Chapter Text
The whore's tent smelled thickly of wisteria incense and smoke—from candles and from cloying sweet-smelling pipes—and in the midst of it all, Jedys Marsh kept an ear out for the bell for the owl. Lady Gwin Ashford's tourney was excessively large and the men were eager to tilt before the actual formal competition took place—it would be a day of hasty matches and informal rankings, letting the lords cut their teeth on each other and pick favourites for the betting, and it would start painfully early in the morning.
Lady Jedys wasn't a stranger to spectacle tourneys, least of all when the esteem of a young lady was the prize. Ashford had been a grave miscalculation, however; Lady Gwin was only turning thirteen. It was acceptable, of course, if Jedys' older brother and the reason they were trotted out to these events, Brenn, were to be engaged to her, but he wouldn't prefer a child and neither did his father feel the need to force the issue. It left the three of them—her, Brenn, and her father, her mother and four sisters having stayed home—listless. Most of the ladies present were closer in age to Lady Gwin, and the older Jedys got without being married, the more that younger girls feared it was catching.
And so Jedys spent time with the whores.
The tourney was terribly boring for them too. As it was a young girl's birthday, their services had been demanded and yet scorned; their tent was non-descript and they were unable to sit outside to entice people within, which left many paying customers none the wiser that they were even there. The proprietress had been happy, then, to take Jedys coin to allow her to sit and chat with other women a while—they were even familiar with each other, as it was hardly the first time she'd hidden herself away at a tourney that wasn't interested in her.
"Is there anyone good on the lists?" Rowan asked, reclined lazily on a large pillow.
"Much older men," she said with a slightly pinched look. "Their squires are closer in age to Lady Gwin."
"Who're the five guardians?" Bess asked dreamily.
"Androw and Robert Ashford, Leo Tyrell, Humfrey Hardyng, and Prince Valarr."
"That's no fun," Floris hummed. "Two of them are her brothers."
"I imagine they'll fall quick," Jedys mused. "I'm more interested in Prince Valarr participating."
"It's a royal nod without committing to anything," the older Rhea explained. "The whole thing is more for Prince Baelor than it is for little Gwin."
"I'd tilt for him," Floris laughed, flopping over onto her back. They dissolved into laughter, long enough that the tent opened and no one took note until Jedys felt a hand reach out for hers.
She jerked away and the man who'd touched her startled as well. He was blonde, with hair the colour of wheat and eyes like the midday sun at its brightest; she didn't recognise him, and he didn't wear a visible set of arms or emblem, but his clothes were far too fine for him to be a hedge knight. "Did I frighten you?" he asked with a smile, and she laughed nervously.
"Sorry my lord, yes—I shouldn't sit with my back to the door." She rose and stepped aside with a curtsey, uneasy when he followed her. "My lord?"
"You seem confused," he mused, reaching out to brush along her cheek—
"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry—again. I'm not—I'm here visiting, my lord, I'm not...employed," she said awkwardly. "I'm a maid," she tacked on unhelpfully.
"For the Ashfords?" he asked, his eyes intent on her. She glanced at the girls who looked similarly unsettled—Jedys hadn't seen this man on the field yet, and without any arms to speak of she couldn't identify him. He wore red, but red was hardly novel; every third house had a sigil with red on it.
"I just help the girls," she hedged, not eager to face the consequences to lying outright in a manner which could be checked.
"You look northern," he said. Up close the intense blue of his eyes was bleary and unfocused, which only made it more unsettling that he seemed to track every movement she made with unfettered delight.
"I am," she answered with a tight smile.
"My lord," Rowan purred. "You're frightening poor Rosie. Why don't you come sit with us a while, hm?" The stranger's eyes stayed fixed on Jedys in a way that was starting to worry her. Her visits to the brothel tents weren't sanctioned by anyone, and wouldn't be had she bothered to ask permission. She could be mucking into a deeply embarrassing incident.
"I don't want to frighten you," he promised with a flickering smile. "I only find myself transfixed," he said, which made her laugh. "You could name a price," he promised, which was at least better in line with what she expected from him.
"You paid at the door, my lord," she scolded. "It'd be a waste of money."
"Look at you," he teased, falling comfortably into flirtation. "I've wasted my money before so I know what it looks like: you would be a pleasure to pay for."
"Flattering," she said wryly. "But unfortunately, I'm gainfully employed and would like to remain that way."
He leaned in and it was to her deep embarrassment that she let him without stepping back. She had decided in one moment to be braver, more confident: like a woman who really did face the unvarnished attentions of men and was happy enough to refuse or accept at her own whim, a woman more like the false Rosie. The next moment, however, she was sharply reminded of the reality where she lived in a remote little castle staffed by people far older than her, where the only men of marriageable age were her brother's friends who had happened to have been born betrothed. She lived an isolated life of missed opportunities and poor chances—she attended tourneys, but they were frequently for weddings or birthdays that saw them flooded with other girls who had better prospects and more desirable dowries. Lacking the sparkle for whirlwind romances or the cynical wealth that made old men seek young brides, she...fell through the cracks.
And now a handsome lord let his cheek brush hers, leaning into her ear. "Rest assured that I could more than make up for lost wages."
"For one night; not forever," she scolded. "Please, the other girls will start to feel neglected."
"I am neglecting them," he insisted. "Shall I flatter you? Tell you that you've bewitched me with all that dark hair hanging loose?" She should have tied it back. She should have sat facing the door and moved when the tent flap opened. She...should have left already, but what if he followed her into the dark? She didn't feel threatened, but she'd be a fool to dismiss the possibility that he could hurt her. Even if he didn't, what if he tried to follow her? Where was she supposed to go but back to her family's tents?
"My lord has surely seen dark hair before."
"I'm surrounded by blondes," he protested. Lannister, then? His hair seemed a shade too pale, but they were hardly Targaryens: their genetics could certainly vary.
"You've heard of brunettes before," she laughed, then strategically stepped by him and sat back in her place as the bell for the hour of the owl tolled. Just a little longer. He only had to get bored of asking and wander away with one of the girls.
"Hearing is different than seeing." He sat down next to her, nodding at the other women. "Touching is different too."
"I'm sure it is." Her court of ladies laughed, resting uneasily at the intrusion of the man who wasn't behaving correctly.
"And very pale green eyes," he added, as if it had only just occurred to him. "The kind that make a man feel cold down to his bones."
"Let me guess," she snorted. "I should warm you up?"
"I'd be content to never be warm again," he retorted gravely, and grinned as she laughed.
"My lord, that's too much for a maid."
"She speaks very prettily for a maid, wouldn't you ladies agree?" he asked. Everyone fell too-silent and Jedys smiled tersely. "There are stories," he added, "of noblewomen taking a liking to their maids, enough to elevate them a little. I'd believe it if you told me to."
"If I were a lady," she said evenly, "you would be honour-bound to escort me back to my tents."
"Then let's pretend a little while longer," he teased. "If you were a maid, we could stay awhile. If you were a lady, I'd need to be terribly embarrassed for offering you money for sex. I wouldn't be, but I should."
"Shameless," she scolded, and he smiled.
"Entirely, and I'd still pay a king's ransom if you'd take it."
"Pay one of my friends," she urged, and he reached into his pouch and tossed a dragon for each girl on the table, not including her. Everyone froze and she felt her face heat. "For them to do their jobs," she corrected, and he shrugged.
"Let's split the difference. You girls continue your conversation and I'll..." He turned and laid back, his head on her lap. Her eyes fluttered to the girls to find the gold already missing, and so she sighed.
"You take advantage of my fondness for them," she scolded, resting her hand on his shoulder.
"You were right," he said easily. "I'm shameless. What were you girls talking about, before I made an ass of myself?" he asked.
"The lists," she said. "I was telling them I was impressed that Lady Gwin had Prince Valarr tilting for her."
Silence hovered, then Rowan spoke up. "I wonder why one of the unmarried princes didn't," she said, and Jedys flashed her a grateful smile.
"The one's betrothed," Rhea said haltingly, as if trying to decide before she spoke if it was treason to mention a man had a bride picked out.
"It doesn't make him less available than the married one," Rowan argued, and Bess hummed.
"The oldest one's unmarried and unattached," she said. "Why doesn't he tilt?"
"I heard he's a drunk," her lord said, his eyes closed. She flicked his forehead.
"We don't speak badly of princes where girls can get hurt for it," she scolded.
"I'll keep you safe from the brute," he said, but obediently settled down.
"Whatever his vices are, I've heard he doesn't join the lists unless his father insists," Rhea said firmly, turning the direction from treason. "And it's what Jedys was saying earlier—he's far too old for Lady Gwin."
She glanced down and caught him smiling. "Something to add, my lord?" she asked.
"Who's Jedys?" he asked.
"Someone very smart and concerned for the young lady's prospects," she retorted.
"She sounds pretty too. Lady Jedys, that is: I agree that Lady Gwin is too young."
"Then Prince Aerion should've done it," Floris said with a shrug.
"But they might want Prince Aerion to marry her. If Prince Valarr does it, then they don't have to commit anything," Rhea reminded her.
"And break an engagement with his cousin? They'd be mad to ask it."
"They probably wouldn't," Jedys said thoughtfully, smoothing out her lord's tunic. He looked terribly pale upon closer inspection. "But it saves her heart from being broken because she's too young to tell the difference between being the queen of love and beauty and being courted."
"Have you ever been the queen, Jedys?" Floris asked, and Rowan swatted her shin. "What? He already said he knew. I don't even know what house she's from."
"For fuck's sake, Flo."
"No," she answered wryly. "I haven't. My corner of the realm is smaller than this: I started bleeding at eleven so there was hardly a point in celebrating my thirteenth. When I turned sixteen there was a melee, but it was only my brother and uncles and some hedge knights that were passing through, and by the end of the day everyone was too drunk to care about the results. It was only for fun anyway."
She looked down and her lord was staring at her again.
"Maybe the knight's put off by all the talk of blood," Rowan teased. "Will you be in the lists tomorrow, my lord?"
"Yes, although I don't expect to last long," he murmured. "I'm a gods-awful knight and hope to prove it before the real competition starts."
"I hope you didn't give us your coin for ransom," Rhea teased, and their lord laughed.
"I should give you more just to spite myself. Losing my horse would be a quick way to guarantee I don't have to risk my neck riding in the real thing."
"Careful my lord. Lady Jedys has a great love of horses," Bess laughed, but hissed when Rowan swatted her.
"Then this Lady Jedys should catch my eye before the games begin and I'll fall off my horse and let her keep it." The bell rang again to warn the boisterous tents of the late hour, and Jedys flinched. "I should be chivalrous now," he murmured, sitting up. "I arrived too late."
"Don't leave on my account, my lord," she protested, but he waved her off.
"My father would never forgive me if I left a lady to wander home on her own," he said, lifting himself up clumsily and holding a hand out for her. "Lead the way, Rosie."
"I'll see you later," she said to the girls, curtseying habitually even though it made them laugh every time. She took her lord's arm and stepped out into the dark night, starting to feel very much like she should have been abed by then. "I should ask your name, my lord," she said as they walked, and he snorted.
"You'll hear it tomorrow," he promised. "Until then let me bask in your attention before you're terribly disappointed."
"Very mysterious," she allowed, and he smiled.
"I've never been mysterious before. I find myself enjoying it."
"You could have stayed with the girls, you know," she said, and he nodded.
"You keep reminding me. I'm not unfamiliar with whores, and the best thing about them is that they're always at hand. I haven't missed anything."
"I just don't know what you're doing," she admitted. "I'm not any fun to chase and you know I'm a lady—that comes with far more strings attached for so little as escorting me across the grounds alone. It seems easier to content yourself with the girls."
"You don't believe in love at first sight?" he asked, playfully enough that she didn't believe he was condescending to her.
"In a brothel? No. Hopefully Lady Gwin will have better luck."
"I dreamed of you," he said, then shook his head. "Not—not precisely you, but seeing you was a little like remembering a dream. I liked the feeling, for once."
"Do you have bad dreams?" she asked, and he snorted.
"That's one way of putting it. Sometimes I don't remember them but they're so rarely good that I don't forget them as easily. I saw—like candlelight, reflected in your eyes. I might have preferred if you were selling your services," he admitted. "As you said, it's easier. Being a lady makes you tangible in a very disturbing way."
"My apologies," she huffed, and he glanced at her in alarm.
"That—you'll have to forgive me. I'm an imbecile."
"Only if you promise not to be offended when I ask you to stop escorting me here," she said, letting her arms slip out of his, and he looked distressed in such a charming way! "Not because you offended me," she clarified. "I just think it gives you unsettling leverage over me, to recognise my house."
"I could find out tomorrow," he pointed out, but she shook her head.
"I doubt it; it's a big crowd and we're not very impressive."
"Did I seem unimpressed by you? You're the most I've ever spent on a woman and I didn't even touch you."
"And maybe don't advertise that if you do happen to find me," she reminded him with a fond elbow.
He considered her, then smiled. "If I try to blackmail you, could I get a kiss?" he asked. "A purely theoretical question, as I would never maliciously impugn your honour."
She smiled faintly and made another ill-advised snap decision. "Well, to be safe I suppose I would allow it." She wasn't that brave though, holding still and only responding when he leaned in himself, the stubble on his cheeks scratching against her chin as he kissed her. His mouth was warm and soft and he smelled faintly of wine and horses. Gallantly, he didn't take advantage of her good mood, parting without deepening the kiss which she dizzily thought she would have certainly allowed; she was a lady though, not a maid nor a prostitute. She wasn't at liberty to enjoy herself, not really. "Is my reputation safe?" she asked, and he nodded.
"It always was. I'm a cad, but I have a famous weakness for beautiful women." He seemed no less enthralled for the chasteness of it, which made her a little less embarrassed to have allowed it. She curtseyed and turned to continue on her way, but stopped when he called, "Lady Jedys?" She turned to face him again and he smiled. "Got you, Rosie."