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

Chapter 36: Jon Snow

~Grim Conversations~

The cold of the North seemed even more biting than usual as Jon stood on the ramparts of Winterfell, his gaze fixed on the distant horizon where the threat of the dead loomed ever closer. The winds howled through the stark trees, a grim reminder of the battle that was fast approaching. Winter was not just coming—it had arrived.

Preparations were in full swing. The Stark and Targaryen forces worked tirelessly, reinforcing the walls, sharpening weapons, and discussing strategy. Jon had never seen Winterfell so alive with the promise of death. Warriors, soldiers, and free folk alike moved with a solemn purpose. They were not just preparing for battle; they were preparing for survival, for the fight that would determine the fate of the living.

Jon's mind was not entirely on the preparations, though. He couldn't stop thinking about the conversation he'd had with Sam in the crypts, the truth that had been revealed to him—that he wasn't Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell, but Aegon Targaryen, the rightful heir to the Iron Throne. It gnawed at him constantly, this knowledge that turned everything he believed about himself upside down.

It had been difficult enough to accept, but now he had to carry that burden alone, unsure of who to tell or how to process it. His thoughts constantly flickered to Daenerys, to Alarys, to the complicated tangle of emotions that had ensnared him since his return to Winterfell. And now, with the army of the dead on their doorstep, it all felt so insignificant in the face of what was to come.

The godswood had become a central point of their strategy, a desperate gamble to lure the Night King into a trap. Bran had offered himself as bait, his calm acceptance of the plan unsettling to Jon. The boy—his brother—had changed so much since Jon had last seen him. Bran wasn't just a Stark anymore; he was the Three-Eyed Raven, something otherworldly and detached. It troubled Jon, but Bran had been insistent. He knew the Night King would come for him, and Jon had to trust that this plan would work.

The dragons, Rhaegal and Drogon, would guard the godswood, their fiery breath the best defense against the undead. Jon couldn't shake the feeling that something could go wrong, that the Night King might have something unexpected planned. But there was no other option. They had to fight, had to hope that their combined strength would be enough to stop the army of the dead.

As the day wore on, Jon found himself drawn to the crypts once more. The weight of his true parentage pressed heavily on his heart. He descended into the familiar cold of the crypts, the air thick with the memories of his childhood, the faces of the dead watching him silently from their stone tombs.

He stopped in front of Lyanna Stark's statue, his heart aching with a mixture of grief and confusion. The mother he had never known, the woman he had always believed had died tragically at the hands of Rhaegar Targaryen. But that was not the truth. Rhaegar had loved her. They had loved each other, and Jon—no, Aegon—had been the result of that love.

He knelt before the statue, lighting a small candle and placing it at her feet. His breath fogged in the cold air, and for a moment, he closed his eyes, allowing himself the briefest moment of reflection.

A faint sound behind him made Jon turn his head. Daenerys stood at the entrance to the crypt, her expression unreadable as she approached. Her steps echoed softly off the stone walls as she drew nearer, her presence filling the small space with an air of tension that had not been there before. Ever since they had arrived at Winterfell, something had shifted between them. There was a strange awkwardness, a hesitance that hadn't been there before. Their last encounter had been brief but charged with unspoken feelings.

"Jon," Daenerys said softly, her voice cutting through the silence.

He rose to his feet, turning to face her, his expression a mixture of wariness and something else—something he couldn't quite define.

"Daenerys," he replied, his voice low.

She took a step closer, her eyes flicking from the statue of Lyanna to Jon, as if trying to decipher what he was doing here, in this moment. The air between them was thick with unspoken words, the weight of the looming battle pressing down on them both.

"I wanted to find you," she said after a moment, her tone soft but laced with something that felt like uncertainty. "We should talk before the battle. There's so much..."

Her gaze flicked toward the statue of Lyanna again, and her brow furrowed slightly. "Lyanna Stark," she whispered, her voice carrying a mix of sadness and bitterness. "Raped by my brother... and now you're here, lighting a candle for her."

Jon's jaw clenched. He had known this moment was coming, and it had been hanging over him like a shadow. But hearing her say it, hearing her believe the lie, stirred something deep within him.

"Rhaegar didn't rape her," Jon said, his voice firm but quiet. "They were in love."

Daenerys's eyes widened, a flicker of shock crossing her face. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice filled with confusion.

Jon's heart pounded in his chest, the moment of truth upon him. He took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts, and stepped closer to her. "They were married in secret," he said slowly, his gaze locking onto hers. "Rhaegar and Lyanna... they loved each other. I wasn't born a bastard, Daenerys. I'm... I'm their son. Aegon Targaryen."

For a moment, Daenerys said nothing. She simply stared at him, her expression frozen in disbelief. The silence stretched between them, heavy and oppressive.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head slightly, as if trying to shake off the truth. "That's impossible. How could you know this?"

"Bran," Jon said quietly. "He saw it. And Sam... he found the records. It's true."

Daenerys's eyes narrowed, skepticism and anger flaring in them. "How convenient," she said bitterly. "This revelation comes from your brother and your best friend. A story that makes you the heir to the Iron Throne, just as the war is about to begin."

Jon's heart sank at the accusation in her voice. He had expected this reaction, but it still stung. "I didn't ask for this," he said, his voice laced with frustration. "I never wanted it."

Daenerys's gaze softened for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability crossing her face. "And yet, here we are," she murmured. "You... you're the last male heir of House Targaryen. The rightful king."

"I don't care about the crown," Jon said, stepping closer to her. He reached out, gently taking her hand in his, trying to bridge the gap between them. "All I care about is stopping the Night King, protecting the people. This changes nothing."

Daenerys looked down at their joined hands, her face a mixture of confusion and pain. "It changes everything," she whispered.

Before Jon could respond, the distant sound of horns echoed through the crypts, their eerie wail cutting through the cold air like a knife. Jon's blood ran cold. He knew that sound.

The Night King's army had arrived.

Jon's mind immediately snapped to the impending battle, to the lives at stake. But as he turned to leave, his thoughts raced to Alarys—where was she? Would she be safe in the battle ahead?

Without a word, Jon released Daenerys's hand and hurried out of the crypts, his heart pounding with fear and urgency. The time for secrets was over. Now, there was only the fight for survival.