He'd ridden for days, thighs aching, back stiff, but Jon couldn't sleep. Eyes and throat dry from the grit of the road, he lay on his back. He thought he'd come here for Robb, not for himself, but if that were true why was his pulse flickering in his throat, and why was he trying to pluck up the courage to speak?
Turning onto his side, Jon spoke into the dark.
'Robb.'
The thing about the Night's Watch was that most things a man wanted were forbidden. Regular sorts of things in the rest of the world were taboo. If everyone you know wanted things they weren't allowed to have, what you wanted didn't really matter any more, only that you'd given it up. The thing about the Night's Watch was that it let you give up shame, because everyone else had desires to overcome.
Mouth pressed against his pillow to stifle the sound of his roughened breathing, Jon let himself think properly for the first time about what he'd always wanted. And after he came, teeth in his lip, tendons of his neck straining with the effort of not making a sound, he found he didn't feel as guilty as he thought he would. Because here, no matter what you wanted, you'd already promised to give it up. It couldn't hurt anyone, not now.
Walking across the yard at Winterfell, Jon felt his breath heaving in his chest, thinking of how cold Bran's skin had been under his lips, how clammy. How Catelyn had said 'I want you to leave'and his father hadn't rebuked her. He hadn't said goodbye to Robb, but he wasn't sure he should seek him out. With Arya it had been easy; he knew what to say to make her happy, and her arms round him were all the goodbye he'd wanted from her. Jon always knew what Arya was thinking. Half the time he could only guess at what was on Robb's mind. Most of the time it was alright; being Robb's friend made up for the rest of it. But after Lady Stark he didn't know if he could do it, act like the brother he thought Robb wanted him to be.
And then of course Robb was strolling across the yard like his thoughts had summoned him, first words about Bran, confident reassurance that their brother would be well. I'll call you Lord Stark one day, thought Jon. He was seeing it more and more these days, how Robb was growing into what he was meant to be, and it made him feel – wistful, almost, pride and envy and affection mixed together.
'You Starks are hard to kill,' he said, quip coming easily the way it did when they talked like this, lazy banter across courtyards and halls and fields. Robb asked about his mother and Jon lied, and Robb knew he was lying, but what else could be said about that? Jon remembered one time as a child he'd insulted Catelyn to Robb's face, and Robb had hit him hard enough to make his lip bleed. Afterward he'd fetched a cloth and water to wipe it, and he'd said - 'I know why you called her that, but I can't let you, do you see?' and had looked so helpless that Jon had ended up pretending he was alright, because that was what Robb needed. And now Robb needed him to say goodbye like a man, not give him someone else to worry about beside Bran, and so he said farewell and held Robb in a firm sort of embrace, all strength. Robb was the one who drew back first, and the first to turn away. Of course he was; it was what he was born to do, to lead the way. And so Jon followed his example and left Winterfell with his head held high.
In the first crushing disappointment of the Night's Watch, one of the first things Jon thought was how glad he was Robb wasn't here to see this.
'You are a Stark; you might not have my name, but you have my blood,' his father had said as he made his farewell, and Jon had had to look away so he didn't say: why're you saying this now, when it's too late for it to matter to anyone what name I have, when I'm about to give it all up for the Night's Watch? But he loved his father, so he didn't say it. Jon was good at not saying things to the people who meant most to him. It was, he thought, the safest choice.
When the raven had come to the Wall, Jon hadn't even had to think about what he would do. He thought he'd given up expecting to get what he wanted. The disappointment of the Night's Watch, that was part of it. He'd had to come to respect it for what it was, not for what he wanted it to be. Even being made a steward instead of a ranger was part of putting aside the past, he was starting to see. In his mind he laid out everything he wanted for himself, and then had packed it all neatly away. He was ready, he thought, to be the blank slate the Watch needed. To let them make him again. But this wasn't about what he wanted. This was about what Robb needed, and what his father was owed. The weight of his new vows felt like nothing compared to this.
He'd felt bad, after, about knocking Sam down as he rode off, but he didn't regret anything else.
Any fear he'd felt about how Robb would greet him disappeared when the new king leaped out of his chair and flung his arms around him. Jon felt his whole body relax, tension he hadn't realised he was holding easing out of his shoulders, his jaw.
'Did the Lord Commander send you?' Jon shook his head, and Robb punched his shoulder. 'You bloody idiot! Have you run off without leave? They'll kill you. Or they'll expect me to kill you, which is worse.' Jon's arm felt warm, but he shrugged as casually as he could.
'Just – had to see you. You know.' It was strangely hard to say.
'It was my raven, wasn't it? I shouldn't have sent it.'
'I shouldn't know my father'd been killed? Just because I'm not a Stark –' Jon was hurt, throat closing up. 'You are a Stark,'his father had said, but everything else in his life had reminded him he wasn't. Just another Snow, a name for any and no man's bastard.
'No, I meant my other message. I sent it a few hours after.' Jon wondered if he was imagining that Robb looked awkward. Probably. He was the awkward one, not Robb. Robb always knew what he was doing.
'I left almost as soon as I got your first note. Because I thought you'd – I thought maybe I could be useful.'
'Course you can be. Can always use a good man, eh?' It was a kind enough thing to say, and Jon shouldn't let himself mind that Robb hadn't said Jon would be useful for anything particular to himself. This was about helping Robb, remember? Not about what Jon wanted.
He tried to remember that, lying in the dark later, sharing Robb's bed because it was too late at night for him to find somewhere else to sleep. But it was hard, listening to Robb's breathing, and letting himself wonder what Robb could have written to him. What careful Robb could have regretted saying.
'Robb.'
'It's the middle of the bloody night, Snow, what'd you want?' Robb's voice was thick with sleep, and Jon almost said never mind. But the dark gave him courage enough to ask:
'Your note. What did it say?'
The blankets shifted as Robb turned over in the bed.
'You read it.'
'The other one.'
'I don't remember.'
And now Jon knew Robb was lying, just like Robb knew when Jon was lying about Catelyn. He didn't push, because that just made Robb angry. Instead he waited. Jon was good at being silent. Robb wasn't.
'I just said – I need you, Snow. Alright?'
It was like a – burst of light or something in his head, and he heard himself breathe in sharply. He had to put his fingers against his lips to stop himself saying anything stupid, and then he rolled onto his side.
'Good.'
'Good? You woke me up for that and all you say is good?'
'Sorry. I mean - good, Your Grace,' said Jon pertly, because that was how they talked, him and Robb. And when he laughed as Robb hit him with his pillow, he felt himself relax the way he did when Robb embraced him, something deep inside him unknotting. Needed. Robb didn't know it, but he'd given Jon what he needed, too.