The horses and the mule showed signs of unease as the wind bit into them. The rain seemed to be due to fall within the next few minutes. Near the cave entrance, Jon spotted a spot to shelter the animals as best as possible. Walking them over, he tied them up just as the first raindrops fell. Aware that he had little time before he would be soaked to the skin, Jon quickly moved to remove everything from the mule and horses. It didn't bother him; he had spent too much time in the open, and nothing could compare to the rain he had experienced in the haunted forest on his way to meet with Mance.
Jon hoisted the panniers over his shoulder and placed them at the cave's entrance. Discovering a steel pot had been packed, likely for situations like this, he positioned it alongside the other items. By the time the horses and mule had been unloaded and everything arranged at the cave entrance, Jon was soaking. His clothes clung heavily, and his hair was plastered to his face. Hauling the remaining items inside the cave, Jon realised Sansa must have brought some of them in herself. This was obvious as he saw her, also looking soaked through and shivering.
"Hopefully, there are some spare clothes." Jon suggested, but Sansa didn't appear convinced. "Take your dress off and use the furs to keep you warm while your dress dries by the fire. I'd offer you my cloak, but that's even wetter than yours."
"It is only my cloak and some of my dress. I've got three layers underneath, which are all dry. It is you I'm worried about."
"I've had worse." Jon said, taking his cloak off and tossing it over a rock to let it dry. "It is warm in here; my clothes will dry out soon enough."
Jon undressed down to his tunic and breeches. They were still damp, but they wouldn't take long to dry out. Sansa had removed her cloak and dress but was still wearing three shifts. The cave was warm, so they wouldn't freeze, and neither felt overly embarrassed, having shared a bed that morning wearing significantly less clothing than they had on now.
The panniers yielded no spare clothes, but they found some blankets kept in animal hide, which had escaped the elements. A large pot was also present, allowing them to boil down the fat from the sheep if they needed any for torches. Several cushions were packed, providing a reasonably comfortable bed. Jon found pitch and cloth, perfect for their adventure.
As the rain set in, it became clear that it would last for at least a day. An overnight stop, perhaps even longer, seemed inevitable. Ghost had hinted at such a need with the amount of meat he had brought for them.
Sansa, inexperienced in rabbit skinning, watched Jon complete the task in less than a minute. Deciding there was no need to teach her at the moment, he observed as she took it upon herself to build a spit for the fire, preparing to roast one of the rabbits.
"Do you think they might search for us if we don't return by nightfall?" Sansa inquired, her voice carrying a note of concern.
"It depends on the storm. If it continues like this, I doubt they'll expect us to return. There were worse storms north of the wall. Tormund and Ygritte will reassure them we are alright, and how well equipped I am to look after you." Jon replied, his attention on preparing the rabbit for their meal.
While Jon tended to the food, Sansa rummaged through the bags he had brought in. Her hands emerged, holding what looked like four wineskins, a welcome discovery that would sustain them for a couple of days.
"Wine?" she asked.
"I think that is a wonderful idea," Jon smiled, wiping his hands on his wet cloak. "Who said this couldn't be a romantic dinner?"
"You were the one who seemed put off by the idea of being in a cave." Sansa teased, settling down beside him.
Just at that moment, a scurrying noise outside caught Jon's attention. In a swift motion, he stood, Longclaw drawn, ready to protect them. However, the furry face of a soaked Lady trotted inside.
"Lady!" Sansa cried joyfully, rushing over to her direwolf.
Lady, shaking the rain from her coat, soaked Sansa through. Jon couldn't help but burst into a fit of laughter. "You won't stay dry for long if the wolves have anything to do with it."
Sansa, now sitting back down next to Jon, folded her arms. Despite wearing three layers, Jon couldn't help but notice her nipples hardening under the material of her shift. The mere thought stirred something within him, and his cock twitched. Jon quickly adjusted his sitting position, redirecting his focus to the roasting rabbit, attempting to maintain a semblance of normalcy in the midst of the stirring sensations that threatened to surface.
Sansa pulled her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her legs. "How long will it take?" she inquired, nodding towards the rabbit.
"An hour or so." Jon replied. "I'll shear the wool from the sheep." With that, he pulled his dagger from his hip and began removing the wool from the sheep.
"Have you ever done that before?" Sansa asked, watching him work.
"I've watched the shepherds and the Freefolk do it with live sheep. I suspect a dead one will be a lot easier." he replied with a smile, focused on his task. "Get one of the blankets; we can wrap the wool up and use it as a pillow. Then take it back to Queenscrown to be spun."
"Good idea," Sansa agreed, getting up to find a suitable blanket and bringing it over to him.
Once finished, they stuffed the blanket full of wool and placed it on the makeshift bed. Jon lay down, hands behind his head. "I could get used to this." He sighed, closing his eyes, listening to the storm raging outside.
"What could you get used to? Living in a cave?" Sansa asked, her voice carrying a curious tone.
"Aye, just you, me, Ghost, and Lady. A simple life, with a warm fire, food in our bellies, and a hot bath. No threat of war, no Whitewalkers. Just us," Jon mused, his eyes closed as he envisioned the simplicity of such a life.
"Sounds heavenly," Sansa said, her tone wistful. Jon opened his eyes, staring at her in disbelief. "A simple life away from all the evil in the world. But there is one big problem with that dream."
"Whitewalkers?" Jon guessed.
Sansa shook her head. "You are Aegon Targaryen. A King. You can't just ignore that fact. You have a responsibility to the people of Westeros. They are, by rights, your people. You are the one who must protect them."
Jon let out a groan. "Not today. Today, I am a husband who has spent far too long away from his wife." He pulled Sansa across his body, enveloping her in his arms. "I want my Queen to be happy. Our marriage wasn't one we planned. But that doesn't mean it can't be a happy and loving one." Jon gently tucked a loose tendril of hair behind Sansa's ear. "Does that make me a selfish man?"
Sansa smiled and shook her head. "It makes you a wise one." She leaned down, placing a chaste kiss on his lips. "I mean, if you can't keep your wife happy, how do you expect to keep seven kingdoms at peace?"
"I doubt apple picking with direwolves would appease the seven kingdoms." Jon joked.
"Who's saying I'm appeased?" Sansa feigned offence.
Jon, running his finger up and down Sansa's spine, spoke sincerely. "I'm sorry I left you for so long." Sansa gasped at the sensation, and Jon stilled, worried he had overstepped. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have done that."
"No, no, that's fine," Sansa replied, blushing and appearing slightly uncomfortable before recomposing herself. "You have nothing to be sorry for. Of course, I wish you'd have been by my side. Dealing with mother has been awful. And I have missed you, more than I ever thought I would."
Jon suddenly felt a glimmer of hope, realising that Sansa might genuinely have true feelings for him. Although, they could be more sibling in nature. Yet, the way they were acting bore no resemblance to any siblings he knew, other than the Lannisters and the Targaryens.
"I was constantly counting down the time for how long it would be before I could get back to you," Jon confessed, running his fingers through Sansa's loosening braid. The smell of darkening meat filled the cave. "The rabbit." He said, suddenly sitting up. He turned the spit to stop their supper from burning.
They ate the rabbit in silence, the occasional rumble of thunder and flashes of lightning illuminating the cave. After the meal, Jon poked his head outside. The rain was so heavy that he couldn't see where he'd tied up the horses, just twenty feet from the cave's mouth. The fading light added to the difficulty, making it doubtful he could spot them even in dry conditions.
"Seven hells. Sansa, come and look at this," Jon called out, and Sansa joined him at the entrance.
"I don't think we'll be back before tomorrow night," Sansa observed. "The road back will be treacherous." She scanned the surroundings. "Where are the horses?"
Jon pointed in the general direction where they were tied up. "Over there."
"Do you think something has happened to them?" Sansa asked, the concern clear in her voice.
Jon shrugged, sharing her worry. "They're sheltered below a ledge. As long as the wind doesn't turn, they should be safe."
Sansa headed back into the cave. "Wine?" she said, as Jon followed her.
"Don't mind if I do."
They settled around the fire, sipping wine and engaging in conversation, primarily about the happenings in Kings Landing.
"Littlefinger is dead." Sansa said.
"How?"
"Arya told me." Sansa replied.
"You mean Arya killed him." It wasn't a question.
Sansa nodded. "She brought back some of the ledgers he used as Master of Coin. The finances of the Seven Kingdoms are in a terrible state, Jon." She put her head in her hands. "He's been embezzling funds to set up his own ventures, taking out loans to fund the crown. Borrowing from Lord Tywin."
"Is that why the Lannisters have so much power?" Jon asked.
"I think so. The crown is six million gold dragons in debt. Three million to the Lannisters and three million to the Iron Bank."
"Add a costly war into the mix..." Jon whistled at the mere thought. "The Lannisters won't get their money back. That will be their punishment. I've dealt with the Iron Bank before. I'm sure they will be able to re-negotiate terms. As long as we don't overspend on idiotic tourneys every five minutes, then we might be able to pay it back."
"Look at the ledgers and into Littlefinger's businesses. His own coffers would probably be able to pay at least half of it back, if not more."
Jon ran his hand down his face. "Now I really want to stay in this cave." Jon turned to Sansa, and they both started laughing, the wine loosening their tongues a little.
"Speaking of which, how about we explore before we get too drunk?" Sansa suggested.
Jon stood up and offered Sansa his hand to help her stand. "Aye, I think that is a wonderful idea."
Sansa got to her feet. "And is my own Dragonknight going to keep me safe from all the scary cave monsters?"
Jon noticed Sansa's face was flushed, and if he couldn't help but be mistaken, it looked as if she were flirting with him.
"I'm not a knight!"
"Alright then, Dragonprince, or Dragonking. Whichever." Sansa rolled her eyes.
Jon frowned. "Are you drunk?"
He noticed the playful banter between them added a light-hearted touch to the serious discussions and brought out a beautiful smile on Sansa's face. He never wanted to see her face without it. Jon understood her reasoning for wearing her Lady of Winterfell mask, it was her armour. That didn't mean Jon had to like it.
Sansa shook her head. "I'm eager for our adventure. Who knows what we will find. Light the way, fair prince, and lead the fair maiden astray."
Jon took some cloth from the saddlebag and wrapped it around a large stick. He dipped it in the pot of pitch and lit it, using the fire in the cave. Jon took Sansa by the hand and led the way. Before they entered what looked like a tunnel, Jon glanced back at Ghost and Lady, who were cuddled up next to the fire. Ghost looked up at Jon, before laying his head back down again. That was all the confirmation Jon needed to know that it was safe to proceed.
"Come on. Let's go," he said. The flickering light of the makeshift torch cast shadows on the cavern walls as Jon and Sansa ventured further into the unknown, leaving the warmth and comfort of the cave behind them.
They edged their way down the tunnel, easily accommodating someone as tall as The Mountain, whilst being as wide as the Kingsroad. Jon got the impression that this path was well worn at some point, probably when Queenscrown was inhabited, but it had lain empty for decades. Wildling raids had sent the locals scattering, which made Jon wonder just how long the Whitewalkers had been making their way south.
"Jon, is it my imagination, or is it warm in here, like in Winterfell?" Sansa asked.
Jon had noticed the warmth himself, although he had initially attributed it to the wine. "I feel it too, Sansa."
As they ventured deeper, the warmth persisted, and Jon observed they were gradually descending. Although the gradient wasn't steep, they were making their way into the heart of the hill. Jon could see the way forward, becoming lighter, suggesting the tunnel might be another entrance. A few moments later, he changed his mind as they entered an enormous cavern. The walls were black, with something resembling dragonglass. An enormous ceiling towered higher than the curtain walls at Winterfell, reminiscent of the dragonglass mines on Dragonstone. The cavern held an air of ancient mystery and a hidden past waiting to be uncovered.
"It's beautiful." Sansa gasped.
"It reminds me of Dragonstone," Jon told her. "Without the pictures drawn by the First Men."
"Why would there be rocks in the north like there are on Dragonstone?" Sansa asked.
"Winterfell is built upon hot springs. Perhaps there are old, dormant volcanoes underneath the north."
"You think this was once a volcano?"
Jon shrugged as he walked over to a wall. "Who knows. But it is warm, and that looks very much like dragonglass to me." Jon ran his hand down the familiar material, cutting it along the sharp edge. He felt blood trickling down his hand. He turned towards Sansa. "It's dragonglass."
"Does dragonglass come from volcanoes, or is it made by dragons?" Sansa asked.
"Smallfolk like to say dragonglass is made by dragons, while the maesters say it comes from volcanoes," Jon told her. "I prefer the tales of the smallfolk, but I believe the maesters are correct."
"Jon, what's that?" Sansa pointed to the middle of the cavern, where a single rock stood in the ground. The mysterious rock in the centre of the cavern drew their attention.
"A rock?" Jon said, but Sansa shook her head.
"It looks... different. It is smoking." Sansa made her way over to the rock, and Jon followed her with the torch.
When they reached the rock, Sansa was right; it looked strange. There was a fissure in the top. Jon handed Sansa the torch to get a better look. As he peered into the fissure, he spotted what looked like a giant piece of white quartz, with red veins running through it. It could only be described as hypnotic. The stone reminded him of Ghost; it drew him in.
"What is it?" Sansa asked.
"A piece of quartz, I think. Or some type of stone." He took his leather gloves from his pockets and put them on.
"You're not putting your hand in there, are you? You'll burn." She said.
"I have to get it out." Jon said.
"Why?" Sansa asked.
Jon glanced up at her. "I don't know. I just know I have to."
Sansa frowned at him but said nothing. Jon lowered his gloved hands into the hot mound. He knew it was stupid; if his hands got burned, and they were set upon, Sansa would have to defend them. Although he was sure Ghost and Lady would be sufficient protection. However, the stone was unexplainably calling out to him. Jon just hoped the leather would offer some protection from the fire.
Inside the mound, it wasn't as hot as Jon expected. He picked up the quartz, which felt too light for his liking, and was able to pull it out with one hand, without getting burnt. When it was free from its enclosure, it was obviously not quartz. The shape and texture told him that. It was still white with red veins, which now reminded him of a weirwood tree. The texture wasn't smooth; instead, it was covered in what looked like scales. However, the biggest giveaway to what he had in his hand was the shape of the stone.
"Is that a dragon egg?" Sansa asked.
"Aye, I think it is." Jon took his glove off and brushed it, catching the place where he'd cut his hand on the dragonglass, smothering blood along the egg.
"Jon, your hand is bleeding."
"Aye, I cut it earlier on the dragonglass."
"We need to get you back to the cave, and your hand washed. Something like that can easily get infected."
Jon wasn't going to argue with her. He knew she was right, so he picked up the dragon egg and took the torch from Sansa.
"I wonder if this was laid by Silverwing. Queen Alysanne stayed at Queenscrown, which is only about six miles from here."
"If it were Silverwing, then that means it has been here almost two hundred and fifty years. I doubt it will hatch," Sansa said.
"It's alive," Jon told her. "I can feel it."
Sansa's look of fear told him everything. "You're going to try hatching it, aren't you?"
Jon shook his head. "I wouldn't know how to. Daenerys walked into a funeral pyre after burning a witch alive. I'm won't kill anyone, nor am I going to walk into a fire. Here, hold it." He offered it to her.
Sansa went to touch it but drew her hand away. "It's too hot."
Jon frowned. "It is warm. That is how I know it is alive. But it's not that hot."
"Aren't Targaryens more heat-tolerant than the rest of us normal people?" Sansa raised an eyebrow as they made their way back up the tunnel to their cave.
"I know Daenerys was almost fireproof. But burned my hand when I saved Lord Commander Mormont. Although, I suppose the burns should have been worse," Jon said. "Mayhap I am less sensitive to heat than most. But I don't want to test the theory."
They reached their cave, where the fire was still burning. "Do you think it needs to be kept warm?" Sansa asked.
Jon felt a need for warmth. Deciding the egg might be cold, he nodded. "I need to put it in the fire," he said, placing it in the middle of the fire, which suddenly seemed to burn brighter and hotter.
"It is beautiful," Sansa admitted, as she wandered around the saddlebags. She returned with her sewing needles, cotton, and the wineskin. "With me," she commanded, and Jon followed her to the hot spring.
"I can do this myself," Jon rolled his eyes.
"I know you can, but I am your wife, and I want to do this for you," she said.
"Aye, you just want to poke holes in me," Jon japed, and Sansa glared at him. "Stick me with the pointy end. That is the advice I gave Arya when I gifted Needle to her."
Sansa dunked Jon's hand into the hot water, making it sting. "And look what that did. You set her on the path to become a faceless assassin. How do you feel about that?"
Sansa took his hand from the water and poured some of the wine over the cut. "Ow! That hurt."
"Stop being a baby," Sansa shook her head, as she continued to clean the wound. "It has stopped bleeding. It was only a small cut. I'll stitch it, but only to prevent it from opening up." She ripped a piece of her fabric from her shift. "How do you feel about Arya?"
"I don't want to talk about Arya," Jon said. "I want to talk about us."
Sansa stood. "With me, back to the fire," she said. "I need light to see what I am doing."
Jon reclined on the makeshift bed, the subtle warmth of the hot spring lingering in the air. Sansa, with her practised hands, swiftly mended the small slice on his hand. Despite the insignificance of the injury, there was a comforting tenderness in her care. The room echoed with the soothing sounds of her movements as she tidied up their surroundings.
As Jon lay there, observing Sansa's maternal efficiency, he couldn't help but appreciate the quiet simplicity of the moment. Sansa, surrounded by the rustic ambiance of their temporary abode, gathered a few blankets and approached the steaming hot spring. Her fingers danced across the water's surface, creating ripples that mirrored the tranquillity of the scene.
"Turn over," Sansa instructed, her voice a gentle command that held both authority and affection.
"Why?" Jon inquired, his curiosity piqued by Sansa's sudden intention.
"I want to bathe," Sansa replied, her tone carrying a hint of determination. With deliberate motions, she removed her top shift, and Jon, facing away, could only hear the soft rustle of fabric. The act of disrobing, though unseen, was a tantalizing torment, each sound teasing his imagination.
The splash of water reached Jon's ears, signalling Sansa's entrance into the pool. "You can turn back," she called out, offering him the choice to witness or preserve a modest distance.
Jon rolled over, captivated by the sight of Sansa immersed in the steaming water. Her silhouette danced beneath the surface, and when she emerged, her hair clung darkly to her skin, a testament to the warmth of the pool. Pushing the wet strands from her face, Sansa turned to meet Jon's gaze.
"Is it nice and warm?" Jon asked.
"Why don't you come and find out?" Sansa's suggestion hung in the air, carrying a subtle invitation that surprised Jon. Sitting up, he found himself intrigued by her encouragement. Sansa quickly clarified, her words carrying a mixture of assurance and a hint of bashfulness, "I promise not to look. And it doesn't mean we are doing anything. But maybe we can get to know one another through touch."
Even in the dim light, Jon could discern the telltale warmth of Sansa's blush. Determined to make her feel at ease, he responded, "I'll put a log on the fire. Then turn around while I get undressed." Jon, unfazed by the prospect of being seen naked, understood the significance of creating a space where Sansa could feel comfortable.
As Sansa turned away to grant him privacy, Jon fulfilled his promise. The sound of a log settling in the fire crackled in the cave as he removed each article of clothing – boots, breeches, tunic, and finally, his smallclothes. Embracing his nakedness on his name-day, Jon approached the pool where Sansa awaited, with her back turned to him.
Dropping into the water behind her, Jon submerged himself in the warmth. "You can turn around now."