So we're finally here. Hope you enjoy.

I dwell in a lonely house I know, that vanished many a summer ago,
And left no trace but the cellar walls, and a cellar in which the daylight falls…

I dwell with a strangely aching heart in that vanished abode there far apart
On that disused and forgotten road that has no dust-bath now for the toad.
Night comes; the black bats tumble and dart;

It is under the small, dim, summer star, I know not who these mute folk are
Who share the unlit place with me— They are tireless folk, but slow and sad,
Though two, close-keeping, are lass and lad,—
With none among them that ever sings, and yet, in view of how many things,
As sweet companions as might be had.

from Ghost House by Robert Frost

Jon

❄️

Shortly after Sansa left, he received word that the southern Queen had taken Pyke from Euron Greyjoy, and it was now Yara, Theon's sister, who ruled the Iron Islands. He was surprised it had not taken long, and since there'd been no mention of her dragons, it was likely she had not needed their help. She seemed a formidable foe, and he wondered when she would set her eyes North.

It had not taken long in fact. Nearly a week later, he received a letter from a messenger who bore no sigil and he was grateful the man arrived during the evening meal, as no one noticed him.

His squire, a young man three and ten named Orwen, from Bear Island was smart enough to deliver the message after he'd left the Hall, and so he was alone when he read the letter.

To the King in the North, the Trident and the Vale Jon Snow,

As surely you have heard, I, Daenerys Stormborn of House Targaryen, the first of her name, the unburnt, Queen of Mereen and the Bay of Dragons, of the Andals and the First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, breaker of chains and Mother of Dragons, have retaken the Iron Throne. I write from Pyke, where I have reseated the Iron Islands, and Yara of House Greyjoy now rules.

I too have heard of your appointment in the North, and as rulers of neighbouring kingdoms, it is my intention to visit Winterfell, so we may meet. As a show of good faith, no Ironborn shall raid, nor step foot, unless requested, in the North so long as Pyke remains under my protection.

My messenger shall bring me your decision, and I will set sail when I receive it. Our families have a turbulent past, and I hope that we may speak of peace.

Queen Daenerys of House Targaryen

It was clear her visit to Winterfell was not a request, he knew she would come whether he agreed or not. He had no intention of denying her though, he'd known this day would come from the moment Littlefinger had mentioned her arrival in Dragonstone. Not wanting the messenger to linger in the North any longer than needed, he quickly fetched for paper and a quill, and had the boy wait so he could give the message directly to the man.

He did not know what to say, so he kept the reply short, as much as he could, deciding it best not to leave out her many titles.

To the Queen of Mereen and the Bay of Dragons, of the Andals and First Men, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, and Mother of Dragons, Daenerys Targaryen,

I and the North both welcome you by any road you choose, where you will be warmly received at any dwelling on your path. I look forward to our meeting, and to finding peace between our kingdoms.

King in the North, Jon Snow

He'd not heard from Sansa since she'd left, as he'd expected. He'd be in the dark as long as she was with Littlefinger, but he decided to send word to Ser Davos at least, that the Queen would arrive on Northern land soon. He did not go as far as asking him to return, though he had asked the knight to inform him how much longer the Riverlands needed his presence.

He sealed both letters with the Stark Sigil, and the boy set off when he handed them over.

He knew she would arrive before the next moon, and neither Ser Davos nor Sansa would return in time to receive her. He had not expected to be alone in welcoming her, but it would seem he had no choice.

That night he dreamt of the crypts in Winterfell, but this time when he descended, darkness turned to light, and soon he was bathed by the glow of the moon, and he was standing suddenly before the Heart tree in the Godswood, surrounded by people. Sansa was there, a masked Knight in gold stood beside her, and Theon Greyjoy stood to her other side. Ser Davos too was there, along with Tormund, and Gendry Rivers. There were people he didn't know as well; an older woman dressed in green using a cane, a dark-skinned woman with short curly hair and a fierce expression, a younger woman stood beside her, though she did not wear a dress. A young man stood next to whom he suddenly realized was Lord Royce, and to his left stood another man, older than the boy, and younger than the Knight of the Vale, with red hair, and tired eyes.

They were all looking his way, though not everyone was looking at him, some eyes were focused to his right, and as he turned to see what fixated them so, everything went dark again, and he was in the crypts once more. From the black, the glow of a flame suddenly appeared, and before him came to stand a woman dressed in red, though it was not Melisandre. Her hair was dark, but her eyes light, and she seemed to glide towards him.

"Everyone is what they are and where they are for a reason."

She reached out and placed her hand on his gloveless, scarred one. Her touch was like fire, but it did not hurt.

Her eyes bore into his as she spoke, "To wield her, you must love her."

He woke then, his burned hand aching, the room hot with the fire in his hearth. He threw his furs off him, and lay there, unmoving. He thought of his dream, and how through the years it was always the same, and yet it had now changed, and he knew it could not be for nothing.

❄️

The day she arrived, he'd been out of the castle, and practicing with his men in the yard for once. Gendry had been among those he trained with, and had improved vastly. Since he seemed to favour hacking, Jon had counselled him to try a warhammer, as Robert Baratheon once had. He had not been eager but now he wielded it with practiced ease. Soon, it would be time for him to swear fealty. Whether he was the son of the former King or not, Jon was glad he'd have him at his side when the true war came. He'd gotten to known the man, and trusted him, even counted him a friend.

He was about to return to the castle and clean up as the evening meal was being prepared, when he received word that she was seen on the Kingsroad and that she was on saddle and not in a carriage. He realized she would arrive in time for dinner.

Since his sister had left for the Riverlands, he sat alone at the head table, and unless she had kin he did not know of, it would be only the two of them. She was Queen, in the South but Queen nonetheless, and he thought she might be insulted if he sat her amongst his bannermen.

She had a garrison of thirty men only, and he informed the kitchens to add two tables to the great hall. When he was asked if they ought to dress the hall as well, as for a feast, he was not sure what to say. She was a guest and surely it was expected to receive her as such, but he also did not want to seem as if he were trying too hard to impress her.

So he nodded but said, "Nothing extravagant, if you would be so kind."

He bathed, and when his squire went out to set his clothing, he asked if there was anything he wished to wear in particular. The question took him by surprise, as the boy had never asked him that before. He'd known her arrival had been talked about within the castle, what he had not realized was that it seemed to be a bigger deal than he thought.

He felt ridiculous as he considered what to wear, and said, "I will wear black."

Orwen nodded, and when he dressed he noticed his squire had chosen a dark tunic though it was more grey than black and a leather doublet his sister had made for him before she left. The leather was supple and smooth, and it stitched up at the sides, instead of at the front, and it had a large white direwolf embroidered over his heart.

The next time he'd been approached, he was informed that it was time for him to head outside as she would arrive any moment now.

"Your Grace," His steward had said then, as he put on his cloak.

As he adjusted, he turned to the boy, "Yes Orwen?"

He seemed to hesitate, as if he meant to say something out of turn. Jon grinned.

"It's alright, spit it out."

"There is word that perhaps the hearths should be ordered to be extra bold, your Grace."

His brow furrowed, "Why is that?" He asked.

"Well, your Grace, this is Queen Daenerys' first visit to the North, and she's lived in the East, where it is hot..."

He trailed off and Jon understood the implication, again he smirked as he'd never even considered this.

"Have them raise the fires then," He answered simply.

The boy nodded, seeming glad of this command. He asked if there was anything else, and Jon nodded no, then he left. Once alone, he felt the pit in his stomach he had not realized was there and he left his chambers breathing steadily to try and relieve the pressure to no avail.

He stepped outside and saw that it was snowing; flakes cascaded from the sky steadily, and he knew it would not stop till the morning. In that moment, Ghost appeared across the way, as if he'd been waiting for him. When he stepped forward so did his direwolf, and as he made his way, he padded steadily behind him. Ghost would not leave him to welcome the Dragon Queen alone. When he reached the yard by the East Gate, he saw his bannermen there, including Lord Glover, and Lady Mormont, as well as his household guard, and the captains of his men.

He stood at the helm, and his friend sat at his side and luckily no sooner had they settled, the gate began to open.

As she rode in, a heavy hood hiding her face and body, four men rode in close behind her, their hair black and braided, of various lengths though all past the shoulder. Their horses were large and sturdy, and like the riders who sat upon them, heavy woollen cloths hung over their backs, and across their chests, likely they were not used to the cold either. Behind them, entered the rest of her party; a dark skinned girl with short hair that bounced as her horse moved, entered beside a thin man with the same skin tone, his hair impossibly short, and his expression serious and unafraid. Behind them entered the rest of her garrison, soldiers dressed alike in black, with helms that nearly covered their faces, and round black shields hung on their backs over their cloaks.

Her horse, white as snow, came to stop before him, and she descended with ease. As she turned to him, he caught a glimpse of her face through her hood and the fast descending snow, a flash of silver, pale blue eyes and a strong gaze. Once she stood before him, she lowered her hood, the snowflakes nearly disappearing as they fell into her hair.

He bowed first, and his people followed suit. She returned the gesture though her nod was tighter, and only the girl and her companion did the same. The four men with braids down their backs did not seem to be paying attention, instead their eyes seemed to linger on Ghost, whom he felt still calm at his side.

"Your Grace," he said looking at her. "Welcome to the North."

He could not deny she was beautiful. He could tell she was petite even despite her bulky cloak, and her skin was pale, though she had full lips, and a strong brow.

"King Jon," She answered, with a perfunctory smile.

"Thank you for your warm welcome. The lord of Torrhen's Square was a gracious host."

He nodded, feeling uncomfortable, as he was not used to dealing with Queens and Lords, nor being a King himself.

"Your journey went well I hope?"

She grinned, "It did, though it was the first time any of my men had seen snow, and felt the cold. One horse passed, that is why they are now covered. The Dothraki care deeply for their mounts."

"The stables are up the way, my men will take good care of them. And it is warm. As for your men, the guest house has been prepared for them, and a wing of the Great Keep has been prepared for you your Grace, I hope this will be suitable."

At his steward's behest, he had his household prepare Lady Catelyn's chambers, which he suddenly remembered were supposed to be the warmest in the castle. He'd tentatively advised Jon to move into the rooms of the Lord of Winterfell, which he only did as he realized what it would look like if she came to hear he slept in the small quarters he'd used as a boy. He was no great ruler, but he knew the importance of appearances, and if he hoped to get what he needed from her, he would have to play the part.

"Very much so, thank you King Jon."

He turned away from her and beckoned his squire over. Moments later the boy appeared and bowed timidly at her, to which she nodded back with a smile.

"Orwen, will you please show Queen Daenerys' men to the guest house so they may rest from their journey. Have Rohar take the horses to the stables."

"Yes your Grace," He replied before bowing to them both.

She turned to her men and spoke first to one of the four men, while another spoke to her, his tone questioning. She turned back towards him but glanced at Ghost.

"My men are curious about your pet," She started.

"He's not my pet," Jon said then.

"He's a direwolf, I found him when he was a pup, in the wolfswood. He's free to go as he pleases, though he usually comes back. His name is Ghost. "

She nodded looking at him for a moment longer before turning back to her men, and speaking to them in their unknown tongue. The man spoke again, but by her tone she refused whatever it was he wanted to know. He did not argue, and she turned to the other, more serious men. She spoke again, but the dialect was different, smoother, and more elaborate. They saluted all at once, and turned to his squire who waited to show them the way. As they departed, four of her guard, the young woman and the thin soldier remained at her side.

"I'll have someone show you to your chambers, your Grace. The evening meal will be ready soon. I can have someone fetch you whatever you need."

She nodded, but said nothing, only stepped forward as he turned. She walked beside him towards the Keep, though she did not hook her arm into his, and he was grateful.

Once they reached the keep he realized he was alone with only her and her escort, and though he did not believe she meant to kill him, he was grateful Ghost had remained by his side. He was not surprised none of her men nor the girl seemed to fear him, with dragons, a direwolf must seem like a pup.

When they arrived at the stairwell that would lead to her rooms, Winterfell's new steward, Rolan Kell, stood waiting.

"Rolan will show you to your chambers, your Grace," He said then.

She nodded and he lingered until she was out of sight before returning to his solar to wait.

Knowing the Great Hall would be hot he wore no cloak though he kept his gloves, and when the meal was ready he met her once more near the entrance of the Great Keep.

She had chosen to wear hers, though it was not the same one as before, it was thinner and the wings of a silver dragon held it together. Her dress underneath was crimson velvety and dark, and she looked all a Targaryen. Braids with small bells laced through them held her hair back, but it cascaded down her shoulders. Her sleeves ended at her wrists, but she wore short black leather gloves, leaving a sliver of skin exposed.

"I hope you are rested and everything was to your liking, your Grace," He said when she stood before him.

She looked him up and down, her eyes lingered on the wolf's head embroidered on his chest before she replied, "Yes thank you, your Grace."

She reached out then, and took his arm. He tensed for a moment, feeling her hand cover his bicep, but recovered quickly. They walked the path in silence, and by her tight grip on his arm, he could tell she was cold. He tried not to smile, but could not help it.

"What?" She asked, her tone inquisitive, having caught his reaction.

"I'm so accustomed to the cold, I sometimes forget others are not."

"As I am of fire," She answered coldly.

He was certain he'd offended her though he wasn't sure exactly how, so he said nothing and lowered his lips. They walked in silence the rest of the way.

It was quiet when they entered the Great Hall though not because it was empty; all eyes were on them as they approached the dais and no one so much as moved though he heard the murmur of whispers as they passed.

He tensed self-consciously and looked over to his companion wondering if she felt the same, but her face was still ice. She hardly seemed to remember him let alone notice the hush of the crowd and their peering eyes.

At dinner they did not speak much, as various people presented themselves to her. He asked her of her journey, and of Torrhen's Square, but not of anything else. The other matters were for another day. She accepted this as she brought up nothing either, only asked him of the weather and how his people dealt with it.

It was not until lady Lyanna made her introduction that Queen Daenerys' ire finally waned.

"You Grace," she said through near gritted teeth, bowing slightly before she began to turn to leave. She did not intend on introducing herself that much was clear. Jon wasn't sure whether to be embarrassed or amused by her brusqueness but it seemed the Queen chose the latter.

"And who are you?" Daenerys asked, grinning.

She turned back, and did not hesitate, "Lyanna of House Mormont, Lady of Bear Island."

Her smile faltered for a moment, he only caught it because he'd been trying to gage her reaction. Her expression softened suddenly, and her lips turned up, though it was more bittersweet than joyful.

"I knew- know," She corrected herself, "Your relative, Ser-"

"My uncle betrayed his vow the day he tried to sell his own people. He is a slaver and a traitor."

She sobered once more, "That he was. But people can change, and sometimes forgiveness is more important than our pride."

It sounded as if she knew it all too well, and though he had heard of the exiled knight and had always seen him as a vile man, it seemed she did not share his judgement. Lady Lyanna seemed to realize this as well as she said nothing.

Queen Daenerys seemed to remember herself then, and with a flutter of her eyelashes she was indifferent once more.

"Perhaps someday you will meet him and see him for the man that I know him to be."

The girl bowed, this time more deferentially, looked at him for a moment and then left.

She lingered a little while after the meal was done, and they sat in silence watching those around them until she finally spoke.

"There are many great matters I wish to speak to you of, though I suppose tonight is not the night. In the morrow."

He said nothing, only nodded, the notion filled him with dread of what was to come. She was kind enough to pretend she had not noticed, and changed the topic of conversation instead.

"If you would be so kind as to ask your household to keep my hearth hot, I would be grateful. It seems I am not quite accustomed to the cold."

"Of course, your Grace. I will ask them to do the same for your men and their horses too."

She was not sure if he was teasing her or not, but he did not seem the type so she said nothing of it.

"Thank you King Jon," She answered, standing.

He followed suit and the hall grew quiet, "I'd be glad to accompany you back to the Great Keep. I think I will call it a night as well."

He turned to the people before him and bid them goodnight, and she did the same. When he turned to leave, he felt her hand hook his arm, and he stilled for a moment before he lead them out. He could not deny, he was not accustomed to leading a lady out, let alone a Queen.

When they were inside the Keep, he bid her goodnight, and she thanked him for his hospitality before returning the words. This time they turned at the same time, and he did not look back.

Once inside his own chambers, he did not forget to send message to keep her hearth hot, while his in turn burned low.

That night he dreamt again, but not of the godswood. He descended into the crypts as he usually did, and in the darkness appeared light. But instead of the woman in red, it was a young man who approached but he held no candle, the light instead seemed to radiate from him. It was then that Jon recognized his face. He was much older than he'd last seen him and though he stood on his two feet, Jon knew it was him.

His brother Bran.

a/n: So I hope I did their meeting justice. I know it wasn't love at first sight, but trust they'll get there. Let me know what you think.

I also wanna thank everyone who's reviewed, especially for that last chapter, you guys are too kind!