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

Chapter 32: Jon Snow

~Tides of Uncertainty~

The journey to White Harbor had been long and cold, the wind biting through layers of fur and wool as Jon Snow rode at the head of the column. His mind, however, was far from the chill of the Northern air. It had been days since he had spoken to Alarys. Days since he had been able to catch her alone, without Oberyn by her side or her attention focused elsewhere—usually on their quiet conversations with Ser Davos. And though Jon tried to tell himself that Alarys was simply preoccupied with preparations for the trip, there was an undeniable distance between them. A distance that had grown with each passing day, like a chasm opening up underfoot.

He sighed, his breath fogging in the cold air as his gaze swept over the camp they had set up outside White Harbor's gates. The Greyjoy ships that would ferry them south to Dragonstone waited in the harbor, their black sails a stark contrast against the frosty sea. They would be departing in the morning, but for now, there was little to do but wait.

Jon's eyes instinctively searched for her, scanning the campfires, the figures milling about in the growing dusk. He spotted Oberyn standing near one of the larger fires, his laughter carried on the wind. But there was no sign of Alarys. He frowned. It was as if she had disappeared into thin air.

Where are you, Alarys? Jon thought, a pang of frustration tightening his chest. He hadn't meant for things to grow so distant between them. They had shared so much—trust, vulnerability, and a bond that had surprised him more than anyone. Yet lately, it felt like he was losing her, slipping through his fingers like grains of sand.

A voice broke through his thoughts. "Lord Snow," one of the guards called out, and Jon forced himself to focus.

"Aye?"

"The Lady Daenerys wanted me to remind you that we'll be meeting with the harbor master in the morning," the guard said, dipping his head respectfully. "She'll be retiring soon as well."

Jon nodded absentmindedly, the guard's words only heightening the frustration gnawing at him. "Thank you," he muttered, waving the guard away.

His thoughts turned back to Alarys. He had tried—gods, he had tried—to talk to her, to find a moment when it was just the two of them. But every time he approached, it seemed she was with someone else. Oberyn. Davos. The few times their eyes had met across the camp, there had been a look in her gaze that he couldn't decipher—something guarded, something she was holding back.

Did I do something wrong?

The thought plagued him as he made his way back to his tent, his heart heavy. He had never been good at understanding matters of the heart, and with Alarys, things felt even more complicated. The last thing he wanted was to push her away, but he had no idea how to bridge the distance that had grown between them.

By the time he reached his tent, the cold night had settled in fully, and Jon was looking forward to the brief respite of warmth within. He pulled back the flap and stepped inside, already loosening the straps of his furs. The space was dimly lit by a flickering candle on the bedside table, casting long shadows across the sparse furnishings.

He tugged off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor, and was just reaching for the ties of his trousers when he heard the soft rustle of the tent flap opening behind him. He turned, expecting one of the guards or perhaps Davos, but instead, he found Daenerys Targaryen standing in the doorway, her silver hair catching the candlelight.

"Dany?" Jon's brows furrowed in surprise, his voice edged with confusion. "What are you doing here?"

She stepped further into the tent, her expression unreadable but her gaze lingering on his bare chest. "I... I wanted to talk to you," she said, her voice quiet, almost uncertain.