When the sun had gone down, servants settled down for the night, the livestock snuggled, guards switched places, Davos and Sam held a mini book club, and Agnes found her way into Podrick's bed. Meanwhile Sansa and Jon stood on the elevated platform that overlooked the empty courtyard. Since they had slept for a day, their routine had been wrecked, so they stood wide awake in the dead of the night. Sansa shuffled her feet, moving her petticoats about. A comfortable silence consumed the two, filled with listening to the howling wind, and watching one another produce condensation from their mouths. When they realised what they were doing, they both grinned coyly and returned to adjusting their furs about them.

"Erm...I have something for you." Jon rumbled awkwardly at the fencing.

"I bet you do." Sansa stopped fiddling and turned to him, inquisitively. A blue rose materialized in his hand from within his furs. She stared at it amiably, a sweet delicate favour in such a strong leather clad hand. The Queen took it slowly from him as if it might catch fire. "Thank you, your grace." She tickled her philtrum with it, sniffing it daintily, tempted to let her tongue taste the frost on it. What's with the fascination with touching flecks of ice? She recalled in her younger years just staring at it with wonderment, and sighing. 'An enchantment.' And then she recalled a younger Jon unleashing Arya like some wild beast, to trample and thrash about on the virgin snow, and dust every frosted surface. "It's lovely, your grace." She rolled the stem between her thumb and forefinger, so the rose spun prettily.

He bobbed his head courteously, wrapping his fur back around him. "Good." He returned to staring down at the courtyard, but she could tell he was secretly pleased with himself. And so he should, Sansa was a sucker for someone who gave her flowers.

"Shall we stroll?" She indicated to the path ahead. Her husband smiled absently and aligned himself with her, so they could walk two abreast. They toured the battlements, not realising they were both looking for the same thing; dragons. Their eyes were drawn to the skies, enduring flakes to the eye so they could watch out for wings. "What does dreaming of dragons mean?"

Sansa saw him shrug. "We're obsessed with dragons, it's funny how we all see the same thing...want the same thing." His eye lingered on her a moment before looking up again. "Or maybe I have an intense phobia of dragons, they always hurt me in my dreams."

"-No, I've been thinking...I believe the dragon was bringing you to higher ground, to protect you." That was how she assessed it, not everything was horrible about that world. "It's funny how we're still referring to the world as our dreams, when we have no control, and it exists outside of our own mind...it's a place. An actual place." She grimaced, that was enlightening, but horrible.

"Why are you always a wolf?- And why am I always a boy?" It didn't sound like he was asking her directly, for no one could answer that.

"Bran said it's because I pine for the innocence of my childhood as a Stark, I have no voice, because I chose not to use it..." She huffed, as if she doubted that. "I want to speak, I try to speak...I suppose it's to do with the expectations of my sex, women should be seen and not heard...Though it might not be as deep as that, it's probably something to with being honest with myself."

He had that strange smile gracing his manly face. "Gods Sansa, write this stuff down in your book." She returned his kind smile. "You're allowed to speak whenever you please, be as noisy as you can, Sansa."

"Charming." She scoffed, and he steered himself in front her, they bumped, she nearly took a bite out of his nose. "Oop."

"I want you to sing like you used to, giggle when you talk to your friends or your handmaidens..." He was staring into her soul again, his eyes were as fascinating as marbles. "...Fret over every scratch you see on anybody, especially me..." She didn't want to interrupt, she didn't want him to stop talking. "...watch you savour lemon cakes." She tinged at that. Enough, oh my... how was she to eat lemon cakes without...? "- watch you read your books, while I read you."

"Read me?" She frowned. "I must learn to contain myself. " Sansa suddenly remembered something, it burned into her mind and came out of her mouth like an ancient spell. "Never let anybody be certain who you are or what you want, they cannot know what you are likely to do next. Best way to baffle them is to make moves that have no purpose, or even seem to work against you. When you come to play the game." She noted her husband stare at her a little harsher than before.

"Game, what game?- I'm your husband you don't have to... baffle me, or plot. Who have you been talking to?" He was shrewd and edged towards her as if to impose himself on her. "Sweetheart." He cupped her face, and she remembered whom she was talking to, and whom she had quoted.

"Forgive me, an old lesson I was given when I was young and impressionable."

"You're still young and..." Careful. Jon tipped her head and lay a lingering kiss on her forehead, he drew back and focused on her mouth."Who taught you this lesson?"

Her mouth went dry, a name she should not speak, once somebody knows the man, they will be part of their dangerous game. "Someone I thought was a friend. Someone I was foolish to trust."

He nodded and gave her some space. "I see." Had she disappointed him? They returned to touring the castle, she thought she had escaped the question and avoided aggravation, but he pressed her again. "So this person is your foe, then he is mine as well...who is he?"

"Lord Baelish?" She said it in way as if not sure Jon would know who he was.

"Littlefinger...foster brother of your mother." He retorted gravely. "The man who gave up custody of you and gave you away." He knew. "You're right...he is a foe, next time I see him, I will try him."

Sansa halted him. "It won't be easy to do that. Plus, we might find him useful."

"No."

"No?"

"No." Jon was firm. Boy was he firm. "I don't find untrustworthy men useful. If a man teaches you something like that, he obviously follows his own lessons." He threaded her arm through his. "I will never leave you alone in his presence." And he half strolled, half frog marched her to their rooms. As they entered, they noted the fires had been lit in both chambers. "Excellent, I can go about the next part of my plan."

"What did I say about getting worked up?" His wife chided him, quickly slipping her arm out of his. Sansa placed her rose on her hope chest.

"Oh silly wife, I intend to bathe." He disappeared into the other chamber to pull the copper bath in front of the fire, he gave her a lopsided smirk from the distance he was at. "You're the one with the dirty mind, sweetheart, not me."

She was abashed, and was about to saunter out. "I'll see if I can hunt you down a squire."

"A man needs no squire to bathe!" Jon called from the other room. "I'm used to washing myself."

"I meant to fetch and heat the water, you can't expect to do that yourself." She edged to the door, in case he wasn't decent, she saw him just setting up things in the room, Sansa relaxed and wandered in. "I'm sure there's still servants up."

His back was to her, lining the metal up to the rug edge. "When I was growing up- I got my own water ready sometimes. Perks of being a bastard."

She had a fleeting image of him as a boy, walking down a hallway being weighed down by a bucket. Oh yes, he did used to get his own water. "Perks?"

He glanced around when he realised she was in the chamber with him. "Yeah, I didn't want any squires looking at my equipment."

"Oh so crude." She tutted, and vacated the room so she could settle at her desk. "Perhaps watching you exhaust yourself will tire me out?"

Jon sniggered, and returned to the bed chamber. "That's one way to do it." And he disappeared from their rooms with a couple of buckets.

Sansa knew how long it took her maidservants, so she gathered if Jon was a strong and energetic as he was, he would do it in half the time. But she knew the time it took to heat up the water always stayed the same no matter who was doing it.

He made about 10 trips in and out of the room, and every time he got faster. She noted he had a system; while heating up two pales of water, he would fetch another two from the basement wells. Which was a far cry from his childhood when he used to carry just one pale with both hands. On his final trip he returned with ice and snow, how resourceful. Her burly but lean husband didn't come out of the other chamber, and she realised he was probably done with the physical aspects of preparation. Physical aspects of preparation...why does that sound dirty? She heard the telltale rustle of clothing, followed by the splash and slop of water. He had forgotten to close the door...

Erm. She'd better rectify that...later. He was out of her sight, and she was comfortably seated in her chair, so she could just write away her insecurities. She picked up her quill and began to reflect. But it was difficult, she could hear the rubbing and frothing of soap, against skin. And one of her eyes began to involuntary twitch and her quill fell out of her hand, it wasn't necessarily his ablutions, but imagining the casual nudity, that...caused her loss in motor skills. But you can't see him! Sansa looked towards the doorway, the light from the fire cast a rectangular square into her rooms. She stared intensively at the light, watching it flicker, feeling it's warmth- 'Plop! Thud! Slip.' A bar of soap clattered onto the boards in her line of sight and slid out into the rectangular light. She blinked at it, startled.

"Shit-Whoops." She heard her husband announce to gods know who? There was a sense of annoyance that she had been present when the incident had occurred, ignorance was bliss. She wouldn't be sweating if she hadn't been here. He was either going to climb out and fetch the soap, or- "Sansa? Would you pass me the soap, love?"

Oh but of course...he would go for that option. Maybe if she kept quiet, he would think she was not there, or asleep? She kept silent, staring at the soap. How evil. She heard him incline in the bath, and she listened to some of the water spill over the side onto the boards.

"Sansa?"

She could taste blood, she had bit into her lip. "Yes?" She forced.

"Do you see the soap on the floor?"

Pause. "Oh...yes, what's it doing there?" She fained surprise.

"Pass it back to me."

Sansa arose from her seat, and ventured to the doorway, but didn't look through the doorway. Soon as she got to the soap, she kicked it into the room towards the bath, she heard it clang against the metal, she hoped he would reach out of the bath and get it. But upon quick inspection he had his back to her. She would have survived passing it to him normally. Not only that, the soap had ricocheted off the tub and went further into the room. He inclined to her, his shoulder blades moved with the muscles in his back.

"Who was that to?" Jon had an incredulous tone. "Put it in my hand."

She huffed and marched into the room, and avoided looking at any part of his anatomy. Sansa stooped, retrieved the soap, and turned to leave, she expertly dropped the soap into the bath on the way out, completely missing the waiting hand.

"Sansa!" He was sharp, and she didn't acknowledge him. "What did I do?!" He sloshed about, obviously trying to salvage the bar from the depths of the tub. "You've got a real attitude, you know, was that too much exertion for you?"

She swivelled in the doorway, clutching at the frame. "I'm not a squire." She said simply, staring at his head and shoulders, he turned his head as if sensing the gaze. "I was in the middle of writing...don't get so zealous with the soaping- and you could have prevented that little mishap...and for my attitude, sorry, if your wife frightens you." The little snuffle she heard she knew was internalized laughter. She thought that would be the end of the discussion.

"Before you settle down, could you wash my hair?"

"What did I just say?" Sansa shot, burning holes into his shoulder blades.

He sucked in air which dried his teeth. "I'm asking you as a husband to a wife; could you wash my hair, please?" He sensed her still lingering by the door. "I washed out your hair."

"I never asked you to."

He maintained his masculine rasp even when coaxing. "Come on, love...You might find it hypnotic, relaxing..."

"Sensual?"

Jon turned his head, and she dipped her own, abashed. "You said it, not me." He did a jarring hair flick, to remove his hair from his face. "Come on."

The Queen pulled up a stool, it was a tiny stool, normally reserved for handmaidens attending to bathing rituals, that, and the milking...of cows. She perched on it, and managed to split her skirt clad legs to either side of the bath, she had to pull some of it to her knees. She looked at the moist back and its accompanying muscles. Sigh. "Is this what these buckets are reserved for?" She noted 2 pales of heated water.

"That's right."

She was studying the volume of black hair, damp at the tips, and curling slightly. She cupped some of the water in the pale to give his crown a good dowse. "Where's the hair oil?"

"A man doesn't need hair oil."

"You mean you just rinse it with water?" She was irked. "So what's that smell?"

"Oh that pleasant smell, you mean?"

She expected him to list herbs. "Yes."

"Man, Sansa, the smell of man."

Dammit, she walked right into that. "I see...you could at least-" She toyed with it. Oh my gods...you probably shouldn't do that. It had a profound affect on her, and her husband, he seemed to tip his head back, leisurely. "I'll... get some oil, you can use mine." She stood and went over to the mantel, on her trip she felt a hand stroke her skirt in passing, but ignored it. Sansa seized her bottle, forgot herself, and turned to look at him. Oh lord. It was probably a mixture of sweat and water that gave him a sheen, even the face, the neck...and the ripples of muscle everywhere else- torso, arms- wet wet wet. While still taking in the wonder...she tipped the bottle to empty the oil into her hand, and missed her hand, and it splatted on the floor. Dammit.

Jon who had been watching her, snorted at the mishap. "Focus, love." He elaborated very cockily, his hands playfully rapping the sides of the bath. "The floor isn't a useful place to put it." He emphasised 'to put it.'

Luckily, the murky water obscured the areas that probably would have sent her whole body into spasm, through fear most likely...and nothing more. Her husband's legs were completely submerged, so she figured he had them crossed...That's until he uncrossed them, and bent them out of the water. Knees!...Right, that's enough observations! She motioned behind him, back to the safety of her perch. Sansa oiled up her hands, and lathered up his hair. The water got higher as he sank down, partly laying in the tub, but kept his head out, for her ministrations. His abdominal muscles disappeared within the murky depths. And good riddance...don't need that...little...distraction. The chesticles- well whatever they're called- she was sure she will remember in time the actual name, but whatever they were- remained in sight. Them, and the collar bones. She continued to zealously rub into the hair, fingering through it, messaging the scalp. Pectorals! That's it, they're called pectorals!

Jon expelled air through his nose, with such force it was audible. It moved the water, a little, drawing her attention back to the chest area, which was rising and falling gently. His hands moved from clutching the sides of the tub, to sinking into the water.

She moved a spare bucket under his head and hair ready for the rinse. "I'm just going to get a goblet, so I can do this without emptying the entire bucket in one go. Besides I doubt I'll be able to hold it up and control the spillage." She moved into the bedchamber and retrieved a wine goblet, and came back to her husband's side. She began to scoop cupfuls of water to dump over his hair, masking his brows and eyes as she did. The weight of the water making his hair straight and longer than it was. Sansa felt his eyelashes tickling her palm that protected his eye area. She then started to manipulate the hair to squeeze out the soapy water. She thumbed along his hairline and over his ears. He looked up at her over him at that point, those soulful eyes boring into hers, and she severed it to fill another cup. "Turn your head to one side." She guided it, and he looked towards the fire, she soaked and treated the hair at the back, but used the opportunity to look at his bearded jaw line and neck, she saw his adam's apple shift. "And turn your head the other way." Yes, that side looked just as...alright.

The Queen saw his hand come out the water with the soap, he arched himself slightly out of the water, his torso coming back into view. What is he...? And he started to rub the soap slowly over the bumps, like it was some washboard. Cuss, cuss. She was squeezing handfuls of his hair to the rhythm of the rubs. He started to make circular motions over his skin, it was foaming up over his leanness. When the hair was sufficiently wringed, it began to naturally curl again. She released the damp tresses, it was like releasing herself from bondage as she rose from her seat, with an exasperated sigh. "Done." The height did her no favours, she could see more of the gleam, and he was not really focusing on what he was doing, that was a shit load of soap on there. Jon was watching her, carefully, then a small trace of a smile slowly formed on his dewy face. He was doing this for entertainment, was he was doing this for her?

"Are you?"

There was a void of silence, which could not be casually ignored, since they were essentially staring at one another recklessly. She was foolish not managing her facial expressions, or not trying more sneaky subtle glances- she had gotten sloppy, like a man. Ogling. And in true fashion of a man, didn't care if someone witnessed the ogle.

It was only her and him, and by now he had to know the influence he had. That scared her to the core, no one should have that kind of power, and she had been enchanted. Witchcraft. Perhaps the witch had dropped something in the wells, poisoned the water, or the oil she used? Maybe...the soap? She could put an end to this spell."You're right, I'm not done."

The soap froze on his abs."Huh?"

Sansa picked up the left over warm water in the bucket, and dowsed his body with it, especially the chest- oh and the face. While he coughed and recovered, she slammed her hand on the bottom of the bucket to expel the drips. "Done." He made a lurch and she tried to dash away, but he caught a handful of her skirt. Sansa halted with a gasp, so he wouldn't tear the fabric, but she did tug, to try and lean away. "Noo." He started to get out of the bath, using her lower half to climb up. "Oh my gods!" It was straining the seams of her dress, she could hear them creak. "Jon!- Don't you ruin another one!" He was wet, so her dress was getting soaked. She put her hand to the floor, to lower herself, to take the pressure and weight off of the middle of her dress. But she was putting herself in a vulnerable position, considering she was now sprawled on the floor, with naked man now climbing on top of her. She lifted her head, to see him still dragging himself up of her, his damp stubble skimming her chest before drawing level with her face. Sansa couldn't read that face, it was heated, but vexed. It hovered over her, dripping onto hers. His wet curls curtaining her. She must have looked in awe, because he had no trouble deciding whether to kiss her or not. It was bruising, the kiss and body contact, but that was probably the weight bearing down on her. To get the pressure off of her legs, she opened them and he fell between them.

Jon's head came up then, sensing the change in position, he stirred. "Can I bed you, Sansa?" He rasped, his face almost duty-bound. There was no air getting in her lungs, she was gasping, he realised and did a push up, to lift him off her chest cavity. "I'll try and be gentle..."

She was a little flustered, and alarm was all she could convey. All that came to mind was -maybe, that's a step in the right direction, but you can't tell him maybe. "Tomorrow...my love...tomorrow." She managed breathlessly, feeling a mental and literal weight lift off her. There was a void filled with uneasy breaths, then a rumble erupted from him, as he peeled off of her, his expression was hard to read, she observed he was disappointed, perhaps a little spurned, but he didn't press the issue- she gathered he was hopeful, since she had given him notice, which was what he had asked for.

Sansa averted her eyes as he stood, she nearly saw it. She rolled onto her side to clamber up, her dress rustled, and her legs shook as she rose to a more lady like position. The Queen furtively inspected his demeanour from the corner of her eye. He was standing straight, looking down into his bath. Jon then combed his hair back. "Good...good." He rasped. From the corner of her eye, she could make out another shape, she reddened. "Tomorrow it is." He added, and she could tell from the tone he was smiling.

She shuffled out of the room, feeling wounded and damp...everywhere. "I'll give you some...privacy." It was a little pointless, but something told her he would probably utilize the privacy for a more intimate activity. When she reached the bed, she swooned and collapsed onto it.

A review would be magic.