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

Chapter 25: Jon Snow

~Reunions and Departures~

Jon stood on the beach, the cool ocean breeze ruffling his cloak as he stared out at the endless horizon. He had always found solace in the sea's rhythm, the way the waves crashed against the rocks of Dragonstone, a steady, unrelenting force. But today, his thoughts were far from calm. The weight of the war with the dead, the tension between him and Daenerys, and his growing feelings for Alarys crowded his mind.

He glanced over at her, standing a few feet away, her face lifted to the sky as if searching for something. Her dark hair fluttered in the breeze, her expression serene but focused. Even amidst the growing chaos of their lives, she managed to exude a calm that both intrigued and unnerved him. He could never quite get a read on her, and maybe that's what drew him in even more.

A distant roar broke the silence. Jon's eyes snapped up to the sky, just in time to see the massive silhouette of Drogon soaring towards them. His wings beat the air with power and grace, casting a long shadow over the beach. Daenerys was perched on his back, her silver hair flowing behind her as Drogon descended.

Jon felt his breath catch. It didn't matter how many times he saw the dragons—they never failed to awe him. He had grown up hearing stories of such creatures, ancient and powerful, but never had he imagined he would stand so close to one.

As Drogon landed, sand billowing around them from the sheer force of his wings, Jon instinctively tensed. His hand itched for the hilt of Longclaw, but he forced himself to remain calm. He glanced at Alarys, expecting to see some flicker of fear in her expression, but she was utterly still, her eyes locked on Drogon's massive form.

To his amazement, she stepped forward.

Jon watched as Alarys reached out, her hand steady as she approached the dragon. Drogon lowered his head slightly, his huge, amber eyes studying her with what could only be described as curiosity. And then, as if she had done it a thousand times, Alarys placed her hand on the dragon's warm, leathery scales.

Daenerys, now dismounted, stood nearby, her face lighting up with surprise and amusement. "You're not afraid of him," she observed, her tone more curious than accusatory.

Alarys smiled, the rare gesture making her look almost childlike with wonder. "How could I be?" she replied softly, her hand moving in gentle strokes over Drogon's head. "He's magnificent."

Jon could see the admiration in her eyes, the way she marveled at the creature before her. There was no fear, no hesitation. And for a moment, he was captivated by the sight of her—her hand on the dragon, her face alight with a joy he hadn't seen from her before.

Without thinking, she turned to him, taking his hand and guiding it to Drogon's scales. The warmth of the dragon's skin radiated through Jon's fingers, and he couldn't help but smile at the sheer impossibility of the moment. The beast that could level cities was standing before them, calm and unthreatening, and all because of her.

Daenerys watched them, a smile tugging at her lips. "Most people cower in fear when they meet my children," she said. "But not you, Alarys."

"Perhaps that's because she understands them," Jon offered, his voice soft as his hand lingered on Drogon's warm scales.

Alarys let out a soft laugh, her eyes bright. "Maybe. Or maybe I just appreciate a good challenge."

Daenerys chuckled, but Jon saw the thoughtful look in her eyes. The conversation drifted to leadership, and the differences between ruling with fear and ruling with respect. Jon listened intently, though his focus kept drifting to Alarys. She was different today—more open, more engaged. It was a side of her he hadn't seen often, but one that fascinated him.

Before long, the moment was interrupted by a familiar voice. "Your Grace."

Jon turned to see Jorah Mormont approaching, his weathered face lined with the wear of travel, but his eyes bright with determination. Daenerys's face softened at the sight of him, and Jon couldn't help but notice the tears that welled up in her eyes. She hurried toward Jorah, throwing her arms around him in a rare display of emotion.

"Jorah," she breathed, her voice thick with gratitude. "You've returned."

Jon watched the reunion in silence, feeling a sense of quiet respect for the man who had endured so much to stand by his queen. Alarys, too, seemed to observe the moment with a sense of quiet admiration, her hand still resting on Drogon as the dragon watched the scene unfold with a low rumble of approval.

But the moment of peace didn't last. As the group began to walk back toward the castle, a messenger approached Jon, handing him a sealed letter. Jon's brow furrowed as he broke the seal and read its contents, his heart sinking with every word.

The letter was from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. The army of the dead was approaching.

Jon's stomach twisted with the weight of the news. The White Walkers were no longer a distant threat—they were moving closer. He handed the letter to Daenerys, his voice grim. "The dead are marching on Eastwatch."

Daenerys's face paled, her gaze shifting from the letter to Jon. Tyrion, standing nearby, stepped forward with a suggestion. "We need proof," he said carefully. "Proof that will convince Cersei and the rest of the realm that the threat is real."

Jon stared at him, confused. "What kind of proof?"

Tyrion's gaze was sharp. "We need to capture a wight. Bring it south. Show the world what's coming."

The plan was as dangerous as it was ambitious, but Jon saw the logic in it. Convincing the rest of Westeros to unite against the dead required undeniable proof. But the risk was staggering.

"I'll go," Jon said, his voice resolute.

"I'll come with you," Jorah offered without hesitation.

"And me," Alarys added, stepping forward.

Jon's heart skipped a beat at her words. He wanted to tell her no, to keep her safe, but he knew she wouldn't back down. She was as stubborn as he was, and the fire in her eyes told him that she was ready to face whatever danger lay ahead.

With Davos, Gendry, and the rest of their small band, they would head north. But as Jon looked at Alarys standing beside him, her eyes burning with determination, he couldn't help but feel a deep sense of foreboding. The journey they were about to embark on could be their last, and the thought of losing her gnawed at him in a way he couldn't fully comprehend.

Before they left, Jon found himself reaching for her hand again, squeezing it gently as if to remind himself that she was still there, still with him. Alarys looked up at him, her expression softening for just a moment.

"We'll survive this, Jon," she whispered, her voice filled with quiet conviction.

Jon hoped she was right. But as he stared out at the horizon, the weight of what lay ahead pressed down on him, heavy and unrelenting. The dead were coming, and soon, the world would never be the same again.