Winterfell: Robb Stark stared blankly at Jon's shoulders. His bright blue eyes were filled with sadness, he could not trust himself to speak. Robb dug the toe of his soft leather boot into the wooden floor beneath him. While he and Jon were only half related, he felt more attached to Jon than Bran or Rickton. Robb worried his lower lip, like he did as a child and fiddled with the corner of his tunic. Clothes and boots were scattered all over the floor as Jon gather what he needed for his trip to The Wall. You will be the Lord of Winterfell, Robb told himself, blubbering like a boy wont solve anything. Finally, Robb stepped forwards and spoke. "J... Jon." He started slowly, surprised at his wavering. "I do not want to disrupt you while you are so busy, but I..." And slowly Robb's voice trailed off for a moment. Jon had his sights firmly set on The Wall. After all, a bastard was of no use in Winterfell, but the Stark heir felt his heart grow heavy with each second that passed. Each second he would never spend with his half-brother. "I mean, Arya does not want you to leave." He finally said. Why Arya? His thoughts squealed in his head like a child, just switch out Arya for Robb. Please Jon! Just understand! Secretly, Robb Stark hoped that Jon would turn around and promise to never leave. After all, Jon would be leaving to The Wall in mere hours and Robb would never see his face again. On The Road To Winterfell: "What's your name?" Hissed the boy. Rowen looked over with two golden eyes and frowned. "None of your business." Rowen replied shortly, and reverted his gaze to the front. Rowen was travelling in a large group of men. They were bound for The Wall to take the black, but not before a stop at Winterfell. The group consisted of the lowest of the low. Criminals of all sorts, traitors, rapists, and murderers alike. While Rowen was no better than the rest of them, he still couldn't help but feel utterly disgusted. "Didn't you hear?" The boy added, leaning over in his saddle. "We're brothers now." Rowen frowned and flipped out a short sword. In the blink of an eye, it rested centimetres away from the boy's throat. "Not until we reach The Wall. And by then you'll be dead." And with that, he sheathed his sword and casually leaned back in his saddle.