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He was happy.
He hadn't truly known until now what that word even meant, something had always darkened the horizon with dread or guilt or some kind of honor he was striving for.
Jon Snow had left all of that behind when he had ridden past the Wall for the last time, there was no looking back for him anymore, because there was simply nothing for him in Westeros anymore.
Up here, in the endless nature of the Land of Always Winter, in the real North, up here he was free and he had become so happy. He wasn't Jon Snow here, bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. He was sure as all hells not Aegon Targaryen, son of Prince Rhaegar and Lyanna Stark. He was just Jon.
Sometimes they called him King Crow still or Lord Jon, mostly Tormund when he tried to egg Jon into a sparr, but Jon let them have their nicknames and their teasing, none of them meant it in contempt. As Tormund had put it, "they're too happy to have yah back with us, laddie." Back and alive, because as Tormund's sons had put it, they hadn't thought he would make it and Jon had to agree with them there.
He hadn't expected to leave that cell of his alive either.
Even though he had saved everybody still living.
Daenerys wouldn't have left a stone unburnt.
But Jon had stopped dwelling on the past and what ifs the day he had left King's Landing on a ship bound for a destroyed Eastwatch by-the-Sea. He could have spent nights debating over what he had done and whether or not it had been right, in the end there was nothing he could have changed about it. Instead he stepped onto that ship and let the sea strip him bare of everything he had been and at the same time never truly been.
No Stark. No Targaryen. No Snow.
No King, no Prince, no Lord Commander.
All just roles pushed onto his shoulders without anyone ever really asking him what he wanted.
He had never known his parents, his father dead months before he was born, his mother dead not long after he had been. But at least he knew now. He had arrived at Castle Black for a second time in his life to swear vows, this time though knowing where he came from and maybe it wasn't some thing to be proud of but at least he knew. When Tormund had told him "yah comin with us" in front of the entire assembled groups of Free Folk and the Brothers of Castle Black, none had protested. The Brothers hadn't wanted him, once a turncloak, always one, and Jon had turned his cloak twice on them already, what did a third time added to it mean.
The Free Folk on the other hand welcomed him back, told him that they were his home now, his people, and he one of them. As he had been in a long time without either of them ever realizing.
And Jon had thrown one last look over the courtyard of Castle Black where he knew no one in Black anymore. He spared one last thought for Sansa, Bran, Sam, Gilly and the little ones, who were all as safe as they could ever be. He gave one last thought to Arya, the one in his family who had never betrayed him, who was finally free, who would find him even beyond the Wall if she only wanted to.
Jon had no place anymore in any kingdoms, his task was done, his duty fulfilled.
So he had swung himself into the saddle, whistled for Ghost and then ridden out into a new life at Tormund's side, amongst his people.
He didn't know how much time had passed since then, it could be two years, it could be three, he wasn't good in keeping track of it, nor did he really care. Time didn't mean something to the Free Folk, not when the lands were finally safe, or at least only stacked with dangers one could conquer with their means.
He could have counted time as his son grew but once more he didn't really care about the numbers, not when the little one was healthy and happy and safe and striving.
A son. His son.
Not something Jon had ever truly dreamed of having. Not when he had been Ned Stark's bastard and the stain on Winterfell. Not when he had loved Ygritte becuse that had been wild and new and a part of him had always known it wasn't meant to last forever. Not when he had been King preparing for a war he hadn't thought to survive. Not when he had so briefly loved Daenerys as they had had war.
But then... then he had been just Jon. Jon with the wolf. Jon who had saved them, even though he hated that epitet.
Sylka had crawled into his tent one night and he hadn't woken up at first because Ghost came and went as ever still. It was only when skin brushed against skin instead of fur that Jon had snapped awake and reached for a dagger. Sylka had patiently waited that while spectacle out and then leaned around his dagger to kiss him. A few days later, Tormund had laughed and told Jon that he should have put up more of a fuss, stealing shouldn't be that easy. Jon had rolled his eyes and watched Sylka and her sisters be approached by Ghost with rabbits he had caught for them.
"I have a feeling she stole Ghost first, I was just a bonus."
"She'll be good for you, have you smile more." Tormund had given him and Jon had in fact smiled when Sylka had caught his eyes next. As surprised and admittedly shocked as he had been, he hadn't pushed her away once.
Time went on and having fun turned into 'I love her'. Sylka was nothing like Ygritte had been, nothing like Daenerys had been, neither in appearances, nor in character and maybe she had this little something that had always been missng with the other two women Jon had loved. Sylka was happy, happy with what she had and she loved her life and these lands they were wandering in without goal or haste.
Ygritte and Daenerys had both taught Jon valuable lessons about love, how powerful it was, how strenghtening but also weaking it could be, how blinding it became, how far one was willing to go for it.
Sylka quickly taught him something maybe even more important. She taught and showed him how to love life and himself.
There were no ceremonies, nothing official, things were easier here. Sylka made her claim obvious when she dropped down on Jon's lap one night by the fire, Ghost wrapping himself around the two of them and that had been it. He was hers. She was his. Done.
That night, skin bare against skin, and Sylka asleep in his arms, that had been the only time really where Jon had thought back. Arya would be happy for him. Sansa and Bran wouldn't understand maybe but they had never really gotten him, never really gotten Jon. He thought his uncles would be happy for him. Sam and Gilly would be proud of him and also so very happy. And his parents... Jon didn't know enough about them to guess what they would think of this but he had a feeling that this simplicity might have been what they dreamt about in their tower in Dorne. They had had white knights to protect their love. Jon and Sylka had a white wolf.
Sylka was soon with child and when their son had been born, she had been hesitant to show him to Jon, even her sisters had been frazzled and Jon had feared that something was wrong. As it turned out when he finally shouldered himself past the women, there had been nothing to be afraid for.
"He's got my father's eyes," he told Sylka when they were finally alone, just the four of them after Jon and Ghost had kicked everyone else out. He wanted some time alone with his little family. "My father's eyes were indigo, too, that's what this is called. His family, his blood, was known for purple eyes." Sylka had breathed out and leaned against him, her bright blue eyes finally losing the fear that he was not gonna believe this babe to be his. "He's perfect."
And Jon was happy.