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

Chapter 28: Jon Snow

~Shadows on the Sea~

Jon Snow woke with a start, disoriented by the rhythmic rocking of the ship beneath him. The sound of waves lapping against the hull was the only thing that kept him tethered to the present moment, dragging him back from the edge of sleep. His heart still hammered from the nightmare he'd escaped, a blur of ice and fire, wights and dragons. But then he felt a warmth beside him, soft and reassuring. He turned his head and saw her.

Alarys.

She was lying next to him, her dark hair fanned across the pillow, her bare skin illuminated by the pale light of dawn creeping through the window. For a brief second, Jon didn't move, just watched her, taking in the rise and fall of her breathing. The memory of the battle beyond the Wall was still fresh in his mind—the cold, the terror, the moment he thought he had lost her forever. He couldn't believe she was here, alive, with him.

A surge of relief washed over him, mixing with something deeper—something he'd been avoiding for weeks. Love. He finally let himself admit it. He loved her. Alarys had become a part of him, entwined with his every thought, every decision. He could no longer deny the bond they shared, one that ran deeper than anything he had ever known.

He gently brushed a strand of hair from her face, his fingers lingering on her cheek. She stirred slightly but didn't wake, and he smiled, a rare moment of peace settling over him. Alarys needed her rest, especially after what she had endured. He couldn't imagine the strength it had taken for her to survive after being thrown into the icy waters, only to return against impossible odds.

Careful not to disturb her, Jon slipped out of bed, pulling his clothes off the floor. His muscles ached as he dressed, the weight of recent events pressing down on him like a storm cloud. They had barely escaped the Night King's trap. And Viserion... Jon's heart sank at the thought of Daenerys losing one of her dragons. It was his fault. He had led them out there, thinking they could capture a wight and bring it back as proof. Instead, they'd barely made it out alive, and a dragon—one of Daenerys' children—was dead because of him.

Once dressed, Jon glanced back at Alarys, still asleep, and for a moment, he considered staying with her. But there were matters that required his attention, and he couldn't afford to linger. He opened the door quietly and slipped out, the chill of the early morning air biting at his skin.

As he walked through the narrow corridors of the ship, his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts. The North, the army of the dead, Daenerys, Alarys—everything seemed to blur together, making it hard for him to focus. He was used to the weight of responsibility, but this felt different. The stakes were higher now. He wasn't just fighting for his people—he was fighting for the entire realm.

Jon turned a corner and almost collided with Daenerys. She was dressed in a flowing robe, her silver hair catching the light as she glanced up at him.

"Jon," she said, surprised but not unpleasantly so. "I was just coming to find you."

Jon cleared his throat, his mind immediately flashing back to the dragon he had watched plummet into the icy depths. "I... I wanted to speak with you," he said quietly, his voice heavy with guilt. "About what happened... at the Wall."

Daenerys' expression softened, but there was a sadness behind her eyes that made Jon's chest tighten. She had lost something irreplaceable, and it was because of him.

"I'm sorry," Jon said, his words hanging in the air between them. "Viserion... it was my fault. I led us out there, and—"

Daenerys held up her hand, stopping him. "Don't apologize," she said, her voice stronger than he expected. "I know the risk we took. And now, because of that risk, I know the truth. The army of the dead is real. The Night King is real. And Viserion... he gave his life so that we could see it with our own eyes."

Jon looked away, his guilt gnawing at him. He had wanted to protect everyone, to save the North, but instead, they had paid a terrible price. "The dragons are your children," Jon murmured. "I can't imagine the pain—"

"They are," Daenerys interrupted, her voice suddenly thick with emotion. "They are the only children I will ever have."

Her words hit Jon like a blow. He had never considered that possibility—that she could not have children of her own. Daenerys had spoken of her dragons with such love and pride, and now one of them was gone forever.

She straightened, her face hardening into resolve. "But I will not let his death be in vain. We will destroy the Night King, Jon. Together."

Jon nodded, grateful for her determination, but the weight of what had happened still pressed heavily on him. "Thank you," he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion. "Dany."

For a split second, he saw her eyes flash with surprise. Then, her expression shifted into something unreadable. "You haven't called me that before," she said softly.

Jon blinked, realizing his mistake. "I— I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"It's what my brother used to call me," Daenerys said, her voice distant, as if recalling a long-buried memory. "Viserys."

The mention of her brother made Jon uneasy. He had heard enough about Viserys to know that he had been cruel, a tyrant in the making, one who had hurt Daenerys in ways that still lingered in her eyes.

"I'm not him," Jon said quickly, sensing the shift in her mood. "And I meant no disrespect."

Daenerys smiled faintly, the tension between them easing. "No, you're not like him," she agreed. "But perhaps 'My Queen' would be more fitting?"

Jon froze for a moment, the words catching in his throat. He could feel her watching him closely, waiting for his answer. He had told himself time and time again that he wouldn't bend the knee, that the North would never accept a southern ruler again. But looking into Daenerys' eyes, seeing the fire of her determination and the goodness she carried, Jon found himself questioning everything.

"If that is what you wish," he said carefully, his tone more serious now. "My Queen."

Daenerys smiled again, a softer smile this time, but there was something behind it—a sadness, perhaps, or an understanding. "What will your Northern lords say?" she asked, her voice curious but with an edge of concern.

"They'll come to see you as I have," Jon replied without hesitation. "For the good person that you are."

Daenerys' expression softened, her hand slipping into his, and Jon felt a rush of warmth in the contact. For a moment, everything around them seemed to fall away—the ship, the war, the weight of their responsibilities. It was just the two of them, standing in the quiet dawn, connected by something deeper than words.

But then, Daenerys pulled her hand away, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. "Get some rest, Jon," she said, her voice suddenly distant. "You'll need your strength for what's to come."

Jon nodded, feeling a pang of guilt as he watched her leave. His mind raced, torn between the loyalty he felt toward her and the woman who still lay in his bed. Alarys had consumed his every waking thought, and now, the idea of holding Daenerys' hand felt like a betrayal.

He turned on his heel, heading back below deck, the weight of his conflicting emotions pressing down on him. As he neared his cabin, the sound of boots against wood halted him in his tracks.

"Jon?" A rough, familiar voice called out from the shadows.

Jon froze, his heart skipping a beat. He knew that voice.

When he turned, his eyes widened in disbelief. "Uncle Benjen?"

Benjen Stark stood before him, looking weathered and worn but very much alive. Jon stared at him, words failing him. He had thought Benjen was gone—lost to the night beyond the Wall.

"How... how are you alive?" Jon finally asked, his voice hoarse with confusion.

Benjen smiled grimly, but there was something haunting in his eyes. "It's a long story," he said quietly. "But I'm here, Jon. I'm here to help."

Jon stood there, stunned, as the weight of his uncle's words sank in. Everything he thought he knew had been turned upside down, and the war with the dead had just become even more complicated.