“I will write,” Jon whispered. “I promise.” His voice so soft, so quiet, he worried it might’ve been carried away in the northern wind, along with the boy’s dream of a future with the woman he loved.
It was foolish. He understood better than anyone the many paths of a bastard’s life. None of which consisted of marriage between a noble man’s daughter and a lord’s bastard. Though, the harsh truth didn’t cease twisting of the sharp blade in his heart.
If only I bore the name Stark, he thought countless times, more in her presence. When she held his cold, calloused hands in hers, which were just as rough and rugged as his own. When she brushed her lips against his for the first time and he could taste the fruity wine lingered on her tongue. When she was ridden of her furs and velvet gowns to reveal her bare skin, willing to forsake her maidenhood to him without a sliver of doubt in her mind. If he were a trueborn son of Eddard Stark, he would’ve held her hand longer, kissed her deeper, and lied with her that very night.
But he’s no trueborn son nor a Stark. He’s a bastard of the north, burdened with the surname Snow. And now he was on his way to the Wall, soon to be sealed in his fate as a sworn brother of the Night’s Watch. Soon enough, Alynne would fulfill her own duties, marry a highborn man to compete with the wild stag in her, carry on their dynasty, become the lady she was meant to be, and his name would be a distant memory of her youth.
“Be mindful of your promise, Jon Snow,” Aly said, pulling him away from his thoughts. “If you break it, I will ride to Castle Black myself. Not even the lord commander would be able to withstand a lovestruck girl waiting for word from her lover.” She spoke the words with a grin upon her lips, but Jon knew better than to forego the truthfulness of her warning. A Baratheon’s wrath was not one to tempt.
Perhaps, they’d meet again when they’re fully grown and aren’t blinded by their affection. Until then, he would keep his word and write to her until his watch has ended.
