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

Chapter 47: Alarys

~Shadows in the North~

The raven arrived at dawn.

Alarys stood at the window of her chambers in Winterfell, watching the early morning sun stretch across the snow-covered landscape. The cold air bit at her skin, but she barely noticed. The message in her hand had consumed her thoughts since she had read it, its contents turning her blood to ice.

Varys was dead.

Executed by Daenerys. Burned alive.

Her fingers tightened around the raven's parchment, crinkling it as her mind raced. Varys had been a careful man, a master of secrets. If Daenerys had decided to kill him, it meant something had changed. She had turned another corner in her descent—her fire now burned hotter, her grip on the throne more desperate.

The sound of a knock at the door startled Alarys from her thoughts. She turned, quickly slipping the letter into the folds of her dress.

"Enter," she called out, steadying her voice.

Sansa Stark stepped inside, her face a mask of calm, though Alarys could see the flicker of concern in her eyes. The Lady of Winterfell moved with the quiet grace she had learned from years of surviving court politics, but there was a tension in her steps today—a sense that she too had received troubling news.

"Sansa," Alarys greeted her, trying to keep her tone neutral, but the weight of the raven's message lingered on her tongue.

"I came as soon as I heard," Sansa said, her voice soft. "A raven from one of your Dornish men reached me first."

Alarys felt her stomach twist. Of course Sansa had heard—nothing escaped her in Winterfell. She had long since learned the art of listening for whispers. Alarys had hoped to process the news herself first, to give herself time to decide how to act. But there was no more time for caution now.

Alarys walked to the center of the room, her heart heavy. "Varys is dead," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

Sansa nodded, her expression grave. "Executed by Daenerys."

Alarys nodded, her hand instinctively moving to rest on her still-flat belly, her heart heavy with the secret she carried. The fear she had been holding at bay for days now threatened to overwhelm her.

Sansa stepped closer, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied Alarys's face. "You're worried," she said quietly, but it wasn't a question.

Alarys met her gaze, the flicker of fear in her heart growing stronger. "Daenerys is losing control," she whispered. "Varys saw it, Jon saw it. Now I see it too."

Sansa's expression tightened, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "Jon tried to warn her, but she won't listen. She's blinded by her own ambition—by the need for the throne."

Alarys swallowed hard, the reality of it settling over her like a heavy cloak. Jon had left Winterfell believing he could still reason with Daenerys, still appeal to the woman he had once loved and trusted. But now, as the news of Varys's death reached them, it was clear that reason had no place in Daenerys's heart anymore.

Sansa's eyes flickered to Alarys's hand, which had unconsciously drifted to her belly again. She opened her mouth as if to say something but hesitated, her brow furrowing.

Alarys felt her heart skip a beat. Sansa was too clever, too perceptive. She would figure it out sooner or later. And yet, despite the danger, Alarys couldn't bring herself to lie to the woman who had become her closest ally in this frozen castle.

She let out a shaky breath, her voice barely above a whisper. "Sansa... I'm pregnant."

Sansa's eyes widened, surprise flashing across her face. For a moment, she seemed to struggle with the weight of the revelation. "Jon's child?" she asked, though it was clear she already knew the answer.