DAGGERS TO THE HEART Part 2 - CLASH OF THE KINGS

Jon VII

The weather had been kind as Jon and Oberyn sailed their ship, the Sea Wolf, from King's Landing, granting them a speed uncommon for such voyages. It almost seemed as though they were favoured by some magical god of wind. However, their luck took a turn for the worse on the journey from Dragonstone to Gulltown. Caught in a fierce storm, the ship struggled against the raging elements, slowing its progress to a crawl. Jon couldn't shake the feeling that perhaps the gods themselves were conspiring to hinder their journey, a thought that crossed his mind as he stood on the prow of the ship, buffeted by wind and drenched by rain.

"Don't linger there too long, my Lord," called Captain Waylock from behind Jon, prompting him to turn around. "A man with no sea legs like you will get blown off in these winds."

The captain was a stout figure, his grey hair and the scar down his right cheek giving him a weathered appearance. He walked with a slight limp, the result of a vicious encounter with a shark that had left him permanently marked. According to the captain's tales, he had faced the beast single-handedly, providing his crew with sustenance for weeks afterwards, though the veracity of his stories varied depending on his level of intoxication. Jon listened with a hint of scepticism, equating the captain's exploits to Tormund's infamous encounter with Sheila the bear.

Descending from the deck, Jon sought refuge in the warmth of his cabin. The ship pitched and rolled with the force of the storm, the constant motion driving him to seek respite above deck. As he dried his hair with a linen towel, a knock at his door interrupted his thoughts.

"Come in," Jon called out.

Oberyn entered, carrying a flagon of wine and two goblets. "Only the best Dornish red will do," he smiled, pouring the wine.

"I'm not a big drinker," Jon admitted.

"So what?" Oberyn shrugged. "It doesn't stop you from indulging every now and again." He handed Jon a goblet, taking a seat opposite him.

Jon took a sip, finding it an excellent vintage. "Nice," he nodded with a smile.

"It is one of our best vintages, two hundred and eighty-one AC," Oberyn remarked, causing Jon to choke; it was the year he was born. "Ah, a sad year for most, but a good year for wine," Oberyn added, observing Jon's reaction. He then dipped his nose into the goblet. "Star anise, cinnamon, and black pepper," he identified, taking another sip. "I taste raspberry and black cherry. Mm..." Oberyn closed his eyes, relishing the flavours.

Jon took another sip, but as a non-wine drinker, he couldn't discern all the nuances Oberyn could. "It tastes like wine to me," he shrugged.

Oberyn offered Jon a brief smile, then his expression turned serious as he cocked his head. "Give me an honest answer, do you want to sit on the Iron Throne? You don't seem the type of desire it."

Jon sighed. "Am I that easy to read?" he asked. Oberyn nodded with a chuckle. "Aye, if it were up to me and Sansa, we'd spend the rest of our days in Queenscrown, running the town and..." Jon's voice trailed off as memories of their time in the cave surfaced. A smile crept onto his lips.

"And fucking?" Oberyn suggested.

Though the idea of spending the rest of his days in bed with Sansa held its appeal, Jon desired more. He longed for a family and security. Being a Lord in charge of Queenscrown was a far cry from ruling over the Seven Kingdoms. "I just want to have a family and be safe," he confided in Oberyn.

"Then the last thing you should do is become King," Oberyn deduced. "Which tells me there's another reason driving your desire for the throne."

"I'll tell you when we get to Winterfell," Jon promised, taking a large sip of the delicious wine. The alcohol loosened his tongue, and in truth, he could confide in Oberyn. However, he hesitated, fearing he might lose the Prince's support. Once they were in Winterfell, it would be harder for Oberyn to argue against him, especially with multiple witnesses to the threat of the army of the dead.