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

Chapter 45: Alarys

~The Ties that Bind ~

Alarys Martell sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers brushing over the soft woolen blanket beneath her. The room felt colder than usual, though the hearth crackled with fire and the thick walls of Winterfell kept the bitter northern winds at bay. It wasn't the temperature that chilled her; it was the uncertainty that gnawed at her insides.

She had been restless for days, a subtle unease building inside her ever since Jon had confirmed their departure to King's Landing. The battle ahead loomed large in her thoughts, but it wasn't just the war that weighed on her mind—it was Daenerys.

The Queen had changed since they arrived in the North. Her gaze had grown colder, her smiles fewer, and the tension between her and Jon had thickened, despite Jon's attempts to ease it. Alarys couldn't shake the feeling that Daenerys no longer saw Jon as a loyal ally, but as something more dangerous—competition.

Alarys had seen the looks Daenerys gave Jon, the fleeting glances when she thought no one was watching. What once may have been affection was now laced with suspicion and jealousy. It was as though Jon's very existence as a Targaryen threatened everything Daenerys believed was hers by right. And now, with Jon's marriage to Alarys solidifying alliances that only strengthened his position, Daenerys' frustration simmered just beneath the surface.

Alarys closed her eyes, willing the unease away. She had to stay strong, focused. But something had shifted within her, a change she couldn't ignore. The bouts of nausea, the lightheadedness... it had been going on for weeks now, but she hadn't dared to speak of it. Not to Jon. Not yet.

There was a faint sound from the hallway—footsteps approaching. Jon. Her heart quickened, and she stood up, trying to push aside the lingering sense of dread.

Jon entered the room, his face tired but resolute. The weight of his responsibilities was written in the lines on his brow, the set of his jaw. But when he saw her, his expression softened. He crossed the room, his fingers brushing hers as he sat beside her.

"We leave at first light," he said quietly, his voice carrying both exhaustion and determination.

Alarys nodded, her throat tightening. She had known this was coming, had prepared herself for it, but now, sitting here with Jon, the reality of it hit her harder than she expected. The thought of him marching to King's Landing, riding into battle, facing death... it was too much to bear. And now, with the life growing inside her, the stakes had never felt higher.

Jon glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "You've been quiet," he observed. "More so than usual."

Alarys swallowed hard, forcing a smile. "There's much on my mind."

He studied her for a moment, his sharp eyes searching hers, as if trying to read the thoughts she wasn't sharing. She turned away, feeling a wave of nausea rise in her throat. She had been hiding it well, or so she thought, but the truth was catching up with her.

Jon's hand slipped from hers as he stood, moving toward the chest at the foot of the bed where he began packing his things—armor, weapons, the essentials he would need for the journey. He moved with a quiet efficiency, but Alarys noticed the tension in his shoulders, the weight he carried. She felt it too, in a different way.

Suddenly, the nausea that had been swirling in her stomach all evening surged, sharp and unrelenting. She stood quickly, her body betraying her attempts at composure. Without thinking, she rushed to the side of the room, barely making it to the basin before the contents of her stomach spilled out.

Jon was at her side in an instant, his hand on her back, concern etched into every line of his face. "Alarys," he said, his voice filled with alarm. "What's wrong?"