Reviews make me write faster! I use the quatermaester interracive game of thrones map when writing.
Warning: Descriptive sexual content forms approximately 1/4 of this chapter.
Apologies for the delay. This was quite difficult to write as we delve into several characters' psyches and indulge in some manipulation, and I wanted to make the developments that result from that feel real. As Season 8 shows, grand events and relationships without justified character development, groundwork, and linking/supporting material makes for a poor story. But it doesn't make it any easier to write! Hopefully this chapter being well over twice the normal length makes up for it.
Satin Flowers
While King Renly attended luncheon with the Tyrells, and Ser Loras tried to maintain control of Arya Stark, King Renly had bade the rest of them make use of Highgarden's bathhouse after so long on the road.
The main bathhouse of Highgarden was far grander than the three smaller ones they had passed on the way in. Out in the servant's ring, between the inner and central curtain walls, the three small servant's bathhouses were wooden and their pools were heated by the smoke from the fires of the bakeries and forges.
This stone bathhouse in the castle proper was reserved for highborn, hedge knights, and other nobles that were born smallfolk. And any of the Tyrell household guard, king's messengers, or visiting merchants who paid a copper star or a silver stag respectively for the privilege.
Satin looked around curiously, the nearly crippling anxiety that had been with him since Storm's End leaving him, now that the future Queen Margaery's bride cloak was securely in King Renly's chambers and no longer his responsibility. Idlily the pretty Reachman noted from the lack of smoke from the chimneys that the bathhouse's boilers must be fuelled by charcoal. Something only the grandest bathhouses in Oldtown had been able to afford.
Satin gave Jon a light push to get his attention as the newly minted knight was still staring at the white stone colonnade they had walked down from the great keep. Or more specifically, at the garden courtyard the colonnade cut its way through as it linked the great keep to the bathhouse. Both sides of it overflowing with roses of every colour as two great fountains shot water into the air on either side of the colonnade.
His attention recaptured, Jon followed the rest of them through the well-fitting doors and into the warm embrace of the bathhouse atrium. The heated tiled floor warmed Satin's feet as soon as he removed his boots and the heat was enough that Jon didn't need instructions to begin to remove his clothes, though he still looked confused at the lack of any pool.
"Have you never been to a bathhouse before Jon?" Satin asked, careful to keep the surprise out of his voice. The Northerner had grown up in the grandest castle in the North and received sword lessons from its master-at-arms. It was surely impossible that he'd been forced to make do with a washbasin, like a common servant in a village holdfast. Not when far grander privileges than bathhouse access had been granted to him.
The Bastard of Winterfell blushed. "Winterfell is heated by scalding waters that come from the hot springs. Many of the pools are cool enough to bathe in, but still hot enough to require no bathhouse. We simply strip off and jump in under the open sky."
"Even Lady Stark?!" Satin asked incredulously.
Jon rapidly lost his colour, even in the warmth of the atrium. "No! No, there's a large hot spring for bathing beneath great keep. The highborn ladies bathe there."
Satin laughed as he finished stripping by removing his smallclothes, standing naked in front of Jon.
"What are you doing?" Jon hissed in shock, turning away to face the wall.
"Surely you didn't intend to bathe in your smallclothes Jon?" Satin asked laughing again.
"We aren't at the pool yet!" Jon hissed out, scandalised, refusing to turn back around.
Satin simply nudged the blushing knight, until he gave in and looked at the scribe. Making sure to keep his eyes rock steady on Satin's face.
Satin simply nodded over at Edric Dayne, Alyn Estermont, Addam Whitehead, the Mertyns cousins, and Syrio Forel, all of whom were stark naked and supporting grins. As were the household guards and servants that had ridden with them from Storm's End.
"Maybe we should call you the 'Blushing Bastard' Jon." Edric teased gently to roars of laughter from the rest. His amusement at Jon's awkwardness overcoming his usual perfect politeness.
"The blushing wolf." Syrio Forel corrected, smirking at the title. "It is well that the Westerosi bathhouses do not use the dry heat and thrash the bare skin with birch branches as in Braavos. Else the blushing wolf would be known as the blushing rabbit from the speed at which he flees."
Jon blushed even harder, but reluctantly removed his smallclothes to match the rest of them. Keeping his head down and staring resolutely at the floor.
Satin had seen many, many, many, men's bodies over the years. But he had yet to see a man that had as perfectly round an ass as Jon did. The pretty Reachman bit his lip, but found he couldn't look away as he followed the Northerner and the rest of King Renly's retinue into the steam room. Taking a seat next to the newly christened blushing bastard on one of the stone benches in the hot and humid room.
The steam made it so that none of them could see more than a few feet. Certainly, Satin could see no-one but Jon with any clarity. As the others talked, he found himself admiring the Bastard of Winterfell out of the corner of his eye.
Most men looked less attractive with beards.
Jon Snow was not most men.
The short beard he had grown since Satin had last seen him in King's Landing made him even prettier, if that were possible, and he'd seen only moments before how perfectly round the Northerner's ass was. But the rest of the blushing bastard's body was distinctly masculine. Muscles defined his arms and legs, the latter covered in dark hair. The same thick dark hair covered his entire chest before narrowing as it descended along the centre of his flat stomach, leading down towards…
Satin blushed and shifted slightly, casually hiding his suddenly half hard member from Jon's line of sight if he happened to glance over.
The pretty Reachman knew that the Northern bastard was attracted to him. If the constant blushing when helping him with his saddle sores on the ride here hadn't been enough of a clue, then the time he'd awakened in Storm's End to the Bastard of Winterfell's rock-hard manhood nestled between the cheeks of his ass as he cuddled Satin possessively would certainly have given it away.
What surprised the pretty Reachman was that he felt something back. He'd thought that his experiences in the brothels of Oldtown and Gulltown had burned any desire for anyone out of him for good…But Satin instead found himself unable to deny the shiver of excitement that ran down his spine as he watched Jon's hairy chest rapidly rise and fall. The Northerner was panting heavily in the heat of the steam room, affected more than any of them by the heat and humidity. And Satin found himself wishing to rest his head on that muscular, hair covered chest, to listen to Jon's heartbeat as he panted.
"…don't you think it's a total waste Jon?" The voice of Alyn came out of the steam.
Of all of the highborn outside of Edric, Alyn had warmed the most to Jon. Perhaps as King Renly's cousin he felt he didn't need to constantly remind people of his highborn status by speaking slights against a bastard.
"What?" Jon replied, curiously, obviously not having been paying attention either.
"Don't you think Lady Margaery marrying my cousin is a total waste? I mean a woman like that! And he won't appreciate her at alllll." Alyn groaned in a manner Satin was well familiar with. He was certain that the young Stormlands knight was touching himself to the thought of Lady Margaery.
"His Grace will appreciate Lady Margaery, already he speaks wistfully of wishing for her advice." Jon Stammered back, before obviously remembering that the fact that the king was fucking the lord commander of his Kingsguard was supposed to be a secret. "And he'll appreciate her in other ways too!"
"Oh come on Jon, I'm not letting the side down. Everyone here knows who my cousin prefers to bed and I'm sure he'll do his duty and get her with child in short order too. It's just such a waste! Those sweet lips, those gorgeous teats!" Alyn let out a long groan again. "Surely the gods have cursed me. You should see the trolls my father has mentioned betrothing me too, then my sword swallowing cousin gets a woman like that!"
"Her teats are perfect." Robert spoke up wistfully before Jon could tell Alyn to be silent. "I want to bury my face in them."
"Don't we all." Addam groaned out lecherously. Satin was certain that he was touching himself as well.
"This talk is unworthy of knights!" Jon protested. As he sounded rather strangled, Satin was unable to stop himself sneaking a peak. An excited shudder ran down his spine at what he could glimpse through the steam. Jon Snow wasn't touching himself, he was far too honourable for that, instead he was gripping the edge of the bench to keep himself from giving into the temptation. But where before Satin had only been able to see thick dark curls at the base of his pleasure trail, now the Northerner's manhood was hard and on full display.
The length was nothing to whisper about, Jon was actually shorter than most men, but the girth…Satin twisted his legs and shifted as he felt the memory of an ache in his ass, an echo of the last time he had been stretched so wide.
When he'd recovered his wits, Satin frowned and began to doubt himself as the implications of Jon being so hard from the talk of Lady Margaery sank in. Despite all the signs, perhaps he'd been wrong to think the Bastard of Winterfell was attracted to him?
Truly caring for the first time whether someone desired him or not, Satin half lidded his eyes so that they appeared closed and waited. When Alyn groaned out that he wanted to bite what he was certain were the Rose of Highgarden's perfect rosy nipples, the pretty Reachman made a noise and pushed his skinny chest out.
Through his lashes Satin saw Jon's head snap round to face him. The Bastard of Winterfell drinking in the sight of in his dusky pink nipples on full display, due both to his actions and his natural lack of body hair.
The deep lustful groan Jon let out as his manhood twitched and his grip on the bench tightened was like a lightning bolt to Satin's core. It took everything he had, every bit of training from the brothels, to not react. His question was answered. Jon definitely desired him. He was simply one of those men that desired both men and women equally, and it could not be denied that Lady Margaery was a very beautiful woman.
"Seems like even the paragon of honour can't resist Lady Margaery's charms!" Addam jeered at Jon's groan.
Satin fought the urge to frown at the look of anger and self-loathing that appeared on Jon's unguarded face before he returned to resolutely staring at the floor. Instead he stirred slowly, giving Jon time to angle one of his legs to hide his throbbing manhood from Satin's view well before he 'opened' his eyes and looked directly at the Bastard of Winterfell.
"I'm ready to move on Jon, are you?" Satin asked, smiling sweetly and letting none of the confusion at desire he had thought himself incapable of feeling show on his face or in his voice.
"Gods yes!" Jon choked out. He leapt up and practically ran towards the soap tables by the door even as Alyn hooted at the Northman's supposed lack of staying power, believing that Jon had already reached his completion.
Satin joined him, and if Jon tugged on his stunningly thick member more times than was strictly necessary as the both of them lathered every part of their skin in soap, Satin didn't say a word.
Satin's own hardness subsided immediately when a clearly embarrassed Edric rushed to make use of the soap table on his other side, keen to join both of them in escaping the other's talk. The sight of the Dornish boy's childish body, only now beginning to enter adulthood, brought back memories for Satin that drove away any hint of desire and instead left him feeling anxious and vaguely sick.
The three of them left the steam room and Edric quickly led them to the circular plunge pool, clearly wanting to get away from the talk and groans still coming from the steam room as fast as possible.
The Dornish boy jumped in, the soap floating to the surface and over the side as Edric himself plunged down into the 16-foot-deep pool of unheated water. After the heat of the steam room, the unheated water surely felt freezing. The young knight surfaced after a few moments and scrambled to the side yelping and gasping, but soapless and clean. Climbing out as the pool slowly refilled from its aqueduct.
"Thank the gods, this is just what I need." Jon muttered in relief, looking over at Satin.
As he kept his body turned away, Satin knew Jon was still hard. A smirk began to form on the Reachman's angelic face.
"Good, then you can go first!" Satin exclaimed - pushing Jon into the plunge pool.
Unfortunately, Jon caught his arm in a vicelike grip as he fell. With barely enough time to yelp, Satin found himself pulled into the plunge pool right alongside the Bastard of Winterfell.
When he surfaced, spluttering and freezing, it was to Jon Snow laughing. Satin's raven black curls had stuck to his face, neck, and shoulders in a manner that made him look like a bedraggled spaniel. He splashed water in Jon's still grinning face as he looked entirely too pleased with himself.
Swimming around the spluttering bastard and clinging onto his back, Satin wrapped his arms and legs around Jon's neck and waist.
"It's cold. Rescue me Ser Knight." The pretty Reachman teased, his angelic face the very picture of innocence.
Jon laughed again and climbed out the steps with Satin still clinging to his back. Edric led the way to the warm pool, which was some 80 feet long, 20 wide, and 6 deep. The smirk that grew on the Northman's face as soon as he saw the depth of the warm pool promised nothing good.
"Jon Snow don't you dare!" Satin exclaimed in horror as he realised what Jon intended.
The Bastard of Winterfell didn't listen, instead pulling Satin from his back while laughing, then throwing him into the pool.
As he sailed through the air and hit the water in a tangle of limbs, Satin spewed a stream of vile curses at the howling Bastard of Winterfell. Vowing revenge.
It was some time later, after the others hand joined them, that they exited the bathhouse. To Satin's surprise they found Ser Garlan Tyrell standing at the midway point of the colonnade leading back to the great keep, admiring the rose garden as he waited for them.
"Ser Jon Snow!" Garlan exclaimed happily, grasping Jon's forearm and slapping his opposite shoulder, showing no distaste at Jon's bastard birth. "My brother has told me much of you. Come and give me a spar, I want to see how much is true!"
Satin was pleased to see Jon shoot him a smile as he departed with Ser Garlan while the rest of King Renly's retinue began to amble back towards the suite of guest chambers assigned to them in the palatial great keep.
Well, most of them did. Satin found himself with a servant in Tyrell livery and a snobbish look on their face planted squarely in his path.
"Lady Olenna commands your presence. Come quickly, you do not wish to keep her waiting." They sneered.
The pretty Reachman's heart was beating so hard he was surprised it hadn't escaped his chest. He spent the entire walk up the staircases of the palatial great keep franticly trying to think of what he'd done to catch the Queen of Thorn's attention.
He was eventually shown into a solar near the summit of the great keep. A pair of muscle-bound redheaded twins opening, and then sealing, the door behind him. A wizened old woman in a golden dress and green wimple stood on the solar's small balcony, not reacting at all to his entrance.
Satin recognised the control tactic of silence. Instead of allowing it to force him to speak, he simply folded his hands in front of him and looked down at the floor. The very picture of unspoiled innocence waiting silently to be noticed.
The wizened old woman finally tuned from the balcony's balustrade, turning her back on the green woods and pasture, the glittering blue Mander river, and the golden fields of wheat. All stretching as far as the eye could see under the summer sun.
The Queen of Thorns made her way to the circular table set up inside the balcony's screen doors. Sitting calmly, she finally deigned to look at Satin. She took her time and peered at him calculatingly.
"Oh yes, that's perfect. If I didn't know better I might even believe it myself. You must have been very popular. Very well done dear, but drop the act. We both know there's far more to you than meets the eye."
"Do we my lady?" Satin asked demurely, looking up at her through his long lashes and raven curls.
Lady Olenna snorted in amusement. "Ha! I'd commend you for a perfect performance if it wasn't all for naught. At this age my old bones are too decrepit to go for a tumble in the sheets even if you'd be able to perform. Come now boy, sit down and speak truthfully to me. I promise it's less likely to result in me deciding to do away with you than this pretence. There quickly comes a point where mummery ceases to be amusing."
Feeling as if he may be sick at any moment, Satin reluctantly sat opposite Lady Olenna and ceased pretending. Letting a blank mask settle on his face even as he searched her own carefully, desperate for any clue as to what the answers she wanted to hear from him were.
The Queen of Thorns noted his total change in demeanour and intense study of her and raised an eyebrow, speaking tartly. "It would seem a brothel's education is more of a benefit than I ever expected."
Satin easily kept the blush that would have normally formed from his face, sliding into the place in his mind that he went to when he had been forced to service men who were truly repulsive.
"All education is worthwhile, my lady." Satin replied neutrally when it was clear he would not be allowed to sit in silence.
The wizened old matriarch scoffed. "Well, lets get right down to it boy. What hold do you have over our new king?"
"I have no hold over His Grace." Satin answered guilelessly and with ease.
"Don't try to pull the wool over my eyes boy. Better men than you were trying it before even your grandmother was born." Lady Olenna sniffed dismissively. "I'm told you were taken from the Gulltown gaol, ripped out of the very hands of the Night's Watch no less, because you matched a description that Renly Baratheon had given that could apply to no-one else but you. Then you were employed as a scribe in his household, despite not knowing your letters, and he's kept you close ever since. No man does that without being compelled to do so. If they did, there'd be far fewer bastards running around.
"I know nothing of why King Renly rescued me, nor why he gave me this position as his scribe." Satin responded tonelessly, again speaking only the truth and using his mind tick to keep his growing fear, anxiety, and anger under control.
The Queen of Thorns studied him hard for a few moments before sitting back in her chair and sighing in disappointment. I suppose it was too much to ask that even a sword swallower be loyal. Does my grandson know that prancing fool is fucking you?"
"It's true that His Grace desires me greatly, but he has never behaved in any manner that could be considered dishonourable by Ser Loras. Nor will he." Satin spat with utter conviction, surprising even himself as anger on King Renly's behalf escaped his mind trick and leached into his tone.
Lady Olenna looked taken aback for a moment. "Well now, that is something. And all this devotion is because he plucked you from the crow's greedy talons, is it?"
"Few people in this world have kind hearts my lady." Satin returned coldly even as warmth spread across his chest as he thought of the trust, protection, and faith that Renly Baratheon and Jon Snow offered him without asking for anything between his legs in return. "Those that do should be protected for as long as possible."
The Queen of Thorns stared at the pretty young Reachman disbelievingly. "I've never met a whore that wouldn't sell the secrets they knew if the right price was offered."
"I've never been a whore to them so don't expect me to behave like one!" Satin snapped as he gritted his teeth, wanting to use far worse language but recognising he was already on thin ice behaving as he was to a highborn lady.
"Such loyalty, could that be it?" The matriarch mused to herself as she studied Satin again.
He simply sat in silence and endured her penetrating gaze.
"You're the one that that young buck chose to ride to Storm's End with a letter to call his banners while his brother still lived, aren't you?"
Satin was glad that he hadn't been the one to have to break the silence. "I was my lady."
"And you knew what you carried?"
"Not in detail, but Ser Loras was very clear that in the wrong hands it could cause both he and King Renly to lose their heads. I know many people who would have paid me my weight in gold had I taken it to them." Satin answered, feeling as dirty as if he was back in the brothel for even thinking about such an outcome.
Olenna Tyrell chucked to herself, sitting back in her chair and relaxing. "And yet you told no one and delivered it safely. My my, that is it. How refreshing it is to deal with someone who knows what they're doing."
The old matriarch studied him in silence for a few moments before grunting to herself. Evidently she was satisfied with what she'd found. "Well. You're not who I'd have picked. But you'll do, my boy, you'll do."
"My Lady?" Satin asked, confused as to what had just happened.
Lady Olenna ignored him. Instead, she bellowed at a volume he wouldn't have believed someone of her age and size was capable of.
"LEFT!"
"Yes my lady?" One of the twins asked after opening the door.
"Take this boy to Peake. Tell the old fool he's to continue teaching him his letters, and once the pretty young thing's mastered that sufficiently he's to move on to codes. And you boy," the Queen of Thorns said, turning back to Satin, "you best learn quickly. There'll be much for you to do."
"I do only as King Renly commands." Satin replied defiantly, bracing himself for the old woman's wrath.
Instead, the Queen of Thorns cackled at his defiance. "Oh yes, you'll do very nicely indeed."
Jon Snow
Jon threw his sword into the sand in disgust as Ser Garlan landed a 'deadly' strike once again.
"Fear not Ser Jon." Garlan the Gallant grinned as he beckoned at his squire to bring them their waterskins. "You're better by far than most currently in this keep. I believe the only one more skilled is my brother."
The praise took the edge off the sting of losing.
As he drank deeply from his waterskin, Jon reflected that Ser Garlan was indeed the superior swordsman by a considerable way. And as the gallant knight seemed to not mind that he was a bastard, he decided to make a request.
"I would greatly value the chance to train with you while King Renly remains here Ser Garlan. I must rescue my father and sister and I would learn from the best so that I can dispatch all who stand in my way."
Garlan the Gallant grinned fiercely. "Good! I was hoping you'd suggest it. Fighting four guards has been getting frighteningly dull, fighting you and Loras together will be much more of a challenge. Perhaps I should ask Maester Lomys for a sleeping draught too, that would better reflect the exhaustion of battle."
Jon blanched. "But…isn't that dishonourable? To face you while you've taken something akin to poison?"
The Bastard of Winterfell suddenly found his right ear stinging as Ser Garlan swatted him lightly around the head. "Best leave all notions of honour behind. You're training for war, not a tourney. In battle there's no honour among the blood and the screams, no fighting one on one. It's a dirty and brutal brawl where the only thing that matters is that you're still standing at the end of it."
Jon fought down his anger and tried to keep his tone respectful. "But my father said that I must act with honour at all times. I would not disappoint him by disobeying his command."
"Oh to be that young again." Ser Garlan spoke with a fond tone, but his smile was condescending. Jon's indignation flared but the Reachman cut him off. "Ser Jon, Lord Stark has never truly spoken about his fight with the Sword of the Morning. But he has always said that he would not have survived it if it were not for Howland Reed. Have you ever met Lord Reed?"
"I have not had the pleasure," Jon groused sullenly, "he hasn't been to my Lord Father's court since I was born."
"By all accounts he's a poor swordsman, short, and, well it seems in poor taste to call him weak; but that's the truth of it. Like as not you could beat him with one hand tied behind your back."
"But then how could have he have helped my father defeat Ser Arthur Dayne?" Jon asked in confusion.
"He's a cragoman, and they're excellent with poison." Ser Garlan answered kindly.
"How dare you accuse my father of using poison!" Jon bellowed, but Ser Garlan simply drank from his waterskin and grinned.
"Lord Stark likely didn't. Tis likely Lord Reed got a hit in with a poison blade, bolt, or spear while Ser Arthur was fighting your father as a distraction. Then the poison slowed him down enough for Lord Stark to win."
Jon's anger smouldered. But he was forced to admit that if Ser Garlan's description of Howland Reed was true, then there were few other ways he could see his Lord Father's friend helping to such an extent that is father claimed he would have died without his aid.
He stormed away to the other side of the training yard, leaning on the wooden barrier and looking out over an immaculate lawned courtyard. Green and gold canvass pavilions were set up at several points on the soft grass, so the ladies could watch the knights train. Thankfully they were all currently empty, like the rest of the training yard apart from Ser Garlan's squire. Which raised the question of where exactly Arya was. Jon prayed the answer wasn't the armoury.
It was some time before Ser Garlan joined him. "War isn't like the songs my friend. Nine tenths of it is boring drudgery. Planning, scouting, gathering support, moving supplies, and marching your men into position. The last tenth is bowel loosening terror as everyone tries to kill each other and uses any method they can to do so, no matter how dishonourable. The singers and mummers tidy it up for the ladies and boys later."
"My father…"Jon tried to put his thoughts into words even as the truth of Garlan's words hit home. The Northman remembered the desperate terror that had filled him in the flight from King's Landing. He himself had killed half a dozen unarmed and unarmoured smallfolk when they'd tried to pull him and Arya from their horses as they pushed through the crowd in Fishmonger's Square, franticly trying to reach the Mud Gate. There'd been little honour in that.
Jon shook his head as he realised he couldn't even believe his own lie. There hadn't been little honour in a mounted and armoured warrior with a castle forged sword striking down smallfolk with neither weapons nor armour – There'd been no honour in it at all.
But he'd done it anyway.
When King Renly sat on the Iron Throne some singer would doubtless turn it into a valiant escape where only corrupt gold cloaks died at the hands of the brave and fearless men of unflappable King Renly's retinue. Sansa would doubtless have asked for it to be sung again and again while sighing. Saying she wished she could have witnessed it and refusing to believe the truth of King Renly's household guards dying left and right while their lord panicked and screamed nonsense calculations and Jon cut down helpless smallfolk.
The truth of their flight was so different to the song that would surely be written that Jon was left with little choice but to bitterly reflect that he shouldn't be surprised that the truth of his Lord Father's fights in Robert's Rebellion was different to the stories he had told his sons.
"You were a boy." Garlan explained kindly, answering the question Jon wasn't able to put into words. "What good would it do to terrify you with stories of dying men screaming for their mothers while their bowels spilled out onto the earth? Of how often your Lord Father nearly met his end at the hands of a peasant levy with a sharpened stick he'd dipped in his own shit? There'd time enough for that when you became a man. Tis just bad luck that manhood arrived so suddenly for you, and that your Lord Father was not there to guide you through the transition from boy to man."
"Even though we love and cherish them, as men we must leave behind the boy's belief that our fathers are gods, unable to do any wrong." Jon muttered bitterly, remembering King Renly's explanation for his father's mistake in refusing to flee with them as they rode to Storm's End.
"Who said that?" Garlan asked, surprised.
"King Renly." Jon answered quietly.
"Well then, lets hope he has more pearls of wisdom, because it looks like he's about to need them." Garlan muttered ruefully.
Jon turned to see Loras Tyrell storming across the training yard towards the great keep with a face like thunder. He made to leave, but was stopped by Garlan suddenly gripping his shoulder.
"Let me offer you a little advice this time Jon." Garlan spoke up with a smile. "Never get between quarrelling lovers."
"How do you know he's going to see King Renly?" Jon asked, confused.
"Because unless something truly terrible has happened, only your lover can ever make you that angry." Garlan laughed as he presented the Northman's sword hilt first to its owner. Wordlessly they prepared for their next bout as Loras disappeared into the great keep.
Renly Baratheon
After luncheon I summoned Arya to the small solar I'd commandeered, to begin the process of informing Robb of a highly edited version of the events leading up to, and following, the final hours of King Robert's life. Edric had arrived at her side, the two of them sticking together like glue in the unfamiliar Highgarden. Something that I hoped boded well for their betrothal.
"Why can't you just send Robb a raven?" Arya muttered mutinously, pulling at the sleeves of Rhaelle Targaryen's dress. She'd very reluctantly agreed to wear it to tonight's feast welcoming me to Highgarden.
"Because it would be too likely to be intercepted." I replied calmly. "Critical communications should not be entrusted to ravens in war if it's possible to avoid it. Especially not when they have to fly over enemy territory."
"But the Riverlands are Mother's homeland!" Arya protested.
"Yes, and they currently have a Lannister army rampaging across them." I deadpanned as Arya huffed. "Besides, Robb will believe nothing I write. He knows nothing of me except that I managed to escape King's Landing when your father did not. And if the Lannisters have sent ravens claiming to still hold you prisoner in King's Landing along with Sansa, which stranger will he believe? Even if I manage to deal with all of that, there's the fact that explaining everything that occurred would take half a dozen raven scrolls. A full letter, delivered by horse, is the only way to inform Robb of what has transpired. And it must be written by you, not Jon, if it is to be accepted by both Robb and by Lady Catelyn."
"Fine!" Arya acquiesced when Edric nudged her. "I'll write a letter telling Robb what happened and…"
The heavy door to the solar was flung open so hard it rebounded at speed off the stone wall it slammed into.
"How could you do that?!"
Loras' roar reverberated around the solar as he stormed in, the heavy wooden door slamming itself shut behind him with the force of its rebound.
He'd clearly found out about what happened at luncheon and had come straight here. I'd hoped he would have taken a little time to calm down first, or gone to the training yard to work out some of his anger. But it seemed that this time the gods were not on my side, leaving me to face the full force of my beloved's famous temper.
"Oh, we're doing this now?" My resigned reply simply stoked the beautiful knight's temper further – making his brown eyes glitter with fury.
"Out!" Loras snarled, whirling on Edric and Arya.
Edric, utterly intimidated, made for the door immediately. Arya, by contrast, simply crossed her arms and glared, only leaving with a surprised yelp when her betrothed pulled her out the door by her elbow.
Ser Balon held the door and looked inside, asking silently if I wanted any combination of him, Ser Corwin, or Ser Robar to enter the solar.
"Well?!" Loras demanded as soon as the door closed had again at a shake of my head. Fury and betrayal lacing his voice as he crossed his arms, broadcasting completely closed off body language.
"While I was at Storm's End I decided to reform the small council…"
"Don't lie!" Loras snapped, before making a very visible effort to bring his anger under control and speak in something resembling a normal voice. "Don't lie, not to me. I'm your beloved, supposedly. Don't treat me like one of your puppets."
I hung my head and sighed in understanding and disappointment, both at Loras and at myself. "Loras, you gave away five of seven small council seats. Six of seven, if you count how your father's uncle Gorman is almost certainly guaranteed the grand maester position when I remove Pycelle whether I intervene or not, so what…"
"I didn't know about great uncle Gorman," Loras interrupted defiantly. "But one of those seats was mine as lord commander of the Kingsguard, so that shouldn't count. You wanted me in that position so we could be together, so it should count towards your tally. That means I really only gave away four."
I rubbed my eyes tiredly as Loras parroted one of the lines Willas had used so successfully on him back at me. I took a moment to gather myself under my beautiful knight's accusing and betrayed gaze, then continued. "Even if both of those things were true, with only one position left what was I supposed to use to secure the loyalty of my own bannermen? To bring other kingdoms into the fold?"
"You don't need any of them, my family's support is enough." Loras sulked after a few moments of consideration, but the very fact he was sulking rather than continuing to rage let me know that I was starting to get through to him.
"If that were true then House Gardner would have absorbed all of Westeros into the Kingdom of the Reach long before Aegon the Conqueror's arrival." I countered, reaching out to hug my lover.
"Don't touch me!" Loras shrugged me off defensively, so I raised my hands and backed off.
We sat in silence, a technique that I'd learned in my time in mental health first aid. While questioning someone would often cause them to clam up, waiting in silence could often make people verbalise their thoughts as they were uncomfortable with silence and would seek to fill it.
Loras spoke up quietly after some time staring at the floor in silence. "If I believe you, if I believe that my terms were so bad that you had to repudiate them immediately, it means Willas betrayed me. That my own brother looked me in the eyes and lied."
"Willas didn't betray you." I countered immediately and vehemently. Quite aside from the terrible moral issue of damaging my boyfriend's relationship with his loving and supportive siblings, inciting strife between the Tyrell siblings was the very last thing I needed politically.
Loras looked up from the floor with red rimmed eyes. "He must have. If my terms weren't that bad then you'd have just accepted them for now, then announced these reforms later and got the fairer deal you wanted then. For you to cut my legs out from under me in front of all of Highgarden like this my terms have to have been terrible. That means Willas lied to me, used me, and humiliated me."
Slowly, I took one of Loras' hands in my own, sighing with relief when he didn't push me away. "He didn't, he just treated you as what you were, an envoy of King Renly Baratheon. It's my fault. I should have realised he wouldn't hold back just because you're his brother, just as Garlan wouldn't hold back against you in the training yard."
Loras squeezed my hand a little and took a shuddering breath as he caught sight of a path out of his mental trap of believing that either his brother or his lover had betrayed him. I drew slowly drew the beautiful knight into an embrace, holding him tightly to me as I tried to guide him down that path.
"Its my fault." I whispered quietly as I cherished my beloved. "I asked something of you that you were ill suited for. I should have sent someone who is more politically minded to negotiate the details with Willas after you'd convinced your father to support me."
"So, I'm not good enough." Loras spat bitterly, muffled by his face being buried in my chest.
I fought down my irritation, reminding myself that my beloved was in pain, with one of his core personality traits, his pride, badly mauled by two people of the people he loved and trusted most.
"You're the only person I need or desire my love. I'd be happy tilling the fields as a peasant, as long as it was as your husband." I reassured Loras, verbalising my love and devotion as I played with his tumbling brown curls. "No one can be good at everything my love. You're a master of combat, in battle you could end me in mere moments. That Willas and I are more skilled than you at scheming and politics is no more or less impressive than that."
We sat in silence for a moment more before I dared to kiss Loras' exposed neck, seeking to distract him with more pleasant things.
"My grandmother says she can keep knowledge of this within the family, that no-one needs to know of my disgrace." Loras sighed, letting his head fall back to expose his throat to my attentions.
At once I saw the Queen of Thorn's first attempt at getting her level of control over Loras to supplant mine. I moved to cut it off immediately.
"An easy promise to make," I noted, kissing my way down Loras' throat before taking the time to suck a bright red lovebite into existence on his pale collarbone. "No one but your family should know of the original terms, and none of them will judge you for being outfoxed by Willas."
"But the servants will – Ah!" Loras gasped as I bit down hard on his other collarbone.
"Hush my love. The servants know only that I had an idea that meant the original terms of your agreement were no longer valid. They know not what those terms were, nor that I was not planning on announcing my reforms at Highgarden before I learned of them." I returned my attentions to Loras' neck. Licking, sucking, and biting his rapidly blushing flesh.
Loras' lively brown eyes darkened with desire as he tangled his hands in my hair and pushed my head lower, forcing me to abandon his neck and drop to my knees.
"Only my family knows." He whispered in relief.
"And only your family will ever know my love. Whatever causes you to fear, cease. I will always protect you." I spoke shakily as I untied the laces of Loras' breaches, and his manhood strained against the thin fabric of his smallclothes as I pushed them to his ankles.
The frown that appeared on Loras' face was not what I wanted to see, but it was an opportunity to learn more about his inner motivations that I had just enough clarity of thought left to grasp. I nuzzled and kissed is fabric covered manhood to prevent the beautiful knight from getting lost in his own head as I explored his insecurities. "Tell me my love, what is it that causes the bravest man I know such fear?"
Loras hesitated, so I hooked my fingers in the waistband of his smallclothes and pulled them down. His beautiful cock sprang free, and I took the opportunity give it several long, lingering, licks, from root to tip.
Shuddering, Loras lost himself in the pleasure enough to answer me. "They snigger at me, at the sword swallower. All of them. As soon as I turn my back, they snigger. I have to be the best. I have to make them stop!
There it was. The insecurity at the root of Loras' prickly pride and hunger for glory. At the need to be recognised as the best at everything he did. He wanted to cover himself in glory so that no-one would dare mock him for who he took to bed. Something I'd encountered often as it was a common queer defence mechanism. Just as common as my own vindictiveness.
It was damaging enough to have to face the thought of everyone sniggering at you when you were all equals. With Loras, who feared being mocked by smallfolk he had always been taught were far beneath him, the blade would bite extra deep.
Loras' grip tightening on my hair from his growing anxiety let me know I'd taken a little too long to answer, but I still felt a smirk growing on my face. This was something I could easily work with.
"Fuck them." I smirked, licking up Loras' shaft and taking his head into my mouth, using my tongue to thoroughly play with it, before letting it drag out of my lips with a wet pop. Suitably lubed up, I began languidly stroking his whole length. "They're jealous. There's no one more beautiful in all the Seven Kingdoms than you. They all want us, but we're made for only each other."
"But…" Loras managed to gasp out.
"But nothing my love. You're the Warrior made flesh, both in beauty and in skill, nothing and no one can change that. Let them snigger, they're commoners and not worth a copper star. You, my love, are the most glorious man in the history of Westeros, because you're the only man to ever fuck the king."
Loras' eyes darkened still further, and he groaned deeply as I took the source of his insecurity and used it to begin forging a praise kink as a counter. The mind was the bodies most erotic organ, and I'd always been good at verbal play.
I took his whole length into my mouth, sucking and licking, before pulling back and rubbing his throbbing manhood over my face. Enjoying the heat of it, the weight, the hardness.
"I can't wait till I can do this while wearing my crown." I groaned out, rubbing his helmet into my hairline while his shaft pressed onto my face and my tongue flicked against his balls.
Loras' groaned loudly and his hips bucked as he pulled hard on my hair, making me gasp in pleasure and give him a dirty smile.
"Just think of it my love, the heat of my face, the cold gold of my crown, constantly reminding you that you're the only man to ever to stroke the king's face with your cock."
"Gods….Please!" Loras managed to choke out, pulling on my hair as hard as he could.
I hissed in pleasure as I drew back a little and took him in hand properly, stroking his twitching manhood at a furious pace.
"Please what? Please let you mark the king with your seed? Only if you promise to forget what the common scum think, only if you promise to remember that only your king's opinion matters, then I'll let you mark me as yours. The king is supposed to be anointed by the gods after all, and the seed of the Warrior incarnate is surely more potent than any of the coronation oils in the Great Sept."
"Promise! Promise! Promise!" Loras stammered as he teetered on the edge of utter bliss.
I smirked.
"Release for me Loras, anoint me, mark me as yours, my warrior, my perfect beautiful warrior."
I made sure to point his manhood as I spoke, so that Loras was able to see jet after jet of his seed cover my face in hot, white streaks as he screamed his orgasm loud enough to be heard clear across the castle.
I gasped in pleasure at the heat and force of each jet as they hit my face. As reunions went, I was hard pressed to think of a better one.
Arya Stark
Arya led Edric towards the training yard, still sulking at being banished from King Renly's solar.
"There you are!"
The She-wolf grimaced as she heard the melodic voice call out across the corridor.
She'd hoped that she'd be able to avoid Lady Margaery. The queen-to-be was even more of a lady than Sansa was.
Unfortunately, there was nowhere to hide as Lady Margaery swept towards them, her plain green dress still making her look like the most beautiful woman in the Reach despite there being no embroidery at all. Arya looked down at the elaborate black and gold dress she was wearing and felt the bitterness well up in her. Arya horseface Sansa and Jeyne had called her, a nice dress couldn't hide that. Instead it just made it worse. At least when she was in her riding leathers everyone scolded her for that, rather than tittering like little birds at what a plain and ugly girl she was.
Still Arya turned to face her host and tried to remember the courtesies her Lady Mother had tried so hard to teach her. Resisting the urge to pull at the cuffs of her dress. "Lady Margaery."
Margaery Tyrell caught up to Arya and took her arm in her own. "I'd been hoping to talk to you, we girls must stick together. Lord Dayne, my brother Garlan was looking for you. He asks that you attend him and Ser Jon Snow in the training yard."
Edric looked apologetically at Arya's begging expression before he continued on without her, leaving the She-wolf of Winterfell alone with the Rose of Highgarden. Arm in arm, Lady Margaery led Arya down a different corridor, towards the main doors of the great keep, rather than the smaller door near the training yard. "How was your journey here with King Renly? It can't have been easy, being the only lady in his retinue."
"I'm not a lady!" Arya snapped, indignation filling her at the idea that Lady Margaery thought she was like Sansa. All songs and courtesies and tittering conversation. "And it wasn't hard, I loved it. Riding so fast day after day was brilliant. And Jon was there all day too."
"Oh I adore riding!" Lady Margaery exclaimed with a warm smile. "It's so nice to find another lady who enjoys it as much as I do. What draws you to it so?
"You. You like riding?" Arya scoffed, looking suspiciously at the southern lady. Sansa hated riding, saying it was unladylike.
"It's terribly unladylike of me I know." Lady Margery laughed hugging Arya's arm to her as they emerged from the great keep and onto the grand central gravel path. "My grandmother scolds me for it every time I ride out of Highgarden."
Arya searched Lady Margaery's face, looking for any indication that she was being mocked. Like Sansa and Jeyne were always doing even when they pretended to say something nice.
"I love the freedom." Arya confessed, speaking up hesitantly when she saw no sign of Sansa and Jeyne's smirks in Lady Margaery's genuine smile. "When I ride it feels like a great weight has been lifted."
Lady Margaery hugged her arm again and lent into whisper, as if she was imparting a great secret. "I feel the same. Sometimes I think that if I have to embroider one more thing, or listen to one more bit of meaningless gossip, then I will go mad. So, I ride out of Highgarden, and everything feels alright as I ride carefree across the fields."
"But you're the perfect lady!" Arya exclaimed surprised. "Sansa would love to be like you! How can you find it maddening?!"
"Oh my sweet girl." Lady Margery laughed genuinely. "Being the perfect lady is exhausting, all those courtesies and kind smiles to rude guests when really all you want to do is grab your brother's sword and stick them with the pointy end."
Arya felt her eyes narrow in suspicion as Lady Margaery repeated the words Jon had spoken when he gave her the first needle. Again, she searched the southern lady's face for signs that she was being mocked, but she still couldn't find anything. She spoke up quietly as Lady Margaery led her off the path and into the soft grass below a grove of trees. "That's what I want to do all the time when King Renly makes me wear a dress and pretend to be like Sansa. I hate it, but King Renly says I have to, so people don't think he just grabbed a femboy out of the local brothel."
"Surely he didn't say that!" The Rose of Highgarden exclaimed in indignation. "How ungallant!"
Arya shrugged, refusing to let the perfect southern lady know how much it bothered her.
"I'm not pretty. My sister calls me Arya horseface, and it's true. Satin's prettier than me, Ser Loras is prettier than me, even Jon is prettier than me and he has a beard!" The little she-wolf huffed from exasperation.
Lady Margery sat down on the grass and patted the spot next to her expectantly. Arya joined her with less reluctance than she had expected to feel. "You know when I was your age, I was all elbows and knees and just as…not pretty…as you."
"Liar!" Arya spat making to get up.
"Its true, I swear it." The southern lady promised earnestly, making Arya slowly sit back down. "I don't have sister, but my cousin Elinor was the most beautiful girl I'd ever seen. She looked like the Maiden made flesh and sent to torture me. Margaery pig face she called me."
Arya felt her mouth drop open from the shock. "Impossible!"
"I think it had something to do with my nose, whenever she'd pass me in the halls she'd oink." Lady Margery laughed as she leaned over as if to share a secret. "So, I hid pigshit in her mattress. Her chamber stank for days."
Arya giggled despite herself. "I used sheepshit in Sansa's."
"What a pair we make!" Margaery laughed and Arya found herself joining in.
"Do you…" Arya asked hesitantly, barely daring to give thought to the thought she'd never thought she'd ever ask anyone. "Do you think that I might be pretty to? One day?"
Margaery smiled softly, pulling Arya into a loose embrace. "Oh my little wolf, I'm sure of it."
Arya didn't want to leave the embrace that felt so much like her Lady Mother's, but she still pushed back enough to be able to study Margaery's face for lies. "Truly?"
"Truly." Margaery replied kindly, still smiling as she stroked Arya's hair. "Even in Highgarden we've heard how much the little she-wolf of Winterfell resembles her Aunt Lyanna. Don't all the songs sung about her, Prince Rhaegar, and King Robert say how beautiful she was?"
Arya nodded wordlessly.
"And doesn't your Lord Father say she was beautiful? And all his bannermen too?" Margaery continued.
Arya nodded again.
"Then you'll be beautiful as well." Margaery smiled. "Your aunt must have suffered the same teasing as you when she was your age, as I did. But I grew up to be prettier than Elinor, and your aunt grew up to be so beautiful a Prince and a King fought a war over her. Maybe you'll grow up to be even more beautiful than your sister and she'll be the one that's jealous."
Arya scoffed. "Impossible; Sansa is the most beautiful girl in the world."
"Is she indeed? I would dearly love to meet her then." Margaery whispered and Arya felt the hurt growing in her chest, but it was quickly smothered when she was hugged tightly to the southern lady's chest again. "But I have someone who is much more than merely beautiful with me. Why don't you tell me all about your adventures with my future husband? Loras tells me you've been up to many! I want to hear all the juicy little details my brother has 'forgotten' to tell me, and especially the adventures he wasn't there for! I want to be the one who can be so smug when my brothers and I discuss our latest adventures for once."
Arya's face lit up at her new friend wanting to hear about all her unladylike adventures. "Well, the first time I met King Renly he made Sansa throw her food all over him! It was amazing! My father had invited him to dine with us in the Tower of the Hand and…"
When a servant came to announce that it was time for the feast, Arya realised that the sun had nearly set and that she'd been talking to Margaery for hours. But the southern lady didn't seem bored of her in the slightest.
Instead, Margaery took her by the arm as they walked slowly back to the great keep. "Thank you for the lovely stories Arya. You're so kind to me, telling me all that's been going on in the world while I've been stuck behind these walls. I must say you're very adventurous lady. I hope we can be friends, then perhaps you can teach me to be a little more adventurous too."
Arya couldn't find the words to express the joy she felt at the knowledge that the southern lady that Sansa would idealise instead wanted to be more like her! She hoped that she would be able to spend more time with Margaery.
Bathing in Westeros
We have little information on bathing in Westeros apart from about some information on natural features used for the purpose such as at Winterfell and Maidenpool.
As such I have gone with a slimmed down version of the Roman bathhouse, as bathouses of this sort outlived the Western Roman Empire by centuries across Europe, lasting all the way up to the 1500s. Unfortunately, at that point a combination of plague and wood shortages combined with a moral panic started by pearl clutching religious conservatives that brought about the end of the public bathhouse. Both the Roman type and the sauna type that had been made popular in Northern Europe by the Vikings.
Public health was apparently far less important religious orthodoxy (not for the first or last time) and the bathouses were banned across Catholic and Protestant Christendom as they might lead to pre-marital
anything. This period of 1500-1800 is where the common idea of the almost permanently filthy peasant and nobility bathing 3 times a year and considering themselves clean comes from. (Turkish and Russian baths began to be reintroduced to Europe in the 1800s for those wealthy enough to afford their entry fee as cleanliness began to be valued highly again)
People project this idea backwards into the medieval era as they forget that social progress can go backwards as well as forwards if it's not fought for, and don't think it possible that a peasant from 1300 was cleaner and had better bathing facilities than one from 1700. Because although technology had improved, a religious moral panic campaign had prevented those solutions to the issues facing the bathhouse being used to improve public health as they had been in the past.