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

Chapter 48: Jon Snow

~The Storm of Fire~

The roar of Drogon shook the air as Jon Snow watched the Golden Company crumble beneath the beast's flames. The massive dragon swept across the battlefield, black wings cutting through the sky like death itself. For a moment, Jon stood frozen, watching the inferno engulf the once-impenetrable gates of King's Landing. The Golden Company—so proud, so confident—were nothing but ash now, their pristine armor melted into the earth.

His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline surging through his veins. The Northern and Targaryen forces charged the broken walls, rushing into the city in a chaotic wave of steel and fury. Jon gripped the hilt of Longclaw tightly, spurring his horse forward as he joined the advance. He had hoped for a peaceful surrender, but the fire raining down from Drogon had crushed that hope within moments.

Jon's thoughts were a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. They had breached the city's defenses, and already he could see the Lannister soldiers—some throwing down their swords, surrendering without a fight. It's over, he thought. The city is ours. There's no need for more bloodshed.

But as he galloped closer, dread began to settle in his gut. Something was wrong.

The Northern soldiers and Dothraki were not stopping. Their bloodlust, once kindled, was now a raging inferno. Daenerys had not called them back, had not given the command to halt. Instead, Drogon's shadow loomed over the city, and his fire spewed down the narrow streets, burning everything in its path.

"No," Jon whispered, panic rising in his chest. "Stop!" he shouted, urging his horse faster toward the frontlines. "The city has surrendered!"

No one heard him. The din of battle, the roar of flames, the screams of the dying—it drowned out everything else. The Targaryen and Northern forces had become a storm of chaos, sweeping through the streets and cutting down anyone in their path. Lannister soldiers—those who had thrown down their weapons—were struck down where they stood, their hands raised in surrender.

Jon's heart clenched painfully. This wasn't a battle anymore. This was a massacre.

"STOP!" he bellowed again, his voice hoarse as he rode into the thick of the slaughter. He pulled his sword free from its sheath, but not to strike the enemy. He swung it at his own men, trying to force them back. "ENOUGH! THE CITY HAS FALLEN!"

One of his bannermen, a Northern soldier clad in the colors of House Umber, turned to Jon with wild eyes. Blood streaked across his face, and his sword dripped with crimson. Jon barely had time to react before the man lunged at a group of cowering civilians—women, children, elderly—all huddled against the crumbling wall of a building.

"No!" Jon moved faster than he thought possible, throwing himself from his horse and intercepting the soldier's swing. Longclaw met steel with a sharp clang, and Jon shoved the man back with all his strength.

"They've surrendered!" Jon snarled, his voice shaking with fury. "They're innocent!"

The Northern soldier looked at him, panting heavily, his eyes wild with battle madness. "Innocent? They're Lannisters! They're the enemy!"

Jon's chest heaved, his grip on Longclaw tight enough to make his knuckles turn white. "They've yielded. They're not soldiers—they're not a threat!"

But the man's bloodlust wouldn't be tamed. With a growl, the Northern soldier tried to push past Jon, raising his sword again. In that moment, Jon's rage boiled over. Without thinking, he drove Longclaw through the man's chest, his blade sinking deep.

The soldier's eyes went wide with shock, a gurgle escaping his lips as he fell to the ground. Jon stood over him, breathless, his heart pounding in his chest. Blood dripped from Longclaw's edge, and Jon could only stare at the fallen man—a man who had once fought for him, who had followed him into battle.

But there was no time to grieve. Around him, the city burned. Screams echoed through the narrow streets, and the stench of charred flesh filled the air. Jon turned, his gaze falling on a woman—her dress torn—being dragged by another soldier toward a dark alley.

A red mist descended over Jon's vision.

With a roar, Jon stormed toward the man, his boots pounding against the blood-soaked cobblestones. He raised Longclaw high and brought it down in one swift motion, the blade biting into the man's neck. Blood sprayed across the alley, and the soldier crumpled to the ground.

The woman fell to her knees, sobbing uncontrollably, her hands trembling as she clutched at her torn clothing. Jon's heart twisted painfully in his chest. He reached out a hand to her, his voice gentler now, though it shook with emotion.

"Go," he urged her, his voice rough. "Get to safety."

She looked up at him with wide, terrified eyes before scrambling to her feet and fleeing into the shadows.

Jon stood in the middle of the chaos, his sword slick with blood, and felt the weight of it all pressing down on him. This wasn't war—this was slaughter. Men, women, children—all burned, all cut down as if they were nothing. And Daenerys... Daenerys wasn't stopping. She was burning everything in her path.

He turned his eyes toward the Red Keep in the distance, his jaw clenched tight. What had she become? The woman he had pledged himself to, the woman he had called queen—was this her justice? Was this what she thought would bring peace?

His thoughts were cut short by a sudden, deafening explosion. The ground shook beneath his feet, and a burst of green flame erupted from the streets not far from where he stood. Wildfire. Aerys's wildfire, stored in secret beneath the city for years, ignited by Drogon's flames.

"Evacuate!" Jon shouted, his voice raw. "Get everyone out of the city!"

But the men weren't listening. They were too far gone in their frenzy, caught up in the madness of bloodshed and fire. Another explosion rocked the city, and Jon saw the streets ahead of him burst into green flame, consuming everything in its path.

His heart raced, fear and desperation clawing at him. If they didn't get out now, they would all be burned alive—consumed by the very fire Daenerys was unleashing.

Jon whirled around, shouting orders to anyone who would listen. "Fall back! Pull the men out of the city!"

But chaos reigned. Northern soldiers clashed with Lannisters, civilians screamed, and the wildfire continued to spread, ignited by Drogon's breath. Jon's breath came in ragged gasps as he forced his way through the carnage, trying to gather what forces he could.

Another explosion rocked the city, and Jon felt the heat of the flames licking at his skin as he stumbled backward. His mind raced, his thoughts a blur of panic and fury. This was madness. This was the destruction of everything they had fought for.

In the distance, he saw Drogon circling above the city, Daenerys atop him, her face obscured by the smoke and flames. She wasn't stopping. She was burning it all.

Jon felt a crushing sense of helplessness wash over him. He had bent the knee to her, trusted her, fought for her. But now, as he stood in the midst of the burning ruins of King's Landing, he realized that the woman he had pledged his loyalty to no longer existed.

The queen that remained was a conqueror—a dragon, just like her father before her.

Another surge of green flame erupted nearby, and Jon knew they had no time left. He shouted for his men, his voice hoarse with desperation.

"Fall back!" he bellowed again, waving his sword toward the gates. "We need to get out of here!"

One by one, the soldiers began to heed his call, their bloodlust giving way to the stark realization that they were about to be consumed by the very fire they had unleashed.

As Jon turned to lead the retreat, his thoughts drifted to Alarys. His wife. His child. He had to survive this. He had to get back to them. He couldn't let this madness consume him too.

With one last glance at the inferno that was now King's Landing, Jon led his forces out of the city, his heart heavy with the weight of the destruction behind him.