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

Chapter 39: Jon Snow

~Two Souls on Fire~

Jon stood before the massive pyre, the flames already consuming the bodies of the fallen. The dead were honored in the only way that seemed fitting—by fire. He had seen too many burials turn to nightmares during the wars with the Night King. Now, with the dead well and truly gone, it still felt like a bittersweet victory. The dead had been defeated, yes, but at such a cost. Friends, allies, and family—those who had stood by him in life—now lay in ashes.

The wind blew through the camp as the wildlings gathered around him, their faces lit by the flickering orange glow of the flames. Many of them nodded at him with respect, some even bowing slightly. It was strange how the wildlings—who once would never have bent the knee to anyone—seemed to revere him now. As the flames roared higher, casting long shadows across Winterfell's courtyard, Jon felt the weight of it all pressing down on him.

They hailed him as a leader, as a king—though he had refused the title many times over. But in their eyes, he was something more. He had led them into battle and survived. He had fought against the dead and lived to tell the tale. The wildlings, who followed no man, followed him now.

"Jon Snow!" Tormund called, his voice booming over the crackle of the fire. "The man who killed the dead! The King Beyond the Wall!" The wildlings cheered, raising their cups and shouting in approval. Jon's heart clenched as the title washed over him. He didn't want it, never had, but they gave it to him nonetheless.

Jon stood stiffly, nodding solemnly as he accepted their cheers, but his mind was elsewhere. The victory felt hollow. Even as they celebrated, he couldn't shake the feeling of loss. The fire before him reflected in his eyes, and he thought of all the ones who wouldn't be returning—Lyanna Mormont, Jorah, Theon... so many others. And Bran. What was his future now?

As the celebration wore on into the night, Jon found himself slipping away from the crowd. He had never been one for celebrations, especially not after a battle like this. He preferred the quiet, the stillness that came after the storm. His thoughts drifted to Alarys. He hadn't seen her since the battle ended. The memories of seeing her fight alongside Arya, the way she conjured fire as naturally as breathing—it stirred something in him. Something deep. Something more than mere admiration.

Alarys had been a mystery to him from the moment they met, but after what she did in that battle, something had shifted between them. He had always known she was strong, but seeing her wield fire, watching her stand against the dead—it made him realize just how much she meant to him.

Jon made his way back to his quarters, the cold air biting at his skin as he climbed the stairs. His mind was clouded with everything he still needed to do, every decision left to be made. But none of it seemed to matter as much as seeing Alarys again.

When he opened the door to his room, he found her already there, waiting for him. She stood by the window, her back to him as she looked out over the darkened courtyard below. The moonlight bathed her in a soft glow, making her appear almost ethereal. For a moment, Jon just stood there, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched her.

"Alarys," he finally said, closing the door behind him.

She turned at the sound of his voice, her eyes meeting his. There was something different in her gaze—something unspoken. She gave him a small smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I've been waiting for you."

Jon stepped closer, feeling the tension between them. "I'm glad you're here."

They stood there for a moment in silence, the weight of everything unsaid hanging in the air between them. Alarys looked as though she wanted to speak, to say something important, but she hesitated. Jon could feel it too—the unspoken truths they had both been hiding.