DAGGERS TO THE HEART Part 1 - GAME OF THRONES

Ser Barristan II

A firm, echoing knock reverberated through the air, announcing the young prince, now known to Ser Barristan as Jon. The seasoned knight rose from his seat, anticipation stirring within him. As he opened the door, he was greeted by a transformed figure. Jon, once a disheveled sight in the courtyard, had undergone a cleansing. The curls of his ebony hair were tamed, pulled back in the northern fashion, revealing a distinctive widow's peak on his forehead—reminiscent of the late Rhaegar Targaryen.

The unkempt beard had been given a semblance of order, though its length still persisted. Ser Barristan observed with a slight disapproval; such wildling traits did not sit well with his refined sensibilities. Yet, a glimmer of hope lingered within him that this grooming oversight would be rectified in due time.

At Jon's side, a sword with a white wolf pommel hung, a symbol of his northern heritage. Behind him stood Ghost, an immense white wolf whose name was not unknown to Ser Barristan. The wolf's presence added an air of primal authority, a silent companion to the prince. As Ser Barristan welcomed Jon inside, the subtle echoes of Jon's transformation lingered, intertwined with the scent of newfound cleanliness.

"Enter, my lord," Ser Barristan gestured, allowing Jon to step inside before closing the door with a measured grace. Only then did the veteran knight bow, acknowledging the young prince. "Your grace," he uttered with the proper deference.

Seating Jon near the crackling fire, Ser Barristan offered hospitality. "Would you fancy some ale, your grace?" he inquired, a touch of formality lacing his words.

Ghost, the massive white wolf, trailed in behind Jon, conducting a swift olfactory inspection of Ser Barristan before finding his place by the hearth, mirroring the actions of Lady.

A spark of delight crossed Jon's features. "You have no idea how much I would love some ale," he confessed, a broad grin breaking across his face. "And please, Ser Barristan, in here, call me Jon. We'll leave the 'your grace' part until I've got that monstrous chair."

As the horn of ale exchanged hands, Ser Barristan noted the genuine disinterest Jon held for the Iron Throne. Seating himself across from the young man, the seasoned knight tried to discern any traces of Rhaegar in Jon's countenance. Alas, the beard obscured too much.

"If you don't fancy the crown, why chase after that monstrous chair?" Ser Barristan posed the question lightly, aiming to keep the atmosphere conversational. He was well aware of the looming threat from beyond the Wall, having heard accounts from Sansa, Sam, and Gilly about the encroaching White Walkers. Yet, the seasoned knight sought to hear Jon's perspective straight from the source.

Jon met Barristan's gaze, a weighty seriousness in his eyes. "Ser Barristan, the dead have risen. The Long Night is looming, and we need an army to stand against it. The entire realm must unite to face this threat. What other choice do I have?" Jon queried, a sense of responsibility evident in his words. "I doubt the bastard Joffrey would lift a finger. Stannis, well, the last I heard was of his defeat at the Blackwater. Maester Aemon mentioned a raven bringing that news. Besides, he's wrapped up with the red gods now." Jon shuddered at the thought, a tangible shiver coursing through him.

Jon, akin to Lady Sansa and Lady Arya, carried a burden of age that transcended the lines etched on his face. In the sanctum of trust, Lady Sansa had unravelled the enigma of their prolonged existence, a narrative of lives extending far beyond the numerical count of their years. To Ser Barristan's discerning eye, Jon seemed to bear the weight of six and twenty rather than the ten and nine winters he physically embodied. His eyes, upon closer inspection, held a haunting depth, an echo of a man wearied by experiences far beyond his apparent age. Barristan, privy to the tales of Jon's reign as a king and his battles of varied success, recognized the seasoned commander who had faced the crucible of leadership.