After meeting with Ser Barristan, Jon returned to their chambers, a sense of anticipation lingering as he hoped to find Sansa waiting for him. To his mild disappointment, the room stood empty. The prospect of consummating their marriage that night had crossed his mind, but Jon, mindful of the recent reunion and the weight of his absence, knew it was too soon. Ramsay Bolton was still a shadow, which he knew Sansa was struggling to escape.
However, what greeted Jon was a bath, steam rising, the promise of respite from the grime accumulated during months of trials. The realisation struck him, he must reek, for Sansa, accustomed to daily baths, expected no less. With a silent nod to the thoughtful preparations, Jon shed his worn garments and immersed himself in the hot water, the heat seeping into his weary muscles like a balm.
Despite the warmth of the hearth nearby, the water's embrace didn't linger, urging Jon to cleanse himself and his hair. When Jon emerged from the copper tub, he wrapped in a linen towel left on a nearby chair; the fabric absorbing the lingering moisture. Clean breeches and a tunic lay on the bed, a silent gesture of care and consideration.
Jon completed his ablutions, donning the fresh attire just as a polite knock echoed through the room. Sansa's voice followed.
"Are you decent?"
A faint smile touched Jon's lips. "Come in,"
Sansa entered the room, bearing a tray laden with grooming essentials–a brush, soap, water, a comb, scissors, and a razor. Jon's curiosity surfaced.
"Why do you need all of that?"
Sansa set the tray on the table and focused on the task at hand, her gaze assessing the length of Jon's damp, shoulder-length hair. "Your hair could do with a trim." she observed, as she scrutinised the ends. "It's getting too long and ratty at the ends."
Mindful of her previous suggestion to grow out his hair and beard, Jon met her eyes. "You suggested I grow it. Beard and hair, remember, to make me look more like a King," he reminded her by giving her a pointed look. "I know you said you'd do it, but..."
"Sit down, I'll do it." Sansa cut him off.
She guided him toward the vanity table with a mirror, urging him to take a seat. Jon complied, but he couldn't help but notice her hands trembling with a vulnerability he hadn't expected.
A sudden resistance gripped Jon, a primal instinct warning him against letting her near with a blade in her current state. He tightened his grip on her wrists, a protective impulse taking over. "No!" he asserted. "I'm quite capable of trimming my own beard. I've only been doing it for ten years." His gaze bore into hers. "Trim the ends from my hair if you wish, but I'm not letting you anywhere near my throat with a blade. Not with the way your hands are shaking."
Sansa's shoulders slumped, and she admitted, "I just wanted to help, to make tonight perfect."
In that moment, a realization dawned upon Jon–Sansa wasn't ready, and orchestrating a night of passion wasn't the most romantic approach. Despite her spoken words, a yearning for romance lingered deep within Sansa. Jon, now a little unnerved after the razor incident, felt his own desires dampening.
Jon had to take charge of the situation. With care, he pulled Sansa onto his lap, drawing a surprised gasp from her lips. With a tender touch, he brushed a loose tendril of her auburn hair behind her ear.
"I think it's best if I tidy myself up a little, and then we spend the evening talking over wine or ale, with food in our bellies," he suggested. "We haven't seen each other for almost a year and a half; we need to get to know each other again. Although I doubt either of us has changed much." He chuckled. "I'd like to hear what has happened since I left. And, perhaps, I ought to tell you about what happened beyond the wall with Mance."
Jon knew the shift in focus, from an immediate physical connection to a more intimate and conversational engagement, seemed to align better with the current state of their reunion. Jon's decision aimed to nurture the connection they once had, recognising that the bond they shared deserved a slower rekindling.
Sansa nodded, a hint of uncertainty clouding her expression as she worried her bottom lip. "I just thought we ought to get it over and done with," she confessed.
Jon's heart sank at the notion. "Over and done with?" he echoed, his eyebrow raising in a mix of surprise and concern. He pulled her closer, encouraging her to rest her head on his shoulder. "Just because you have lost your faith in romance and passion, doesn't mean I have."
Sansa peered up at him, seeking clarification. "What do you mean?"
"I wasn't able to court you properly like you deserve, with flowers and such, and it is a bit late for that. But that doesn't stop us from doing what young couples do." Jon said, his voice carrying a touch of earnestness. "I think we should spend some time together, alone and not stuck in here. Maybe have a look around at what you have done with Queenscrown. I really would like to see for myself. We could go for a ride or a picnic." he suggested.
Sansa's scepticism surfaced. "Isn't it a little cold for a picnic?" she asked, a practical concern tinting her words.
"It is never too cold for a picnic. I could take you fishing, and we could eat what we catch beside the lake." Jon suggested, but Sansa's raised eyebrow suggested fishing might not be the preferred option. "How about picking apples for the cider instead?"
Sansa's smile brightened. "I think that is a wonderful idea. There's a part of the orchard at the other end of the woods. Nobody picks the apples there because it's too far out. We won't be disturbed. Mayhap we should take some food with us and learn the lay of the land out there."
Jon, fully embracing the idea, pulled her in close. "I think that's the best idea," he affirmed, planting a gentle kiss on her head. "We shall leave at first light and make a day of it."
Concerns lingered as Sansa considered the potential reactions of others. "What about Tormund and Ygritte? Won't they feel a bit put out by you ignoring them?" she inquired.
Jon chuckled. "I'll tell Tormund I'm stealing you. He'll understand."
"And Sam?" Sansa pressed.
"I'll drop in and say hello before we leave." Jon assured her.
Sansa's expression shifted. "Ser Barristan will wish to accompany us." She added.
"Right now, nobody knows who we are, and having a former Kingsguard trailing an unknown like me will make people suspicious. He needs to concentrate on making a list of suitable candidates for my Kingsguard." Jon explained, to which Sansa nodded in agreement.
She smoothed her skirt and rose to her feet. "I think it is time you looked like a king, don't you?"
True to her word, Sansa had simply evened up his hair, while he had trimmed his beard to present a more recognisable image. Now, Jon appeared as the man who had just returned from the north, free from the hardships and arrows that had once marked his journey from the wall to Castle Black.
Sansa had crafted a wardrobe for him, a blend of practical northern wear and items that, in Jon's opinion, leaned a bit too much toward fanciness. However, it was a necessary compromise, an outward display of style and sophistication befitting a Targaryen King. Though Jon hesitated to embrace that part of his lineage, recognizing it as a reality he couldn't evade, he acknowledged that if he were to be king; he had to learn how to look like one.
That night, they shared a bed, finding comfort in each other's arms. The ambiance was filled with nothing more intimate than a few chaste kisses and cuddles, yet it turned out to be the best night's sleep Jon could remember ever having. Holding Sansa close to him soothed him in ways he had never experienced before.
The following morning unfolded with an uncomfortable conversation with Ser Barristan. Jon's new Kingsguard insisted on joining them, offering to maintain a respectful distance. Only when Jon explained that he and Sansa desired some privacy, and that Ghost would accompany them, did Ser Barristan reluctantly relent.
Sam, engrossed in his duties with the ravens, offered well-wishes but remained preoccupied. Tormund, ever true to his nature, thumped Jon on the back and shared words of advice, most of which Jon let pass. Ygritte, however, painted a different picture with a scowl, her discontent and likely jealousy all too clear in her expression. Jon made a mental note to monitor the situation; Ygritte's jealousy was a circumstance he hadn't expected.
It was still early morning when Jon and Sansa embarked on their journey toward the apple trees at the far edge of the woods. The sun cast its gentle glow, and the air held a crisp freshness. A brisk north wind prompted them to bundle up warmly, bringing along a few furs to ward off any chill that might linger in the northern lands. Picnics, especially in the unpredictable northern weather, demanded such precautions.
The far end of the woods lay about a two-hour ride from Queenscrown. As they ventured, the trees gradually thinned out, revealing hills, a small river, caves, and waterfalls. Jon couldn't deny the beauty of the scenery; even in this northern realm, the land maintained its verdant charm.
Apples lay scattered on the ground beneath the trees, a tempting harvest waiting to be gathered. At the far edge of the woods, the wind carried a briskness, more pronounced than the sheltered ambiance they had left behind at Queenscrown. The landscape unfolded before them, a mix of nature's offerings and the promise of a day filled with exploration and shared moments.
Although the primary reason for their solitude was to reconnect, they worked in companionable silence as they gathered apples from the ground. The task was crucial, considering cider's prominence in Queenscrown and their aspirations to export it across the North and possibly even the South. To achieve this, they needed more apple trees, prompting the need to scour the area for suitable planting spots.
By the time lunchtime arrived, their baskets were brimming with apples, signalling a successful harvest. The plan was to pause for a meal and then locate the ideal lands for planting. However, before they could settle down to eat, Ghost, Jon's loyal direwolf, was acting strangely.
"What is the matter with him?" Sansa inquired, a note of concern in her voice. "Surely not the army of the dead already?"
Jon shook his head, having witnessed this behaviour in Ghost before. It was a warning. Gazing up at the darkening sky and feeling the intensified cold gusts of wind, Jon understood the significance. He looked toward Ghost, who had sprinted to a hill and now stood in what Jon suspected was a sheltered spot, a clear sign that something was amiss.
Reading Ghost's behaviour, Jon sensed there wasn't enough time to return to Queenscrown. This meant he had to gather as much wood as possible while Sansa took everything into the cave. Ghost vanished, likely off to hunt. The impending storm urged them to act swiftly, preparing for the unpredictable weather that lay ahead.
"I think the weather is about to change," Jon observed. "Ghost is asking us to join him. We'll take the food and furs there. It might be a wise idea to collect as much wood on the way as possible, just in case we need to light a fire."
They guided their horses to the spot where Ghost stood, revealing the entrance to a cave. Just below, a couple of trees provided a convenient spot to tie up the horses, preventing their escape. He would unload them once he'd collected the firewood. Jon headed off to find some firewood, while Sansa made her way into the cave.
A rumble of thunder signalled the approaching storm. The wind intensified, blowing gusts so powerful that Jon struggled to maintain his footing. Another crack of thunder, much louder this time, echoed in the distance, accompanied by a flash of lightning that briefly illuminated the darkening skies. A swift, white form entering the cave reassured Jon that Ghost had sought refuge with them.
Despite the challenging conditions, Jon persevered, finding enough dry firewood to last them for a few days. Storms in these lands had sometimes endured for a week, and Jon hoped fervently that their stay wouldn't stretch that long. If it did, at least they wouldn't lack for food, thanks to the abundance of apples they had gathered. Their primary need was wood, and plenty of it.
After collecting his eighth bundle of firewood, Jon finally reached the cave. He hadn't ventured inside yet, holding onto the hope that it would provide sufficient comfort for both of them amid the tempest outside. The shelter, now their haven from the relentless storm, awaited them within the cavern's depths.
Inside, Jon could see that Sansa had been busy setting up the cave as a temporary home. There was enough remaining light for her to create a small stone pit for the fire. Surprisingly, Ghost had been more productive than Jon expected. Inside, Jon found eight dead rabbits and a small elk. The rabbits were neatly set aside, presumably for Jon and Sansa, while Ghost stood guard over the elk.
Jon surveyed their surroundings, noticing a large pool of water, steam rising from its surface. "At least we can bathe if we wish," he remarked.
In the dim light, he couldn't see Sansa's face, but he suspected she might have rolled her eyes at his attempt at humour. However, her response was sharper than he expected. "We'll only find out if you light the bloody fire," Sansa snapped, a tone that hinted at more than just annoyance. Jon couldn't discern the cause of her frustration. He had done nothing wrong, unless she was hurt.
Jon arranged small sticks on the ground, adding leaves on top to use as tinder. Extracting his dagger, flint, and cloth–always carried with him–he struck until the cloth caught a spark. Placing it among the tinder, Jon waited for the fire to take hold, hoping the warmth would not only banish the chill in the air but also ease the tension between them.
A cracking sound outside, followed by a rumble of thunder, elicited a small squeal from Sansa. It dawned on Jon why she had snapped at him—Sansa was terrified of thunderstorms, a fear ingrained since her childhood. Turning to look at her, he saw the genuine terror etched on her face in the warm glow of the fire.
"We're safe in here. It won't hurt us," Jon reassured her. Sansa nodded in response, her fear preventing further words. Satisfied that the fire wouldn't go out, Jon sat beside her, wrapping his arm around her for comfort. "Are you alright?"
Sansa shook her head. "I hate storms. I remember running in a storm as a child, and lightning hit a tree just a few feet from where I stood. The tree cracked and was falling in my direction." Jon felt her shivering beneath his arms.
"I remember," Jon affirmed. "You froze with fear, and Robb only just pulled you to safety. I'd forgotten about that. But there aren't any trees in here, and the lightning can't get to you either."
Sansa nodded. "I know. I'll be alright in a moment." Jon held her close, hoping it would offer her the reassurance she needed to weather the storm.
Jon rubbed Sansa's arm as she rested her head in the crook of his neck. "So much for romantic." He sighed. The comment pulled Sansa together; she looked at him and burst into laughter. Confused, Jon frowned. "What?"
"King Aegon Targaryen the sixth, also known as Azor Ahai reborn and the Prince that was Promised. Thwarted in wooing the girl by a bit of rain. Imagine that in the songs." Sansa teased, laughing uncontrollably. Jon, realising her laughter was a release of fear, joined in.
"Or I could have a bard write a song about King Aegon Targaryen the sixth, also known as Azor Ahai reborn and the Prince that was Promised, who rescued the fair maid from the treacherous storm and..." Jon couldn't think of a fitting continuation.
Sansa, however, quickly found her voice. "He took her to his dragon lair and had his wicked way with her." She giggled.
Jon pulled back. "Is that what you thought this was about? I can't control the weather. I don't even think the Three-Eyed Raven can do that." He said with a slight frown.
Sansa playfully slapped Jon on the arm. "Don't be silly, of course, I don't believe you planned this." She looked around the cave. "Although, I have to admit, it is quite romantic."
Jon couldn't recall if he had previously mentioned to Sansa that his first time had been in a cave, not too dissimilar to the one they were currently sheltered in. "Did I ever tell you that my first time was in a cave, very much like this?"
"I remember you telling me it was in a cave," Sansa nodded. "Was it like this one?"
"This one is smaller, cosier, and warmer. But most caves in the north are similar."
"Was it romantic?" Sansa inquired.
Jon frowned. In all honesty, he couldn't remember much about it, other than the fact that he hadn't lasted long; after all, he was a green boy at the time. What lingered more vividly in his memory was scratching his back on the stone floor.
"It wasn't very comfortable," Jon admitted. "Romantic, aye, I suppose, but I ended up with a graze down my back."
"How?" Sansa's eyes widened with innocent curiosity.
"I wasn't laying on any furs," Jon clarified, eliciting a nervous giggle from Sansa. Her response made Jon wonder if she was contemplating consummating their marriage in the cave. Frowning at her, he said, "I thought you weren't ready."
"I'm not. Not yet anyway, but we'll see how long we are stuck in this cave. I'm sure there's only so much we can talk about. And once we've finished exploring the cave..."
"You want to explore?" Jon asked. "It's tiny. I think we've already seen everything in the cave."
"Look over there," Sansa pointed to the far end, into the darkness just behind Ghost. "There's another cavern, deeper inside, I think. I couldn't see much, but there is definitely something there."
"We'll explore later. First, I need to skin the rabbits and the sheep. The wool should give us some comfort, to prevent us from feeling too uncomfortable on the ground," Jon explained. Turning to Ghost, he added, "Clever idea, boy." Ghost glanced up from the leg he was chewing on before returning to his meal. Jon stood up and looked outside. Despite the rumbling thunder and lightning, it hadn't rained thus far.
"I'll see what other supplies we've got on the mule. I asked the stable lads to load up the mule and to make sure that we could weather any emergencies." Jon told Sansa as he got up. "Hopefully there's a pot on there and some pitch."
"What for?" Sansa asked.
"If you want to explore, we need something to light the way. And we can boil the fat and bones to make more." Jon explained with a smile. "I won't be long, I promise." Jon gave Sansa a chaste kiss on the lips and made his way to the horses, where he could attempt to find shelter for them from the impending storm.