The next morning, Jon and Sansa found themselves seated by the crackling fire, partaking in their breakfast. Sansa donned a white night-shift, her form wrapped in a blue robe, while Jon wore plain black breeches and a linen tunic. The aroma of something hot and minty wafted through the air as Sansa delicately blew on her cup.
Curiosity etched Jon's features, and he inquired, "What is that?"
Sansa's demeanour shifted, a hint of discomfort clear. "Moon tea. I haven't consumed it yet; the choice is as much yours as it is mine. That's why I waited for you to join me."
Jon understood the implications of moon tea, the remedy for preventing undesired consequences of their intimate moments. Each time they had shared their passion, Jon had let himself spill inside her. Deep down, he yearned for her to bear his child, to step into the role of a father. However, the conflict arose in viewing Sansa not as the woman she had become but as the girl she had been, a mere two moons shy of sixteen, the age of maturity for men. Jon's own mother had met her end in childbirth, possibly due to being too young. The spectre of losing Sansa loomed, and Jon hesitated, recognizing that there was time for offspring in their not too distant future.
"Your body isn't ready." Jon expressed, tilting his head back against the chair, his gaze locked with Sansa's, attempting to convey the depth of his love. "I want nothing more than to father a child with you, more than I can put into words. The chance to be a father was a dream I never thought I'd have. But, Sansa, the timing isn't right. Your body is too young. I can't bear the thought of losing you. However, if you wish for children now, you have my unwavering support."
Sansa affirmed. "Those were my sentiments exactly. I just needed your thoughts and wished for your agreement. We will have to exercise greater caution going forward. If it happens unexpectedly, so be it. Yet, during this conflict with the Lannisters, bringing a child into the world ought to be avoided. Any offspring of ours would become another target for them."
Jon clasped Sansa's hand in his, nodding in agreement. "Especially now. We're entering a busy phase, and when the time comes for me to be a father, I wish to be there to witness the birth of our child."
Sansa questioned, "And what about the army of the dead?"
"I trust our plans will keep them north for a while longer than we had before." Jon replied, casting a glance at the egg nestled in the hearth. "As long as we keep the Freefolk south of the wall and stop a dragon heading north, it might stave them off for a few more years. We also need to focus on dealing with my aunt. All we can do is hope the dragon hatches." He stared into the fire at the dragon egg.
"What did Daenerys do to hatch the eggs?" Sansa inquired, taking a sip of the tea.
"Three deaths, a miscarriage, she killed her husband, and killed the witch, who forced her to kill her husband." Jon explained, his brow furrowing. "It's complicated," he added, noting the confusion on Sansa's face.
Sansa grimaced. "Ugh, this is disgusting. The smell reminds me of Littlefinger."
"Like mint?" Jon asked, and Sansa nodded. "Pinch your nose and drink it down in one. Get rid of the taste sooner rather than later."
Sansa followed his advice, downing the tea quickly and placing the cup on the table. "Although most unladylike, all I can say is, ugh." She shivered.
Under ordinary circumstances, Jon might have chuckled at her reaction to the unpleasant taste, but the gravity of the situation sobered him. She had just taken measures to ensure she was not with child.
A knock at the door interrupted Jon's thoughts. Ser Barristan entered. "Lady Stark is here to see you, your grace." He announced.
Jon glanced at Sansa, who appeared uncomfortable but nodded silently. "Let her in." Jon instructed.
Catelyn Stark strode into the room, radiating an air of readiness to tackle all of Westeros. Jon rose to his feet. "Lady Stark."
Cat curtseyed. "Your grace."
"There is no need for such formalities here," Jon asserted, recognising the importance of maintaining grace as she would become instrumental in securing the support of the Riverlands. He couldn't help but notice her discreet glance at the lingering scent of the tea Sansa had just consumed, the unmistakable odour lingering in the air.
"I see you are not wishing to give me a grandchild," Lady Stark remarked with her customary bluntness, directing her words at Jon as though he had compelled Sansa to drink the concoction.
"Mother, it was my choice. Though my mind may be two and twenty, this body has not reached full maturity," Sansa sighed. "I'll know when it's ready. My hips aren't wide enough. It's merely a preventative measure."
"Lady Stark, nothing would bring me greater joy than becoming a father. However, my mother perished giving birth to me because she was too young, and your own mother departed on the birthing bed. Forgive me, but I wish to keep my wife by my side until my dying day," Jon explained.
Catelyn's expression fell, and Jon sensed she was restraining something. He exchanged glances with Sansa, who rose and embraced Lady Stark. "Is it grandfather?" She asked.
Suddenly, realization dawned on Jon. This was around the time when Hoster Tully, Catelyn's father, would pass away.
"Forgive me, my lady. What troubles you?" Jon inquired, deciding it would be better he should ask than presume.
Cat handed him a scroll. "This arrived this morning."
Jon accepted the parchment, reading its contents in silence before passing it to Sansa.
Father is dying. He is unlikely to survive another three moons.
Edmure Tully.
"My lady, I am so sorry to hear it. If you wish to go see your father before he passes, I will have some of my guards escort you. I will be with you as far south as the White Knife." Jon expressed empathetically. As the reality struck him, he realised it wasn't long after Hoster Tully's death that she met her tragic end at Robb's wedding. Fortunately, this time, she would not need to approach the Twins. "Time is of the essence, my lady. I suspect you do not have long."
"Thank you, your grace," Lady Stark responded, bowing her head. "If you will excuse me, I ought to be readying my things."
Jon was prepared to let her go, but Sansa wasn't finished with her mother. "I know this is the wrong time to ask..."
"I know my duty, Sansa." Lady Stark interjected, turning to Jon. "My house words are Family, Duty, Honour. You are my good-son, therefore my. As a Tully, that means, it is my duty to assist your passage to the Iron Throne, your grace. It would be an honour for me to ensure that comes to pass."
Before Sansa had the chance to reply, Jon interjected, "Arya is very good at forgery. She will keep them under control. Blackmail, one would assume. She knows the secrets of everyone in the realm."
"She is ten and four." Catelyn glared at them.
"I know. I am most jealous." Sansa smirked.
Realising it was time to leave, Catelyn asked, "May I go pack?"
"Of course, Lady Stark," Jon replied. "Take whatever you need for the trip."
"I will have a letter prepared for you to give to Uncle Brynden." Sansa added.
Catelyn bowed her head, turned, and left.
Jon took Sansa's trembling hand in his. "What is it?" he asked.
"You have been back a week, and now you must leave me within a day." Tears had sprung from her eyes.
"Two moons, three at the most." Jon promised, enfolding Sansa in his arms and holding her tight. "I'll be safe," he assured her. "I'm taking Arya with me." Sansa pulled back, a mixture of sobbing and laughter escaping from her. "She knows the secret tunnels of the Red Keep better than anyone else. I'm sure she can get us in and out. We'll bring Princess Shireen here, where she will be safe. If Ser Davos survived the Blackwater, he might still be on Dragonstone. If he is, he'll be happy to accompany Shireen with us."
"What about the Freefolk? Won't they be coming through the wall while you're away?" Sansa dabbed her eyes with her handkerchief.
Jon nodded. "Some. They are going to be coming through in small groups of a thousand or so each time. I talked it over with Mance."
"How should I deal with them?"
"We should call a meeting with Tormund, Ygritte, Sigorn, and Theon." Jon said.
"Why Theon?" Sansa asked.
"Because I want him to help Ygritte with her job, which is to learn the land." Jon clarified, observing Theon's particular interest in Ygritte. A match from north of the wall with a Lord or Lady wouldn't be a bad idea. Jon wanted Ygritte to find happiness, and he harboured the hope that Theon might settle down. He considered offering Theon the Dreadfort once they had dealt with the Boltons, possibly creating a naval port that wouldn't interfere with White Harbor.
The Freefolk weren't the only concern weighing on Jon. He had hoped for a few more days before departing Queenscrown, but that was not to be the case. If Arya was to pose as Littlefinger, as she had suggested to him in private the previous day, both financial ledgers needed to be copied before Jon and Arya left Queenscrown. The thought of copying two years of financial transactions for the crown in just one day was a daunting task.
"We need to get those ledgers copied, just in case Lord Baelish needs to make an appearance." Jon reiterated.
"I'll talk to Robb and Arya. After the meeting, I'll go help, while you pack for your trip. I doubt Arya needs to pack very much." Sansa said, acknowledging the urgency of the task at hand.
An hour later, a meeting had been called with the Freefolk representatives and Theon, who looked perplexed to why he was in the meeting. They gathered in Jon and Sansa's solar, with the smaller version of the famed painted table. Once they were all seated with a horn of ale, Jon started the meeting.
"Something important has come up, which means I have to leave Queenscrown for a little while." Theon, Ygritte, Sigorn, and Tormund all exchanged confused glances. "I must go south to Dragonstone and King's Landing. I should be gone around two to three moons. However, I expect the first group of Freefolk to be coming through the Wall by then. I want to leave Tormund here to learn some of the basics for running Queenscrown. Just the rules, and helping with the rebuild. Sansa will go through the rest with Mance when he arrives, as he is your official King. And he can also read and write."
"Sounds good to me." Tormund shrugged, displaying his characteristic nonchalance.
"Sigorn will be the one to travel to the Wall and back to bring the first group. They will initially settle in Queenscrown, but will then be moved to a more suitable place for them, as I expect Queenscrown to not be where most of the Freefolk wish to settle." Jon explained, looking to Sigorn. "Is that alright with you?"
"Fine with me." Sigorn nodded.
Jon turned to Theon and Ygritte. "I need one person familiar with the north to show Ygritte the lay of the land. She knows the Freefolk, and she will know which parts will be most suited to which groups, for initial settling." Jon glanced between the pair. "Do you think you can do that without killing one another?"
Theon smiled. "I have no problem, as long as she doesn't."
Jon turned to Ygritte, who scowled. "Alright, I'll do it. Can't promise I won't slit his throat though, if he tries to lay one fucking finger on me."
Jon tried not to laugh; it appeared Theon, Tormund, and Sigorn were cut from the same cloth. Sansa, however, looked confused.
"I'm sure Theon will be a perfect gentleman, won't you, Theon?" Sansa glared at him, silencing everyone in the room.
"Yes, your grace." Theon replied, feigning a chided expression that failed miserably.
Jon gave Theon a pointed look. While he might have found Theon's response amusing, he wasn't going to tolerate Greyjoy's insolence towards Sansa. It wasn't just Jon who was displeased; Ghost, beside Jon, and Lady, beside Sansa, both expressed their discontent. Theon swallowed, apprehensive about the snarling direwolves. Though they would only act if he harmed their masters, he was fully aware of the potential danger.
After finalising the minor details required for Ygritte and Theon's journey, Jon and Sansa returned to their solar. Inside, Arya and Robb were diligently copying the figures and transactions from the original ledger. This would allow Sansa to familiarise herself with the state of the realm's finances before Jon became King.
"What do you plan on doing with the originals?" Robb inquired.
"Littlefinger will return them for his final visit to Kings Landing. After that, he will briefly visit the Eyrie, and then return to Essos," Arya explained with a smile. "A rumour might have to be spread that he has been killed by dragonfire, who knows." She shrugged.
Sansa shook her head. "Jon, are you going to let her do this?"
Jon was astonished to find himself dragged into the discussion. "Me?" He pointed at himself.
"You're the one taking her," Sansa folded her arms.
Arya rolled her eyes. "Sansa, I'm perfectly capable of looking after myself."
"Robb?" Sansa turned her glare to her brother.
"Don't bring me into this."
"Jon, she's just a child."
"Excuse me. I'm twenty," Arya interjected. "I'm just as capable in this body as I was in the last. In fact, I'm better. I've got two years more experience. Littlefinger has to be seen every now and again if we are to use him to manipulate his web of deceit for our purposes. We need to make sure Aunt Lysa supports us. It is the only way forward."
Robb, having only just comprehended that Arya was going to become Littlefinger, using the dead man's face, looked like he was going to be sick.
"Sansa, she'll be fine," Jon reassured her. "She's got to navigate in and out of the Red Keep somehow. Using Littlefinger's face is the perfect move. He isn't under suspicion for anything, other than the ledger issue."
Sansa nodded. "Fine, Arya. Just try to avoid Varys. He'll know straight away."
"I'm not an idiot." As if in agreement, Nymeria strolled over from the hearth where she'd been sleeping and laid her head on Arya's lap in support. "See, Nymeria believes in me."
"Always trust the opinion of a direwolf," Robb said, a small smirk on his face. Suddenly, the tension dissipated, and they all burst into laughter.
Jon assisted with the ledgers as much as he could, but arranging for the journey south demanded his attention. A raven was dispatched to White Harbor for him and Arya to book passage on a ship, and another to Winterfell to announce their impending arrival. While Sansa diligently copied ledgers, Jon took on the responsibility of composing all the letters and assembling the men to accompany them. They were scheduled to depart two days after Lady Stark received her raven.
Throughout the time since Jon and Sansa had returned from the cave, Jon sensed the dragon inside the egg was growing. He was confident the egg would not hatch while he was away. Not that he knew much about hatching dragon eggs, but it was a feeling he got from it, and from Ghost, who also seemed attuned to the egg and guarded it with his life. Lady, never leaving Ghost's side, was indirectly protecting the egg as well.
Jon felt gratitude for the direwolves and for Ser Barristan. Despite Ser Barristan being a member of the Kingsguard, Jon had persuaded him to stay in Queenscrown. The reason was clear, questions would be raised if a former Kingsguard was found guarding the illegitimate son of a deceased man with few enemies. Ser Barristan's renown in the capital would attract unwanted attention.
Ghost and Nymeria would accompany Jon as far as Winterfell, after which they would return to Queenscrown to safeguard Sansa. This arrangement left the Queen to be protected by Ghost, Lady, Nymeria, and Greywind, along with Robb and Ser Barristan. With such a formidable defence, Jon felt assured that Sansa would be safe in his absence. However, whether they would be content with the separation, now that they had formed a stronger marital bond, remained uncertain.