DAGGERS TO THE HEART Part 1 - GAME OF THRONES

Jon XIV

After his 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. The echoes of Ramsay Bolton was still a shadow which he knew Sansa was struggling to escape.

However, what greeted Jon was a bath, steam rising invitingly, 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, likely 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. Emerging from the copper tub, he wrapped in a linen towel left conveniently on a nearby chair; the fabric absorbing the lingering moisture. Clean breeches and a tunic lay neatly 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, inquiring, "Are you decent?"

A faint smile touched Jon's lips. "Come in." He replied, the subtle curiosity of why she needed to ask lingering in his gaze.

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, and he questioned, "Why do you need all of that?"

Placing the tray on the table, Sansa 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, scrutinizing the ends. "It's getting too long and ratty at the ends."

Jon, ever mindful of her previous suggestion to grow out his hair and beard, met her eyes. "You suggested I grow it. Beard and hair, remember, to make me look more like a King." he reminded her, a pointed look accompanying his words. "I know you said you'd do it, but..."

"Sit down, I'll do it." Sansa interrupted, guiding him toward the vanity table with a mirror, urging him to take a seat. As Jon complied, 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." Her words held a genuine sincerity, a desire to contribute to their shared moment.

In that moment, a realization dawned upon Jon – Sansa wasn't truly 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 slightly unnerved after the razor incident, felt his own desires dampening.

Taking charge of the situation, Jon gently 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, his voice carrying a warmth that contrasted with the earlier tension. "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 really ought to tell you about what transpired beyond the wall with Mance."