DAGGERS TO THE HEART Part 1 - GAME OF THRONES

Jon XVII

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.