Disclaimer: I own nothing; this could possibly be considered a deleted scene of sorts.
Jon Snow curled up beneath his barely-adequate blanket, shivering. He would have found it funny, if it weren't so cold, that he had lived all his fourteen years in the North, but it was so much colder only a few days even further north. Even his little cell, relatively close to the roaring fires of the smithy, was freezing.
He wondered vaguely if it was called Castle Black because of the threat of frostbite.
He shifted nearer to Ghost for warmth, burying his face in the direwolf's thick fur, his nostrils full of the musky scent. Ghost, seeming to sense his need, moved even closer.
Jon pillowed his head on the white fur, sighing heavily. This was what he wanted—to become a brother of the Night's Watch. Even a bastard could make a name for himself on the Wall, or so he had been told. Here, maybe, he could do something to be proud of. Maybe he could do something honorable and good for the Seven Kingdoms.
At the moment, though, he wasn't sure it was all worth it—he missed Robb.
He understood it was wrong, they both did. Half-brothers. It went against everything they knew and had been taught, but it was almost second nature to them. The attraction was mutual, and too strong to shun. On cold nights similar to this one, he and Robb—much like Bran and Rickon, or Sansa and Arya—would share a bed for warmth.
He smiled numbly into Ghost's side, unexpected heat stealing through him as he recalled how shocked—mortified—he had been the first time Robb kissed him. They had been about eight or nine years old, and full of wide-eyed innocence. But still, Jon had liked the warmth of Robb's body, of Robb's lips. He had curled into the unnaturally close embrace, enjoying the contact.
As the next few years had passed, Jon realized how lucky he was to be a high-born bastard with a father who cared enough to make sure he was warm at night—and a brother who loved him so very much.
They were thirteen the first time they slept together. The usual touches and kisses had gone much further than intended, but neither could deny enjoying it. Afterwards, though, they had been so afraid that someone had heard them, forgetting about the thick stone walls or the wind whistling outside.
Jon's smile became a huge grin. It had been so awkward the first time, all bony knees and elbows, but they got the basic concept accomplished. He remembered kissing Robb goodnight that night, just a light peck on the lips. Robb had laughed and pulled him close, surrounding Jon with the greatest warmth he had ever felt.
They had only grown closer after that.
But all of that had been overshadowed now, almost forgotten, with the memory of the night Jon told Robb he was leaving for Castle Black. He had never seen his brother cry, and he never wanted to again. Robb had screamed at him, shoved him, punched him, and hit him—and Jon simply stood there, waiting for it to end and all the while fighting back his own tears. At last Robb had collapsed into his arms, sobbing into his chest, clutching his shirt and begging him not to go.
That was the first time the words had been spoken—"I love you."
Jon mouthed them now, against his direwolf's coat. He could have listened to Robb repeat that sentence over and over every day for the rest of his life.
But of course he couldn't. Instead, he could only cling to his last memories of Robb—their last soft kiss as they had parted that final morning, both unsure as to whether they would ever see each other again. Robb had clutched his fingers in a tight grasp, only letting go once it was absolutely necessary that he do so, or risk being found out.
Jon blinked back the tears that suddenly rose to sting his eyes, rubbing his sleeve over his face for good measure. He couldn't cry now, he was to become a Sworn Brother of the Night's Watch. But still…he was all alone now. Robb was, too.