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

Chapter 42: Alarys

~The Weight of a Crown~

The snow fell gently outside the windows of Winterfell's great hall, but Alarys Martell barely noticed. The Dornish princess, now Queen of the North, stared out at the icy world with furrowed brows, her thoughts a whirlwind of uncertainty and determination. Her hand rested on the rough stone wall, its cold surface grounding her in the present moment, but her mind wandered to the political storms brewing around her.

Alarys had spent her entire life maneuvering through the intricate webs of Dornish politics, but the North was a different beast altogether. The tension between their newfound alliance with the Starks and Jon's family weighed heavily on her shoulders. She was now not just a Martell but also a Stark by marriage, a union that had rattled more than a few cages—particularly Daenerys Targaryen's.

Daenerys had been cold to her since the wedding, a frostiness that mirrored the unforgiving landscape around them. Alarys had expected it, but it still stung. The Dragon Queen had once held Jon's affections, and while Jon had moved on, it was clear that Daenerys had not. She feared being replaced, not just in Jon's heart, but in the loyalty of his people. Alarys knew what it felt like to be displaced, to feel that a crown was slipping from your grasp.

Her fingers traced absent patterns on the stone as her mind went over the events of the past days—the council meetings, the whispered conversations, the knowing glances exchanged between Sansa and Oberyn. They were allies now, but Sansa was cautious, as always. The Lady of Winterfell had grown to trust her in small doses, but Alarys could see the calculation behind her eyes. It was one thing to be Jon's wife, another to truly become part of the Stark family.

She sighed, moving away from the window and toward the fire crackling in the hearth. Oberyn had arrived a week ago, and in that short time, he had already begun forming connections with Sansa, Bran, and even Arya, the latter of whom seemed as intrigued by his tales of Dorne as he was by her mysterious travels. Alarys couldn't help but feel a surge of pride. Oberyn had a way of winning people over. His charm, wit, and understanding of politics made him the perfect diplomat. Together, they had already begun to lay the groundwork for stronger ties between the North and Dorne—something that, in truth, she had longed for but knew would take time.

A soft knock at the door pulled her from her thoughts. She turned to find Sansa standing at the threshold, her face as impassive as always but her eyes more open than usual.

"May I come in?" Sansa asked, her voice soft but steady.

"Of course," Alarys replied, gesturing toward the chairs by the fire.

Sansa took a seat, wrapping her fur-lined cloak tightly around her as the flames danced in front of them. The silence stretched between them, not uncomfortable but thick with unspoken words.

"I wanted to speak with you about Oberyn," Sansa finally said, her tone even.

Alarys raised an eyebrow, waiting for her to continue.

"He's... different from what I expected," Sansa admitted, her hands folded neatly in her lap. "He's clever, but he's also dangerous. He plays the game well."

"He's survived longer than most by playing that game," Alarys replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. "But you're not wrong. Oberyn is dangerous, in more ways than one. But his loyalty to Dorne, and to me, is unwavering."

Sansa nodded, her gaze flickering toward the flames. "The North and Dorne... we've never been close allies. But things are changing. I've seen the way he speaks to our people, the way he's already making plans for trade routes and alliances."

Alarys could hear the hesitation in her voice. Sansa was cautious, and rightly so. The North had been burned before by alliances that promised much and delivered little. But Alarys wasn't here to deceive anyone. She wanted this union to be more than just political convenience.

"Sansa," she began, her voice softening, "I know you're wary of us. Of me. But Jon and I... we're committed to making this work. The North and Dorne are stronger together. Oberyn knows this, as do I."

Sansa's blue eyes met hers, and for a moment, the icy walls between them seemed to melt. "I believe you," she said quietly. "But it's not just me you need to convince."

"I know," Alarys said, leaning back in her chair. "There's Daenerys."

The silence between them stretched again, heavier this time. The Dragon Queen was a looming presence in Winterfell, her dragons and her armies a constant reminder of the fragile peace that hung between them all. Daenerys had not taken well to the news of Jon's true parentage, and Alarys could sense the fury simmering beneath the surface.

"She feels... isolated," Sansa said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Losing Jon, losing the North's loyalty... it's making her desperate."

Alarys nodded. "Desperation can be dangerous."

"She won't give up her claim to the throne without a fight," Sansa warned, her tone sharp now. "And if she sees you and Jon as a threat..."

"We're not a threat to her claim," Alarys interrupted, her eyes narrowing. "Jon doesn't want the throne. He never has."

"But that doesn't matter, does it?" Sansa countered, her gaze hardening. "It's not about what Jon wants. It's about what others see. And right now, they see a Northern King married to a powerful Dornish princess. They see a new dynasty forming."

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud, dark and heavy with the truth.

"We'll deal with that when the time comes," Alarys said, her voice firm. "Right now, we have more immediate concerns—Cersei and her armies. The Lannisters won't wait while we bicker among ourselves."

Sansa gave a small nod, but her expression remained guarded. "Just be careful, Alarys. Daenerys is not the only one you have to watch."

Alarys smiled, though there was little warmth in it. "I know how to play the game, Sansa. I've been doing it all my life."

They sat in silence for a moment longer before Sansa stood, giving a small nod of farewell before leaving the room.

As the door closed behind her, Alarys felt the weight of her new role settle even more heavily on her shoulders. She had always known that marrying Jon would bring challenges, but she hadn't expected the political minefield they now found themselves navigating.

She returned to the window, watching as the snow continued to fall in soft, silent waves. Her thoughts drifted to Daenerys, to the desperation that now clung to the Dragon Queen like a shadow. Alarys knew that desperation could lead to dangerous decisions, and she would need to be ready for whatever came next.

Her eyes narrowed as she gazed out into the cold, her mind already working through the possibilities, the alliances that could be forged or broken in the days to come.

No matter what, she would not let Daenerys, or anyone else, threaten the peace she had fought so hard to build.