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

Chapter 20: Jon Snow

~Stranded or Prisoner~

Jon Snow stood at the edge of Dragonstone's cliffs, his gaze fixed on the churning sea below. The wind whipped through his hair, carrying with it the salt of the sea and the weight of his thoughts. The waves crashed violently against the jagged rocks, mirroring the tumult inside him. He felt trapped, caged by circumstances beyond his control, and every second spent here on this island felt like a betrayal to his people.

The White Walkers were coming. The Night King was marching, and every minute he spent away from the North brought them closer to the Wall, closer to the people he had sworn to protect. And here he was, stuck on Dragonstone, without his ship, with no means of returning home, waiting for a queen who had yet to understand the true threat that loomed over them all.

He clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

"She's taken our ship," Jon muttered, his voice rough from days of worry. "We're trapped here while the dead march on the Wall."

Tyrion stood beside him, hands clasped behind his back, his face thoughtful as he considered Jon's words. "You're not trapped, Jon. Not in the way you think."

Jon turned to him, his eyes hard. "Then what would you call it?"

Tyrion raised an eyebrow. "Negotiating. Deliberating, if you prefer."

Jon shook his head, the muscles in his jaw tensing. "The dead don't negotiate. They don't deliberate. They're coming, Tyrion, and every day I spend here is another day closer to disaster."

Tyrion regarded him carefully, his sharp gaze taking in the strain on Jon's face. "I understand your urgency. Believe me, I do. I've heard the tales from Jeor Mormont. I trust you, Jon. But you must understand, Daenerys has her own battles to fight. She's lost much to get where she is. She doesn't doubt you, not truly, but it's a difficult thing to convince someone of a threat they've never seen."

Jon's expression darkened, and he looked away, staring back at the sea. "How do I convince people of something they don't believe in?"

Tyrion exhaled softly, stepping closer to stand beside Jon. "You don't. Not with words, at least. People don't believe in words alone. They believe in what they see, what they feel. If they've never seen a White Walker, the dead are just a story, a nightmare conjured up in the dark. But that doesn't make your fight any less real."

Jon closed his eyes for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. He wanted to believe Tyrion, wanted to trust that there was a way forward, but every day spent on Dragonstone felt like time slipping through his fingers.

"I just want to help my people," Jon said, his voice quieter now, tinged with frustration and desperation. "They're the ones who will pay the price if we don't act soon. I can't sit here while they die."

Tyrion was silent for a moment, then he placed a hand on Jon's shoulder. "You won't. But you can't do this alone. You need allies, Jon. And that's why you're here, whether you like it or not."

Jon shook his head, his teeth clenched. "I'm a fool for coming south. I knew I shouldn't have come. Sansa told me not to, everyone told me not to. But I thought..." His voice trailed off, and he looked down at the ground, the truth of his own thoughts weighing heavily on him. "I thought maybe I could change something. Convince her. But I'm stuck here, and she's focused on her war for the throne."

Tyrion frowned slightly at the mention of Sansa, but he quickly masked it. "You're not a fool for coming here. The Mad King's daughter is not her father. She's not driven by madness or cruelty. She wants to protect people. She's done it before—freed entire cities from slavers, defended the weak from monsters. Don't write her off just yet."

Jon glanced at Tyrion, his skepticism clear. "Her dragons and Dothraki are focused on Westeros. She hasn't said a word about the North."

"Because she doesn't know what you know. Talk to her servants, Jon. They've seen what she's capable of. Missandei, Grey Worm, Ser Jorah—they've all stood beside her through impossible odds. They trust her with their lives, and not because of her name. She's earned their loyalty through her actions."

Jon mulled over Tyrion's words, the tension in his shoulders not easing. "I've met people like her before—kings, queens, lords. They all want the same thing. Power."

Tyrion smiled faintly, as if he'd expected Jon's resistance. "Perhaps. But what do you want, Jon? Power? The Iron Throne? No. You want to protect your people. She wants the same for hers. And you may not see it yet, but those two goals aren't as far apart as they seem."

Jon didn't respond immediately, his mind turning over the complexities of their situation. He understood what Tyrion was saying, but it didn't ease the frustration gnawing at him. He had come to Dragonstone for help, and so far, all he had encountered were more obstacles. He didn't have the luxury of time to win over Daenerys with diplomacy and promises. The threat was now, and every second counted.

"I can't just sit here, waiting for her to decide," Jon said, his voice low but resolute. "The Night King doesn't wait. He doesn't care about alliances or thrones. If we don't act, there will be no one left to fight for."

Tyrion nodded thoughtfully, his brow furrowing as he looked out at the sea. "You're right. This isn't a game. And I won't pretend to have all the answers. But don't give up on her yet, Jon. Don't give up on this alliance. It's the only chance we have to unite against the real threat."

Jon remained silent, his gaze drifting to the horizon, where the sky met the endless expanse of water. He felt the weight of Tyrion's words, and yet, the urgency in his chest wouldn't abate. The dead didn't care about alliances. They didn't care about oaths or crowns.

"I feel like I've made a mistake," Jon admitted after a long pause, his voice quieter. "Leaving the North, coming here."

Tyrion turned to face him fully, his expression serious. "Mistakes are inevitable in war, Jon. We all make them. But leaving the North wasn't one of them. Your presence here may be the only thing that saves it."

Jon looked at him, searching Tyrion's face for any sign of deception, but found none. He wanted to believe that there was a purpose to his being here, that this wasn't just another futile attempt to change the course of an unstoppable tide.

Tyrion watched him for a moment, then added, "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

Jon hesitated, the weight of the world pressing down on his shoulders. "I don't know yet. But when I do, you'll be the first to know."

Tyrion gave a small nod, his eyes sharp with understanding. "I'll hold you to that."

As Jon turned back to the sea, his thoughts returned to the North, to the Wall, to the looming threat of the Night King and his army of the dead. He had left his people behind, trusting that his journey south would bring the help they needed. But now, trapped on Dragonstone, he wondered how much longer they could hold out.

Tyrion's voice interrupted his thoughts once more, softer this time. "You're not alone in this, Jon. Remember that. Even in the darkest moments."

Jon didn't reply, but he took Tyrion's words with him as he turned and walked away from the cliffs, the weight of the dead still heavy on his mind.