Dragonstone was a place he never thought he'd set foot on, but the moment he did it was like something in him changed. He had never been south of Winterfell, not that he could remember, and the journey itself had him seeing sights he had never seen before.

Least to say, Jon was impressed as impressed as he could be, for a northerner, when he saw the massive dark castle and the volcano. A long time ago, he once had dreamed of dragons in flight, burning down to the ground like large balls of fire.

The worst of it all, in his opinion, had been not being able to leave, to go back to Winterfell the second she rejected his offer of an alliance. He wouldn't bend the knee, she wouldn't help if he didn't bend the knee, and now he was stuck in a stone floating in the middle of the ocean, so far away from his home.

It didn't feel as cold as the North did, but he enjoyed the cool breeze nevertheless as he settled on a balcony, watching as one of the dragons, the green one, settled down to rest on one of the large cliffs. The low temperature was a welcome change, for once, and it reminded him of Winterfell, of Sansa, who he only hoped was doing fine.