Chapter Six
Jon lay prone in the snow before the old heart tree in the godswood. He had been there for hours, screaming and praying and begging the gods for what he knew to be true to be untrue. He didn't want to be the son of Rhaegar Targaryen and Lyanna Stark. He wanted to be Jon Snow, Ned Stark's bastard. It was all he had ever been and all he had ever wanted to be. He had never aspired to be King in the North, and he had certainly never once wanted to sit on the Iron Throne. Everything he had worked for, everything he had built with Daenerys, was now in jeopardy because his true parentage had been revealed. Everything was going to change and not for the better.
Jon closed his eyes, and an unbidden sob escaped his throat. Somewhere in his ravings to the gods it had occurred to him that if Rhaegar Targaryen was his father, it meant that Daenerys was his aunt. And although Jon had never imagined that he and Daenerys would have any kind of meaningful future, he had thought that there was nothing wrong in expressing their love for each other. But now, now he knew it was wrong. Very wrong. If they continued on as they were, they'd be no better than Cersei and Jaime Lannister, and Jon couldn't abide that. He had made love to his own aunt, and although the Targaryens had wed brothers to sisters for centuries, Jon could not involve himself in an incestuous relationship, no matter how much he loved Daenerys. Their affair was at an end, and he had no idea how he was going to explain why without revealing the truth. And once he revealed the truth, he feared what would come next.
Hot tears slid down Jon's cheeks as he began to sob in earnest. For the first time in ages, he wished that Melisandre had never woken him from the dead. Had he never returned, there would have been no question of Daenerys' sovereignty and Westeros might have been better off. Of course, no one else would have been able to convince her to move north with her dragons, but still, he would have been spared all this pain, and for that, he would have been grateful.
Heavy, uncertain footsteps broke Jon from his reverie, and he pushed himself up to his knees, quickly wiping the moisture from his eyes, lest whoever had come to collect him see the remnants of tears on his face. He turned toward the footsteps, exhaling sharply when he saw that it was only Sam. Jon relaxed a little and waited silently for his old friend to approach.
"I didn't mean to interrupt you," Sam said when he finally reached Jon. "But you've been out here for hours, and I was beginning to worry about you."
"It's all right, Sam. I finished praying long ago."
Jon made no move to rise, so Sam awkwardly lowered himself to the ground, sitting cross-legged in front of him. Sam looked up at the canopy above. Even in winter, the heart tree had its full accompaniment of bloodred leaves, and he seemed awed by it.
"The weirwood where we took our vows was ancient and beautiful," Sam said, "but nothing compared to this. It's positively stunning."
"It's always been a great comfort to me. Now, I don't know what to feel."
Sam looked at Jon. "Well, I suppose, you should feel however you're feeling. How are you feeling, Jon?"
"Cold," he said with a bitter laugh.
"Of course, you're cold. We're always cold. We live in the north."
"No, I mean on the inside. I feel cold inside, as if everything that I have ever taken comfort in has just been stolen away from me."
"Ah, I see."
"What am I going to do, Sam? You know I never wanted any of this."
"Oh, I know, Jon. But sometimes these things get thrust upon us for a reason. I never wanted to join the Night's Watch, but I did. And look what's become of me because of it. I killed a White Walker. Who would have ever thought such a thing was possible? And now, I'm on the front lines in the greatest war ever fought. What's more, thanks to my time at the Citadel, I'm actually capable of bringing something meaningful to the fight. You underestimate yourself, Jon. The gods, whether they be old or new, have chosen this path for you for a reason. You shouldn't fight it. You shouldn't fear it either. You're more than capable of meeting the challenge."
"But I don't want to meet the challenge. And I don't want to take anything away from Daenerys. The Iron Throne is hers, not mine. And I don't want it to come between us."
Sam smiled knowingly. "You mean you don't want her to kick you out of her bed because of it."
"What makes you think I've ever even been in Daenerys' bed?"
"Your brother Bran sees all. And when I say all, I mean all."
"Great. Just great." Jon looked away, staring blindly at the weirwood tree behind Sam. He could feel his cheeks heating with embarrassment. It took him a moment, but finally, he asked, "Who else knows?"
"Just your sisters. Well, I suppose they're really your cousins now. But just them. No one else."
Jon was surprised that Sansa had let him leave Bran's chamber without having first subjected him to a lecture about his relationship with Daenerys. Now, he understood why she had been so hostile to Daenerys upon their arrival. She saw Daenerys as his rival for the Iron Throne, and no doubt she disapproved of the intimacy between them.
Jon looked back at Sam again. "Tell me, Sam, what am I going to do?"
"That's up to you. Though I doubt you can continue to carry on with Daenerys Targaryen the way you have been. After all, she is your aunt."
"Yes, I know."
"I'm sorry, Jon. I can tell that you care for her."
"I more than care for her. I love her. More than I thought I could ever love anyone again."
Sam nodded, and Jon knew that his friend understood just how difficult this all was for him. No one knew him as well as Sam did. They had been brothers of the Night's Watch, yes, but they had been more than that. Sam was like blood to him. He was as close to Jon as Robb, Bran, and Rickon had ever been. Though now, Jon supposed none of them were truly his brothers anymore. His whole world had shifted, and he knew it was going to take a great deal of time and effort for him to come to terms with it.
"I can't tell her," Jon said. "I just can't. I will end our affair. I have no choice. But I can't tell her why. I don't want to take anything away from her, and I don't want the truth to come between us."
"The truth can't stay hidden forever," Sam said.
"It's stayed hidden this long. It can stay hidden another decade or two. Maybe longer. No one need know the truth. And if it does come out, better that it happens after the war is won and Daenerys is on the throne. Once Westeros is at peace and the people of the north are happy, there will be no call for an uprising, no pressure to put me on the throne. Let Daenerys have her glory. Then the truth can be revealed, once it no longer matters."
"It will always matter, Jon. It will always matter to someone."
"In that case, we must keep it a secret for as long as we can because I have no interest in sitting on the Iron Throne and Daenerys Targaryen must become queen."
Sam shook his head. "Lady Sansa wants you to be king. She's made up her mind—"
"I don't care what Sansa wants," Jon snapped, his voice sounding harsh even to his own ears. He took a moment to collect himself before continuing. "I appreciate the fact that Sansa believes so strongly in my ability to rule, but I have no desire to do so. Daenerys is a better ruler than I will ever be, and she is what Westeros truly needs, regardless of who has a stronger claim to the throne."
Sam looked doubtful. "I think you underestimate your abilities, Jon. After all, you started out as Ned Stark's bastard and managed to become Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and then the King in the North. That didn't happen by accident. It happened because it's in your blood. You were born to rule, Jon."
"No, I wasn't."
Sam offered him a sympathetic smile. "I know you'd like to believe that, but it isn't true. I don't know anyone better suited to rule Westeros than you."
"I appreciate your faith in me, Sam. I truly do. But this isn't the life I want."
"Well, it's the one the gods have given you. And instead of sitting here in the snow freezing yourself to death, maybe you should think about all the good you could do if you were ruling from King's Landing."
"I know all the good Daenerys could do, and that's all I need to know." A sudden chill ran down Jon's spine, and he pulled his cloak tighter around himself to ward off the cold. "Now, I don't want to talk about this anymore. I just want to go back inside and forget all about it. Will you join me?"
"I'll join you inside," Sam said, "but I can't agree to forget what I know to be true. And you can't either. Sooner or later, you're going to have to face the truth, Jon. And I think it would be better for everyone concerned if you faced it sooner rather than later, that's all."
Jon appreciated Sam's frankness, but he simply couldn't agree with him. Daenerys had been destined to rule Westeros from the day she'd been born, and Jon had no intention of standing in her way. She was an amazing woman – kind, fair, seasoned in the ways of the world. She was everything that Westeros needed, and Jon was going to do everything in his power to make sure that when the war was over, she was sitting on the Iron Throne.
