Chapter 10: Ros
Ros was a woman of breathtaking beauty, her fiery red hair cascading down her back in waves and her emerald green eyes sparkling with mischief. She was known throughout Wintertown as the most sought-after prostitute, her reputation for pleasure unmatched by any other.
On this particular night, Ros found herself in the arms of Theon Greyjoy, a Ward of House Stark who had taken a liking to her. They were in her private home, a cozy little cottage on the outskirts of town, the crackling fire casting a warm glow over the room as they lay entwined in each other's arms.
As their passion grew, Ros couldn't help but let out a gasp of pleasure, her voice echoing off the walls of the cabin. But to Theon's surprise, the name that escaped her lips was not his own, but that of Fenris, another Ward of Lord Stark.
Theon's eyes darkened with anger, his hands tightening around Ros's body. "Fenris? " he growled, his voice low and dangerous. "What do you mean by calling out his name? "
Ros couldn't help but giggle at Theon's jealousy, finding it rather endearing. "Oh, don't be jealous, my dear Theon," she purred, running her fingers through his hair. "Perhaps I just couldn't resist thinking of Fenris's. . . talents while we were together. "
Theon's face contorted with rage, his pride wounded by Ros's taunts. "Is it because he's a better lover than me? " he demanded, his voice laced with venom.
Ros chuckled, amused by Theon's insecurities. "Oh, my sweet boy, it's not about who's better," she cooed, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Maybe it's because I gave Fenris his money back after our. . . little tryst. Or perhaps it's just that you look so handsome when you're angry. "
Infuriated by Ros's teasing, Theon pushed her away and got up from the bed, his muscles rippling with tension. "I don't have to listen to this," he spat, grabbing his clothes and quickly dressing himself. "I won't be paying for our time together, Ros. I'll find my pleasure elsewhere. "
Ros watched with amusement as Theon stormed out of her home, his pride wounded and his ego bruised. She couldn't help but smirk at his reaction, finding his jealousy quite entertaining.
As Theon slammed the door behind him, Ros couldn't help but let out a peal of laughter, the sound echoing through the quiet night. "Perhaps you should find yourself a wife, Theon," she called after him, her voice taunting. "Someone who can handle your jealousy better than I can. "
As she sat on her plush sofa, she couldn't help but think about was no different than any man who wish to sleep with her. But from the moment he met Ros through her door, she knew there was something different about him.
Their time together had been nothing short of electrifying. Fenris had proven himself to be an incredible lover in bed, despite it being his first time with her. While he wasn't as rough as some of her other clients, he possessed a beastly energy and stamina that left her breathless.
But it wasn't just his physical prowess that had impressed Ros. Fenris was a quick learner, picking up on all the right ways to touch her in ways that sent shivers down her spine. His gentle caresses and whispered words of pleasure had electrified her in a way she had never experienced before.
As Ros thought back on their time together, she couldn't help but feel a pang of guilt. In the heat of the moment, she had almost called out Fenris's name instead of Theon's. It was a slip of the tongue, a moment of weakness that she knew was unprofessional and disrespectful.
She resolved to do better next time, to learn how to restrain herself and focus solely on the client in front of all, each person who came to her seeking companionship and intimacy deserved her full attention and devotion.
0o0o0
The sun had barely risen over Wintertown, casting a pale light across the snow-covered streets. The air was crisp, and the sound of crunching snow underfoot echoed as Ros made her way to the local tavern. She pushed open the heavy wooden door, and a wave of warmth enveloped her. The familiar scent of ale and roasted meat filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of wood smoke from the fireplace.
Ros approached the bar where the Bartender was polishing a tankard. He looked up with a welcoming smile, his face weathered but kind. "Morning, Ros! What brings you out so early?" he asked, pouring her a mug of warm spiced cider.
"I've been thinking," Ros replied, taking a seat on one of the stools. "I'm planning to leave Wintertown soon."
The Bartender raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Is it true you'll be going to King's Landing?"
Ros nodded, her heart racing at the thought of leaving everything she knew behind. "Yes, I plan to seek employment there. I'm hoping to board a boat out of White Harbor."
The Bartender's expression shifted from curiosity to concern. "King's Landing? You know nothing good comes from that place; it's a nest of vipers," he warned gravely. He leaned closer as if sharing a secret. "Remember Lord Rickard Stark and his son Brandon? They met their dishonorable end at the hands of the Mad King."
Ros shivered at the mention of those names; she had heard tales about them—stories that haunted even those who lived far from King's Landing. "I know," she said softly, her mind racing with images of betrayal and bloodshed.
"Listen," he continued earnestly, "you should stay here and find yourself a good man—a strong man who can protect you." He paused for effect before adding, "Like Lord Eddard Stark's ward—the wild boy Fenris."
Ros opened her mouth to ask what he meant by that when suddenly the door swung open again, letting in a gust of cold air along with Fenris himself. He was tall and ruggedly handsome, with wild hair that framed his face like a lion's mane and eyes that sparkled with mischief.
"Ros!" Fenris exclaimed as he spotted her at the bar. His voice was deep and warm like summer sunshine breaking through winter clouds.
The Bartender glanced between them with an approving nod before returning to his work behind the bar.
"Fenris! What are you doing here?" Ros asked, surprised but pleased by his presence.
Fenris hesitated for a moment before responding. "I wanted to see you before I leave with Lord Stark and King Robert for the hunt."
Ros's heart sank slightly at the mention of his departure. "Oh," she said softly, trying to mask her disappointment. "Will you be gone long?"
"Just a few days," he replied, his expression turning serious. "But there's something I need to say before I go."
Ros raised an eyebrow, intrigued yet wary. She had seen many men come and go in her line of work, often seeking more than just companionship. She wondered if Fenris was about to offer her something similar—perhaps payment for intimate services—but his next words took her completely by surprise.
"I want to apologize," he said earnestly.
"Apologize?" Ros echoed, confusion clouding her features. "For what?"
Fenris ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling with his thoughts. "After our time together," he began slowly, "Septa Mordane summoned me to talk privately in Winterfell." He paused as if gathering courage before continuing. "She discussed how while a man's needs are natural, it is immoral to treat women as mere objects for pleasure."
Ros felt a mix of emotions wash over her—pride as a woman who had chosen her path but also surprise at Fenris's perspective. She had never considered herself an object; she was proud of her work and the independence it afforded her.
"I'm not bothered by that," she replied defiantly. "I know what I am and what I do."
Fenris nodded but looked troubled. "That's not what I meant," he said gently. "I respect you more than that." He took a deep breath before adding, "What I really came here to ask is… would you consider being my wife?"
The question hung in the air like an unspoken spell; Ros blinked in disbelief as she processed his words. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind—was this some kind of joke? Did he truly mean it? The idea seemed so foreign yet tantalizingly close.
"Your wife?" she finally managed to stammer out.
"Yes," Fenris affirmed with sincerity in his eyes. "I know it sounds strange given our circumstances… but after speaking with Septa Mordane and reflecting on everything… I realize how much you mean to me."
"What do you mean?" Ros asked him, still confused.
"Lord Stark has accepted King Robert's offer to be Hand of the King," he announced proudly. "And I'm going south with him."
Ros's heart sank momentarily at the thought of him leaving but quickly masked it with curiosity. "You're going south?
"It means he be taking half of House Stark's guards with him," he explained. "I've been assigned as bodyguard to Lord Stark's daughters—Sansa and Arya."
A mix of pride and worry washed over Ros. She admired Fenris's bravery but feared for his safety in such turbulent times. "That sounds dangerous," she said softly.
"It is," he acknowledged, his expression turning serious for a moment before brightening again. "But Ser Rodrik believes I'm ready—just this morning, right in front of dozen witnesses in Winterfell—he granted me a knighthood. I now rise with a new name—Wulfsbane!"
"Now that I'm Wulfsbane," he began earnestly, "I want to make amends between us."
Ros felt her breath catch in her throat as he continued: "I wish to marry you."
The words hung heavy in the air between them like snowflakes suspended mid-fall. She could see sincerity etched across his face—the kind that made her heart flutter yet tremble at once.
"I will be a good husband," he promised earnestly. "An honorable one who stays true to you."
Ros's mind raced; this was everything she had ever dreamed of yet felt utterly unprepared for such commitment—especially given their circumstances.
"Fenris…" she started hesitantly before stopping herself short.
He looked at her expectantly; hope mingled with confusion danced in his eyes.
"It's too early for you to think about marriage—especially someone like me," she finally managed to say after gathering herself enough to speak clearly.
His brow furrowed slightly at her words while disappointment flickered across his features like shadows cast by flickering candlelight.
"I admire your words deeply," she continued gently but firmly. "But you deserve someone better than me—a woman worthy of your name—not a whore."
Fenris opened his mouth as if to argue but then closed it again slowly when he saw how resolute she was being about this decision.
"I hope one day you find that right woman," Ros added softly while looking into his eyes sincerely—but deep down inside herself doubted whether she could ever fit into that role for him or anyone else for that matter.
Surprised yet respecting her wishes despite feeling lost within himself now more than ever before—Fenris nodded slowly before he left.
His departure left an echoing silence that seemed to amplify the bartender's voice as he approached her.
"Ros," he began, his tone heavy with disapproval. "What were you thinking? Rejecting a marriage proposal from a promising knight of House Stark? Your father would be turning in his grave if he could see this."
Ros looked up sharply, her emerald eyes flashing with defiance. "You think my father would have wanted me to marry someone I don't love? To live a life dictated by duty rather than desire?" Her voice was steady but laced with an undercurrent of pain.
The bartender sighed, wiping down the bar top with a rag that had seen better days. "I'm just saying… it's not every day that a knight like him offers his hand. You could have had security, respect—"
"Respect?" Ros interrupted, her voice rising slightly. "What kind of respect comes from marrying someone just because they wear armor and carry a sword? My father was a cook who worked hard for his living; he taught me to value honesty over titles."
The bartender leaned closer, lowering his voice as if afraid others might overhear their conversation. "And what would your father say if he knew you chose this life? A prostitute?"
Ros felt her heart clench at the word but held her ground. "He'd understand," she replied firmly. "I've made peace with my choices. I've found empowerment in my body and my autonomy." She paused for effect before continuing, "I have no regrets about being who I am."
The bartender shook his head slowly, concern etched on his face. "But Fenris… despite his reputation as some savage warrior raised by wolves—he has something pure about him." He hesitated before adding softly, "You told me you saw it in his eyes? Didn't you."
"Yes," Ros admitted quietly, memories flooding back of Fenris's gentle gaze and fierce loyalty beneath his rugged exterior. "But I can't taint that purity with my...profession. He deserves someone better than me."
"Just be careful," the bartender warned gently but firmly. "The Old Gods work in mysterious ways; they influence settings and situations to grant rare chances." He leaned back slightly and crossed his arms over his chest as if bracing himself for what he was about to say next. "I can't shake this feeling that you've missed your chance."
Ros turned away from him then, staring into her drink once more as she pondered the weight of those words.