Ros had known for some time that it was possible to make even something as titillating as sex into a boring routine. For while it was one of the most primal urges there was it still lost its spice if indulged with enough regularity. She had known that ever since she was old enough to understand what her mother did for a living in the brothel of Wintertown outside the walls of Winterfell. When Ros was old enough to know how children came to be, her mother told her that she had been an accident: the result of her mother not knowing moon tea was in short supply that particular winter and allowing Winterfell's resident stonemason to finish himself inside her. Ros rarely saw her father considering how close he lived growing up. When he'd died soon after her twelfth nameday it'd caused her mother to shed more tears than she.
Ros didn't know to this day whether that meant her mother had truly loved her father or not. But she knew at least that she had thought him a good man and missed him when she heard he had passed away. But Ros herself had no time to miss him when she was learning to ply her mother's trade. Her hard work and skill was enough to earn her a significant amount of coin as she also endeavored to learn what bits and pieces of education the stonemason had shared with her mother that she shared with Ros in turn.
Ros was determined not to be tossed aside once she grew older and inevitably lost the looks this line of work so relied upon. To that end, she made special deals with the guards of Winterfell that had allowed her to steal away simple children's books for a time. The Starks never used them often enough to notice they were missing and Ros always managed to get them back in a timely fashion once she was sure she had enough of the material worked out.
There was a distinct lack of paper and quill for her to try to practice writing out the letters she learned and so she took to using a stick and the dirt outside the brothel. Her efforts eventually paid off: making her one of (if not the most) literate whores in the brothel. Admittedly that was a bit like being the cleanest moss covered stone in the weirwood, but it was still progress to her mind. The fact that she had a clever tongue in more than one sense and had almost blood colored red hair instead of the usual brown or black served to make her the closest thing there was to a novelty in Wintertown for the soldiers and smallfolk who made up Winterfell's population.
She'd been with men as low as the assistant cooks to men as important as Theon Greyjoy. But never before had she nor any of the other whores had one of the Stark family grace their 'den of depravity' as the Septa who lived at the keep might put it. Sure, Robb Stark would occasionally wait outside if Theon had promised to meet with him but had yet to conclude his business with them. But he'd never set foot in the place. Ros could tell it would always be that way the first time it happened when several of the girls had tried to entice him over by flashing their goods at him in hopes of bedding the heir to Winterfell and had received nothing more than a polite but awkward wave in response. Whether the eldest Stark took after his father or his mother, it was unlikely he'd indulge himself in the pleasures of the flesh no matter how temptingly they tried to offer themselves to him.
And so it'd never occurred to her that one of the Starks would make their way to the brothel. Not until the day it happened anyway.
It'd been a quiet afternoon when Mary, one of the younger girls, told her that the Stark bastard was here and that the mistress of the house wanted to them to be present. Ros could say with total honesty that she had not expected such a thing to happen so late in the day. But never the less her curiosity was piqued as to what could've possibly prompted this visit. The men who frequented the brothel had told them all of when he had returned with a giant wolf in tow, apparently having tamed it enough on his return trip to Winterfell that it had willingly resided within the blacksmith like an obedient dog. That had been some days and days ago however. Now the word was that the wolf was gone to live in the Weirwood outside the walls while the bastard himself never seemed to stay in either place for any great length of time.
As Ros entered the main hall behind the two rows of other girls who had all chosen to try and display what they could without revealing anything outright. Well, the smarter ones did anyway: choosing to expose cleavage and thighs while their breasts and boxes remained covered. The less subtle ones simply exposed one of or both their breasts and tried to draw attention to their legs as they stood, making bedroom eyes at the Stark bastard himself. Ros almost didn't see him when she came in.
But there he was, leaning against the wall with what appeared to be an albino dog sitting attentively by his feet. Jon Snow the illegitimate Stark. Also known as the Bastard of Winterfell. Ros had heard more about him than most usually did out here in Wintertown He wasn't precisely a problem for the Starks so far as she could tell: having never heard about anything more harmful than minor pranks from the guards and household servants who had paid for her company. Though one wouldn't know it to compare their testimony to Theon Greyjoy's.
If the Stark's Greyjoy ward was in a bad mood over something at Winterfell, it was more often than not one of two things. Either a pretty girl had rejected his advances or Jon Snow had been a superior prick to him. Though considering that for all his swagger and boasting Theon Greyjoy had one of the most fragile egos Ros had ever known a person to possess, she took his complaints with a fair grain of salt. Sometimes she even went so far as to tease him for getting so nettled by Ned Stark's bastard, playfully questioning whether he was upset because he desired the dark haired Stark's attention for his own.
That always led to him redoubling his efforts to, as he might put it, "fuck you into submission." And whenever he did that, he was always willing to pay extra if it happened to take more time than he usually spent with her. It was a decent way to make a little extra money and get one of her most regular customers to put more effort in than he normally would in any case.
As Ros's blue eyes took him in, she mentally admitted she could see why some of the less professional girls were giggling like young maidens who were just seeing a boy for the first time. His dark hair was medium length and somewhat wild looking with bangs that seemed to frame grey eyes that managed to seem guarded while the subtle angles of his neutral expression made those same eyes look gentler than one might expect among the hardened men of the North. His face seemed absent of most any fat, his jaw and cheeks covered with a rough covering that wasn't quite stubble or a beard but much like his untamed hair seemed as though it begged to have a hand run across it to discover what it felt like.
His body beneath the leather and wool clothing was hard but streamlined, every line seeming to naturally lead into each other. Even leaning his back against the wall, his posture seemed uncannily alert and almost predatory like the animal by his feet. The animal which, upon closer inspection, Ros realized looked to be not an albinto dog but an albino wolf pup whose red eyes were almost the same color as her own hair.
After they'd all taken their position behind the mistress of the brothel, an older woman named Dianne who'd been a friend of her mother, she'd gestured toward them with an outstretched right hand grandly: as though presenting a great show piece for inspection.
"Take your time young man! Choose the girl who suits your tastes." She said genially.
He pushed himself off the wall, nodding to her.
"Thank you for your kindness mistress Dianne." He uttered with a tone of solemnity that seemed so out of place to the generally enthusiastic and playful atmosphere of the brothel that it almost made Ros snort aloud. Seems Theon hadn't been lying about how seriously the Snow boy seemed to take most everything.
Ros saw some of the girls giggle anew once he came closer and they realized he was faintly blushing at seeing so much female flesh on display and so must be here in order to lose his virginity and 'become a man' as a rite of passage. Perhaps this was her imagination, but it seemed to Ros that after a cursory glance over most of their bodies he was primarily focusing his attention on the girls' faces as though he were searching for something.
As his own grey orbs came to rest on hers, she realized that her observation had been right. She could feel his eyes determinedly connecting with her own in a way that she'd rarely experienced even with a man fully sheathed in her quim. It was almost discomfiting, having such a penetrating stare fixed upon her as though he weren't looking at her body but at her very soul.
He broke gaze first to look at Dianne.
"Her." Was the only word he spoke as he gestured to Ros.
Dianne smiled widely as she started shooing some of the other girls away while they grumbled good naturedly about ol fire crotch ensnaring another one. Ros however could only ponder what it was he had seen that made him decide on her. He had barely glanced over her loose brown dress or given what glimpses of her curves could be seen more than a once over. Had he seen something in her expression? In her eyes?
But this was not the time to wonder at that. He was paying for his time spent here and she wasn't going to have him complain to Dianne that she had wasted part of it dawdling in the main room. A rookie mistake that cheap arses could exploit ruthlessly to avoid paying the full price.
"Come along then." She instructed with a smile, crooking her right finger in a come hither gesture to follow her as she walked forward.
He only nodded in response, the wolf pup standing and following along behind him.
As they reached Ros's room, he turned to it to say something.
"Stay here Ghost." He instructed as he knelt down on his right knee so that he was as close to eye level as a person of his height could get with the wolf pup. Which honestly wasn't that big a difference considering the wolf pup already looked to be almost the size of some full grown dogs.
The wolf briefly cocked its head to the right for a moment before turning and trotting over to the opposite wall. As soon as he reached it, he sat on his haunches, bloody eyes fixed upon her and Snow as they were framed by the door leading into her room. The fact that the animal never made a sound the whole time served to unnerve Ros somewhat, but not enough for her pleasant demeanor to slip. As Jon Snow closed to the door and turned to her, she already had one strap off her shoulder.
"Shall we get started then?" She offered with her best bedroom smile, sure that he wanted to get right to the start of things so to speak. But this was where he unexpectedly defied the usual routine she'd gotten into with these jobs. He strode forward, shaking his head twice as he did.
"I didn't come here to be that intimate with anyone." He said quietly, eyes off to the side as though his mind was elsewhere.
"Intimate?" Ros repeated with a slight slowness to the word. That was certainly one of the most polite ways she'd ever heard her work referred to.
"I came because…" He paused here, seeming to struggle with his words. Sensing he was conflicted about something and that perhaps now wasn't the time to push him, Ros sat upon the somewhat lumpy but familiar mattress of her bed. She didn't pull up the strap of her dress, curious as to what he'd do if she didn't replace it and hoping this didn't mean he was having second thoughts about this whole experience.
"If you didn't come here to fuck one of the girls, why are you here?" She asked him, watching as he slowly brought his eyes to hers. She could feel him searching her expression again. For what she couldn't begin to guess. Slowly, he sat down next to her on the mattress.
"I…I need to get used to being around beautiful women when they're not entirely clothed." He admitted.
Ros's right eyebrow came up skeptically.
"I'm sure all other men with a functioning cock would say the same." Ros answered drily, not seeing what his point was.
"There's someone outside Winterfell who wants me dead." He confessed in a resigned whisper. "When I left for the Narrow Sea, I encountered him on my journey. His power and influence are far reaching. I fought him off once, but I couldn't kill him. So now I don't know how he'll try to strike at me. It could be through sell-swords, through poison, or even through a set of honeyed lips." He went on.
Much as Ros wanted to dismiss him and say that he was making it all up, the lines of worry and concern that came across his expression and seemed to add years to the slope of his shoulders spoke to how much he believed the threat was real. It seemed he well and truly did expect this mystery person would be willing to strike at him through any means.
"What did you do to earn such hatred?" She asked, unable to conceive of what possible insult a single Northern bastard could have offered such a person unless he'd fucked his wife or murdered his son.
"The only thing it seems people need me to do to give offense: exist." He answered stoically.
Blunt and a bit on the dramatic side but not exactly wrong either considering what he was.
"So why did you come here then?" Ros prodded, understanding why he felt he needed to do this but not comprehending what it was he did want to do here.
"I need to keep my wits about me at all times. That means I can't blush like a maiden every time a woman winks at me and I need to be able to look beyond her nudity so that it can't be used as a distraction." He said, his gaze returning to Ros's eyes.
She still didn't quite know what to make of all of this, but she knew it was unlikely she would be able to do so anytime soon. So she decided to hammer out the details of what he would be doing and for how long.
"So what does that mean? Are you going to touch me? Am I meant to touch you?" She asked, giving him an opening to lay the ground rules for this.
His eyes gained a glimmer of gratefulness as he released an exhale of relief.
"I should like you to be naked. I would be as well. But I would not be touching you. Not yet." He said.
She wondered at his clarification of yet a bit before her mind came to the more important bit of these rules. She waited some moments for him to elaborate but only silence greeted her. So she asked the question he still needed to answer.
"Let me be sure I understand this." She said, unable to help the small smile that came to her face as she had to mentally admit that this was certainly the most original request someone had made of her in some time.
"You want us both to be naked. But you don't want either of us touching each other." She laid out, watching his expression. He nodded once, eyes still fixed firmly on hers. She had to give him credit, it was certainly the most consistent eye contact any man had ever maintained with her, especially when he had already paid for her time and body.
As she brushed a crimson strand of hair out of her eye, she reflected that this was probably the most discussion she'd had to do for the least amount of work possible aside from the non-existent day a man strode into the brothel, tossed her a pouch of gold dragons and left again without saying a word.
"And what will we be doing in the meantime whilst we're both naked? Admire each other's charming personalities?" She asked with a hint of sarcasm to her voice.
He shook his head.
"So long as you are discreet about our encounters, I would be willing to help the brothel and you in what way I can." The bastard Stark offered.
Ros's grin showed teeth now. This was too funny.
"Can you bring young virgin boys like yourself to pay?" She asked, a brief snicker slipping out in her mirth.
He shook his head.
"Do you intend to try and offer your protection from bandits?" She asked, standing as she began to remove the left strap of her dress.
He shook his head again.
"Than what is it you intend to offer the girls outside of good money?" She asked, right strap removed as her dress began to slowly slide down her pale breasts. She kept it up with her arms crossed just beneath her bosom to slow it in order to provoke a reaction from the bastard Stark.
His eyes were unable to stop themselves form seeking out her tits. As some redness entered his cheeks, he brought his eyes back up to hers again and appeared to be fighting some dryness in his mouth as he opened it to speak again.
"Healing." Was the only word he spoke.
As she allowed her dress to pool at her feet, Ros gestured a touch impatiently to him, wondering why he hadn't begun to disrobe if he truly intended to get used to being in a naked woman's presence.
"And what kind of healing would we need that we can't get from the maester or each other?" She asked with a touch of her impatience leaking into her voice.
In response, he said nothing. He held up his right hand so she could see his palm. Then, without speaking a word, clenched his fist tightly enough that she could see his nails drawing blood from his palm.
"Stop that! What're you-" She didn't manage to finish her sentence before he opened his palm again and turned the world on its side.
His hand ignited then rapidly became engulfed in a flame that came from nowhere.
She shouted in alarm, leaping back into her dresser by mistake. It was only a few moments before his hand ceased burning and the fire was gone as abruptly as it had flared to life.
Slowly, as though trying not to spook a startled animal, he stood up from her bed. As he did, she absently realized that her legs were slightly twitching as though she'd been contemplating running from the fire that erupted out of nothingness.
He held his right palm out to her face up as though he wished her to examine it. She looked down at it. The breath left her as her eyes at last took in the fact that even aside from being unburned, his right hand had no marks, no divots, no sign at all that he'd dug bloody furrows into them not a moment before.
Her head came back up to look at him so rapidly it felt as though she might have cricked something in it.
His eyes were connected with hers again. As though he were looking for a sign that she was going to shout and bring the rest in here.
Ros swallowed as her hammering heart beat began to get back under control.
"What in the bloody hell was that?!" She whispered fiercely.
"A demonstration." He answered calmly. "If they can be discreet as you seem to be, I can offer my services as a healer."
There was a pause as though he were debating something with himself.
"And if you wished to discover what it could do for you, I could also offer the teachings that allowed me to achieve this." He continued.
Ros stared at him incredulously. She couldn't help how much her mind raced at the possibilities he presented with this simple yet ludicrous offer.
Allow him to acclimate himself to naked women. And in return she and any others who could keep their silence might not only have a mystical healer who could do so with greater efficiency and speed than any medicine or poultice she'd yet heard tell of but perhaps learn how to do so for themselves?
Her tongue briefly darted out to moisten her suddenly dry lips.
"What sort of teachings?" She asked as he began to undo his tunic.
A/N: Sorry this next chapter took so long to get out. All I can say is that it's a bit of a challenge to go from someone as established as Ned Stark to someone as relatively enigmatic as Ros with all the changes that have been introduced in canon. Especially when I was halfway through the chapter before I got stuck because it wasn't flowing the way I wanted it to. I'm pretty satisfied with how it turned out here, but as always I need you wonderful people to let me know whether you agree or not. And since I don't know precisely which viewpoint is going to be in the next chapter, I'll just leave you guys with one of the random snippets that may or may not become a future chapter of this story.
Jaime knew Cersei would kill him if he ever told her this aloud but he had always thought she was adorable when she worried her lower lip at those moments when she let herself be vulnerable and truly show that something was bothering her as she only ever did for him: her twin, her other half.
She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye as though she wished to ask him a question. Instead she made a statement.
"I don't like this Jaime." She said quietly as the Silent Sisters proceeded with their grim work below them. "Jon Arryn was asking questions and now he's gone. What if he told someone what he was looking for? What if they'll carry on in his stead? What if-"
Jaime couldn't resist interjecting.
"What if his corpse sighs the name of the one who killed him at his service?" He said. He put his left hand on her right shoulder in a gesture of comfort. They were the only two here, no prying eyes or suspicious ears to interrupt them.
"Whatever he was looking for died with him." He said with a great deal more certainty than he felt.
She shrugged off his hand from her shoulder.
"How do you know?" She quietly demanded in what he almost might've thought was a suspicious tone.