Jon Snow dies, again. This time though, he is given a chance to fix his mistakes of the past and see that his family does not suffer as they did. Armed with knowledge and skills far superior to what he had in the last life. He promises himself that he will stop the White Walkers from marching beyond the Wall.
Or, a time travel fix-it with Jonmund, dragons, and people living because these characters have suffered enough already.
Notes:
Hey guys, this is my first time writing for this fandom. Let me know if you have any feedback or just want to chat! Hope you enjoy.
Chapter 1: Death is a Start
Chapter Text
Jon Snow had died before and, unfortunately, it was not peaceful nor painless. It was agonizing, the people who did it only served to rub salt in the wound. His own brothers, who he would have done anything to protect. Olly, the little boy who Jon had begun to see as a little brother like Rickon or Bran. They had killed him.
He had known so little back then, he had believed that Eddard Stark was his father, had thought that the only threat they faced was White Walkers, he hadn't considered that the living were just as, if not more, dangerous. He had paid for these mistakes. He was sent away by his own blood, made to watch as those he loved grew up and away from him. Still he felt as though he hadn't done enough, everyone always speaks of how he died for his people, but Jon felt as though he hadn't bled nearly enough to fill the canyon of loss that had been carved by bodies and lives lost over years. The hundreds of thousands who had perished because of him and his missteps. They had bled and burned.
Distantly, he knew that he would have to die again. Melisandre had brought him back from the dead, but she did not take his ability to die. He could be hurt and therefore, he could die. The concept of death seemed far off to Jon. In all the years he had spent beyond the wall, he had thought little about his mortality. The idea of it came with the cracking of bones and fled on the wind with the laughter of children. He flew on the back of a dragon and fought against the dead and won. While Jon considered himself to be logical, it was a bit hard to face your death when you had overcome it so many times before.
Jon guessed that a bit of the distance that death was held at was because of where he lived. In the south, everyone was so concerned with their death. Desperate to breathe one more moment. In the North, it was different. He'd been beyond the Wall longer than he had been within it, had been living away from Winterfell and the rest of the south for almost thirty years. This time had changed his view on many of his preconceived notions. The Free Folk didn't see death as a tragedy, especially now that the Others were dead. They saw it as a new stage of life, one where you could be reunited with loved ones who had already passed. Jon didn't know if that was true, he wasn't lying when he said that he had seen nothing, but he had heard whispers. Low voices speaking in a tongue that he did not know. But he thought it was a nice idea, so he sat around fires listening to stories of lovers reunited beyond the veil and eventually started telling them himself.
Jon Snow knew he was going to die. There was something pulling him back, beckoning him across the bridge. He was not dying because of an attack, he was sitting down in his tent, Ghost beside him and his husband on a hunt. Instead it was more of a feeling, a sense of finality, of an end. Jon knew that if he fell asleep, it would be the last moment he would spend in this world. He tried to stay awake, even though it felt like there was an icy grip on him, forcing him to close his eyes and let go.. He didn't know how or why, by all accounts he was healthy. He was not sick or weak, nor was he injured in any manner. It was simply a settled feeling in his aging bones that told him that this life was coming to an end.
He wondered if the stories were true, if he would really see others when he died. Was it simply the fact that he wasn't meant to stay dead that he saw nothing? Would see his brothers again? He had never been able to give a proper goodbye to either of them. Robb was too far away to reach even after his death, and Rickon…Jon doubted that he would have wanted a goodbye from the man who had watched him die. The bastard who wasn't fast enough to save him, a little boy, from the cruel hands of one of Jon's own kind.
Would he see Lord Stark, Ygritte? His heart hurt when he thought of her. The fire in her soul and the sheer force of nature that she was. In a way he still loved her, though now it was more of a platonic love, fading with time and new love. He had mourned her, she was his first love and he respected her as much as he loved her. Tormund had not replaced her, but their relationship had lasted far longer than the tryst shared between himself and her. Ygritte's passing had hurt as much as Edd's, both haunting him as deaths that he knew he could have stopped if he had the foresight to do so. Often, he dreamed that the two of them were the ones to permanently end him. They both had blue eyes, but they knew who they were, and who he was. They both spoke words of hate and even though Jon knew it wasn't real, it still left him broken come morning.
He didn't know how he would react if he saw his uncle again. Would he be angry at him for subjecting him to a childhood of scorn? Why he let Jon think that his only path was a penal colony at the edge of the southern world? He had let Jon hope that his mother was still alive, only to find out that both of his parents were dead before he could have even opened his eyes. Or would he just be thankful to see him, the man who raised him. The man who had died younger than Jon was now. The honorable man who had met his end too soon.
Jon was brought out of his thoughts when he heard the telltale crunch of someone walking on snow outside his tent. The steps were heavy, and the rhythm revealed that Tormund had returned from wherever he had gone to hunt. He had likely brought back a fair amount of gain, some to eat and more to be preserved for the coming winter. The winds were picking up and the animals were getting fatter, it was clear that soon, the true cold would come to the North.
Jon closed his eyes for a moment, this was a goodbye that would hurt. The two of them had been together for so long, and had been more since the end of his first year beyond the Wall. Tormund had known him longer than any of his brothers or sisters. Had stood by his side through his most foolish decisions. He had waited for him at the Wall. Now, Jon was leaving him, again. It would be painful, but Jon would not deny his husband his last goodbye.
Jon steeled himself for what he needed to do as soon as he had resigned himself to the task, Tormund entered the tent and threw a rabbit to Ghost, who had elected to stay with Jon during the hunt, likely sensing that something was amiss. The wolf had refused to leave his side the entire day, whining and nuzzling into Jon at every opportunity, trying to get the last bits of love from his companion. The larger man plopped down across from Jon and opened his mouth to greet the both of them when Jon cut him off.
"I'm going to be gone soon," his voice broke but that was all he said. He spoke in the tongue of the Free Folk, as he had for years, the rough sounds of the language out of place with the tense pitch that came with being on the verge of tears. It wasn't an explanation, it certainly wasn't farewell, but it was all he could force out at that moment.
Tormund raised an eyebrow "What do you mean 'gone?' Finally gotten sick of me?" He laughed at his own joke. Jon frowned, he knew that they had long gotten past any stage of uncertainty, the two of them were in it for the long haul, and had been for almost seven and twenty years. Despite this, he needed to make it clear that Tormund was the person who he had stayed for.
"Never, I could never tire of you. You are the one that I love the most. I've done my best to hold it off but when I fall asleep tonight, I know that I am going to die. I feel a pull from the other side. This will be our last night together, please don't get Urma, she will not be able to do anything. Just…" Jon paused, he wanted to be selfish, to ask Tormund to hold him in his final moments, but he would not subject the man he loved most to look into the eyes of his dying love. It was already cruel to ask him to not fetch their healer, to not do anything about him dying.
"Crow, what are you talking about? You're not dying, you're just tired. Did Munda drop off her kids with you today? Those little hellions are a riot I'll tell you that, but they won't kill you," Tormund stated. Jon would not, could not die. He needed to see his grandchildren grow up, and needed to be at his side. Tormund was older than his little crow, there was no reason that he would die before him. The man was the strongest person that Tormund had ever met, beating back death itself countless times, surely he could do it again, even for just one more night.
Jon shook his head, his face was set. He was certain of this.
Tormund felt the ground fall out from under him. He was going to lose him tonight. He knew that Jon was a fighter, and that if his demise could be avoided, it would be beaten back to wherever death spent his time. He didn't know what he would do without Jon. He would continue being chief of course, watching as his children grew and their own children grew into their own people, but it would be empty without his crow. Tormund walked shakily to Jon and sat beside him. If there was no avoiding it, he would make sure that Jon would be loved in his last moments. Tormund would not leave him. He would do whatever his crow wanted to make this easier for him.
"Do you want me to get Munda and the boys?" Tormund's children loved Jon like he was their own father, and Jon loved them just as much in return. He watched them grow into their own men and women and he was there as they started their own families as well. He comforted Tormund when they had been adolescents and wanted nothing to do with their father. He had held his hand as Munda had given birth to her first child. He had cried the first time that Tormund's children had called Jon their father.
Jon shook his head "I don't want them to watch me die, frankly I don't want you to either. But I've known you long enough to know that you will not be leaving my side." Jon was lying, both of them knew it. He wanted for Tormund to stay with him, to hold him, he simply didn't want to be selfish. Tormund cursed himself for not helping Jon realize that he deserved to be selfish on occasion, and the fact that he would never get to now.
"You got that right crow. I'll stay here until I'm dragged away."
"I'll wait for you, on the other side," Jon said. "But don't come too soon, do not run towards death simply because I will be there. Stay and live, I won't tell you to move on because I know that you won't. Enjoy the years that you have, be patient Tormund, and…remember me?"
Jon said the last part as a question, as if it was an uncertainty that Tormund would keep him with him for the rest of his life. Like Jon already wasn't on his mind constantly. In his absence, Tormund knew that he would tell stories of his husband over and over again, until everyone in the North was tired of hearing them.
"I promise you, Jon I promise. But when I cross, I promise that you will be the first that I meet," Tormund stated. The two of them looked at one another and shared one last kiss, it was desperate, it was pained, it was knowing. This would be the last time that they spent together on this plane. There were no Red Priests to come and bring him back, it was simply Jon's time.
The two of them separated, faces wet with tears. With his last breath Jon whispered "I love you," before his eyes closed and darkness overtook him. The howling of a wolf and the sobs of a man were what followed.
Jon Snow was dead, once again. He was reminded of the strange sensation of death. It was a similar feeling of running into wall. There was nowhere to go, no more growth, no more development, just time standing still. But this time around, it was different. Instead of a never ending darkness, in front of him there were several figures. At first, he thought that they were his loved ones, his family, but the closer he looked at them, the more he realized that they were strangers to him.
Some looked almost unnaturally beautiful, tall and regal like Sansa had been when he had seen her last. They were confident, and appeared as though carved from stone. Others looked like the personification of nature, green skin and rough hair, they looked young, like children. They appeared to him like a memory of Arya before they had parted, wild and spirited. His eyes burned at the memory of his sisters. He refocused on those in front of him, all of whom were staring at him with purpose.
"JAEHAERYS TARGARYEN, YOU STAND IN FRONT OF THE GODS, OLD AND NEW. WE COME TO YOU WITH A PROPOSITION," the one in the center said this, his voice booming, commanding attention. He was the tallest of all of them, but that was the only real consistent feature about him, about many of them really. Their hair changed colors, reds and blacks, as well as yellows and browns flashed before his eyes. Their faces changed as well, thousands of different people staring at him, combined into seven bodies. The childlike figures seemed to be nonplussed by the others.
Jon cringed at the use of his true name, it was one that he had never felt connected with. Perhaps if he had known the truth sooner he would've taken to the name. But it felt as though it belonged to a stranger. Jon Snow was the man who he had grown into, Jaehaerys Targaryen was a man he had never met, and no one would ever meet.
"WE HAVE COME TO ASK WHAT YOU WOULD GIVE IN ORDER TO DO THINGS DIFFERENTLY?"
Jon started, what wouldn't he do differently? He had made many mistakes but there were a few things that he would want to keep, going beyond the Wall, meeting Tormund and Ygritte, getting closer with Sansa, and ending the White Walkers. But there was more he longed to fix, he wanted to see all of the Starks alive, make sure that Daenerys didn't burn King's Landing, he wanted Arya to stay the passionate wolf she had been. He wanted to let the world know about the Walkers sooner and save them from their deaths sooner. He opened his mouth to speak these words but it seemed that the gods had heard them before he could.
"AN ADMIRABLE GOAL. WE ARE WILLING TO HELP YOU REMEDY THE MISTAKES OF THE PAST. YOU WILL HAVE OUR SUPPORT AND AID. GIFTS YOU DID NOT HAVE PREVIOUSLY SHALL BE GRANTED TO YOU. BE CAREFUL JAEHAERYS, THIS CHANCE WILL BE YOUR LAST, USE IT WISELY. WHEN YOU WAKE WE SHALL CONVERSE AGAIN," the man in the center spoke again, the rest nodding along in support.
"What do you mean? I'm dead, I can't do anything," Jon stated. The women to the left of the man in the center giggled, a twinkling sound that sounded like wind chimes.
"You have come back from the dead before, you shall again. We will give you resources needed to help in your quest but we cannot influence your decisions or path. You will remember your life before and your skills shall stay with you." The woman looked at him, her gaze hardened a bit. "Do you accept? Do you take it upon yourself to make the next life better than your last?"
Jon hesitated before asking "Will anyone else remember, or will I be the only one?" The gods looked at each other for a moment. A more androgynous figure on the left stepped forward. They were one of the children, they had darker green skin than the others like them and had a bark like material for hair.
"We will be able to send back a few of those who will help you on your path. You must go now, we have kept you here too long already. You feel a pull when there is something you need to find. Trust your instincts. Live your destiny." Jon nodded and the child turned to the rest of the group, they set their gazes on him and then Jon felt himself falling.
He felt himself crash into his own body. He shot up, gasping. He looked around and it took him a moment to place where he was. Jon was in his old room. Not the rooms that he had as King in the North, but his old rooms. The ones in the serving quarters. Ones that had been burned in the Taking of Winterfell. The ones where he had spent his childhood before the wall.
He scrambled out of bed to find a looking glass, he needed to see exactly when he was. He frantically searched and found the glass that Sansa had gifted him before she had completely isolated herself from him. He snatched the mirror off of his desk and held it up to his face. Jon looked young, seventeen, almost eighteen. He looked around and found that there were no bags packed, so it must've been before they received word that Jon Arryn had died. As soon as he knew that Lord Stark was going south, he began his preparations for the Wall, knowing that Lady Stark would not stand to keep him in Winterfell.
Jon startled out of his thoughts when someone knocked on his door. He went to open the door when he felt as though he was getting stabbed. Through the door, he heard a voice that had been gone for almost forty years. "Come on Snow, Father says that we are to meet him in the Great Hall." Jon hadn't remembered Robb's voice, the tone fading with time spent away. The last thing that he had seen of his brother was a statue in the Winterfell crypts, and they did not serve to give any closure to Jon.
Jon fell to his knees, he was really back. He was seventeen, the Starks were alive, and nothing bad had happened to them yet. Jon promised to do his best to make sure that it would stay that way. .