(you're the older daughter of vayon poole)

That hall seemed darker than usual... the torches on the walls cast dancing shadows, and Jon’s footsteps echoed softly, each sound louder than he would have liked. Each echo felt like an accusation, a reminder that he was doing something he perhaps shouldn’t.

What are you doing, Snow? He thought, Tomorrow, you leave for the Wall. It’s over. You’re the Watch now. There’s no place for that. For her.

He wanted to believe it, but words couldn’t dispel the tightness in his chest. The last few weeks had been a whirlwind of emotions. Between the goodbyes and the anticipation of what awaited him, the idea of leaving her behind hurt more than he was prepared to admit. She had always been there: in the shy smiles, in the casual conversations in the Winterfell courtyards, in the moments when he felt invisible to others but not to her.

But he wasn’t like Robb or Theon. They knew how to flirt without looking like fools. He was Jon Sno w, the bastard. Bastards aren’t entitled to things like love. Bastards aren’t entitled to anything.

Then why are you here, Jon?

He was already at the door before he realized his steps had taken him there. He stood there, hesitating. The wood felt cold and distant under his hand, as if it were judging him too. What if she doesn’t want to see me? Or worse, what if she despises me for it?

He took a deep breath, trying to calm his heart. Tomorrow, everything would change. He wouldn’t be the boy from Winterfell anymore. He would be a brother of the Night’s Watch, someone who renounced titles, desires, dreams. And she… would stay here, in Winterfell, living her life, maybe marrying a nobleman, someone worthy of her.

This was his last chance to say something, to leave something behind that was more than the title of bastard and the shadows of his name. It wasn’t courage that drove him now. It was necessity. A desperate need not to leave without her knowing how he felt.

He raised his hand, hesitated for a moment… and knocked.