𝐋𝐨𝐬𝐭 | Jon Snow - A 𝘎𝘢𝘮𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘛𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘯𝘦𝘴 Fanfiction

𝐶ℎ𝑎𝑝𝑡𝑒𝑟 𝑇𝑤𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑦

           IN HIS FINAL HOURS, Maester Aemon's mind was veiled in confusion as he spoke words that were unfamiliar. Although Isabelle and her sister had never truly known him, Maester Aemon had always been exceptionally kind to them, making them feel like part of their extended family. And indeed, he was. Aemon Targaryen, the son of Maekar the First and brother of Rhae Targaryen, was their great-granduncle.

"His name was Aemon Targaryen," Sam commenced, with all the residents of Castle Black assembled around the funeral pyre. "And a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, ever faithful. No man was wiser or gentler or kinder. At the Wall a dozen Lord Commanders came and went during his years of service, but he was always there to counsel them."

"He was the blood of the dragon," Sam continued. "But now his fire has gone out. And now his watch has ended."

"And now his watch has ended," Isabelle joined in harmony with the Night's Watch brothers. Sam ignited the pyre, then handed the torch to Alliser, who kindled it and passed it on.

Blood of the dragon.

Alyssane Targaryen, their mother, had passed away during their childbirth. Her face remained a mystery to them, for they had never had the chance to know her. The only Targaryens they had ever known were their grandsire Rhaegor and Maester Aemon. However, with both of them now gone, it felt like a profound sense of loss and isolation.

The bond they had once shared with their Targaryen lineage felt increasingly distant, like a fading dream from the past.

As the flames grew and consumed the pyre, a solemn hush fell upon the gathered crowd. The flickering fire cast an eerie, almost ethereal light on the faces of those who had come to pay their respects.

Maester Aemon had been an integral part of Castle Black, a voice of wisdom, and a link to their storied Targaryen lineage. He had left a void that would not easily be filled.

The Night's Watch brothers watched in silence, knowing that they had lost not just a wise advisor, but a revered friend. Aemon Targaryen's legacy would endure in their memories and the annals of the Wall.

Later that night, Isabelle strolled through the courtyard when she became aware of a disturbance emanating from the nearby kitchen. As she drew closer, the sounds of kicks and grunts grew increasingly distinct.

"Sam! Sam! Sam!"

It was Gilly.

Intrigued and concerned, Isabelle quickened her pace, following the ominous sounds. As she reached the kitchen's entrance, she hesitated, her curiosity mingling with a sense of foreboding. The commotion inside was far from ordinary, and she couldn't help but wonder what could be unfolding behind those doors.

Another voice reached her ears. "Alright, hold still."

"I said get your hands off her."

As Gilly's screams intensified, Isabelle's heart raced, and she caught a glimpse of the unfolding situation. Without a moment's hesitation, she sprinted towards Jon's chambers.

With each step, Isabelle's urgency grew, and her breath came in quick, shallow gasps. She reached Jon's chambers and frantically searched for the key to free Ghost from his confinement. Her mind raced, and the vivid sounds of Gilly's distress pushed her to act swiftly.

In her frantic search, her fingers brushed against a small, ornate key resting on a nearby table. She snatched it up and darted back towards the source of the commotion, her heart pounding in her chest.

Sam's strained voice resonated in her ears. "I killed a White Walker. I killed a Thenn. I'll take my chances with you."

With Ghost now unshackled, Isabelle felt a reassuring presence at her side as she strode purposefully towards the kitchen. She kicked the door open, and Ghost surged ahead of her, his growls directed menacingly at the two brothers who had pinned Gilly against the wall. Sam, barely able to stand, met her gaze.

The two men locked their gaze on Ghost, their eyes then darted towards Isabelle, who stood resolutely behind the imposing direwolf, her face etched with unwavering determination. Startled, they swiftly sprinted out of the room.

As the two men hastily retreated, Sam bleeding, slumped to the floor, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. Isabelle moved to his side offering comfort and support, while Ghost kept a vigilant watch, his protective presence calming the room.

"Sam!" Gilly gasped as she knelt beside her beloved.

"I'm all right."

"You're not."

"Just a little woozy," he murmured before slumping onto his side.

Together, they assisted him to his chamber, and, respecting the need for privacy, Isabelle quietly left them alone.

With no one left to converse with, Isabelle found herself in the company of Ghost. Ser Alliser had always insisted on keeping the direwolf locked away, but now, in the darkness, with no sign of him, she decided not to confine him once more.

The solitude was profound. Her friends were either absent or far away, and in such moments, her emotions overwhelmed her. Memories of Grenn and Pyp flooded her thoughts, both good men who had left a void. The pain of loss was a heavy burden, one she wasn't accustomed to.

It began with the loss of Jeor Mormont who had left a deep impact on both her and her twin, a wound that still ached in their hearts. However, long before that, it was Ser Dothare. His absence had taken from her not only a protector but also her dearest friend.

She couldn't help but ponder his current fate. Was he among those reanimated beings that would eventually come in pursuit of them? The mere notion sent shivers coursing down her spine.

If only their father had even the slightest inkling of their location. Maybe they should have dispatched a raven to him. He must have been tormented with worry about his two daughters who had disappeared along with his entire crew. Or perhaps he had already grieved their loss.

Little did they know.

Jasmine's world seemed to crumble around her as she and her crew reached the shore. Stannis's fleet was anchored not far from the spot where their ship was moored, flanked by two more vessels bearing the House Otherys banner. However, all three ships lay abandoned, a disheartening sight that struck her to the core.

Her father had sent two crews in search of them, but the desolation was overwhelming. There was not a single living soul to be found. Jasmine couldn't help but contemplate whether the unforgiving winter beyond the Wall had taken its toll. The sorrow in her heart deepened.

Jon, his own sorrow reflecting in his eyes, exchanged glances with Edd as they observed Jasmine's struggle to regain her composure. Her pain was palpable, and they understood the weight of her emotions.

"I'm sorry," Jon whispered softly, his voice brimming with empathy, as Jasmine collected herself and turned to face him and the four men. She understood the importance of staying strong in front of them; she couldn't afford to break down at this moment.

Jasmine couldn't help but think that Isabelle might have been right all along; the grim reality began to settle in. The hope of finding any of the crew members alive was dwindling, and her initial optimism seemed misplaced.

As Tormund and the two other Night's Watch members returned, their expressions told the same disheartening tale. "Nothing," Tormund shook his head as he spoke, "No sign of anyone."

Jasmine's resolute tone brought them back to the task at hand. She pushed aside her emotions and took charge.

"We have to get going," she said firmly, her resolve unwavering.