A/N: Hey everyone. It's me with a new fanfic. After the ending of season seven, I honestly cannot begin to imagine waiting two years for season 8. So, to fill the time, I'm just gonna write my own version.

This story is how I would like Game of Thrones to end, based on the last seven seasons of set up. Who knows how much will be accurate but it should be fun. I do love these characters. Of course, it's written in a prose format rather than TV script, but you get the general idea. With that, enjoy!

A DREAM OF SPRING

Chapter 1 - Coming Home

Jon

In the past few months, it seemed like Jon had been everywhere but home. From the South, in King's Landing and Dragonstone to the North, far beyond the wall. But not home. Not the familiar walls of Winterfell.

For so many years, Jon felt out of place in the great Northern hall of the Starks. He was not a Stark himself, though he had Stark blood. He had family but he often sat away from them at meals. In comparison to Robb-the golden son and heir to Winterfell-Jon felt like a shadow.

He took the black because that was what shadows did. They went North and joined a new family where they could be of use. He didn't think he'd miss Winterfell but he did. He had missed his father. His brothers. His sisters. The Stark household guard. The Maester. Even Catelyn Stark and her scathing looks. It was familiar at least.

He had no idea how he went from the Bastard of Winterfell to the King in the North. From a bastard to a man of the night's watch to the Lord Commander to King. He had never wanted that much power. He had wanted a name, perhaps, but not a crown or a throne.

He was different from Daenerys in that way. She stood on the bow of the ship as snow fell all around her, the flakes blending in with the white of her hair. They tiny particles stuck to her cheeks for moments before melting away. She was blindingly beautiful. Even blind men could see it. And she had the ambition of hundreds in her heart. She was the kind meant to wear a crown and call herself queen.

If only he could make the North see that.

"Enjoying the view, Lord Snow?"

Tyrion's voice startled Jon. He gripped the side of the boat and turned away. "I don't know what you mean."

"Oh, you know perfectly well what I mean. You're not a stupid as you look. Most of the time." Tyrion circled around him, leaning up against the ship. He was wrapped in a thick fur cloak but clearly still freezing. "Pledging yourself to Danerys in front of my sister... now that was truly stupid. You really looked like Ned Stark's son then."

"I'll take that as a compliment," Jon replied.

Tyrion took a swig from a flask. "I'm not sure it was, but take it as you please."

"You shouldn't complain," Jon said. "You turned things around for us and convinced your sister to help. I am truly grateful." If not for Tyrion, the North and Danerys armies would be on their own. "Really, Lord Tyrion. Thank you."

"No need to thank me," Tyrion said. "Much as I'd like to give myself a pat on the back, I still have my doubts about Cersei."

"You think she's planning something?"

"She is always planning something. It's just a matter of whether or not that plan benefits us," Tyrion said. "One thing I can count on: she loved her children. Now she's pregnant and will want to defend her unborn baby. But, after the Army of the Dead returns to their graves...I don't know." He took another swig from his flask, this time longer. "I just don't know. It's very frustrating for me. Knowing things is half of my personality."

"And what is your other half?" Jon asked.

Tyrion smiled and raised his flask.

Jon couldn't help but smile. How he had loathed the dwarf when he first arrived at Winterfell. He called him a bastard and Jon, the angry boy that he was, wanted to knock him in the face. But Tyrion had taught him one of the most important lessons in his life.

Never forget what you are. The rest of the world will not. Wear it like armor and it can never be used to hurt you.

Being called a bastard was a very small problem now.

Tyrion nodded toward Daenerys. "You should talk to her. I find that women don't like men to be distant after love making."

Jon felt heat flush his neck. "I... don't know what you mean."

"Please, Jon Snow." Tyrion shook his head. "You are a terrible liar, and this boat isn't very big. Everyone knows what happened." He turned and started wandering back toward the steps. He stopped before going below and looked back at him. "Just...will you take a piece of advice from me?"

"I might," Jon said.

"Be careful," Tyrion said. "I can respect what you must be feeling. But she is a dragon. Treat her as such."

"You think she's dangerous? You're her hand," Jon said.

"Of course I think she's dangerous," Tyrion said. "All the best women and leaders are dangerous, Jon Snow. They cannot rule if they are not. Respect that. Or you will be burned."

Jon's mouth twitched. "She is not the first dangerous woman I have known, Lord Tyrion."

Ygritte passed through his mind. The wildling had been one of the most dangerous person he had ever known. She shot him with three arrows and still he went on loving her. He loved her even after she died. He never thought he'd feel such feelings stir in his chest again.

Yes, dangerous was a good word for her. But Jon liked that.

Tyrion gave him a nod. "I believe you. Now, I'm going below deck. I really cannot stand this cold."

Jon shook his head as he disappeared. Then he turned back toward the Dragon Queen. He took a deep breath and approached.

She was looking up at the sky as the snow picked up, her violet eyes almost enchanted. He opened his mouth to say something but she spoke first. "Did you know the first time I saw snow was when I flew my dragon to rescue you?"

"Is that so?" Jon asked. "Not a pleasant experience then."

"No," Daenerys said. "I'm glad to see it again now. It really is peaceful." She held out her palm and a few flakes dropped onto her skin. "In Essos, the climate is warm or blazing hot. I'm not used to these temperatures. But I imagined snow many times. I dreamed of it on occasion."

"I believe my name tells you my relationship with snow," Jon said.

"Yes." Daenerys smiled slightly. She had a wonderful, rare sort of smile. Usually her face was hardened steel, like a military commander. But sometimes it shifted and Jon had begun to live for those moments. "I can tell you're not used to warm weather. Perhaps that's why you wear your fur cloak even down south."

"I never thought I would have a need for warm clothing," Jon admitted. "The Night's watch vows are for life. I was sure I would die in the North."

"And so you did." Daenerys turned, reaching out to touch his chest. "A knife to the heart. Not an exaggeration, was it?"

Jon exhaled, resting his hand over hers. "No. Not an exaggeration."

He would bear the scars from his death for the rest of his life, but he hadn't thought about them much until Daenerys' lips had traced them a few night's previous. Now, they stuck in his mind. Those scars were his punishment for being a naïve leader. Like his father and brother before him, he had been killed. Unlike them, he was given a second chance at being a leader.

But how would the Northern lords like his choices? They had named him their king and he had bent the knee to a foreign queen. What would they think of him now? What would Sansa think of him?

Daenerys tilted her head to the side. "Are you all right?"

"I'm nervous, I suppose," Jon said. "It's been a long time since I've been back to Winterfell. A lot has happened."

"But you should be excited. Your brother and sister are alive," Daenerys said. "Returned home."

"And I haven't seen either of them in years. Sansa changed so much in that time. I know they have too." Jon exhaled. "But, they are still my family. I just... can't believe I'll see them again. It doesn't feel real."

Daenerys drew her hand away. "I'm happy for you." Jon didn't speak and she paused. "There's something else though."

"I do not yet know how the Northern lords will react to your presence," Jon said. "If they know I bent the knee..."

"I'd suggest lying," Daenerys said. "But I know you will not agree."

"I can't govern the north on deceit," Jon said.

Daenerys shook her head. "I knew you'd say something like that, Jon Snow." She rested her hand over his. "Your loyalty means a great deal to me. If you wish, I can speak to your lords. Maybe then they will see that I am not a conqueror."

"I should speak first," Jon said. "I'd rather not throw you to the wolves."

"You'll throw yourself, though," Daenerys said.

Jon shrugged. "I am a wolf. It's different."

He heard the ringing of bells in the distance and looked up. Through the mist, he could spy a large harbor coming close.

"White Harbor," he said. "We're getting close."

"How close?" Daenerys asked.

"A few days at most. If the weather is good," Jon said. "We'll ride the river as far as we can then go the rest of the way on foot."

"Very well," Daenerys said. "I look forward to seeing your home, Jon Snow." She turned. "I think I'll go below. I have not fully adapted to this cold yet."

"Give it time. Winter forces everyone to adapt," Jon said.

Daenerys' mouth quirked. "You know, I may be new here. But even I know that was a very Stark thing to say." With that she turned and left Jon standing alone on the bow. He stayed up there for a while, enjoying the bite of the wind, as they pulled into the bay. The air smelled fresher up north. Cleaner.

He was glad to be coming home.

Sansa

When Sansa was a girl, she never knew how much responsibility went in to being a queen or even a lady. She saw an endless parade of beautiful dresses and elaborate hair styles, not the line of accounts and planning. She read the stories of heroic princes without realizing how cruel and monstrous they could be. She looked back often on the naïve little girl of her childhood and pitied her for the hard lessons she had not yet learned.

Her life as the standing ruler of Winterfell was not all dresses and romance. However, she still did enjoy it. Though reviewing accounts and planning for the winter was tedious, she was good at it. Like her mother before her, she imagined. Now she didn't have to worry about Petyr Baelish lurking over her shoulder and the honeyed words that coated his poisonous tongue. Her thoughts were her own, and though she was mindful of the possibility of other plots against her family, she felt she could breathe. At least for the moment.

As she reviewed the accounts, Arya perched on a small desk, cleaning her dagger. The same dagger that had ended Littlefinger. Arya certainly worried Sansa, but in different ways. She didn't fear that her sister would plot against her. But the girl had a tendency to give Sansa a heart attack. Sometimes, Sansa would be answering letters and look up to see Arya had been in the corner for ten minutes. Other times, Arya would appear at her side when Sansa thought she was alone.

It was typical of Arya, honestly, to sneak up on Sansa. They always fought as children and Arya clearly got a childish sort of pleasure from seeing Sansa jump. She got a little grin on her face that proved as much.

Sansa didn't mind so much. It meant Arya was still her sister. Still the same girl behind her many faces.

"Five new shipments of grain today. We may survive at least part of this winter," Sansa observed, reading over the documents. "If only there was a way to predict how long it might last."

"Ask Bran." Arya looked up from her blade. "He can see everything now, right?"

"Yes, and because of that, he's not a particularly focused person." Sansa set down her quill. "I spoke to him about it. He can see into the future, but none of it is set in stone."

"I'm not sure if that's comforting or not," Arya said.

Sansa had to agree. So much about Bran confused her these days. He had helped them to see Littlefinger's full treachery, but on most matters he was so cryptic. He had hardly left the Godswood, sitting out there for hours at a time in his chair. She was so happy that he had come home...but he was only a shadow of their brother now. A shadow...or so much more. She couldn't tell most days.

"How is training going," Sansa asked. "Any improvements?"

She had set Arya to training many of the younger recruits, especially those who had never held a sword before. She would be a hard instructor, but a skilled one. Brienne of Tarth, since she had returned a few days previously, had continued drilling with some of the older recruits.

"The younger ones complained a lot at first," Arya said. "But then I scared them by changing my face and they haven't said a word against me since."

"Gods, Arya, we're not trying to scare them."

Arya shrugged. "Why not? If what Jon says about the White Walkers is true, we should all be scared." She flipped her dagger in her hand. "Fear can be a powerful weapon if you learn how to use it. I learned that many times."

Sansa looked up at her. "Are you ever going to tell me the details about your past few years?"

Arya sheathed her dagger. "Are you going to tell me yours?"

Sansa looked down at her hands. "Someday maybe." She exhaled. Her breath froze even indoors. "I understand if you don't want to speak of it. But no matter what you did. It wouldn't change my opinion of you."

Arya didn't speak for a long moment. Sansa assumed she wouldn't at all and went back to reading. Then:

"I killed Merryn Trant."

Sansa looked up. "Merryn Trant?"

"You remember him, right? One of the King's guard," Arya said.

"Of course I remember him. He was awful," Sansa said. "Joffery once had him beat me in front of everyone. I think he enjoyed it quite a bit."

"I'm sure he did. He liked hitting girls," Arya said. "I snuck into the brothel he visited. When I got him alone I killed him with a tiny dagger."

Sansa looked back at her sister. She could see Arya was testing her, trying to see how she would react. Would she recoil in fear like the old Sansa would? Would she judge her violent ways?

Sansa smiled. "Good. I'm glad. I hated that man."

Arya's shoulders seemed to relax. "Did you ever kill anyone we hated? I know you weren't responsible for Joffery. But anyone else."

"I didn't kill anyone myself," Sansa said. "But...I was directly responsible for one death."

"Who?" Arya leaned forward slightly.

"You didn't know him," Sansa said. "It was Ramsay Bolton. The man Littlefinger had me marry."

"Ramsay. He was the bastard you and Jon fought off," Arya said. "I knew he died. How did you kill him?"

Sansa paused before answering. Sometimes she couldn't believe what she had done either. And yet, she didn't regret it. It was a fitting punishment for him. "I left him in a cell with his starving hounds. They did the work."

For a moment, she could see she surprised Arya. Her sister, who had always seen her as weak and gentle, did not think she was capable of such things.

Sansa shook her head, turning her gaze back to her papers. "We've both changed Arya. And it's been a hard road. We've both done terrible things to get here. But we survived."

"We did," Arya said. "I'm proud of you. From what I heard of that man, he deserved it."

Sansa smiled softly. "And I think that is the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

"Don't get used to it," Arya replied.

A knock came at the door. Sansa straightened. "Come in."

The maester entered with a scroll in his hand. "A raven, my lady. The King has nearly returned. He'll be here before the day's end."

Arya stood from her perch, abruptly. "Jon is coming?"

Sansa almost smiled. Her sister almost looked like her old self then.

"Indeed, my lady, but not alone." The maester extended the note to Sansa and she unscrolled it to read.

"Who else is coming?" Arya asked, striding over to the desk.

"Many people," Sansa said. "Including Tyrion." She swallowed hard. "And the dragon queen."

"With her dragons?" Arya asked. Of course, Arya had always loved reading about the Targaryan conquests. When she rode a horse sometimes she pretended it was a dragon.

"I imagine so." Sansa set down her scroll. "The other lords of the North. Have they gathered?"

"Nearly all of them, yes," the maester said.

"Good. Then let them know of this news." She stood. "We must prepare."

A Targaryan was about to enter these halls for the first time in a long while. And dragons would cross the sky over Winterfell.

This was the first winter Sansa would truly remember. And what an auspicious one it would be.

A/N: That's all for now. Each chapter will have two point of views. Possibly more when we get into larger battle sequences. Review and let me know what you think and maybe give me your own predictions!

Until next week, happy reading