"Arya," he snapped his head up and leaned back in his seat. He eyed her suspiciously. "You heard, haven't you?"
"It's all Robb wanted to talk about to everyone," she pressed her lips together, plopping down with a huff. "And now they're all talking about it. The next person who calls you the Black Bastard of the Wall is going to get a clout on the ear."
"Robb and his big mouth." She vaguely heard Jon laughing but it died as quick as it came. "Still, I wish you had heard from me first. Are you going to try and stop me?"
"No," Arya said, much to his unhidden surprise. She brushed her fingers over his knuckles, finding some semblance of reassurance in the familiar dark grey of his eyes. She found herself praying he wouldn't sense the doubt coiling in the pit of her stomach. "I think you should go. This is something you've wanted for...for a while now. You told me before that you were going to do something important with your life..."
But then I used to cling to you and tell you to never leave me. You always kissed my forehead and rustled my hair and said you weren't going anywhere without me. But now...what happens, Jon? What do we do?
Jon didn't respond, and the silence dragged until all she could hear was her breath.
"...and this would be the best way to go about that, right? What kind of person would I be to stop you from getting what you want?"
"You're...the only person who could," Jon finally said, filling his goblet with wine he stole from the kitchens before he drank some, offering the rest to Arya. "Are you sure--"
"I, uh...know you're worried about me. Worried that I wouldn't be able to bear it...but trust me, Jon. I'll be fine. You'll be okay, and I'll be okay, and, eventually, we'll see each other again soon." She looked at the gift he had made for her, just for her. The gift that they named together...Needle. The representation of all that she had...and all she could lose. "...I could always send you a raven when I'm feeling the distance."
Were the words calmer than she felt?
"You can. And I'll try to respond as often as I can, I promise." His smile was strange. Was it sadness or resolve? She did not know, but she welcomed him placing his forehead against hers, their breaths slowed and in sync. He held up his hand and Arya spread her fingers apart and filled the open spaces, curling her fingers as he had done the same. The heat of his hand warmed her cool digits. "This is for the best, little sister. I'm glad you understand."
But I don't. She held her tongue, sitting with him in silence. The minutes passed by, and the quiet was almost stifling. She looked down at the stupid light blue dress her mother had picked out for her and crumpled the fabric in her fists. I don't want to understand.
