The first thing Ros heard when approaching King's Landing was the familiar cry of the gulls that had heralded her departure from White Harbor. The second thing the crimson maned woman heard was the call of dockworkers greeting and ordering each other around, the hustle and bustle of preparing to land at the capital.
Most of all she smelled the stench of the city itself. Like vomit that gurgled up from the stomach of a diseased cat who'd been dead for at least a week. It made her squint even as her eyes grew moist: trying to decide whether it was rank enough to draw tears from her.
She brought a part of her cloak up to her nose, to try and soemwhat mitigate it so she could draw a deeper breath and resolve herself. Her briefly exposed wrists and forearms showed a flash of seared flesh in the vague shape of chains as she did so.
The phantom sensation of burning metal imprinting itself on her fair skin made gooseflesh rise along the ridge of her spine as she remembered R'hllor giving her the power she had sought in such a way that she would remember the rest of her days.
As they came into the dock, she left three silver stags in the captain's hand for bringing her so swiftly. She disembarked; hood drawn up enough to cover her hair even as she brought her right hand to her face but only let the very edge of her fingertips touch her head where her bright red hairline began.
She briefly closed her eyes, concentrating as best she could on the feeling of the sun kissing her fair skin as she tried to recreate the feeling she'd gotten when it worked among the numerous times she'd spent practicing back in Winterfell and on the road to the harbor.
"Ōños ñuha drēje laehurlion." She whispered quietly, beeseeching her lord to use his light to conceal her visage as she drew her fingertips down the right side of her face, seeking the feeling of the sun's warmth spreading from the left side of her face back over to the right side as the shadow of her right hand receded to expose her full face to the sun again.
Looking closely at people's faces as she walked by them, their eyes slid right over her, none of them able to keep anymore eye contact with her then they would instincitvely keep eye contact with the sun itself.
She hurried through the streets: focused on getting to the tower of the hand to find her lord's son.
She came one or two street lengths before the gate leading toward the red keep but drew up short when she saw the red uniformed guards with the roaring lion crest on their breastplates standing at attention.
Concealment of Bright was useful for not drawing any eyes in a crowd because it relied on the caster continuing to move, giving any who might glance at their face only a passing moment's chance to see them, and so leaving nothing in their mind but the vaguest impression of a human face: the light of R'hllor's magic concealing the hair color, eye color and even the gender of the devotee in more powerful versions from entering their memory. But the guards would stop her if she tried to enter like this and as soon as they took more than a passing sweep of her face the magic would become undone and reveal her for who she really was.
She ducked toward a nearby alley, biting her thumb nervously as she tried to figure out how to get to Jon Snow, who would most certainly be able to get the Lord of Winterfell to believe the information the interrogation had extracted from the crown prince's catspaw.
Before she could dwell further on the matter, she was spun around by her right shoulder, a man's left hand pinning her to the wall as his right hand came up to cup her face: his fingers splayed along the side of her head with his thumb resting just under her eye.
She only had time to register that it was Jon Snow whose grey eyes were fixed on her face in a look of utmost concentration before he spoke in a fierce whisper.
"Ivestragī ōños ilagon naejot urnēptre aõse!"
Her body only had enough time to begin to gasp as the full weight of his scorching magic crashed against her gossamer thin disguise, engulfing and consuming it completely in less than an instant before stampeding directly into her mind. Her eyes widened as the present disappeared in the moment, flashes of some of the memories that defined her flashing before her unseeing brown orbs in a dizzyingly rapid succession.
Her mother telling her about her father, the strange disconnect she felt between her parent's sorrow at the word of his death and her own personal lack of reaction.
Her mother not waking up one morning, the lack of misty air from between her lips the surest sign she could have that she had passed even as tears escaped her young eyes in her effort to deny the reality of it to herself.
Colin of the Winterfell guard paying extra to take her virginity for the first time, true understanding of the profession she was born into for the first time being made crystal clear.
Diane smiling indulgently as Ros determindly scratched her letters in the dirt, simultaneously grateful and resigned that her mother's friend didn't understand her drive to learn.
Theon Greyjoy slaking his lusts of her body for the first time, the first time she expiernced true joy from what sex could be.
Jon Snow igniting his hand before her, the wonderment battling the fear before her desire to know drove her inexorably forward.
Tyrion Lannister seeking knowledge she had that he did not, the rush of satisfaction she felt for at last being considered more valuble than something to have a cock stuck in by a stranger.
R'hllor branding the image of the maester's chains into her flesh, her wonderment turning to fear and the reality of her servitude truly sinking in as she was given her coveted knowledge at a price it seemed she would pay with the rest of her life.
Robb Stark overruling his lady mother's desire to head south and demand the crown prince's head for attempting to kill Bran, the elation she felt at her newfound power proving her important enough to bring this word to Lord Stark.
Theon Greyjoy growing enraged with her decision to travel south and act as messenger rather than stay with him, the feel of his hand on her wrist before abruptly recoiling when he touched the burns the chains left matched by the bewilderment tinged with disgust as to how Jon Snow had apparently ruined her.
As his hand left her face and the inferno of his power receded, she at last drew in a loud breath, eyes wild and darting even as her legs shook beneath her long skirt.
"Ros?" Jon said, puzzlement clear in his voice.
On instinct, her left hand cracked across his face. His eyes widened in surprise more than in actual pain.
"What in the bloody fucking hell was that?!" She shrilly demanded.
"I-I saw the concealment magic and thought it might be…I had to break the illusion and use the flame to be sure of your intent." Jon responded, apparently baffled at her reaction of incredulity colored by fear.
Ros couldn't help but stare at him. Was it truly possible he didn't know how absurdly overpowered the answer to his command had been? The rudimentary knowledge burned into her by the Lord of Light's power told her that most mortals could only hope to pierce the illusion woven by the mage they were seeking to unveil and only when they knew exactly what they were looking to find.
For the fire to rampage past her magic entirely and dredge up the memories of her life that might show her for who she truly was…it was roughly equivalent to burning a window into her mind and seeing a glimpse of her innermost self: a part of her essence, her very soul laid bare before the light of his magic.
It would take a highly advanced practitioner to focus and wield that sort of strength without exhausting themselves into unconscoiusness or potential death. Yet here he stood, not even short of breath: as though he'd done nothing more than use a finger to draw aside a curtain.
Her mind instinctively shied away from wondering morbidly what it might be like if he consciously wielding that sort of strength with the intention of causing pain and death.
"Well you could've just asked me." She told him, mentally giving herself a shake to get back to what she came here for.
"I bring urgent word for Lord Stark from Winterfell." She whispered, leaning closer.
"Not here." He said, taking her by the arm even as his hand pushed back her hood to reveal her face and bring her red hair tumbling down around her ears.
"Walk with me." He said, taking her by the arm as though they were meant to be a man and woman enjoying each other's company in this stench of a city.
As they drew further and further away from the Red Keep she couldn't help but take in the surroundings. While the manses and homes nearby the King's home were lovely to look upon and some even going so far as being grand, the more worn down and dirty the streets became the closer they came to a bigger, more imposing building whose large dome might have been amazing if it had not shown a large chunk missing even from a distance.
As they came to this huge building, Ros couldn't help but notice there was a line of blackened sand that almost was like a moat from how it spanned the length and bredth of the space on the ground where doors may have rested. As they crossed the threashold, Jon crouched behind her momentarily before whispering yet another invocation:
"Undegon kos syndror laehossa."
A river of eager flames sprang up where his hand touched the blackened sand and spread to the borders, created a fiery moat barring entry through the doorway.
Seemed almost like a feature one of the seven gods might claim lay in the version of an afterlife that lay outside their light now that she thought on it.
He brought her further into the entrance of the pit, close to another large entrance that seemed to take her beneath the floor itself. As they pulled closely into the entrance, he pressed her back into the wall using his own body.
"Put your hands on my shoulders." He instructed quietly, his hands resting gently on her clothed hips, comfortable from the many times they had spent together in her chamber back in Wintertown.
She brought her head close to his, chin tilted upward as a smile curled her lips and she placed her hands on his leather clad shoulders, happy to find their familiar spot again.
"The matter I need to discuss is a bit more urgent than a roll in the sand Snow." She warned, tone at odds with the expression on her face, familiar as she was with acting the part of a maid enjoying the touch of a man.
"I have been consistently followed by watchers since I found the Wildfyre barrells here." He told her, bringing his head down, lips so close to her neck she could feel his breath wash over her skin.
"Tell me what needs to be told to Lord Stark in this manner, And I may be able to convince him to help pay for some help I require of you." He continued, bringign his face back to looks Ros in the eye.
The red-haired whore tried to not let her discomfort show, unsure whether the memories he'd shone his light on were playing behind his own even now.
"Your mummer's farce worked. They caught a man sent to kill the little lord, claims he was hired by the crown prince." She told him quickly.
Unexpectedly he brought his right hand to the back of her head even as his left hand tightened at her side and drew them chest to chest. She gasped at the unexpected closeness. Though a moment later, she supposed that must've been rather the point. She heard him drawing deep calming breaths from behind her head to quell his temper, so she worked to continue playing her part: rubbing her hands across his back and closing her eyes as though taking joy in the moment.
"Tell me what I must do father, we cannot mean-" He whispered, only it seemed to Ros that there came a slight crackling and snapping noise from the flames burning atop the black sand.
Her eyes shot open in disbelief even as Jon Snow drew back from her, grey eyes clouded and troubled even as a smiel came to his lips.
"Still we must play pretend." He gently said, bringing his lips to hers almost chastely, like a shy lordling courting a noble lady.
Ros involuntarily shut her eyes as the brief contact between their lips made her taste smoke and heat, with a small heat lingering even after he had drawn away.
Her brown eyes opened, smile coming to her face as she too joined him in playing pretend.
"Where to now Pryja Perzguēse?" She asked, gratified to see him startled out of the beginning of his meloncholy.
"Where did you learn Valyrian?" He asked, drawing back from her even as his grey eyes now held interest rather than forlorness.
"The lord we both serve." She answered, her head minutely gesturing to her hand still at his side.
He looked down to see the shape of chains burned into her arms, visibly putting the pieces together even as it confirmed to Ros he must've seen in her mind what his father had done to her.
He nodded briefly, telling her he was going to be bringing her to some of the nearby brothels to show some of the magic she'd learned. Seemed he was looking to convert and wanted her to come along as proof of what could be done.
Multiple brothels later, most having closed their doors to Jon when he spoke of wishing to speak about worship, they came to a two story brothel with a lamp of guilded metal and scarlet glass outside the door.
The door was opened by a young woman Ros was startled to see with skin almost as dark as the beads of jet that held the silks cinched at her waist, her obsidian black hair shimmering in the sunlight.
"Welcome to Chataya's. What pleasure do you seek?" She asked with a hint of a strange accent Ros had never heard before.
Jon smiled, unphased by the offer.
"My dear lady and I should like to see if any of you would be interested in services found nowhere else in Westeros." He said, offering his outstretched hand to the dark-skinned woman.
By all rights, the girl should've closed the door in their face like the others, but Ros caught the spark of curiosity in her eyes: recognizing it as the expression she herself must've held when Jon first offered to teach her magic.
"Show her." Ros instructed softly, left elbow gently nuding Jon's side.
Snow looked at her questioningly, missing the raised eyebrow on the girl's face even as her hand unconsciously opened the door a bit more where previously she had been intentionally closing it.
A moment later he aquiesced to his crimson maned companion, snapping the middle and thumb fingers of his outstretched right hand as a fire erupted to cover the entirety of his hand.
An undignified yelp escaped the girl's lips as she fell backwards onto her ass, landing upon a stone motif set in the paving of the floor that depicted two feminine bodies in a passionate embrace. She scrambled backward as Jon managed to make the flame grow by unfurling his fingers outward and slightly flexing his wrist to move his hand.
The other girls and one or two patrons scattered through the lower floor that witnessed this scrambled backward: eyes watching intently as Jon snuffed out the fire by clenching his hand into a closed fist.
It was in that moment Ros saw wonderment enter the girl's eyes and she knew that she and Jon would be able to preach here.
"Would you like to hear what he taught me of the Lord of Light?" Ros offered, coming closer to the girl with her hand outstretched to help her up.
Her warm hand took hers, allowing Ros to help her up.
"I should like to know if his Lord of Light can teach that." She answered.
Ros smiled widely.
"Good." She said as an older ebony woman came closer, presumably the girl's mother.
This, as it transpired, was Chataya: the owner of this place. Several of the other whores gathered to hear tell of what it was Jon and Ros were seeking to show.
Jon spoke of R'hllor, the burning heart that could live in all people. Chataya had hidden her face behind her hand, elegantly remind Jon that she had met Thoros before. Jon answered her that Thoros had held doubts about his faith for some time. But pointed out that even in the midst of his doubts, R'hllor's fire had never deserted him as they may have heard about in the recent tournament of the hand.
A freckled whore whose nose was somewhat squashed asked if he was the one who had been stabbed by the burning sword and lived to tell the tale. Jon had responded by unbuttoning the top of his tunic and revealing his left shoulder that still held the slightly black edged scar from the blade piercing his flesh.
A golden-haired whore with calculating green eyes had asked him if his wound still troubled him. He had answered no: that the Lord of Light had burned away the pain and the injury. He told them how he was seeking to create a refuge, a place of healing in the ruins of the dragon pits. A place that could also potentially be a place to preach if others should want to learn of his lord.
She noticed his eyes drawn to one of the doors slightly opened where a blue eye peeked out at them.
"Come out." He called gently, gesturing to the slightly opened door.
Chataya sharply turned around even as the door opened the rest of the way and a smaller, mousy girl who was fifteen namedays if she was a day stepped out, a swaddled lump with obsidian black peeking out.
"Back girl, you should not be-" Chataya started even as Jon went down on one knee so they were closer to eye height.
"What is the name of your small one there Miss?" He asked, voice managing to carry even in spite of the mistress trying to take the young girl by the arm and get her back to the room.
"Barra." The girl said, bold as brass, strawberry blonde hair wavering gently as Ros tried to count the freckles splashed across her nose and breasts.
In what seemed the blink of an eye, she was before Jon, eyes shining with a hopeful light as she gently offered him a look at her baby daughter.
Jon looked down upon her face, head cocking slightly to the right and a smile pulling at his lips.
"And what might the name of Barra's mother be?" He inquired, looking back up at the young whore.
"Mhaegan Sir." She answered.
"I wondered, could you help my Barra sir?" She blurted out, the child squirming slightly and letting out soft coos as her infant eyes slowly began to flutter open.
"What seems to be her trouble?" He asked, putting one arm under the babe, the child's head resting in the crook of his arm as his other hand slowly drew the blankets from her mouth and chest as though to examine her.
"I…I worry for her." The girl answered. "She cried when I birthed her sir, but she's so quiet sometimes and I just…"
Tears pooled in the bottom of the young girl's eyes and Ros felt sympathy stir in her heart for the young girl who clearly cared so much for the babe that looked to be her only flesh and blood here.
"I want her to be alright for her father." She finished, a lovelorn expression on her face.
Ros kept her face blank even as her heart sank. Rare was the man who cared for a child he sired out of wedlock, let alone with a whore.
"Who is her father?" Jon asked as the babe's eyes opened completely and beheld the Stark bastard's visable above her.
"King Robert sir." She answered proudly, seemingly to hold back a sniffle as the joy of looking at her daughter filled her all over again.
Jon merely nodded in acquiescence; grey eyes fixed on the babe's face even as said babe took in his face.
"Then I should be happy to bless her for you." He ansered, causing Ros to make a slight double take. Before she could say anything, he'd snapped his fingers again and the tip of his index finger was alight. He brought it to hover just over Barra's now wider eyes as he began chanting in Valyrian.
"Perzys tepagon jelevre, Jelevre tepagon kustikāne, kustikāne tepagon kessa, kessa mazverdagon perzys."
He chanted this invocation three more times. With each repition he slowly brought the fire on his fingertip back and forth before Barra's eyes. It seemed to Ros almost as though he was seeking to hypnotize the girl before he brought it so close the baby latched her mouth onto his finger, giggling in that innocent way only the purest of souls may do when they have done something that amuses them.
As Mhaegan came closer out of alarm, Jon's finger came from the infant's mouth a little wetter but the fire gone even as the baby gugled happily and sought to bring her chubby hands together upon his finger in what seemed an uncoordinated attempt to taste his previously burning appentage again.
"Seems she accepted the blessing Mhaegan." He said, a small laugh emerging as Barra continued reaching for his hand even as he gave her back to her now blushing and smiling mother.
"I should like you both to come see me if ever you require safety or a healing touch." He asked.
The excited young whore nodded eagerly, eyes drinking in the gugling smile of her baby even as the other women looked on in astonishment at what had just happened.
As Chataya hustled Mhaegan back to the back room, Jon was soon mobbed by the other women either requesting a blessing for their children or by questions about how they might learn such magic for themselves. He promised that should they come to the pits and help support their repair he should be happy to teach him everything the Lord of Light was capable of bestowing upon them.
By the time they left it was quite late in the day but still word managed to spread so that by the last establishment they visited, word had already reached the whores of what he could do and so he was promised that they would come to him for healing and for magic.
So it came to pass that he snucker her in by presenting himself and a hooded woman, now that Ros had reapplied the prayer for light to herself using a conjured flame Jon had lent her, the guards entirely focused on him rather than her: neither giving her more than a glance other than to observe her breasts and how carefully she was kept cloaked.
It would surely cause a stir that the hand's bastard was sneaking a whore into the tower of the hand, but who would have suspected he did so to present her to Lord Stark rather than enjoy a romp between the sheets?
He had gone in before her to briefly talk to Lord Stark, she presumed, about how he'd found her and what they'd done in the city. Though she couldn't imagine why that might take precedent over what she had to tell them. Her suspicions were seemingly correct after she gave her account of what had occurred in the Lord's absence back North.
Lord Stark paced the Hand's study, a furious expression overtaking his expression like a storm.
"The Crown Prince?!" He growled angrily as Ros repeated everything they had discovered back in Winterfell after interrogating the catspaw who had tried for Bran. Jon Snow sat nearby, one eye on the burning candle on Lord Stark's desk that occasionally flickered from the breeze created by the Lord of Winterfell angrily striding about the room.
Ros sat in a chair before the desk, unsure of what else she could do in the face of his wrath. She kept her hands still in her lap, unwilling to fidget and draw attention to herself.
"After his display at the Ruby Ford, can you truly claim surprise?" Jon Snow asked quietly.
Lord Stark stopped pacing, bringing his eyes over to his bastard.
"Cowardice and childish spite are one thing, but knowingly paying for a murder are another matter entirely. Especially for such a petty reason!" The Lord of Winterfell explained.
"And so it seems that in ending the reign of one mad king, the seeds have been sown for another." Jon answered, looking Lord Stark full in the face, seeming resigned to the true nature of the prince.
Lord Stark froze before his eyes abruptly grew wide. He dashed toward a bookcase nearby his desk, frantically taking a heavy tome and almost slamming it onto the desk.
"Lord Stark?" Jon asked, startlement in his tone from the sudden movement of the Lord of Winterfell.
But the Warden of the North's severe expression never so much as glanced in his direction, frantically flipping through pages as Jon cautiously stood up and began to approach him.
"Lord Stark?" Jon called again, bewilderment growing even as he tentatively placed a hand on Lord Stark's shoulder.
The Lord of Winterfell briefly froze before looking Ros and Jon dead in the eye.
"I must pen a message I cannot entrust to the wings of a raven. I beseech you: stay here the night and return my words back to Winterfell." He said shortly, taking a small pouch of coin and tossing it to Ros with barely a care.
"You have done a greater service than you know. Bring my missive to my son and wife and we shall be indebted to you in ways you cannot imagine." He instructed.
Ros could only nod dumbly, wondering what she had managed to place herself in the middle of before Lord Stark turned to address Jon Snow.
"Escort her to somewhere in the tower you can be sure to find her. Return to me so that we may talk further before you see her off on the morrow." He said to her mystic teacher.
Jon nodded, evidently trusting that this was sufficently urgent he didn't need to question for more information at this very moment. He gently placed a hand on her shoulder, bringing her along with him as they left the Hand's study.
"What was that about?" She asked as soon as the door had closed behind them.
"I expect he'll tell me later and will write as much in the letter he entrusts to you." Jon answered truthfully but vaguely.
When the sun rose the next day, it had barely begun peeking through the slitted window of Jon's room when he awoke her and presented a missive stamped with the wax seal of the direwolf instead of the hand of the king.
He brought her out between the changing of the guard, bringing her down to the dock in a hurry and pressing yet another bag of coin in her hand so that she may get back to Winterfell safely. As they stood on the dock and Jon gave her a kiss to see her off with a boat captain who was heading for White Harbor with a shipment of spices and velvet, Ros couldn't help but wonder if the skullduggery and pain would be worth this gained power.
But as they drew out of the dock, she released a deep breath as she felt the warm fire of the sun fall upon her face: a prayer passing through her lips as she did so.
"The path I tread is dark and filled with peril. I beseech you: light the way My Lord.
A/N: Yay, another chapter?