“You are more North than anyone of those cock-sucking lords and ladies, crow. You fought alongside us against the dead. You died for us, and for that, you’ll always have a home beyond the Wall regardless of who sired you.” Jon’s breath stilled in his lungs when Tormund pressed their foreheads together. He’d seen other wildlings embrace like this before, but it had always been between family members. Warmth bloomed from the contact. Jon swallowed, willing his heart to be still so he could hear Tormund’s whispered words. “Jon,” The fire-kissed wildling said, “Not a Targaryen or Snow. Just Jon.” (Season8!AU where Daenarys does not burn down King’s Landing, Jon actually helps, and Rhaegal lives. Self Indulgent Fix-it.)

Jon finds himself wandering. His feet carry him to one of the battlements, snow coming down in soft-feathered waves that dust the rooftops. Winterfell is alive with light, windows glowing and chimneys smoking, and Jon can't remember the last time he saw it so full of life, walls still standing tall. This Winterfell has never seen a Bolton occupation, has never witnessed the march of the dead, the wrath of dragon fire. It is eight years before the fall of the Wall, and it feels like a dream. Jon still can't bring himself to completely believe it. Mance Rayder is not yet King Beyond The Wall, the Free Folk have not yet begun to gather, and what stories there are of White Walkers and the dead that walk are still only that, just stories. It has not yet begun, Jon thinks, dread sinking in his stomach. And then- It has not yet begun, Jon thinks again, the thought taking on a new turn in his mind. - Jon has been given a second chance, a chance to change everything.