The night following Ramsey's hunt I had the longest bath of my life. I had cleaned the majority of the wretched substances off of my body on the grounds earlier with a rag and bucket - not having the audacity to even enter the Landlady's home in the state I smelt. The bath was different though. Lavender stems all floated around me, filling my nostrils with a sweet, soothing scent as the steam from near boiling water rose into the air. That same steam opened my pores and let the water seep deeper than ever into my skin to rid itself of any dirt that remained. My hair was a dark tangle of black that floated in the basin with me; nimble fingers eventually easing the mane into the soft waves that once sprung up to frame my face. It was as luxurious a bath as I could have ever asked for and I breathed deep, savoring the privacy of this moment. I had not had a bath alone in over 5 years - or any bath with hot water in over 10. I couldn't recall the last time I had more than 20 minutes to allow my thoughts to roam so freely as to the tangles of my hair or the lavender in a room. Let alone the hour long soak that was currently taking up my evening. I had even been offered a handmaid to wash away my troubles, but I declined as graciously as I imagined the Lady's the were usually offered such privileges would have done.
"Ghost?"
A knock sounded at the door that had me up and out the bath in milliseconds; water sloshing over the otherwise clean oak floor. I scolded myself and pushed back the fear that threatened to creep up once more. I would not continue to wear my worries like a second skin. Death would come for me when it chose to and it was currently riding South to console it's own bruised ego - not knocking at my door. "A moment, please." I found a towel and wrung out the excess water of my hair back into the basin, contemplating getting back in it after dealing with the visitor. I then proceeded to wrap it tightly around my body, along with both arms to hold it all together and cover some of the ugly bruises that still marred my skin. "Come in."
The door hitched open and in came the King in the North, a small bundle of clothes folded in his arms and a hint of rose touching his cheeks as he caught sight of the towel. "Apologies, my Lady. I only meant to bring you your clothes. Supper is being served in a moment, I didn't know whether you wanted it brought to your room."
"I'm no Lady, Jon. I don't deserve such treatment. Especially not from a King." I walked over and took the pile of clothes from his arms, inspecting each garment and spotting an all too familiar lace dress hidden within the mix. "How did this get here?" I asked, fingering the thin fabric and holding it before him; my voice a mix of confusion and accusation.
I could have smiled when his cheeks deepened in color. I didn't though, it were not a kind thing to embarrass a man as dignified as Jon Snow. Not after everything he had done for me.
"It's what I found you in. The maids here just washed it and put it with the rest of the garments they managed to find for you. The Landlady told me they looked a good fit."
"Do I have to wear it?" Ramsey had picked each dress I wore for a long time - each becoming less of a dress and more of an undergarment than the last.
"From what I can remember it didn't look very effective at covering your body - perhaps something a little warmer."
"Men dress warmer than women."
"Then we'll dress you like a man." He smiled, gesturing to the tunics and thick hide trousers amongst the mix. Relief washed over me and I smiled, hugging the clothes close to my frame and gesturing to the door.
"I won't be a moment. Could I join you for supper?"
"Only because you no longer smell like a horses arse."
I watched him leave my bedroom and shook my head with a weary smile. Jon Snow was not such a serious being after all - learning to trust him became easier with every taunt and jibe.
The Landlady prepared a great feast for Jon and his men and the winter soldiers ravaged the tables and the ale hungrily, asking for more as it please them and tipping generously with gold and silver and coppers alike. I watched them all with narrowed eyes as the drinks washed down their food and washed away their sense. Drunk words began to slur across the room, not hateful or harmful in any way, but loud and full of song and merry cheer as they drank well into the night past the dinner. Even Jon himself, whom I had not seen relax for more than a moment seemed to sink comfortably into his chair and share stories and the songs of home with the brothers around him. I ate my fill and tried the ale, a bitter concoction that pricked up every hair on my neck as I tried forcing back sip after sip. It became easier after the first two cups. I began to talk to the men of the night's watch and heard a thousand great tales of the white walkers beyond the wall and the mammoths and giants that now manned the wall with the likes of wildlings and freefolk alike. A unity heard of never before. Every man at that table, no matter how bold their own tales got were all in awe of the man that faced the Night King himself. Jon Snow seemed to have a very loyal set of men at his side - they did nothing but praise him for his deeds and the choices he made for the people of the north. I felt nothing but humility from the King as each man spoke; not once did he agree or thank them for their kind words - only ever shaking his head like the fools around him were drunk and nothing more. I would put my coin on the 10 men that believed in Jon Snow more than I ever would the King and his modesty.
The evening turned to night and the night grew cold as the men began to head back to their rooms - some enticing the maids to join them on their journey up the stairs. I had consumed enough ale to put down a rather small horse and I so I decided staying at the table for the foreseeable future was the best (and only) option I had.
"Dress like a man. Drink like a man. Drunk like a woman." Jon Snow mocked me without menace in his voice. A hand stopped my shoulder to steady the room as it began to spin and I looked up to meet the eyes of the man that saved my life - twice. "I believe it is time to call it a night, little Lady."
"I believe the floor will sink beneath my feet if I stand, little Snow." I rested my head back against the wall behind me and took a deep breath to try and steady my vision as it blurred and distorted the candlelit room. I think Jon was laughing at me, though I couldn't lift my head back up to look at him anymore. My head had become far too heavy for that.
Everything sounded so unimportant when you were intoxicated. I could hear Jon talking, laughing and even calling to me as I curled back in my seat and yet no urgency to reply to the sound of his voice came to me. Only a hiccup of laughter as I realized I had begun to fall asleep as he spoke. "Ghost? I'm going to take you to bed now." A shift in weight and my head no longer rested on the cold wooden planks behind my chair, instead it was propped against the chest of the man that had lifted me into his arms. If I closed my eyes to block out the way the light pulsed and made a ringing in my ears I could hear Jon Snow's heartbeat - steady and strong as he scaled the Keep and took me to what I assumed was my own room. It still smelt of lavender.
"Do you need the fire?" Jon's breath was warm and smelt of rich wine. I gazed at the faint scars and creases that carved and defined his face. The way the stubble on his cheeks shadowed his jaw and cut a line sharper than steel from ear to ear. The eyes in the center were the real focal point though, the small ring of copper near eliminated into a coal black to match the locks of hair that fell down his face. The contrast of weatherbeaten skin and those dark curls only seemed to soften his features - it did not seem as harsh as it once had in the light of day. Perhaps it was just the way the candlelight licked his skin or perhaps it was the way the ale had distorted the world, but Jon Snow almost looked handsome in that moment. Even with the dirt still stuck to his face and the smell of wine hanging from his every word.
"You're warm." The words slipped out from my mouth and hung in the air between us. Jon's brows furrowed and distorted his face into it's usual brooding expression. He shook his head.
"You're drunk."
"I'm cold."
"Then I'll start a fire."
The sobering King did just that. After lying down my body in the bed beside us he knelt by the fire and set to work. I lied there soundlessly and watched the way his hands moved deftly among the flames, manipulating the wood and kindling until the hearth was strong enough to fight away the frost on it's own. Silence ascended upon the room as the crackle of the flames began to melt away the last of Jon's apparent resolve.
"Still cold?" He asked, albeit cautiously as he approached the bed.
"Still cold." I murmured, the alcohol beginning to set a heavy weight over my eyes, forcing them closed even as I fought to keep them open and intent on the King.
"You're an awful liar." He stated, but after a moment I felt the dip of the mattress as a body began to climb into it, the cheap sheets rising up to his jaw and well over my head. It was quiet under the soft linen - and it was easier to lie about my body temperature than it was to admit to Jon Snow that the World felt a little safer by his side than it did without him there to frown away the bad thoughts and things that dwelled within it. Sleep came easily then. It wasn't hard to succumb to a drunken slumber when the King in the North kept guard over your body.
"You'll be the death of me, Ghost." He muttered.
"I promise I'll make it quick." I jested at him with the last of my strength and laughter rumbled in his chest. I knew then that Jon Snow would stay the night. Even if he felt that the honorable thing to do would be to leave the drunken girl alone in her bed - he would stay because I had asked him to do so and that meant more to him than silly courtesies I wanted to play no part in.
In that moment I needed the man - not the king.