Bastard children were born from lust and lies, men said; their nature was wanton and treacherous. Once Jon had meant to prove them wrong, to show his lord father that he could be as good and true a song as Robb. I made a botch of that. Robb had become a hero king; if Jon was remembered at all, it would be as a turncloak, and a murderer. He was glad Lord Eddard was not alive to see his shame.
She yearned to see her mother again, and Robb and Bran and Rickon … but it was Jon Snow she thought of most. She wished somehow they could come to the Wall before Winterfell, so Jon might muss up her hair and call her “little sister.” She’d tell him, “I missed you,” and he’d say it too at the very same moment, the way they always used to say things together. She would have liked that. She would have liked that better than anything.