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

Chapter 35: Jon Snow

~Reunions & New Identities~

Jon Snow walked through the dimly lit catacombs beneath Winterfell, the stone walls cold and damp around him, the air thick with the weight of history. He moved quietly, the only sounds were the soft scuff of his boots against the stone floor and the crackle of the torch in his hand. His breath fogged in front of him as he made his way deeper into the crypt, passing the ancient tombs of the Stark ancestors—his ancestors. Or so he had thought.

He paused in front of his father's tomb, his brow furrowed in deep contemplation. The likeness of Eddard Stark, carved in stone, stood tall and proud, as if watching over Winterfell even in death. Jon's chest tightened at the sight. He had always admired his father, held him up as the model of honor and integrity. Ned Stark had been the man Jon had wanted to emulate, to make proud. But there was something different now, a growing doubt that gnawed at his heart, something he couldn't quite place.

Lighting a candle, Jon set it down at the foot of the statue, bowing his head in quiet reverence. The flickering flame danced in the gloom, casting long shadows that seemed to stretch and shift like ghosts of the past.

His mind wandered, not just to his father but to his family, the loved ones he had lost—the brothers, the sisters, the friends. And now, more than ever, to Alarys. Thoughts of her had been a constant companion since their return to Winterfell. He couldn't deny the pull he felt toward her, the way she had become not just a part of his life but of him. He had always felt a certain peace when she was near, a sense of balance that grounded him even in the chaos of the war that loomed on the horizon.

Yet now, beneath the surface, another storm brewed—one that had been ignited by something much more personal, much more dangerous than the White Walkers. The weight of the world had always been on Jon's shoulders, but this? This new secret, the one Sam had hinted at when he arrived, made that burden feel unbearable. His thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching from behind. Jon turned, recognizing the familiar, slightly awkward gait of Samwell Tarly.

"Jon," Sam said, his voice tentative as he stepped closer, the flicker of candlelight reflecting in his wide, nervous eyes. "I didn't think I'd find you down here."

Jon forced a smile, though his mind was still clouded with his earlier thoughts. "Where else would I be?" he replied, his voice low, as if the weight of the crypt itself pressed down on him. "It's always quiet down here."

Sam glanced at the statues of the long-dead Starks and then back to Jon, his face pensive. "I've been looking for you. There's something... something we need to talk about."

Jon's eyes narrowed slightly as he studied Sam. He had known Sam long enough to recognize when something was wrong, when his old friend had something difficult to say. He nodded for Sam to continue, bracing himself for whatever news Sam had brought with him.

"I need to ask you something," Sam said, his voice trembling ever so slightly. "Did you know? About Daenerys, I mean. About what she did to my father and brother?"

Jon's stomach dropped. He hadn't expected this. "Sam, I—" he began, but Sam cut him off.

"I know they refused to bend the knee, and I know she had every right to demand it," Sam said quickly, his voice rising with emotion. "But, Jon... she burned them alive. My father and my brother. I thought you might have known, but you—"

"I didn't know," Jon replied, his voice quiet but firm. "I'm sorry, Sam."

For a moment, there was silence between them, broken only by the soft crackling of the candles around them. Jon could see the pain in Sam's eyes, the hurt that went beyond the loss of his family. It was the kind of hurt that came from betrayal, from realizing that the world you thought you knew was far darker than you'd ever imagined.

"I've had to execute men, too," Jon said after a long pause, his tone grim. "Men who disobeyed orders. Men who threatened the lives of others. It's not an easy thing, Sam. I've... I've had to make hard choices."

Sam shook his head, his face still filled with disbelief. "But you've also spared men. You gave them second chances. You didn't burn them alive."

Jon winced at the sharpness of Sam's words, the truth in them cutting deep. "She's our queen, Sam. She's trying to unite the Seven Kingdoms, to end this war. Sometimes... sometimes leaders have to make hard decisions."

Sam's eyes darkened as he took a step closer to Jon. "And what about you, Jon? You've made hard decisions, too. But you never wanted power, never sought it out. You gave up your crown to save the North, to protect us all. Daenerys... would she do the same? Would she give up her crown for the good of the people?"

Jon felt a cold wave of uncertainty wash over him at Sam's words. He hadn't thought of it that way—not in those terms. He had been so focused on the greater threat, on uniting the living against the dead, that he hadn't stopped to consider the implications of what Sam was asking. Daenerys had told him once that she was born to rule, that she would break the wheel, but Sam's question lingered, echoing in his mind.

Before Jon could respond, Sam's next words sent a shock through him like a bolt of lightning.

"You're not just a Stark, Jon," Sam said, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. "You're the son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. You're the true heir to the Iron Throne. You're Aegon Targaryen, the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms."

The world seemed to tilt beneath Jon's feet. He stood frozen, the weight of those words crashing down on him with the force of a thousand storms. His chest tightened, his mind reeling as the truth—if it even was the truth—settled in like a stone in his gut.

"No," Jon said, his voice barely above a whisper. "That can't be true. My father—Ned Stark—he would never lie to me."

"Ned didn't lie," Sam insisted, his face earnest, pleading. "He protected you. He did what he had to, to keep you safe."

Jon shook his head, backing away as if he could physically distance himself from the revelation. "I'm not a Targaryen. I'm not a king."

Sam's voice was filled with urgency. "Jon, you've always been a king. You've always put the people first. But now... now you're their rightful king by blood."

Jon clenched his fists, the flickering light of the candles casting shadows on his face. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—disbelief, anger, confusion. He had given up his crown to protect the North, to fight for the living. And now, to hear that he was the true heir to the Iron Throne? It felt like a cruel joke.

He thought of Daenerys, of the fierce determination in her eyes, the fire that burned within her. She had been fighting her entire life to claim the Iron Throne, believing it to be her birthright. And now... now he was supposed to take that from her?

But most of all, Jon thought of Alarys. What would she think? How could he tell her that he wasn't just the man she loved, but a Targaryen—a dragon with a claim to the throne? Would it change how she saw him, how she felt about him? And what of Daenerys? Could Alarys ever forgive him if he kept this from her?

The questions swirled in his mind, but there were no answers. Only uncertainty. Only doubt.

"What would she do, Jon?" Sam's voice cut through his thoughts. "If Daenerys knew you were the rightful king, would she give up her crown for the good of the realm?"

Jon's throat tightened. He didn't know. And that terrified him.

"I don't know," he whispered, his voice breaking as he finally allowed the weight of it all to sink in.