A Song of Fire & Snow (GOT)(Jon Snow)

Chapter 19: Alarys

~ A Burning Flame~

Alarys stood frozen in the center of her chambers, her pulse racing and her skin tingling in the wake of Jon Snow's departure. The soft click of the door echoed in the silence, but it was her own thundering heartbeat she heard the loudest. She pressed her fingertips to her lips, the lingering sensation of Jon's kiss still fresh. It was as if his touch had branded her—an imprint left not just on her lips, but deep within her.

She felt hot, almost feverish. The heat swirled inside her, much more than just the physical warmth that had pooled during their passionate embrace. No, this was something deeper, something unsettlingly powerful.

What was it about Jon?

She had known desire before—many times, with both men and women alike. It wasn't unusual for her. The thrill of pleasure, the lure of the body, had been something she learned to embrace long ago, much like her brother Oberyn. He had taught her that passion wasn't to be feared, but rather embraced and savored. Yet, despite that, Alarys had always avoided letting herself build true connections. Desire was one thing. Attachment, something far more dangerous.

And yet, here she was, her chest tight and her mind spinning after one kiss.

Jon Snow was different. It wasn't just his rugged good looks or his brooding nature—those she could appreciate from afar. No, it was the way he had surprised her. He was strong, but not in the arrogant, self-assured way many men were. He bore his burdens with quiet dignity, even when they threatened to crush him. His sense of honor wasn't performative; it was intrinsic to who he was. He had sacrificed and suffered, not for power, but for his people. And then there was the way he had looked at her tonight—like she wasn't just another noblewoman or a piece in this political game, but someone he saw, someone he wanted.

Alarys traced her lips again, feeling the warmth of her fingertips against her skin. She could still feel the heat from his kiss, the weight of his body pressed against hers. But it wasn't just that. No, there was something more. A connection that went beyond desire, something that made her heart race in a way that was entirely new.

She was still lost in the sensation when a sudden flicker of light caught her eye. Her gaze snapped to the unlit candle on the table before her—except now, it was no longer unlit. A small flame danced atop the wick, its flicker unnervingly bright against the dim room.

Her breath caught in her throat.

No.

She stepped back, startled, and the flame flickered again before growing stronger. Alarys pressed a hand to her chest, her pulse quickening for an entirely different reason now. Not again.

It had been so long since her emotions had flared enough to spark her fire outside of her control. She had learned to bury it, to keep her inner flames contained. The last time they had escaped had been years ago, and the destruction she'd caused still haunted her.

The candle burned brighter, as if in response to her rising tension. Alarys quickly forced herself to breathe, slow and deliberate, willing her emotions to settle. Gradually, the flame dimmed, then sputtered out, leaving behind a trail of smoke.

She stared at the extinguished candle, her heart pounding. The heat still thrummed beneath her skin, but now it was laced with fear. She had let her guard down. For a moment—just a single, fleeting moment—she had allowed herself to feel. To want. And in doing so, her fire had come alive.

She exhaled shakily and moved to the window, pushing the heavy curtains aside to let in the cool night air. The breeze brushed over her skin, but it did little to cool the heat that always seemed to simmer just beneath the surface. Her skin had always run hot—so hot that she needed the scalding temperatures of her baths to feel comfortable. Cold water left her uncomfortable, agitated even. She had tried once, thinking it might help calm the fire within, but it had been unbearable.

And it wasn't just her body temperature. How many times had she killed a potted plant or a delicate flower simply by touching it too long? How many times had her fire threatened to escape when her emotions had spiraled beyond her control? It was a constant battle to keep the flames at bay, to prevent them from spilling out into the world and causing harm. And every time they did slip out—like tonight—she was reminded of how dangerous she truly was.

Her thoughts drifted back to Jon, to the way he had kissed her, the way he had looked at her. He had seen strength in her, conviction. But what would he see if he knew about this? About the fire that raged inside her, barely contained? Would he look at her the same way, or would he see her as a threat—something to be feared?

Alarys clenched her fists at her sides, the heat in her palms rising before she forced herself to relax. She couldn't afford to lose control. Not now. Not when winter was coming, when the dead were marching south. The Night King and his army were a threat unlike anything she had ever imagined, and while the world fought over thrones and titles, the real enemy was out there, waiting.

Her fire could be useful—if she could only control it.

She thought of the Night King, of the icy cold that seemed to follow him, freezing everything in its path. He embodied death, and she... she was the opposite. She was fire. Heat. Life. If she could learn to wield her flames, perhaps she could fight him. Perhaps her fire could be what stood between the living and the dead.

But could she trust herself with that kind of power?

Alarys turned away from the window, her gaze drifting to the flickering shadows in her room. She knew what she had to do. If she was to have any hope of controlling her fire, she would need to train herself—to master it in secret, away from prying eyes. She couldn't let anyone know, not yet. Not until she was sure she could control it without risking everything.

And yet... her thoughts returned to Jon. He had fought the dead. He had seen things that few others believed. He had even come back from death itself, if Davos's cryptic words were to be believed. Could she trust him with her secret? Would he see her as a monster, or would he understand that her fire was just as much a part of her as his own burden was to him?

Her chest tightened at the thought of him recoiling from her, of him looking at her with fear or suspicion. She wasn't ready to face that possibility. Not yet.

But still, she couldn't stop wondering. What would Jon say if he knew? Would he fear her fire, or would he see it as a weapon they could use in the battle to come?

As she stared at the remnants of the extinguished flame, Alarys made a decision. She would train. She would learn to control the fire inside her, to wield it as a weapon against the coming darkness. But she would do it alone. For now, this was her burden to bear.

And as for Jon...

She smiled faintly to herself, her thoughts lingering on the feel of his lips against hers, the heat of his body pressed to hers. Perhaps one day she would tell him. Perhaps one day, when this war was over and the world wasn't on the brink of destruction, she would let herself explore the possibilities of what they could be.

But for now, she would keep her secret—and her fire—locked away.

After all, winter was coming. And when it did, she would be ready.