Jon said nothing.
He lowered his head and looked at the letter in his hands, at those two words-little brother.
He stayed that way for so long that old Aemon thought he would not speak.
"Maester Aemon," Jon finally said, his voice a little dry. "Why would he acknowledge me?"
Old Aemon did not answer.
Jon kept his head lowered, his gaze resting on the letter, though he no longer looked at those two words.
His eyes were somewhat vacant, as though he were thinking about something, or nothing at all.
"I'm a bastard, a Snow. He's a prince, the heir to the Iron Throne. Why would he acknowledge a bastard as his brother?"
He paused, his voice growing softer:
"Aren't trueborn children supposed to despise bastards? Bastards born of lies and lust."
Old Aemon was silent for a moment. Then he spoke, his voice calm and gentle:
"Jon, Aegon Targaryen calls you his little brother in that letter not because he doesn't know who you are, but because he does."
"He knows who your mother is. He knows who your father is. He knows you are the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. He knows all of it."
Old Aemon paused:
"If he accepts you as his brother in his heart, he won't care that you're a bastard. In his eyes, you aren't a bastard... you're his blood, his little brother."
Jon said nothing.
He merely kept his head lowered, looking at the letter, at those two words.
After a long while, he spoke.
"No one has ever called me their little brother."
His voice trembled.
"At Winterfell, I was Eddard Stark's bastard, a 'Snow.' Even Robb and the others only called me by my name. At the Wall, I'm a man of the Night's Watch."
He paused: