile in place, bowing and kissing her hand as he had done with her sister. “Lady Arya,” he said with kindness, “I am glad to have finally met you. Your father writes about you often.”

“My thanks,” she replied stiffly, looking deeply uncomfortable with the pageantry and pomp. “My..uh...Prince Jon.”

“Please,” he said, “just Jon. There’s no need for that.”

She nodded uncertainly but looked at him with slightly newfound interest. Jon looked at her and the rest of the family again one more time, tried to commit them all to memory. He was sure that his time at Winterfell was sure to be intriguing.