Jon found Lyra curled up on a soft carpet of moss, watching the sun rise over snowy plains. Her hair glowed as the first rays of the morning hit her red curls.

Her hair always reminded him of Ygritte. He couldn't help it. The dead always lived in his thoughts.

He was used to it by now. He was accustomed to walking in a world where every sight, sound, and sensation risked attracting shadows from his past. He heard their whispers daily. Sometimes, he could enjoy the sun for a moment, forgetting and forgiving himself. When he first met Lyra, he got stuck in such a moment. But the shadows always returned, and in truth, he was grateful for their constant presence.

Jon didn't want to forget. He wanted to recall every moment of the past forever. He owed that to the dead that whispered his name.

That's why he had to say goodbye.

"I heard my sister granted you the rule of Bear Island," he said, sitting down on the velvety surface next to her. "Are you heading there today?"

Lyra nodded, her eyes still focused on the approaching sun. "It's my home," she said. "I need to go there. The island needs me. The Queen told me that no one has ruled the lands since the death of my sister. Some lords tried to go there and claim the lands but the island was already overrun by bears."

Jon swallowed, thinking of the dangers awaiting on the harsh Northern Island. "Is it safe for you to go there?" he asked, unable from stopping himself from caring, even as the whispers from the past called for him. "I can send some of my men to go with you?"

"I'm not afraid of a few bears, Jon." Lyra laughed, the tones echoing between the mountain tops. Apparently, the notion of fearing bears was hilarious to her. "Besides, some of the wildlings will come along with me. We can make do. A Mormont will once again rule Bear Island, trust me."

"I do trust you," Jon noted, looking toward the sun as well. He could never help watching out for a silhouette of a flying creature at dawn. He knew such beasts were still out there. Sometimes he dreamed of them. He dreamt of a dragon bringing his queen back to him.

But Daenerys was gone, just like Ygritte. To have had two loves like that was more than any man could ask for. So Jon asked for nothing more in life. He only lived because they couldn't. He owed them that.

"You know you're always welcome there." Lyra moved a bit closer. Close enough for Jon to sense her warmth. "Once the war is over, I mean. You might like it there. It's cold like beyond the wall, but the castle provides some warmth."

"I will return to Castle Black." Jon scooted away from Lyra. "That's where I need to be."

That's where he had died. That's where Ygritte had died. That's where the whispers were the strongest.

"There's nothing at Castle Black. It's not needed anymore."

Jon just shook his head. "I need to be there," he mumbled like he was trying to convince himself as much as her. "It's my punishment."

"Perhaps you need the castle more than the castle needs you," Lyra noted. "And I'm not going to stop you if that's where you want to spend your remaining days, wittering away on the edge of the world. I'm not asking you for anything, Jon, if that's what you think. I'm not proposing marriage or requesting that you be my consort. Not that anyone at Bear Island ever cared about things like that. But I figured it might be nice with some companionship for the both of us."

Once again, Jon shook his head. The whispers in his head compelled him to turn all such frivolous fancies down. He didn't deserve even the merest glints of happiness. What he'd already experienced with Lyra was too much. He'd gone too far, blinded by her glimmering red hair.

"I can't," he insisted. "I can't give you what you want, Lyra. I can't be who you want me to be."

Maybe once upon a time, he would have been able to. But not anymore. He was barely a man at all now. He was but a shadow of someone who had once loved.

"I'm not asking you for anything," she repeated. "But I think you're confusing can't with won't. You're still alive. You can still do what you want."

"I can't," he said once again, steadfast in his conviction. "I'm a dead man, Lyra. At least, I should be."

She gave him a confused look. He'd never told her any of this. He hadn't told her of the cold that had once consumed him before eternal darkness took hold. He hadn't told her that this cold lived in his blood, always reminding him that his presence in this world wasn't natural.

Jon sighed. This wasn't something that was easy to explain. "You've seen my scars," he started, gesturing over his torso. "You were amazed it didn't kill me. Well, it did. I was dead. But I came back. How... I don't quite know. It doesn't matter." The red witch wasn't someone he wanted to think about. "I came back for a reason. And I've served that purpose. All that's left for me now is to serve those who weren't as lucky. The ones who died with no one calling them back. The ones... who died at my blade."

"And wouldn't you serve them better by enjoying the life given to you?"

It sounded so easy. But it was impossible. Because with enjoyment came guilt, and the guilt would consume him.

"I can't," he said, for the third time. It was what he told himself every day. "And besides, I wouldn't make you happy. I couldn't give you what you want. A dead man can't sire children."

A shadow leaves no marks. A shadow can't hurt anyone. A shadow won't be missed once it's gone.

"I haven't asked you to give me children, Jon," Lyra remarked, her tone cold as ice. "If you want to live as a eunuch, that's your choice. Although the nights we've spent together tell another story... But I've only asked you to come with me to my home."

"I can't," he repeated as if a spell forced him to utter the same words over and over. He reached down by his side, realizing that he did have something to offer. "All I can give you is this." He held out Longclaw. Her grandfather's sword. "It belongs to your family. You should have it. It's what your grandfather would have wanted."

Lyra shook her head. "Keep your sword, Jon. My grandfather gave it to you. I don't want it." She gathered her skirts, rising from the moss. "I've told you I don't want anything from you. But if you want to bring back the sword where it belongs, then you have to carry it to Bear Island yourself."

She left in a huff, red curls swaying in the wind. Jon didn't try to stop her. He didn't run after. He didn't waver. He didn't even look her way.

"You're wrong, Jon," Lyra called out as she was leaving. "You could make me happy if you just allowed yourself to be happy. But if you can't do that, I won't stop you. Go to Castle Black, if that's what you want. Live a life in solitude. Just know that no one else but yourself is forcing you to lead such an existence. Whoever you lost wouldn't want that either. They would want you to live."

"I can't," he reiterated, this time the words were just a faint whisper.

His gaze remained focused on the oncoming sun, signaling another day of hardship. Once again, he would march toward a war. Once again, he would be forced to make choices that would end in sorrow. He couldn't stop it.

Something cold tickled his cheek. Surprised, Jon wiped the wetness away. He hadn't cried since... A haunting realization hit him. He hadn't cried since he died.

The tears kept trickling, cold as death. The warm lights of the sun dried them away.

For the first time since he'd sentenced himself, he wondered if he was wrong. Perhaps living in the shadows wasn't the answer.

It would turn out that Jon has been wrong about at least one thing. A flicker of light already burned on that faithful morning, before he and Lyra parted. A little girl with Jon's serious eyes and Lyra's burning hair would come to wield her grandfather's sword as she ruled the snowy shores of Bear Island.

Her name would be Lyanna. Named after her aunt, the fierce warrior who slayed a giant with her last breath, and her grandmother, the wild woman who made choices that toppled a whole kingdom.

Author's Note: I had told myself I would never write Jon's POV, as this isn't his story. But this scene came to me, and I had no choice but to write it down. Because while this story is mainly about Gendry and Meera, it's also the story about all the cracked humans remaining after the end. And Jon is probably more cracked than anyone. But in a way, this is his happy ending. This is as much joy I could give him (although his story is of course not over, as he's about to march south).

As I'm writing this, House of the Dragon is about to premiere soon and I have to admit I'm not that hyped. It's just not my kind of GOT story. Like it's a story of birthright and magic, while this is a story of how human will can triumph over those things (Gendry might be marching on King's Landing on account of his given lordship, but he's really just incredibly pissed off, and ready to use his incredible luck to give power to the ones who weren't as lucky). And well, this is also a story that may end with Chompy the Croc ruling all of Westeros.