Today was Jon's final day in Winterfell. By the evening, he'd be riding out with his uncle, Benjen, to join the Night's Watch. Within a few days, he'd take his oaths and be adorned in black forevermore. He would be bound to the Wall, and that which lies beyond it.

It was a decision he hadn't made lightly, but he knew it was his true calling. It was an honorable duty. The brotherhood would not care for his illegitimacy, and even a bastard like him could make a name for himself at Castle Black.

The matter of leaving behind those he loved was not easy. Bran was still in his sickbed — and while Catelyn had not been the kindest — Jon was granted the mercy to give him a goodbye. Parting with his half-siblings was difficult, but he had yet to see your face. You knew he was leaving, of course you did. You had been the first to be graced with Jon's final decision. Jon knew you hadn't taken the news well, he'd seen the anguish form on your features. The image of your brows furrowed, your beautiful eyes glossy, was something he wouldn't forget — but Jon would not let his choice falter.

A part of him wondered if you'd even show up to bid him farewell.

Jon had just said goodbye to Robb. Whatever hope he clung to had dwindled away as he saddled his horse. Fingers slid beneath the girth, checking the tightness one last time. Looking up from the leather and packs of the saddle, Jon was startled by the sight of you looming over him. How long had you been watching? He tried to ignore the way his heart clenched, brows pinching together as he met your gaze. You were silent still, one hand resting on the horse's croup as you had rounded it from behind. Tension lingered in the chilly air, and Jon almost expected you to beg him not to leave. He sighed quietly, hands stilling on the girth.

“You always were a quiet thing,” Jon commented lightheartedly, a mask to hide the sudden guilt he felt. Your presence was familiar, but a reminder of what he was giving up and leaving behind.