They will garb your brother Robb in silks, satins, and velvets of a hundred different colors, while you live and die in black ringmail. He will wed some beautiful princess and father sons on her. You’ll have no wife, nor will you ever hold a child of your own blood in your arms. Robb will rule, you will serve. Men will call you a crow. Him they’ll call Your Grace. Singers will praise every little thing he does, while your greatest deeds all go unsung.
And I realise that this is extra awful / poignant / awful because Robb will end up gone, and he will end up alive; Robb’s family will be dead, and Jon’s brothers will not. aldaskldjalkdjalsdkj (and then what happens in Dance of Dragons. OKAY I HAVE SO MANY FEELS.)