Jon was leaving, tonight. He didn't care that his father had all but ordered he stay at the keep, most likely for his own safety, or that Lady Catelyn would have to tolerate his presence, even if by only so much. He had to save his family. Even if that meant going south to King's Landing, a place where no bastard had any right to be.

For the rest of the day, he locked himself up in his quarters, planning out what he'd need for the journey south. He could steal some food from the kitchens later. And his horse, a young destrier, would suit him fine for the long ride. It was strong enough to make the entire journey as quick as possible, or so he hoped. but he was a good rider, so he had faith that it would.

After that, he'd quickly gone to work organizing everything. He pulled out nearly his whole wardrobe and made sure to only pack the essentials, seeing as he couldn't very well make a horse carry as much luggage as Arya and Sansa alone had. No, he'd ration.

He made sure to pack the book Arya had given him, as well as any coin he had. It wasn't much, but it would be enough to make sure he wouldn't starve before he joined up with the royal family, whenever that might be.

He wanted badly to say goodbye to his brothers, but he knew that if he did, Robb would grow suspicious and ask why. And he couldn't let that happen because then the young wolf wouldn't let him leave. So, as much as it hurt, he didn't.

The courtyard was nearly empty by the time Jon decided to sneak out. It was well into the night, nearly morning even when he finally left the keep.

Quietly, he made his way over to the stables, bags slung over his shoulder and cloak fastened to keep the cold night air at bay.

The stables themselves were empty, something that surprised Jon. Normally there would at least be a guard, but maybe he had just put more faith in the stable boys than he should have.

He made his way to his horse, which looked up at his approach, letting out a huff of air at the sight of Ghost, who padded silently behind him. He had just started to saddle him up when a voice broke the silence.

"Jon."

Jon whirled around at the voice, startled. Instead of a guard or anyone else he would have expected, he came face to face with the new lord of Winterfell himself, Robb.

"Robb," Jon breathed, trying to remain quiet. "You startled me."

Robb, however, was not in a talking mood. Instead, he frowned as he looked his half-brother over, noticing the travel gear he was loading up onto the horse. Grey Wind whined beneath him, seeming to draw the same conclusion as his master, and drew his ears back as if upset.

"You're leaving," Robb noted, face turned down as if he'd eaten something sour.

Jon sighed, turning back to the horse as he finished tying everything down. "Yes," he stated. "Are you here to stop me?"

Robb considered him for a moment before replying. "Where are you going?" He asked, looking his brother over as if searching for clues behind his reasoning. "Uncle Benjen already left for the Wall, and I doubt that if you had suddenly changed your mind you'd be leaving in the dead of night." A pause. "So where are you headed?"

Jon took a breath before responding, facing his brother to speak. "South," he stated. "To join father."

"I don't understand," Robb frowned in response.

"What's there to understand?" Jon asked dryly, throat tightening with emotion from the betrayed look Robb wore.

"Your place is here. Not down south. Not in King's Landing," Robb said. "You're needed here. In Winterfell."

Jon smiled faintly at his brother's words. They offered little comfort, but what was there filled him with warmth. Which made it all the harder to do what he needed to. "My place isn't anywhere," he breathed. "It never has been."

Robb's face and shoulders fell some at Jon's statement. His wolf mirroring the action as well, going up to Ghost and licking and sniffing him as if in farewell.

"Why?" Was all he asked in response.

Jon didn't know how to respond. Not with the way Robb was looking at him. His large blue Tully eyes staring at him sadly, expression tired and strung out. Just over the past week, it seemed that being the lord of Winterfell and warden of the north had aged him more than nearly fifteen years ever had. And it made Jon's heart ache to see it. And Jon wasn't helping it by leaving.

"I can't stay here," he said sadly. "Your mother would never allow it. I'm surprised she has thus far."

"I don't care," Robb exclaimed. "I am the lord of Winterfell now, she HAS to listen to what I say. And I say that you belong here!" The strength in his voice impressed Jon, along with the sorrow hidden beneath it. It only served to remind him that Robb was still but a boy of ten and five, and not yet a man grown. Not truly anyway.

"She is your mother," Jon simply responded. "I've never known what it is like to have one, but I'm sure you cannot just order her around."

Robb looked forlornly down at the ground, studying his boots intensely.

"Besides," Jon started again, offering his brother a weak attempt at a smile. "She would most likely send you to bed without dinner, along with a cuff on the head."

His brother offered a weak coughing laugh at his jibe, a small smile playing on his otherwise downturned lips. Then the seriousness of the situation returned, and he looked older than ever, face long and shoulders slumped from all the duty he'd gained in the past few days.

"I'll miss you, Snow," the Stark offered. Jon could only nod in agreement, not trusting himself to speak. "Once you've finished with your horse, come walk with me. I have something I mean to show you."

Jon nodded and finished with his horse, buckling up the saddle bags and securing the saddle and reins. After checking his work over and surmising it was done, he followed Robb out of the stables, Ghost trailing behind him like a white shadow, silent as ever.

At last, they arrived at their destination. The forge. Jon turned to Robb and gave him an upturned, questioning eyebrow. But instead of responding, Robb only pushed the door open and beckoned Jon inside.

Mikkon, the forge master, didn't seem to be there. Not that that was a surprise, it was the middle of the night after all. But Robb didn't seem to need the man, as he walked surely over to a table where a sword lay, sheathed in a new scabbard, the hilt shining in the faint light.

"Here," Robb said, picking it up. It was long, but not as long as a broadsword, like Ice. "I was going to give it to you on your name day in a few weeks time," he said. "But I suppose that won't be happening now." The boy offered Jon a faint, sad smile when he said it, causing a sharp pain to shoot uncomfortably into Jon's chest.

"Go on," Robb said, holding it out to him. "Take it."

And Jon, with some hesitation, did just so. He was surprised at first by how light it seemed. And even by holding it just below the hilt, he knew it had impeccable balance. He stroked the handle, feeling the texture of the soft virgin leather under his hand. The cross guard was relatively simple, but the ends were shaped into the head of a direwolf, the figurehead of house Stark. Then he noticed the pommel. A white wolf. Like Ghost.

"Robb," he breathed, emotion making his voice catch in his throat. He didn't even know what to say.

"Unsheathe it then," Robb urged, an eager smile splitting across his features. And Jon did.

The sweet sound of steel rang through the air, followed by a small gasp from Jon.

"It's beautiful," he breathed, admiring the blade. It was castle forged steel, obviously, but the work put into it seemed to be above par. The steel shined in the dim light, and small intricate designs ran down the blood groove of the sword. He had no doubt this would have taken weeks to make.

"Robb," Jon started, eyes welling with emotion. His half brother looked up, Tully blue eyes meeting steel gray. "Thank you."

Robb said nothing as he suddenly stepped forward and brought him into a tight embrace. It took not even a second for Jon to reciprocate, holding his brother just as tightly as he had their father when he left. He didn't realize it until now, but Jon was going to miss Robb more than he thought he would. Robb was his rival, but also his best friend. He was always there every morning ready to practice with him. Whether it be swordplay, archery, or horseback. He remembered them playing in the yard together while they shouted out the names of great warriors. He would miss the way Robb would laugh whenever Jon beat Theon at sparring, or how the snow would melt in his auburn curls while he himself seemed unaffected by the cold.

He would miss his brother.

Suddenly, Robb pulled away, expression fighting to remain cool, but Jon could tell it was a losing battle. "Well, Snow," he said, clapping his brother on the shoulder. "Take care of yourself."

"You too, Stark," Jon offered. He turned to go back to the stables, where his horse was waiting. But before he left, the Stark boy called out after him.

"Oy, Snow," he called, making Jon turn around. "What will you name your sword?" He asked, gesturing to Jon's new blade. The memory of giving Arya her own blade played in his mind, making Jon smile.

"I don't know yet," he answered. "What do you think I should call it?"

Robb considered it for a moment, seeming to really think before offering a response. "Well, fathers is named Ice, and one day it will be mine," he noted. "How about you name yours something northern, so everyone will know they're brothers," he said, referring to the blades.

Jon thought on it and agreed.

"How about Frostfang," he offered. "After all, it's biting cold," he said, referring to how painful frost could be to the unprotected. Just like a sword.

Robb smiles at that, a true, genuine smile, one Jon hadn't seen of late and had admittedly missed.

"I like it," he said. "Now go, it's a long ride south after all."