You might be wondering why I've changed the title. I have a new programme which is helping me map out the story. When I had done so, I realised that this story was far too long to remain as 1 story. It needed to be split up. It looks like I will be splitting it into at least 3 separate parts. The first being this one, the next one will be Daggers to the Heart 2 - Clash of Kings. I'll provide the link when it is time to create the next story. Part 1 will finish on chapter 48 (I am already writing the second story).
The rain persisted for two days, a relentless downpour that cloaked the world in a watery veil. Jon and Sansa sought refuge within the walls of their temporary shelter, the air heavy with the scent of damp earth and the crackling warmth of the firepit providing a comforting backdrop.
Amidst the ceaseless drumming of raindrops on the roof, the two found solace in each other's company. Discussions of the realm echoed within the chambers, interwoven with the clinking of utensils as they cooked and ate simple meals together.
As the rain poured outside, they immersed themselves in shared baths, discussions of the realm and Queenscrown. But mostly, it was spent with their bodies entwined. Sansa's trust in Jon unfolded like petals, revealing a resilient bloom beneath the storm of her past. The physical exploration between them became a language of its own, hands and mouths, tracing uncharted territories. Jon marvelled at her newfound openness, a stark contrast to the shadows that once haunted her. They coupled more times than Jon cared to count.
The dragon egg still rested within the heart of the crackling flames. Jon, drawn to its mystical presence, sensed a connection that transcended mere curiosity. Though logic argued against the possibility of hatching, an inexplicable knowing whispered in Jon's soul—an unspoken understanding that a dormant dragon waited within.
The passing of two days in the cave, marked the cessation of the storm. Jon and Sansa, reluctant to abandon the cave that shielded their newfound intimacy, waited until the following morning to leave, as the mud would be treacherous during the day, lethal at night.
Emerging from the cavern's mouth, Jon surveyed the aftermath of the relentless storm. Nature's wrath had left its mark on the surrounding landscape—trees felled by the ferocity of lightning and gusts of wind, lay strewn about. An unintentional harvest of timber, Jon decided, as he planned to repurpose the fallen giants for the ongoing reconstruction of Queenscrown.
In the distance, a hill betrayed the scars of a mudslide, a testament to the tempest's unrelenting force. The silent hills bore witness to the tumultuous dance of earth and water, leaving Jon contemplative of the challenges that lay ahead. How badly affected would Queenscrown be?
Amidst the echoes of the storm's toll, a more personal tragedy unfolded. One of their horses had succumbed to the treacherous terrain, a casualty of the slippery ground. The creature, lay broken and suffering. A painful decision weighed heavily on Jon's shoulders as he, shielded from Sansa's gaze, spared her the heart-wrenching sight of him ending the creature's misery. It was one of Sansa's own steeds, a companion in countless rides.
Ghost stood guard over the fallen horse. In the harsh reality of their world, every resource mattered. The horse's demise, tragic as it was, wouldn't be in vain; its meat would nourish the dogs and anyone else who ate horsemeat, that roamed the halls of Queenscrown.
Left with only one horse and a sturdy mule, Jon and Sansa faced the waterlogged ground with a resolve born of necessity. Though the terrain bore the imprint of the recent deluge, it was navigable for a horse. The comfort of the cave and the embrace of solitude were reluctantly abandoned, for the impending arrival of Robb and Lady Stark compelled them to return to Queenscrown.
On the return journey to Queenscrown, Jon and Sansa, faced with the shortage of horses, shared the remaining steed. The mule dutifully bore the supplies salvaged from the cave, with Jon safeguarding the dragon egg nestled within his saddlebag. The secret of the precious egg was shared among Jon, Sansa, Ghost, and Lady alone.
Lady, once a vision of pristine fur, now bore the marks of their journey – filth, matting, and mud. Jon observed her, seemingly in her element amidst the rugged terrain. Sansa, however, voiced her concerns about the impending mess her direwolf would create, anticipating the inevitable lengthy bath that would follow. Their conversation, though seemingly trivial, served as a tactical diversion from the growing worries about the aftermath of the storm as they approached Queenscrown.
Seated behind Sansa on the horse, Jon enveloped her in his arms, finding a sense of pride and comfort in having her close. Despite her dishevelled appearance, Sansa, in Jon's eyes, eclipsed every other woman in the world, including the formidable Daenerys Targaryen.
As Sansa succumbed to sleep, Jon's thoughts diverged into the realm of the Dragon Queen. He contemplated the potential future where she, armed with three dragons, might seek to conquer Westeros. Would she still press a claim to a birthright that rightfully belonged to Jon, especially if his dragon egg were to hatch? The proof of his trueborn status, rooted in Rhaegar's lineage, granted Jon a claim surpassing even that of Rhaegar's siblings.
Yet, the complexities extended beyond lineage. Jon recognized the societal bias favouring male rulers, understanding that despite Daenerys' formidable abilities, the lords might lean toward a male leader.
As his thoughts delved deeper, Jon reflected on his intimate encounters with Daenerys, contrasting them with his experiences with Sansa. Despite Daenerys' prowess as a lover, a detached coldness marked their physical connection. It was mere physicality, devoid of the emotional depth that characterised lovemaking. She had used him to gain the love of the north to help her take the Iron Throne. Jon acknowledged his naivety in bringing her North. He had done it for the dragons, but this time, he hoped, his own dragon might bear the sole responsibility of fighting the army of the dead.
As Queenscrown emerged in the encroaching darkness, the weariness of their extended journey weighed on Jon and Sansa. The horse, burdened with two riders, had navigated the muddy terrain, slowing their progress. The distant sound of a horn heralded their impending arrival, prompting Sansa to awaken a few minutes earlier.
Jon, wrapping his arm around Sansa's waist, nestled beneath her ear, suggesting a swift retreat to their quarters. "I think we should tell them we are exhausted and go straight to bed."
"I thought you were sore." Sansa frowned.
"I was. I'm completely healed. You?" Jon inquired.
"All healed." She said, turning her head to his, her hand gently caressing his cheek before sealing their conversation with a kiss.
Kissing and horseback riding proved an impractical blend, forcing Jon to break away as the horn sounded once more. Figures approached them, an unexpected sight for both. "Seven fucking hells." Jon muttered, his hope for a tranquil homecoming dashed at the sight of a woman with long red hair and wearing a dress.
"At least she can't complain about the marriage not being consummated." Sansa laughed, injecting a note of humour into the unforeseen reunion.
"We don't have proof. We were in a cave instead of laying on pristine white sheets." Jon grumbled into Sansa's ear, expressing his frustration.
"I'm sure she'll realise soon enough that the marriage has been consummated." Sansa replied with a sly smile, sealing her statement with another kiss, this time openly displayed for all to see.
Coming to a halt in the yard, they observed the eight individuals who had gathered to greet them. Jon couldn't help but notice with amusement that half of them bore the distinctive mark of fiery hair. As his hand rested on Sansa's belly, a fleeting thought crossed his mind – could they one day have a child kissed by fire? The notion surprised him, as fatherhood had never been a consideration until his marriage to Sansa and subsequent consummation, where each day brought the possibility closer.
Dismounting from the horse, Jon assisted Sansa down and retrieved the saddlebag containing the precious dragon egg. Stepping forward, he approached the waiting group, noting that none knelt, his true identity remaining concealed from most. Ser Barristan offered a quick nod and positioned himself behind Jon. Holding Sansa's hand, Jon drew her close, the unspoken bond between them palpable as they faced the welcoming party.
Lady Stark's piercing gaze bore into Jon, a scrutinizing examination that traversed his form before she redirected her attention to Sansa. "You poor girl. It must have been terrible out there. Have you suffered?"
"I'm fine, Mother. We found adequate shelter from the storm. Jon took care of me," Sansa reassured, her glance towards Jon reflecting a shared understanding, a silent communication that did not go unnoticed by the onlookers.
"I bet he did," Tormund interjected with a laugh, quickly falling silent under the weight of Catelyn's disapproving glare. Even Tormund, known for his resilience, couldn't withstand the icy chill that Lady Stark's stare could inflict.
"You look freezing. I think we all ought to get inside," Robb suggested, steering the conversation away from potential awkwardness.
Jon, seizing the opportunity, wrapped his arm around Sansa's waist. "I think that's a wise idea."
Sansa inquired about the storm's aftermath, and Robb assured her, "We opened the sluice gates. Your system worked."
"Full flood defences. I am proud of you! Mayhap you ought to study in the field of fortification drainage." He playfully teased.
As Tormund edged closer to Sansa, Jon couldn't help but notice. "If this little fellow hasn't been keeping you happy, let me know. I'll show you how much fun time in the open can be. Not these fancy castles," Tormund declared, his boisterous tone cutting through the tension with a touch of humour.
"Jon kept me happy." Sansa affirmed with a smile, a subtle blush gracing her cheeks.
"I mean happy, happy." Tormund playfully winked, his boisterous demeanour undeterred.
"Jon kept me really, happy, Tormund. But thank you for the offer. I want Jon, and only Jon to be the one to keep me happy." Sansa responded, resting her head on Jon's shoulder, a gesture that spoke volumes.
"Looks like the pretty one knows how to play with more than just the one sword. Or is it his tongue?" Tormund roared with laughter, setting off a contagious mirth among the bystanders. However, the infectious laughter abruptly ceased as Jon caught the piercing glare of Lady Stark, his throat suddenly dry. Sensing the tension, Jon discreetly nudged Sansa, directing her attention to her mother.
Sansa, realising the source of the disapproving gaze, turned to see her mother's furious expression. Her face flushed with embarrassment, while Lady Stark's anger intensified, manifesting in a deep shade of red.
Robb approached Jon with a sense of urgency, his demeanour suggesting a matter of significant importance. "We need to talk in your solar. An urgent matter has arisen."
Jon, furrowed his brow. The gravity etched on Robb's face suggested explanations would come later. "I'd suggest inviting the Freefolk, Maester Fell, Theon, Sam, and Ser Barristan. Arya, Mother, and I will join you."
Nervously, Jon glanced at Sansa, a suspicion forming that this wasn't solely about the state of Queenscrown's flood defences. "Is it about the flood damage?" he inquired, but Robb shook his head.
"Things have happened, elsewhere in the realm." Robb conveyed, sparing the need for further elaboration. The time for the undisclosed matter had arrived.
Jon nodded, urging Robb to proceed. "You go on ahead."
"Of course." Robb agreed, placing a reassuring hand on Jon's shoulder with a smile. "At least Mother won't be able to say anything now."
Jon, despite the impending seriousness of the situation, managed a watery smile at the thought of escaping Lady Stark's icy glares, bracing himself for the revelations that awaited in the privacy of his solar.
"It was her last opportunity. In a few minutes, she'll have to smile at you, kiss your arse, and wipe your feet. Let her have this one last moment." Robb jestingly remarked.
"Aye, I will. But I doubt it will be the last time. Regardless of who I am, I'm still married to her daughter." Jon reminded his good-brother, a tinge of resignation in his words. Robb laughed, leaving Jon and Sansa behind as he hastened to the solar.
Halting their steps, Jon turned to Sansa, a sad smile playing on his lips. He had harboured hopes of enjoying a more extended period as Lord and Lady of Queenscrown, perhaps even a week as man and wife, but fate had other plans.
Jon's heart pounded, facing a momentous decision. He was about to order the revelation of his true identity to the Seven Kingdoms. Despite confronting whitewalkers, giants, wildlings, Ramsay Snow, and even death itself, this prospect terrified him more than any other. His hand trembled as he extended it. Sansa, understanding his apprehension, wrapped her gloved hand around his.
"You'll be fine, Your Grace," Sansa reassured him, her voice a steady anchor in the storm of uncertainty.
"I'm not a king until I walk in that room and give the command." Jon admitted, shaking his head. "I never aspired to be the King in the North, never mind the King of the Seven fucking Kingdoms. I just want it to be you and me." He rested his forehead against Sansa's. "Do you really think the battle happened?"
"Renly died moons ago. And the Battle of the Blackwater happened only a few after I flowered in our previous life. But I flowered over a year ago, and I've heard nothing of the battle. I know news takes longer to get to the North, but not this long." Sansa replied, her voice tinged with concern.
"We'll have to write the ravens. That will take time." Jon acknowledged, not relishing the prospect of the tedious task ahead.
"I already wrote the ravens. Prepared and ready to spread the news. All you have to do is sign and seal them. I even have the Targaryen seal in my desk." Sansa revealed, alleviating a portion of Jon's burden.
Gratitude surged within him. "Thank you, Sansa." Jon gently pulled her hand to his lips, expressing his appreciation.
"Whatever happens, I am by your side, until the breath we share is our last." Sansa affirmed, her hand squeezing his. "As a woman, a wife, and your Queen."
"And I will be by your side until our days' lives are done." Jon reciprocated, placing a chaste kiss on her lips. "As a man, your husband, and your King."
"They'll be waiting for us." Sansa remarked with a smile.
"Come, let us hear the news." Jon declared, leading the way to the solar.
The atmosphere in the room shifted from chatter to silence as Jon and Sansa entered, the significance of the gathering apparent to only a select few—Robb, Catelyn, and Arya. Seated around the table, the others looked up expectantly. A chair scraping against the floor signalled Robb's rising, bowing his head in acknowledgment to Jon.
Jon reciprocated the bow and guided Sansa to her seat. Meanwhile, he placed the saddlebag near the fire, where Lady positioned herself as if guarding it with her life. Behind Jon's seat, Robb handed him two scrolls, both sealed with the direwolf sigil pressed into the grey wax. Jon unfurled the first letter and read it out loud.
His most gracious, strong and brave majesty, King Joffrey I, has defeated the usurper Stannis Baratheon. His most disgraced uncle attacked in the middle of the night, with a fleet of ships. However, King Joffrey had enough foresight to be prepared for such a battle. Stannis has been defeated, and he is currently being held in the black cells under the Red Keep, as do his wife and daughter.
As Warden of the North, King Joffrey demands you attend his wedding to Margaery Tyrell in Kings Landing, where you will swear fealty to him and his family. The wedding will take place in four turns of the moon.
Sansa's horrified expression mirrored the gravity of the news from King's Landing. The absence of wildfire and Stannis's defeat by the Tyrell forces signalled a shift in the dynamics of power. Worse still, the realisation that Joffrey would not hesitate to wipe out the entire family loomed over them. Jon shared Sansa's concern for Shireen and pondered the fate of Ser Davos. Jon put those thoughts aside momentarily. He opened the second scroll, reading the words silently to himself, the weight of the unfolding events pressing upon him.
I will call my bannermen at your command, your grace. My son Robb, and my wife Catelyn, will swear fealty to you on behalf of House Stark and the North. House Stark stands behind Aegon Targaryen, sixth of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms.
The north is yours, your grace.
Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden of the North
Without a word, Jon passed to scroll for Sansa to read. She then passed it to Robb. The room was silent, as if everyone could sense the magnitude of the moment, even if they didn't all know why.
Robb handed the scroll to Lady Stark. He left his chair and removed his sword from its scabbard. Ser Barristan made to move, but Jon put his hand on his kingsguard and shook his head. Robb placed his sword point down on the ground, faced Jon and got to one knee, holding the sword with his right hand.
"I, Robb Stark, son of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, promise to be faithful to King Aegon and his wife, Queen Sansa, and their heirs. I do solemnly swear before the gods and men to be your loyal and true servant, to defend your person and realm, to obey your lawful commands. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I pledge my sword, my life, and my honour to your service, until death takes me or the end of days. I swear this by the old gods and the new."
"Ser Barristan, may I borrow your sword?" Cat asked.
Ser Barristan unsheathed his sword. "Of course, my lady." He handed it to her.
Cat placed the sword point down, her right hand on the hilt, and her head bowed.
"I, Catelyn Stark, wife of Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, promise to be faithful to King Aegon and his wife, Queen Sansa, and their heirs. I do solemnly swear before the gods and men to be your loyal and true servant, to defend your person and realm, to obey your lawful commands. I pledge fealty to them and shall defend them against all enemies in good faith and without deceit. I pledge my sword, my life, and my honour to your service, until death takes me or the end of days. I swear this by the old gods and the new."
"What's going on?" Ygritte asked.
"They're swearing a royal oath." Ser Barristan replied.
Jon unsheathed Longclaw and placed it point down on the ground, holding the white wolf pommel with both hands.
"I, Aegon Targaryen, do solemnly swear to rule justly and wisely, to defend the realm from all threats, and to uphold the laws and traditions of the Seven Kingdoms. I pledge to be a just and fair ruler, ensuring the prosperity and safety of all my subjects."
Tormund, Ygritte, and Sigorn observed with amusement as Theon and Sam also swore fealty to Jon.
"Fuckin' kneelers," Tormund swore, earning a disapproving glare from Cat. Ser Barristan finally stood in front of Jon. "I believe it is time for me to give you my oath."
Sansa walked over to the desk, pulling out a piece of parchment. "I have made some small amendments to the oath, Ser Barristan. I believe it would be appropriate if you both approved. It is much the same as before, but as there is another claiming to be king, I believed a distinction was required. Jon is not a follower of the Seven-Pointed Star; he follows the old gods. Of course, he does not wish to fall foul of the Faith of the Seven, but it would be right to be inclusive of other religions. This is reflected in the oath." She handed Jon the parchment with the oath, which seemed reasonable. Jon then handed the oath to Ser Barristan, who read it.
"I think that reflects the circumstances perfectly," he said, turning to Cat. "Lady Stark, if I may have my sword." Cat returned his sword, and Ser Barristan stood with one hand on the pommel of his sword, which was positioned point down. He knelt and recited the newly written Kingsguard pledge.
"I, Ser Barristan Selmy, do solemnly vow to King Aegon Targaryen, Sixth of his name, his wife and heirs. I swear to ward the King with all my strength and give my blood for his. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall guard his secrets, obey his commands, ride at his side, and defend his name and honour.
I pledge my sword, my life, and my honour are yours, your grace, until the end of my days.
I swear this by the old gods and the new."