A/N: I had to write this. I've been reading so many amazing post-canon AUish stories recently I had to take my own spin on it. For everyone following King Snow, sorry about the delay! I'll get right back to cracking out chapters until KS is done. Until then, enjoy!

His eyes snapped open. Viserion alerted him through their bond of who was approaching, the way a dragon understood the world- the smell of smoke, a bestial sense of familiarity, a flash of memory, some sight seen through a great reptilian eye in years past. For it had indeed been years since they had last met with this particular guest. And as always, Jon felt the twinge of pain his dragon felt, the old wound where the Night King had shorn off one of Viserion's horns. His ever faithful companion and their multitude of little feathered friends corroborated with their keen senses what the dragon felt deep down in its bones.

He let out a short sigh, and braced himself for what was to come. And the morning had started out so beautiful too. A shame. He closed his eyes again and waited.

She dismounted from Drogon, patting him on the side of his great head, scratching at a patch of leathery skin revealed in the gap between two massive obsidian scales. With both feet planted firmly in the light layer of northern summer snow, she set off to her destination ahead with a brisk pace. The rumbling steps and then blast of wind she felt behind her signaled that Drogon had taken wing again, presumably to circle the cloudless sky above.

He let out a great screeching roar, a call of greeting.

Daenerys felt a shiver go down her spine when the expected answering call did not happen. She strode into the small grove of trees, diving suddenly from the bright morning day into gloomy half-night, the copse thick with ancient oak and yew, leaves well obscuring the sunlight.

She walked for what must have been a few minutes, and what felt like an eternity. Eventually, she reached the center of the grove, what should have been the darkest part of it, covered by the canopy of it's greatest tree. Instead, she came back out under the clear sky, blinking away the sudden brightness of the harsh northern sun.

She paused to take in the sight.

A clearing in the middle of the old woods, snow and a light leaf litter the carpeting for this wildlands mimicry of an open courtyard. The center of the clearing was a great white expanse of wood, a circular platform of it raised a foot or so off the ground. Daenerys suddenly recognized it as the stump of a weirwood tree, the trunk of which must have reached into the sky before it was felled, judging from the size of what remained. And sitting in its center a figure of man, clad in a woolen jerkin and furs. For a moment the clearing was a silent and still. There was no sounds of animals. The northern wind, so famous for its incessant howling, made not even a whisper. Daenerys could have sworn she had walked into a painting.

Then, she took a single step forth, and her boot crunch on the dry snow underfoot. The sudden sound broke the spell of the scene, like some deep breath held in, suddenly exhaled.

A storm of black wings and whirling jet feathers, shrieking caws all around her, Daenerys startled and let out a small yelp as the disturbance blasted past her and then into the open sky above.

Crows. She realized, as she could now see their avian shapes winging away into the air. A veritable swarm of them had been perched on the boughs of the trees all around her not a moment ago.

"Quite rude of you, to surprise my little aides like so." a voice cut through her thoughts, a deep northern brogue, roughened even further by years of warfare and command- and all the yelling and screaming that came from both.

"You forget my title." Daenerys snapped out, then suddenly widened her eyes in horror. She had still not recovered from the sudden shock of the birds, added onto her already anxious mood; for a moment she had forgotten who she was here to speak with. The scathing remark just slipped out from long years of dealing with unruly lords who held minimal respect for a female liege.

"My apologizes-" she rushed to correct herself. He cut her off with a laugh.

"Do not. You are in the right here, my Queen. I had forgotten that I am still a subject of the realm. Too much time spent with the Free Folk, I reckon. You must forgive me, Your Grace."

She approached the massive weirwood stump. The moment still seemed surreal. It had been so long since they had last spoken. "There is nothing to forgive, my Prince."

He patted the pale wood in front of him.

"Please, come up and sit with me."

Daenerys lifted the hem of her heavy winter riding coat, and gingerly stepped up onto the weirwood stump. She noticed that set before the seated man was a small tin plate, commonly used by travelers, and on it a brown chunk of barley bread and sprinkling of salt. Her host- for now he claims the title of host of this woodlands court- gestured towards it.

"There is no need for this, I still hold trust in you. And beyond that, we are family." she appealed.

He looked up and fixed with a grim expression of determination, she recognized that same look from a thousand times in her memory and felt rush of nostalgia. Gods above, Daenerys suddenly realized that she had missed seeing it dearly.

"The world may now call me Jaehaerys Targaryen, Prince in the North, but in my heart of hearts I am Jon Snow, son of Lyanna Stark. And the blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks. I offer you guest rites because it is the Old Way, the way of my people. Take it, my Queen."

Daenerys bit her lip and swallowed back her rebuttal before levering herself down into a seated position. The little tin plate sat between her and the Prince, so much weight for so small a piece of humble barley bread. She let out a thin sigh and acqueised by leaning over to grab the chunk of bread, dipping it in the salt briefly before taking a bite out of it. She made a moue of annoyance, pouting through the chewing action, before swallowing the rough fare.

"Happy yet Jon?"

"Very much so Dany." he answered, a mouth stretched in a rare grin. He suddenly nodded his head at something behind her. "See who's come to greet you."

She turned around in time to see a white blur before she was bowled over, smothered in thick fur the color of freshly fallen snow. "Ghost! Get off me you great lump!"

Daenerys eventually fought him off and the beast touched his wet nose to her cheek before slinking around the alabaster wood to settle behind his master. She stared at the direwolf in mute awe. Ghost must be of a size with a full-grown bull moose, he barely fit on the massive weirwood stump. "Jon, how?"

"Aye, Sansa asked much the same last time she saw Ghost. The True North is a good place for great beasts- magic rings strong here, he might still be growing. Soon he's going to be feeding on bears." Jon replied, giving Ghost an affectionate pat on his broad hindquarters.

He proffered a wineskin to wash down the bread, and she as she took it from him she made a face at it. "Is this full of that damned awful northern mead?"

"Only the best for her royal highness, the Mother of Dragons." Jon leaned back onto Ghosts great shaggy flank, basking in the warmth of the summer sun as morning turned towards noon.

Daenerys watched him for a moment, before wondering aloud. "Why here Jon? The fallen remain of a weirwood tree so far beyond the Wall. Does this place hold some greater connection to your Old Gods that I know not of?"

Jon made a humming noise in the back of his throat, before sitting up to answer. "The wood is surprisingly good at holding heat from sunlight. Keeps my behind warm. But I like your reason better."

They stared at each other for a second, and then both burst out laughing. Their sudden levity rang out in the woodlands, prompting offending caws from the few crows that had returned to roost.

Daenerys wiped tears of merriment away from her eyes with the sleeve of her coat, and as she sat there finishing the tough barley bread and sipping at the sweet honey mead, Jon across from her relaxing on the bulk of a snoozing direwolf, the decade and a half that had separated them seemed to melt away. Gods, they had still been barely out of childhood last time they spoke.

Just as before, the illusion didn't last long. Daenerys spoke of dragons. "Tell me, Jon. How is Viserion? He didn't greet Drogon, and it has been so long since he's last seen his brother. Just as it has been long since I have seen my son."

Jon's expression made no change, but the mood shifted abruptly. The the little forest clearing seemed to grow colder. "Viserion is fine. He eats well. I give him free reign to fly, probably off in the Frostfangs at this very moment, hunting those poor mountain goats."

She kneads at the cloth over her legs. "That is good news." Jon makes a noncommittal hum, and Daenerys knows he suspects her. She continues regardless.

"There has been rumors in the capitol. Smallfolk spotted a dragon flying over the Gift, claimed it to be the size of a castle."

Jon waved her off lazily. "Those rumors are nothing new. Farmers always think they've spotted Viserion in the night sky. They mistake him for clouds. Last time he was the size of the Wall, and the time before that he was big as the moon." he laughed, but it was a hollow sound. Jon had always been awful at lying. "I told you, he eats well. The True North is a good place for a dragon."

Daenerys fixed him with a look. "Jon. The King dispatched a task force from the Citadel to investigate. A dragon expert, some prodigy named Maester Marwyn, tracked and sighted Viserion for months. Even found and measured his stool. He claims that the White Dragon is now bigger than Balerion the Black, maybe even larger by half."

Jon remained singularly uninterested, gazing up at the sky. Daenerys hesitated but a moment.

"The court caught word and spread the news like wildfire. It's bad enough that only two of the three remaining dragons serve the Throne, now that they think Viserion dwarfs his brothers, the King is under heavy pressure to bring you to court to make show your allegiance."

"He is the King, and Rider to Rhaegal besides. Surely he isn't threatened by a flock of nobles." replied Jon. Daenerys found her patience wearing thin.

"You don't quite understand Jon, you've only ever set foot in King's Landing once, and barely even stayed a day. The court whispers incessantly behind the King's back, endlessly comparing him to the legendary Prince That Was Promised. They have grown bold now that they believe you own a dragon greater than the Conqueror's." Daenerys dropped her gaze down, her voice to a whisper. "He resents you for that Jon. He hates you not just for the troubles you cause his rule, but because he feels you spurn us with your absence." The silence stretched between them, and all throughout the little glade.

She lifted her head up and found Jon staring at her with those piercing Stark eyes, grey like clouds heralding storm, grey like steel. "Tell me, Queen Daenerys, what reason you have to fly so far north and visit me for. I'm surprised the King allowed you to leave court for so long as to travel beyond the Wall."

Daenerys drew herself in sudden anger. "The King does not allow me anything. He does not command me, and he knows as well as I that I am the best option to-" she quickly calmed herself and gripped the thick cloth of her coat. "Don't try to rile me up, my Prince."

Jon nodded a silent apology. Daenerys sighed and relaxed her hands, preparing herself for her next words. "Jon, we want you to come south. To the capitol. You don't have to hold any position in court besides being representative of the North, and there is little to no responsibility in that, seeing as it's the most independent Kingdom from the crown."

Jon frowned. "You didn't have to fly up here to know my answer to that."

Daenerys had to try. "We just want you to be with family again, Jon. Sansa has her whole brood in Winterfell now, and I know she's brought the older ones to visit you. But in Kings Landing, there's a whole castle full of nieces and nephews you've never even met. Soon, you'll be a grand-uncle, and pregnant Rhaenyra has never even set eyes on you once." Jon dropped his gaze and started to turn away, but Daenerys would have none of it.

"Jon! Look at me!" he paused, but turned back to meet her eyes. "Your oldest niece grew up with a legend for an uncle. Azor Ahai, the Prince That Was Promised, Winter Dragon, the White Wolf, he who won the War for the Dawn. But she'll be a mother before you've even greeted her once. I can't help that she resents you. The younger ones don't even believe you exist."

"Daenerys, stop."

She leaned over to put a gentle hand on his shoulder. "Then come back with me. Come home." She left her palm there, lightly, lingering.

How long since Jon has felt the touch of another person? Sansa and I exchange ravens regularly, I know she's only been able to make the trip this far north twice. How many years has it been since Jon has known human affection?

Jon swallowed thickly, put his hand over hers for a moment, squeezed her small and delicate fingers with his calloused palm. Then, he slowly extracted her touch from his shoulder, firmly placing it back onto her lap. The motion seemed to take gargantuan effort.

"Winterfell is my home. And I cannot return even there, for I must remain in the True North, to guard the realms of men." Jon spoke unflinchingly, despite the emotion that tinged his voice.

Daenerys felt her fury return as fast as she had banished it. Dragon-blood never responded well to refusals, one of the great blessings and even greater failings of her family line.

"To guard the realms of men? Guard them from what Jon? We defeated the Night King, we threw back his army! Viserion lost a horn so you could bring down that creature. The War for the Dawn is won, winter is ended, and yet you still sit here, rotting on your stump!" she was surprised to find herself standing over him at the end of her tirade, face flushed, breasts heaving.

Tears in her eyes.

He rejected her touch. That had cut her more deeply than she could ever have imagined.

Jon remained seated, tilting his head to meet her eyes, his expression carved from stone.

"Not all the Others were destroyed, not all fell along with the Great Other, and not all of them awoke from their frozen slumber to march south with it. Winter is always coming, Winter will return. I must be here to meet it." Jon bowed his head. "Your Grace."

"You are delusional." She whispered, eyes wide. But soon shock was replaced by mounting anger. "You see enemies in the whirling of snowflakes. You sit here and waste away claiming some great duty, when the simple truth is that you're determined to mourn for your wildling women until the day you can go meet them in the next life. Which one is it? The redhead? Or the blonde one, V-"

Suddenly she was stumbling backwards, falling, caught only by the iron grip of the fist wrapped around her upper arm, Jon's face filled her vision, rage and grief fighting a civil war across his features.

"Do not. Do not dare speak her name." a low rumble filled the air as Ghost echoed his master's growl.

Daenerys simply stared up at him, their faces inches from each other, tears that had been welling up in her violet eyes now spilling freely in rivulets down her cheeks. And all ran across her mind in that moment was how glad she was- for he was willing to touch her again.

"You will remove your hand from my Queen, brother." called out a third voice.