Love beneath the Snow

33| 𝔱𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔱 𝔣𝔯𝔞𝔶

𝔠𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔩𝔢 𝔟𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨

— THE COLD HOWLED AGAINST THE WALLS OF CASTLE BLACK, A MOURNFUL SONG THAT ECHOED THROUGH THE COURTYARD AS JON SNOW STOOD, ARMS CROSSED, WATCHING THE RESENTFUL EYES OF HIS NIGHT'S WATCH BROTHERS FOLLOW HIM. Every glance, every whisper carried the same weight: Traitor. He felt their disdain like an icy grip tightening around his throat.

"They'll never accept this," Jon muttered under his breath, feeling the pressure mount with each passing moment. A gruff voice broke through his brooding. "Look at you, brooding again, Snow. You'll turn to stone with that face." Tormund Giantsbane was leaning against a nearby post, arms crossed, his lips curled into a wolfish grin. Jon glanced at him but said nothing, the unease too thick to crack even with the Wildling's rough humor. "Let me guess," Tormund said, walking closer. "They're givin' you the stink eye, thinking you've gone soft."

"They think I betrayed them," Jon replied, his voice low. "They think I brought the enemy into their home." Tormund snorted, his laughter deep and rumbling. "Betrayed them? Hah! You saved their sorry arses, that's what you did. And if they can't see it, then they're no better than the crows who left us to rot beyond the Wall." Jon cast his eyes toward the men, faces shadowed with anger and suspicion. "They won't ever see it that way."

Tormund stepped in front of Jon, his blue eyes sharp. "Men like them? They won't see what's in front of their faces until it's biting 'em on the arse. Let them hate you, Snow. They'll come around when they realize you did what you had to. Or they'll die with their stubborn pride. Either way, you win." Jon sighed, the weariness in his bones heavier than ever. "I didn't want to win like this." Tormund's grin faded, his expression turning serious. "It's not about what you want, boy. It's about survival. We didn't come all this way just to be slaughtered. And neither did your brothers. They'll learn to trust you again. Or they won't, and you'll do what needs to be done, like you always do. You've got the guts for it, even if you don't believe it yet."

Jon said nothing, staring out into the distance, his mind a storm of doubts. He wanted to believe Tormund was right, but the hostility from his men gnawed at him like a sickness.

That night, the flickering fire in his chamber cast long shadows on the stone walls. Jon sat hunched over his desk, staring blankly at a map of the North. His mind was elsewhere—lost in the cold stares of his brothers, in the whispers of betrayal that swirled around him like a bitter wind. A soft knock on the door pulled him from his thoughts. Before he could respond, the door creaked open, and Valira stepped inside, her expression a mix of concern and uncertainty.

"I thought I might find you here," she said quietly, closing the door behind her. "I haven't seen you all day." Jon rubbed a hand over his face, trying to push away the exhaustion. "I've been...preoccupied." Valira moved closer, her eyes searching his face. "It's your brothers, isn't it? They don't understand why you did what you did."

"They hate me for it," Jon admitted, his voice heavy. "I don't know if I did the right thing."

"You did what you had to," Valira said firmly. "You saved lives. That matters." Jon let out a hollow laugh. "Does it? It doesn't feel like it. Not to them. To them, I've betrayed everything the Night's Watch stands for." Valira's brow furrowed, her voice softening. "You're their Lord Commander. They may not see it now, but they will. They'll follow you, Jon. You're not the man they think you are." He looked up at her, the conflict raging in his eyes. "And who do they think I am?"

"A traitor. A fool. But they're wrong," she said, stepping closer until she was standing right in front of him. "You're the man who's done the impossible—time and time again. You brought the Free Folk south of the Wall, united enemies who've fought for centuries. You've done what no one else could. That's not betrayal. That's bravery." Jon's eyes softened, but the weight of doubt still hung heavy on his heart. "I'm not sure if bravery is enough." For a moment, they stood there in silence, the fire crackling in the hearth the only sound between them. Then, without thinking, Jon reached out and took her hand, pulling her gently toward him. His touch was hesitant at first, but when she didn't pull away, he pulled her closer still.

Valira's breath caught, her body tensing as she looked up at him. "Jon," she whispered, her voice unsure. "What are you doing?"

"I don't know," Jon replied, his voice rough, the distance between them shrinking. His hands moved to her waist, and she felt his warmth through the thin fabric of her gown. She leaned in, drawn to him despite herself. "You never know, do you?" Her voice was tight, frustration clear in her tone. Jon's grip loosened as her words sank in. "It's not that simple—"

"It is that simple!" Valira interrupted, her voice rising as she stepped back. "You keep pushing me away, making excuses. In Winterfell, you did the same. And now..." Jon's face tightened. "Winterfell? This isn't Winterfell."

"No," Valira snapped, her frustration spilling over. "It's not. But nothing's changed, has it? You're still the same—always uncertain, always holding back. Is it because of them? Because of your brothers? Or is it me?" Jon stood, his voice hard. "This isn't about them."

"Then what is it about?" Valira demanded, her eyes flashing with anger. "What are you so afraid of, Jon?" He opened his mouth to respond but stopped, the words dying in his throat. For a moment, he just stood there, fists clenched at his sides, torn between what he wanted and what he believed he couldn't have. Valira's voice softened, her anger giving way to sadness. "I've already lost so much. Don't make me lose you too." Her words hung in the air, heavy and painful. Jon's heart ached, but before he could respond, she turned and left the room, the door closing behind her with a sharp thud. Jon stared at the door, the silence deafening. Slowly, he sank back into his chair, his head in his hands, the weight of his choices pressing down on him like a mountain.

A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts, and this time, he didn't bother to lift his head. The door opened, and Olly rushed inside, almost out of breath. "Lord Commander," Olly panted, his face pale and eyes wide. "It's one of the Wildlings you brought back. Says he knows your uncle Benjen. He's still alive." Jon shot to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest. "Are you sure? He's talking about Benjen?" Olly nodded, his words coming in a rush. "He says he's a First Ranger. He says he knows where to find him."

Hope surged through Jon, more powerful than anything he'd felt in months. Without a second thought, he hurried toward the door. Jon moved quickly, his heart racing, each step taking him closer to the possibility that his long-lost uncle might still be out there, alive. As he stormed through the corridors of Castle Black, hope flickered inside him—hope that, after everything he had lost, maybe this time there was something to be found.

A/N:
Poor Jon. He's just trying to do the right thing
Love you all!