I realized that I posted this story only on ao3 and not here, so here it is...
Summary: After Jon Snow killed Daenerys beside the Iron Throne, Drogon decided to burn him alive. But instead of eternal darkness, he was greeted with warm furs and a soft bed in Winterfell. Now Jon must find a way to keep his family alive. But there is only one month left before the arrival of King Robert.
He can no longer be a brooding bastard of the North, he has to become a player of the Game for the Iron Throne and ensure his family's survival and peace in Westeros.
The good thing is that Arya returned along with him.
With their memories of their previous life, they have a pretty good idea of how to fix things, unfortunately there is a complication…
It wasn't just their minds that woke up in the past… but their grown up bodies too…
(for those that didn't understand the last sentence: In most time travel stories it's only the memories that return, but here, Jon fully returned to the past. Meaning scars, strength, and that beard.) (lol, this shall be fun)
*don't expect this to be overly serious*
(Jon Snow)
He woke up with a gasp. The last thing he remembered was dragon fire engulfing him after he killed Daenerys. He was supposed to die. There was supposed to be nothing but darkness. Instead there was a soft bed under him and soft furs. And there was light coming from the window.
Last time he died there was nothing but cold and darkness, this time he felt warm. Perhaps it was the dragon fire. Last time he died in the snow and woke up freezing.
Jon sat up and looked around. This was not his room. It was Winterfell for sure, but it wasn't the room he occupied ever since he and Sansa took the North back from Boltons.
After a moment he realized where he was. This was his childhood room. There were some clothes slung on the chair. Clothes that were too light to wear in the North during Winter.
Why was he in Winterfell? And why was he in his old room?
He stood up and walked to the window.
It was sunny.
No, that couldn't be right. It was supposed to be snowing in Winterfell. Instead of cold wind there was a warm breeze, and instead of snow, there was dirt on the ground. As he looked around he realized that this was before the King arrived to the North. Before his family was torn apart by the war.
Were the past 8 years a dream?
There was a small mirror in the corner of his room. He looked at himself, and what he saw scared him even more.
His hair was longer than it was 8 years ago. He had a beard. And all his scars were there.
If his body was the same, then why was he in the place and time of his younger self?
There was something wrong. He didn't know how this was possible. But his scars proved that what he lived through was true.
When Drogon turned to him and burned him down, he expected to die. But here he was. Alive. And 8 years into the past.
He was terrified. Of course this might be a good turn of events. He could now save his family and prevent wars. But he had no way to explain that he all of a sudden looked almost a decade older than he did the day before. He wouldn't be able to explain his scars.
And if he told them the truth they would think he has gone mad. Or maybe they would believe him? He was living proof that he traveled through time. He also had knowledge of things he wasn't supposed to know.
For example he now knew the truth about his mother. He knew about the politics of Westeros. And he knew of Wildlings beyond the wall.
Ygritte. The thought of Ygritte being alive brought him relief. He always blamed himself for her death, and now he could prevent it. But he had no way to go beyond the wall without joining the Night's Watch. And he had no desire to reside at the Wall with the same men that killed him a few years ago.
The possibilities he had were endless. He could claim the Iron Throne. He could go North of the wall and live with the free folk. He could stop many deaths. He could kill all his enemies.
No.
He stopped himself. There was one thing he knew for sure at this moment. He had to stop the army of the dead. No matter what, he couldn't ignore the upcoming war of the Dawn.
To defeat the dead he would need a big army. He needed Daenerys' dragons.
Most importantly he needed to unite Westeros. And there was only one way to do that.
He would take his rightful place as the King of the seven Kingdoms.
He snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a knock on the door. He looked around startled. He found a shirt and trousers. They didn't fit him well, they were too small for him. But they would do for now.
Then he remembered that he now had a beard.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
That was the only thought he had in his head. How would he explain that he suddenly became older? He wasted his time planning his future instead of thinking of an excuse.
He heard the knock again.
It must be Robb. He would often knock on his door when they were children to go to breakfast together.
As he dressed himself he looked around. He had no knife. No means to shave off his beard.
He had no choice but to call out.
"Who's there?"
There was silence for a while before a quiet voice answered him.
"It's Arya you idiot."
He let out a heavy breath and relaxed a bit. He could find a way to buy her silence. She wouldn't go to her parents which would buy him time.
He slowly walked to the door. Dreading the moment he would open the door and face his cousin(sister).
The knocking stopped and once again he heard Arya's voice.
"Open the fucking door before I have to break through it."
Jon paused.
'Fucking door'? He has only heard Arya swear when they met again before the Long Night.
She would never swear before.
He unlocked the door and opened it.
The moment he lightly pushed it, Arya pushed herself through and slammed the door faster then he had time to react.
He stepped back and looked at her.
She was not a 11 year old as he expected her to be. No she was 18. She looked exactly the same way she did before he killed Daenerys.
So he was not in the past? Why did winterfell look like it did eight years ago if they were not in the past.
"Arya? What are you doing here?"
She huffed.
"You mean what are we both doing in the past?"
Jon blinked a few times.
"So I'm not seeing things? We are truly in the past?"
Arya rolled her eyes.
"Yes. I woke up in my old room after that cunt of a Dragon burned me."
Jon looked surprised. He was sure she would have run away from King's Landing.
"So he burned you after me? Then it explains why we are both dead."
"Yes but that doesn't explain why we are in the past."
Jon looked around once again.
He still couldn't believe that he was back in Winterfell.
But Arya was here. And she was also older than she was supposed to be.
If earlier he had doubts that he was truly in the past and that it wasn't all a dream, then now he had no doubts.
"Do you know if anyone else was brought back?"
Arya sat down on the bed and looked up.
"When I woke up I knew there was something wrong. I had to sneak into Robb's room to steal some clothes that would fit me. He was still asleep. So was Sansa and my parents."
She looked out the window.
"We are the only ones."
Jon sat on the chair that was standing not far from his bed.
"What are we gonna do? There is no way that we can explain how it is that we look older than we did yesterday. If I didn't have scars then I could shave and pass off as a 16 year old. But you don't look like a girl of ten and one."
She nodded. Arya was calmer than he stood up.
"We have a couple hours until breakfast. I suggest we go to father's solar and tell him what happened."
Jon snorted.
"There is no way that he'll believe us."
"He's not blind. He will see that we look older."
Jon bit his lip.
"That is if he even recognizes us."
Arya glared at him.
"I am glad that you finally have some sense of humor, but that will not help our case. We need our father to hide us somewhere. We can't be seen at Winterfell."
Jon stood up and turned to face the door.
When he died the first time at the Wall, he came back a changed man. He stopped being so boring and dull. He started enjoying life more.
After his death he realised that he had friends and allies.
And now he was back to nowhere. The only things that kept his memory of his past life fresh are his scars and muscle. His shoulders were broader and he could feel how uncomfortably small the shirt was.
He was no longer a boy of six and ten. He was a grown man who has seen battles and death.
"Alright then. Let's go tell father of our adventures."
Arya frowned.
"You mean your uncle?"
It was meant as a joke. but Jon knew that he would have to be careful with that bit of information. Arya's words served as a reminder that they didn't need to tell Ned Stark everything.
"No Arya. Father. He raised me as his son. And even if he is not my real father, he will always be like one to me."
Arya nodded and walked past him.
"We have to walk quickly. Follow me, and hope that no one recognizes us."
With that she opened the door and walked out.
It was too late to turn back so he followed her. He kept his face down and walked in the darkest corners of the halls that lead them to Ned Stark's solar.
He has faced Wildling, Ramsay Bolton, an army of the dead, he has been killed twice now, yet he couldn't stop the feelings of dread and fear.
Once again he felt like a small bastard boy, who had no power and respect.
He once again was Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell.